LIBRARY 
 
 EDUC. 
 
 PSYCH. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO 
 
 PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORY 
 
 BORDEN P. BOWNE 
 
 PROFESSOR OF PHII.OSOPIIY IN BOSTON UNIVERSITY 
 AUTHOR OK " METAPHYSICS " 
 
 NEW YORK •:• CINCINNATI •:• CHICAGO 
 
 AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 
 
Z5(^ 
 
 EDUC. 
 PSYCH. 
 
 Copyright, 1886, by Harpee & Brothers. 
 
 jiU rights reserved. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The aim of this work is given in its title. First, it is 
 an " introduction " only, and does not go into the details 
 or the literature of the subject. The aim is to point out 
 the highways of psychology, rather than its myriad by- 
 ways. Secondly, it is an " introduction to psychological 
 theory," and aims less at a knowledge of facts than at 
 an understanding of principles. Until principles are set- 
 tled there is no bar to the most fantastic theories and 
 interpretations. 
 
 These principles being illustrated in the most common 
 facts of experience, it is not necessary to psychological 
 insight to make an anthology of madhouse and hospital 
 stories. Such a procedure has about the same relation to 
 psychology that the various books of " wonders " or the 
 " brilliant experiments " of the popular lecturer have to 
 sober physical science. An odor of quackery is percep- 
 tible in both cases. 
 
 The plan of the work precludes much attention to physi- 
 ological psychology. Whatever the merits of this science 
 may be, it presupposes pure psychology. If our aim is to 
 give a physiological explanation of psychological facts, 
 
 8G291 
 
•VI PREFACE. 
 
 we must first know the facts. Or if our aim is the more 
 modest one of finding the physical conditions or attend- 
 ants of mental facts, again we must know the facts. But 
 this knowledge is not possible by the way of physiology, 
 and in any case the mental facts remain what they al- 
 ways were. Their likenesses and differences and essential 
 nature would not be changed if physiology were supreme. 
 Even the " new psychology " would not give us new men- 
 tal facts, but only a new interpretation of the old facts. 
 The Zeitgeist itself begins at last to see this ; and the 
 naive onslaughts on the " old psychology " are happily 
 growing fewer. Psychological literature shows very 
 marked progress in this respect within the last twenty 
 years. Physiology remains a most estimable science, but 
 the physiological reconstruction of psychology has been 
 postponed. The study of the physical conditions of our 
 mental life has a pathological and practical importance ; 
 but it does not promise any valuable psychological results, 
 at least for those who can distinguish between the physi- 
 cal conditions and the mental facts which they condition. 
 
 The limitation of plan involves many omissions ; and 
 in these there will seem to be a measure of arbitrariness. 
 Hence many will not find here what they want, and proba- 
 bly still more will find what they do not want. There 
 seems to be no way of adjusting so grave a difficulty 
 except by maintaining, on the one hand, freedom to pub- 
 lish, and, on the other, freedom not to read. 
 
 Borden P. Bowne. 
 
 Boston, September, 1886. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Definition of Psychologj', p. 1. — Possible Directions of Psychological 
 Study, p. 1. — Psychology mainly an Introspective Science, p. 2. — 
 Objections to the Introspective Method, p. 3. — Seasons for the slow 
 Growth of Psychology, p. 4. 
 
 PART L 
 THE FACTORS OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE . . . 
 
 Beality of Self the Condition of the Mental Life, p. 11. — Objections 
 considered, p. 11. — Impossibility of Rational Consciousness apart 
 from an Abiding Self, p. 12. — A Word on Method, p. 14. — Defini- 
 tion of Materialism, p. 15. — Materialism unclear in its Meaning, 
 p. 16. — Ambiguity of the Facts of Mental Dependence, p. 18. — 
 Difficulties of Materialism, p. 19. — Hylozoistic Materialism, p. 21. 
 — Relation of Hylozoism to Physics, p. 22. — Untenability of Hylo- 
 zoistic Materialism, p. 25. — Bearing of Materialism on Life and 
 Action, p. 30. — Bearing of Materialism on Knowledge, p. 31. — 
 Scepticism involved in Materialism, p. 34. — Man a Dual Being, 
 p. 36. — Value of this View, p. 36. 
 
 11 
 
VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 SENSATION 39 
 
 Physical Conditions of Sensation, p. 40. — Sensation not explained by 
 its Physical Conditions, p. 40. — Forms of Kervous Stimulus, p. 41. 
 
 — Attempts to explain Differences of Sensation, p. 43. — Our Igno- 
 rance of Nervous Action no Psychological Loss, p. 48. — Relation of 
 Sensation to Stimulus, p. 49. — Weber's Facts and Fechner's Theory, 
 p. 50. — Difficulties of Fechner's Law, p. 52. — Interpretations of 
 Fechner's Law, p. 53. — Differences in Simple Sensations, p. 56. — 
 Double Aspect of Sensations, p. 58. — Organic Sensations, p. 59. — 
 Source of the Sensations arising from Motion, p. 59. — Arguments 
 for Sub-conscious Sensations, p. 62. — Criticism of the Same, p. 65. 
 
 — Simplicity of Sensations, p. 69. — Unclearuess of the Doctrine, 
 p. 70. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. ... 73 
 
 Facts of Reproduction, p. 73. — Two Classes of Theories, p. 75. — Her- 
 bart's Theory, p. 76. — Ambiguity and Difficulties of Herbart's 
 Theory, p. 77. — Uncertainty of the English Associationalists, p. 82. 
 — Physiological Theories of Reproduction, p. 83. — Shortcomings of 
 all Cerebral Theories, p. 84. — Failure of every Theory to give a true 
 Insight, p. 86. — Statement of Results, p. 87. — Laws of Association, 
 p. 90. — The Laws criticised, p. 90. — Sub-conscious Association, 
 p. 96. 
 
 Appendix to Chapter III. 
 
 CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION ... 99 
 
 Forms and Implications of the Theory, p. 99. — Comjilexity of the Cell 
 Theory, p. 101. Difficulty of keeping Impressions separated, 
 p. 104. — Obscurity of the Theory on Important Points, p. 105. — 
 No Account given of Actual Association, p. 107. — Physiological 
 Difficulties, p. 109. —Habit Form of the Cerebral Theory, p. 111. — 
 Difficulties of this View, p. 112. — Sense in which the Brain is the 
 Organ of Memory, p. 113. 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 THE THOUGHT FACTOR 115 
 
 The Two Schools of Psychology, p. 115. — Psychological and Philo- 
 sophical Aspect of their Ditl'erences, p. 116. — Primal Sliortcoming 
 of Sensationalism, p. 118. — Judgments cannot arise through Asso- 
 ciation alone, p. 119. — Two Distinct Processes in the Mental Life, 
 p. 121. — Ambiguity in the Facts of Mental Development overlooked 
 by Sensationalists, p. 123. — The Categories, p. 126. — Time, p. 127. 
 
 — Time not a Quality of Mental States, nor an Abstraction from 
 them, p. 128. — The Sequence of Ideas not the Idea of Sequence, 
 p. 128. — Memory not the Source of the Idea, p. 129. — The Idea of 
 Time not dependent on the Idea of Causation, p. 131. — Fundamen- 
 tally, Time is a Law of Mental Synthesis, p. 131. — Space, p. 133. 
 
 — Different Views of Space, p. 133. — Associational View, p. 134. 
 
 — Ambiguity and Untenability of this View, p. 135. — Superficiality 
 of the Common View, p. 143. — The Idea of Space not explained by 
 the Extension of the Nerves or by the Extension of the Soul, p. 144. 
 
 — The Source of the Idea must be sought for in the Nature of the 
 Mind, p. 148. — Space essentially a Law of Mental Synthesis, p. 149. 
 
 — The Unity and Infinity of Space a Consequence of this Law, p. 149. 
 
 — Relation of Sense Experience to the Idea, p. 151. — i\^-dimen- 
 sional Space, p. 151. — Number, p. 153. — Number purely a Mental 
 Product, p. 153. — Failure of the Attempts to deduce it from Sense 
 Experience, p. 154. — Number as the Science of Pure Time, p. 156. — 
 Substance, p. 158. — This Idea not derived from the Senses, p. 153. — 
 Sensationalist Docti'ine of Substance, p. 160. — Criticism of the Same, 
 p. 160. — Cause, p. 165. — Criticism of the Sensational Theory, 
 p. 167. — Claim that the Idea of Causation aiises only from our 
 Volitional Activity, p. 171. — The Truth in this Claim, p. 172. 
 
 Appendix to Chapter IV 175 
 
 Attempt to found Sensationalism on the Experience of the Race, p. 175. 
 — Mutual Opposition of Sensationalism and Materialism, p. 175. — 
 Difficulty of connecting the Experience of the Individual with that 
 of the Race, p. 178. — Heredity the Problem, not its Solution, 
 p. 178. — Ambiguity of the Facts, p. 178. — Inability of Heredity to 
 create New Ideas, p. 180. — Mechanical Nature of the Doctrine, 
 p. 180. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 PAOI 
 
 THE FEELINGS 182 
 
 Feeling imdefinable, p. 182. — Feeling cannot be deduced, p. 183. — 
 Feeling cannot be understood through its Conditions, p. 186. — 
 Physical Feelings, p. 188. — Obscurity of the Nervous Processes 
 which condition them, p. 189. — No satisfactory Classification of 
 the Feelings which have only a Mental Source, p. 191. — Mental 
 Feelings as Functional, p. 191. — Emptiness of this Conception when 
 made Universal, p. 193. — The Ego Feelings, p. 193. — Dependence 
 of Feeling on its Relation to Self-consciousness, p. 194. — The Social 
 Feelings, p. 195. — Attempts to deduce them from Selfish Feeling, 
 p. 195. — Relation of the Ego Feelings to Social Relations, p. 197. 
 
 — ^Esthetic Feeling, p. 198. — ^Esthetic Judgments founded on 
 ^Esthetic Feeling, p. 198. — Various Forms of Esthetic Feeling, 
 p. 199. — Significance of Association for ^Esthetics, p. 200. — 
 Reasons for the Diversity of ^Esthetic Judgments, p. 201. — Why 
 do Objects please us sestheticaUy ? p. 201. — Insufficiency of Physio- 
 logical Explanations, p. 202. — Failure of Attempts to base Esthetics 
 on a Single Principle, p. 203. — Uncertainty of the Boundaries of 
 the .Esthetic Realm, p. 204. —The Moral Feelings, p. 205. — Two 
 Directions of Ethical Study, p. 206. — The basal Ethical Fact, 
 p. 206. — Double Standard of Ethical Judgment, p. 207. — Deduc- 
 tions and Reductions of the Moral Sentiments, p. 209. — Religious 
 Feeling, p. 210. — Theories of the same, p. 211. — The Desires, 
 p. 214. — The Object of Desire, p. 214. — Pleasures not Commen- 
 surable, p. 215. — Direction and Control of Feeling, p. 216. — 
 Transition to Willing, p. 217. 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 WILL AND ACTION 219 
 
 Not all Activity is Volitional, p. 220. — Constitutional Activity, p. 220. 
 
 — Volition indefinable, p. 221. — Volition distinguished from its 
 Psychological Attendants, p. 221. — Volition implies Consciousness, 
 p. 222. — In Spontaneous Thought Volition regarded as Free, p. 222. 
 
 — What this Freedom means, p. 223. — Opposing Conceptions, 
 p. 223. — Determinism not founded on Consciousness, p. 225. — 
 Bearing of the same on Action and Knowledge, p. 226. — Reasons 
 for Determinism, p. 228. — Tlie Problem speculatively insoluble, 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 FAOI 
 
 p. 230. — Various Misumlerstaiulings, p. 231. — Freedom implied as 
 a Condition of Rational and Social Life, p. 232. — Limitation of 
 Freedom, p. 233. 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS . . 235 
 
 Definitions of Consciousness tautologous, p. 235. — Traditional Con- 
 fusion, p. 235. — Consciousness not a Faculty, p. 237. — Antithesis 
 of Subject and Object the Universal Form of Consciousness, p. 238. — 
 Objections by Sensationalism, p. 238. — Varying Degrees of Con- 
 sciousness, p. 239. — Consciousness dependent on Thought as well as 
 on the Sensibility, p. 241. — Misunderstanding of the Antithesis of 
 Subject and Object, p. 242. — The two Factors of Self-consciousness, 
 p. 244. — The Conception of Self not an Experience of Self, p. 245. — 
 Self-experience admits of no Deduction, p. 246. — Development of 
 Self-experience into Self-knowledge, p. 248. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE FACTORS IN COMBINATION. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 PERCEPTION 253 
 
 Perception a Complex Process, p. 253. — Perception a Reaction of the 
 Mind against External Action, p. 254. — This External Action no 
 Copy of the Object, p. 255. — This Fact covered up with Figures of 
 Speech, p. 256. — Implications of Valid Perception, p. 258. — Possi- 
 bility of Error, p. 259. — The Perception of Things and that of Space 
 Relations arise together, p. 260. — Difficulty of determining the 
 Localizing Power of the Senses when taken separately, p. 261. — 
 Complete Perception dependent on Classification, p. 262. — Distinc- 
 tion between the Appearance and the Thing, p. 263. — Origin of 
 the Acquired Perceptions, p. 263. — Source of Sense Illusions, p. 264. 
 Association in Perception, p. 265. — Use made by Berkeley of this 
 Principle, p. 266. — Dependence of Perception on Reproduction, 
 p. 268. 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 PASB 
 
 THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION .... 269 
 
 No consistent Terminology, p. 271. — Ditfeieuces of Memory, Fantasy, 
 and Imagination, p. 271. — Memory follows the Order of Mental 
 Development, p. 272. — Laws of Memor}', p. 273. — The Possibility 
 of Eeproduction depends on the Nature of the Original Experience, 
 p. 274. — Differences in Memory, p. 275. — The Fantasy, p. 276. — 
 Significance of the Imagination for the Rational Life, p. 277. — Con- 
 trol of Reproduction, p. 278. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 THE THOUGHT PROCESS 280 
 
 Two Stages of Thought, p. 280. — Relation of the Judgment to Knowl- 
 edge, p. 281. — Relation of the Universal to the Judgment, p. 281. — 
 Conditions of the Universal, p. 282. — Objections from the Associa- 
 tionalists, p. 282. — Thought and Language, p. 283. — Abstraction, 
 p. 284. — Advantage and Disadvantage of Language, p. 285. — Gene- 
 sis of Judgments, i>. 285. — The Judgment in Formal Logic, p. 287. — 
 Artificial Nature of the Logical Doctrine, p. 288. — Truth and Error, 
 p. 290. — Nature of Inference, p. 292. — The Doctrine of Inference in 
 Formal Logic artificial and arbitrary, p. 293. — Concerning Intui- 
 tions, p. 294. — Two Questions to be distinguished, p. 294. — Mathe- 
 matics a Stumbling-block to Empiricism, p. 294. — Belief, p. 296. — 
 Most Beliefs represent, not reasoned Truths, but practical Assump- 
 tions, p. 297. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY . . . 298 
 
 Problem defined, p. 298. — All Interaction mysterious, p. 298. — Seat 
 of the Soul, p. 299. — Meaning of the Question, p. 299. — As com- 
 monly understood the Question both idle and emptjs p. 300. — Use 
 of the Body by the Soul, p. 301. — Movements arising apart from 
 Volition, p. 301. — Significance of the Mind for Physical Develop- 
 ment, p. 304. — Two Classes of Physical Habits, p. 305. — The Soul 
 as the Ground of Physical Structure, p. 306. — Cerebral Localization 
 of Mental Functions, p. 307. — Nervous Action in Mental Work, 
 
CONTENTS. xni 
 
 p. 308. — Thought not a Transformation of Nervous Energy, p. 309. 
 — Significance of the Body for the .Mental Life, p. 311. — Can the 
 Mental Life go on apart from the Body ? p. 315. — Question admits 
 of no Speculative Solution, p. 316. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MENTAL PHENOMENA . . 319 
 
 Cause of Sleep not fully understood, p. 319. — Depth of Sleep, p. 320. — 
 Fantastic Nature of Dreams, p. 320. — Origin of Dreams in Actual 
 Sensations, p. 321. — Material of Dreams drawn from waking Expe- 
 rience, p. 322. — No single Explanation of Dreams possible, p. 322. — 
 Is the Mind ever Inactive ? p. 323. — The Hypnotic State, p. 325. 
 — Insanity, p. 326. — Its Psychological Features, p. 326. — Grounds 
 of Insanity, p. 327. — Extraordinary Mental Powers, p. 328. 
 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Psychology deals with mental facts and processes. It 
 aims to describe and classify those facts and processes, to 
 discover and state their laws, and to form some theory- 
 concerning their origin and cause. Corresponding to this 
 complex aim, psychology, like all other sciences, may be 
 descriptive and theoretical. We may content ourselves with 
 simply describing and classifying the facts and processes. 
 The result is empirical psychology. From this as a starting- 
 point we may go on to theorize concerning the origin and 
 causes of the facts and processes discovered. The result is 
 theoretical, or philosophical, psychology. But in psychol- 
 ogy, as in most other sciences, these two factors, though 
 logically successive, are practically contemporaneous. No 
 science completes its collection of facts before it begins 
 to theorize ; but the study of fact and the formation of 
 theory go together. This is especially true in psychology, 
 where the statement of the facts themselves often involves 
 a theory. 
 
 Psychological study may take several directions : — 
 1. We may study the facts and laws of mind in general, 
 without reference to individual peculiarities or to concrete 
 application. In this case the aim is to discover the essen- 
 tial facts and factors of the mental life. By observation we 
 
 1 
 
■^ PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 learn the facts and processes ; by analysis we seek to decom- 
 pose them into their ultimate elements ; and, finally, we 
 seek to exhibit the actual mental life as a synthesis of these 
 elements. The product of such study is pure or abstract 
 psychology. 
 
 2. The mental life is not perfect from the start, but is 
 subject to a law of growth. We may study it, then, from 
 the genetic side, and trace the order of its unfolding. Such 
 study would have especial significance for the theory of 
 education. Some speculators have thought it possible by 
 this method, not merely to discover the order of temporal 
 development, but also to deduce the later stages as neces- 
 sary results of the earlier ones. We shall find reasons for 
 doubting this view. 
 
 3. The mental life is physically conditioned ; and, instead 
 of studying mental facts by themselves, we may study them 
 in relation to the organism. This gives rise to a border 
 science, physiological psychology. This does not study 
 physiology in general, but physiology in its relation to men- 
 tal facts. Nor does it study psychology in general, but 
 psychology as conditioned by the organism. 
 
 Pure psychology is plainly the presupposition of all other 
 forms of psychological study ; as pure logic or pure me- 
 chanics is the presupposition of applied logic or applied 
 mechanics. Our work will be mainly in pure psychology, 
 partly descriptive, partly theoretical, and not without some 
 reference to physiology. 
 
 The facts of the objective sciences are discovered through 
 the senses. The facts of psychology are chiefly revealed 
 only in consciousness. Instead of looking without to find 
 them, we look within. Our method, tlierefore, must be 
 mainly introspective. Mind can be studied to some extent 
 in history, in institutions, in literature, and especially in lan- 
 guage. In these we see the mind manifesting its nature, 
 and uttering its spontaneous and unsophisticated convic- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 8 
 
 tions. Language abounds in psychological theories and 
 classifications, which serve as the starting-point even of 
 scientific psychology. Thought, feeling, and volition ; sen- 
 sation, emotion, and understanding; desire, choice, and 
 effort; body, soul, and spirit, — are illustrations. Such 
 terms represent classifications, distinctions, and theories 
 produced by the spontaneous thinking of mankind. Again, 
 the structure of language itself is an incarnation of the laws 
 of thought ; so much so, that Aristotle sought to determine 
 the essential categories of thinking by an analysis of gram- 
 matical forms. The noun, the adjective, and the active 
 verb are but the reappearance under the forms of language 
 of the thought-forms of substance and attribute, cause and 
 effect. In this sense there can be an objective study of 
 thought. This does not mean, of course, that mind or 
 thought can be presented to tlie senses ; but only that the 
 nature of mind can be studied in its products. 
 
 Nevertheless, all our knowledge of mind derived from its 
 objective study must come back to consciousness, either for 
 its meaning or for its verification. No language concern- 
 ing mental facts is intelligible unless we have had expe- 
 rience of the facts for ourselves. No theory of them is 
 verified until we have compared it with the facts in our 
 own consciousness and have found them to agree. Psy- 
 chology, then, is finally based on introspection. It is a 
 subjective rather than an objective science. 
 
 This fact has been made the ground for much objection. 
 Some have denied the possibility of inspecting consciousness 
 at all ; others have denied the trustwortiiiness of conscious- 
 ness. According to the latter, consciousness cannot even 
 tell us whether we are cold or hot. The former claim has 
 the slight psychological foundation that many mental states, 
 pre-eminently emotions, cannot be directly inspected with- 
 out changing their character to some extent ; and therefore 
 they have to be indirectly studied in memory. The latter 
 
4 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 claim has the slight historical justification that careless 
 writers have often extended consciousness beyond its 
 proper limits ; so that, instead of distinguishing between 
 the facts of consciousness and their interpretation, they 
 have made consciousness cover both. The proper facts of 
 consciousness admit of no scepticism. The one who feels 
 cold is cold ; but it may be that this feeling, instead of its 
 ordinary antecedent, has an abnormal state of the nervous 
 system as its cause. We trust the consciousness even of 
 the insane ; doubt concerns only its interpretation. Re- 
 membering these limitations, any doubt of the trustworthi- 
 ness of consciousness must seem palpably and flagrantly 
 absurd. 
 
 Mental facts are nearest of all, and yet psychology 
 develops slowly. The objective sciences are of an earlier 
 birth and a more rapid growth. This is due to several 
 facts : — 
 
 1. The mind is objective in its procedure, and thinks of 
 itself last. We tend to lose ourselves in our objects ; and 
 the processes of knowing are so immediate, that it never 
 occurs to us that there is a process. This fact has the 
 highest significance for mental health and development. 
 The mind is taken out of itself and introduced to the great 
 world of things, the knowledge of which is to be its chief 
 occupation and the great source of its growth. The im- 
 plicit trust of the mind in knowledge is shaken only as 
 it stumbles upon contradictions and absurdities, and is 
 forced thereby to analyze its processes and revise its 
 assumptions. 
 
 2. The phenomena are complicated, and often admit of 
 no description. Shades of feeling and emotion may be 
 felt, but not described. Language, too, is formed under 
 the influence of external objects, and hence is vague, and 
 often misleading, in its application to mental states. More- 
 over, the mind, because of its objective tendency, becomes 
 
INTRODUCTION. 6 
 
 disinclined to look within. Our mental states do not stand 
 out in consciousness with the sharpness of objects in space. 
 Hence the paradox, that there is nothing so hard to study 
 as ourselves. 
 
 3. The facts admit of no exact measurement. Physical 
 science depends especially upon measurement, either of 
 size, duration, weight, or intensity. Its facts and laws first 
 become fruitful when they become numerical. The fact of 
 gravitation was known long before Newton, and was of no 
 significance. It was the discovery of its numerical law 
 which first gave it meaning. But thoughts and feelings 
 have no size; and their intensity admits of no exact 
 numerical determination. 
 
 4. Psychology admits of almost no experiment. In phys- 
 iological psychology a little experiment is possible ; but in 
 pure psychology no significant experiments can be made. 
 It is, then, neither a mathematical, nor a deductive, nor an 
 experimental science. We can only aim to describe and 
 classify the facts, and to form some conception of their 
 cause. On these accounts many have been pleased to deny 
 that psychology is a science at all. They should rather say 
 that it is not a certain kind of science. A systematic ex- 
 position of a certain set of facts, and a theorizing on them 
 in accordance with their nature, constitute the science of 
 that set of facts. It is only the mentally one-eyed who 
 insist that all facts shall be treated by the same method, 
 regardless of differences of nature. 
 
 No one has immediate knowledge of any mental life but 
 his own. The mental life of all others is absolutely hidden 
 from our senses. Their thoughts and feelings are open to 
 no direct inspection. All we can see in connection with 
 others is sundry changes and movements of the organism ; 
 and all we know of their inner life is reached by analogical 
 inference, whereby we assimilate it to our own. Nor is it 
 easy to find physical marks which certainly denote intelli- 
 
O PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 gence. In the case of man, they consist chiefly in the 
 voluntary movements and in language. For the animals, 
 we have only the voluntary movements. In both cases, 
 the facts of reflex action often make it doubtful whether 
 what we call voluntary movements are really such ; 
 and in both cases, also, their interpretation must be 
 learned from within. It is plain, then, that the starting- 
 point of psychology must be the analysis of the individual 
 consciousness. Oversight of this patent fact has led to 
 the fancy that psychology ought to begin by studying the 
 mental phenomena of the lower animals. The inverted 
 nature of the procedure is apparent ; and the result is 
 anthropomorphism in biology. We first assimilate the 
 animal mind to the human mind; and then we are quite 
 ready to comprehend the latter as the outcome of the 
 former. 
 
 But, on the other hand, no complete knowledge of the 
 human mind can be gained by a study of the individual 
 consciousness alone. This consciousness itself is evoked 
 only under social conditions ; and the individual is never a 
 complete or perfect specimen of the race. To escape the 
 narrowness and one-sidedness of individualism we need to 
 go out into the open field of the world, — into life, and his- 
 tory, and literature. Only thus can we eliminate individual 
 variations from the type, and get some conception ot the 
 human mind in general, as distinct fron: its imperfect 
 specimens. 
 
 In beginning our study several roads open before us. 
 We might recite the various schemes of psychological 
 classification, and select some one as a guide for our fur- 
 ther study. Or we might observe that consciousness is a 
 condition of all mental operations, and begin with a general 
 discussion of the nature and conditions of consciousness. 
 We shall do better, however, to postpone these questions 
 and follow another order. We begin with a discussion of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 the subject of the mental life ; then we pass to the impres- 
 sions which that subject receives from without, and with 
 which the mental life begins ; and, finally, we consider the 
 complex action and reaction upon those impressions in 
 which the developed mental life consists. And first of all, 
 we discuss the subject and the factors of the mental life, 
 leaving their combination for later study. 
 
PART I. 
 
 THE FACTORS OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 
 
PART I. 
 
 THE FACTORS OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 
 
 In all mental experience the self appears as the subject 
 of the mental state ; and the state is referred to the self as 
 its subject. There is no such thing in experience as pure 
 feeling, or knowing, or willing, without a subject that feels, 
 or knows, or wills. Hence we may say that the simplest 
 mental fact is at least double, involving a mental state and 
 a subject of which it is a state. Thoughts and feelings 
 apart from something that thinks and feels are unreal 
 abstractions, like motion apart from something that moves. 
 "What is this something ? 
 
 In spontaneous thought and consciousness the mental 
 subject is siven as active and abiding ; and the race has 
 constructed various names for it, as mind, soul, spirit, and 
 their equivalents, to indicate its reality. The whole struc- 
 ture ot thought and language also implies it. This con- 
 ception of the mental subject we believe to be correct. It 
 is disputed, however, on two general grounds : — 
 
 1. All mental states do not involve a reference to self as 
 their subject. 
 
 2. The self, or mental subject, is only a compound pro- 
 duct of mental states, and hence is subsequent to its com- 
 ponents. 
 
 The first objection properly refers to the philosophy of 
 self-consciousness. It does not deny that the mental acts 
 
12 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 and states are really acts and states of a substantial mind. 
 It only questions whether they always contain a conscious 
 reference to self, or involve self-consciousness. We post- 
 pone its consideration, therefore, to a later chapter. 
 
 The second claim, so far as it differs from the first, 
 denies the existence of any substantial mind, and regards 
 the mind only as a collective term for the sum of mental 
 facts. As a rule, these mental facts are viewed as sensa- 
 tions, either simple or compounded. Thoughts and feelings 
 exist ; but there is properly nothing that thinks and feels. 
 
 To this claim the obvious objection is, that we know 
 nothing of mental states, sensational or otherwise, except 
 as affections of some mental subject which has them. 
 Moreover, we never can know of them apart from such 
 connection. Not in the case of others ; for mental facts 
 can never be seen from the outside. Not in our own case ; 
 for then they would be known as ours. There is strictly 
 nothing in experience to suggest that mental states can 
 exist by themselves like things ; on the contrary, expe- 
 rience declares that there must always be something which 
 has them. The opposite view is not based upon experience, 
 but is purely a deduction from a speculative theory. In 
 addition, thought breaks down in the attempt to construe 
 it. Mental states are first broken from the only con- 
 nection in which they have any meaning; and then are 
 mistaken for the ground of their own condition. 
 
 Again, allowing that they may exist apart from a sub- 
 ject, there is no way of accounting for the unity of the 
 mental life. Let a, 5, c, c?, e, etc. be a set of sensations 
 without any common subject, M; there is no way of unit- 
 ing them in a common consciousness. If coexistent, they 
 cannot be known as such ; for no one knows anything of 
 the others, each being only a particular sensation. For 
 the same reason, they cannot be known as sequent. If 
 they were the states of a common subject, M^ they might 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 13 
 
 be grasped in a common consciousness and compared as 
 coexistent or sequent, like or unlike ; but otherwise they 
 remain external to one another and without any possibility 
 of progress. 
 
 A concrete illustration may make this clearer. Let, 
 then, a, i, c, and d be respectively a sensation of color, of 
 odor, of taste, and of sound. Plainly no consciousness can 
 be built out of these elements. The color knows nothing 
 of the odor ; the taste knows nothing of the sound. Each 
 is a particular and isolated unit ; and must remain so until 
 some common subject, 31, is given, in the unity of whose 
 consciousness these elements may be united. For as long 
 as a, b, c, etc. are all, there is no common consciousness, 
 and hence no rational consciousness at all. We conclude, 
 then, that the mental life, both in its elements and in its 
 combinations, must have a subject. It is not only unintel- 
 ligible, it is impossible, without it. 
 
 Various devices exist for evading this conclusion. The 
 more uncritical use the language of spontaneous thought 
 without a suspicion of the inconsistency. The less un- 
 critical call their data mental states, states of conscious- 
 ness, etc. ; and, by an easy transformation, states of 
 consciousness become a consciousness of states. Affections 
 of consciousness also are largely spoken of, and conscious- 
 ness itself is proposed as a substitute for the soul. Thus 
 consciousness is hypostasized into something above its 
 alleged elements, and plays essentially the part of an active 
 and rational subject. How there can be states which are 
 states of nothing, and how consciousness, which is itself a 
 mental state, can also have states, are questions passed 
 over in profound silence. 
 
 It is instructive to note, in the writings of those who 
 reduce the self to states of consciousness, how the abiding 
 element maintains itself under some figure of speech. Thus 
 Hume, in the chapter on personal identity, while reducing 
 
14 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the mind, or self, to a set of dissolving views, also speaks 
 of the mind as the " theatre " in which all this takes place. 
 The reader kindly consents to play the " spectator " ; and 
 thus by means of two figures of speech a philosophical 
 doctrine is firmly established. A more common device is 
 to speak of the mind as a " series " ; and as we posit the 
 series as self-identical in our thought, there is plainly a 
 constant element, — the series itself. Or we are told of 
 " the property of consciousness to know itself as the same 
 in all the changes of its states." Here consciousness itself 
 appears as an abiding subject, which distinguishes itself 
 from its states and knows itself as the same. From such a 
 game of hide and seek, progress unspeakable cannot fail 
 to result. 
 
 The reasons for this procedure are various. There is 
 often a profound ignorance of the nature of mental facts. 
 More frequently there is a preconceived theory of what 
 mental facts must be ; and of course the facts must be 
 made to fit the theory. This is often the case when psy- 
 chology is approached from the physiological side. The 
 facts are distorted and falsified from the start, in order to 
 adjust them to a predestined explanation. That such a 
 method must lead to error, or nonsense, or both, is self- 
 evident. 
 
 This inverted procedure has been so common in psy- 
 chology, and has wrought so much mischief withal, that a 
 word or two of commonplace upon method in general may 
 be allowed. First, we are never permitted to make our 
 facts, but only to construe them. Yet in the face of this 
 simplest rule of method, a large part of psychological study 
 has been directed, not to explaining facts, but to explaining 
 them away. Second, facts must always be taken as they are 
 given, unless some reason be found in the facts themselves 
 for modifying our conception ; and in that case, also, the 
 facts as given must furnish the starting-point. In the 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 15 
 
 objective sciences this is well understood nowadays ; but 
 in psychology it still needs to be emphasized. The science 
 has been overrun and devastated by theorists, who had 
 already decided what the facts must be ; and by baptizing 
 their arbitrary dogmatism science, they have won not a 
 little glory. They have their reward. 
 
 To apply these considerations to the matter in hand. It 
 is plain, that, if the mental subject be given as real and 
 abiding, and as an integral element of consciousness, an 
 element without which a rational consciousness is demon- 
 strably impossible, then that subject is to be admitted as a 
 fact until some other facts are discovered which make such 
 admission impossible. The fact may be called metaphysi- 
 cal, or supersensible, or metempirical, or whatever else 
 we may think disagreeable ; nevertheless, we are bound in 
 good faith to recognize it as a fact. The mind as it is must 
 be the foundation of psychology, not the mind as we think 
 it ought to be, nor even the mind as the Zeitgeist has 
 decided it must be. 
 
 We have, then, a logical right to assume the reality of 
 the mind, and to proceed to study its phenomena upon this 
 assumption, with the proviso, of course, that, if any facts 
 are found which shall conflict with this assumption, we 
 shall modify it accordingly. However, the reality of the 
 mental subject is so stoutly disputed by materialism on the 
 basis of unquestionable facts, that we shall perhaps do 
 better to consider this claim somewhat at length before 
 going further. 
 
 By materialism is meant the doctrine that the mental 
 subject is nothing substantial, and that mental facts are 
 produced by the physical organism. This view rests upon 
 the fact that the mental life is plainly conditioned by the 
 organism, and that we know nothing of mind apart from a 
 body. The physical and the mental life appear together, 
 advance together, fail together, and disappear together. 
 
16 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 An exclusive acquaintance with such facts, unbalanced by 
 an exact knowledge of mental facts, leads very naturally to 
 the conclusion that the mental life is only a function of the 
 organism. The organism, in turn, is only a special mate- 
 rial aggregate. In ancient materialism the soul was re- 
 garded as real, but material; in modern times, materialism 
 has come to mean the denial of a substantial soul, and the 
 reference of all mental activities to the physical organism. 
 
 At first sight this doctrine appears perfectly clear, but in 
 fact it is rather confused. A common way of conceiving it 
 is based upon the conception of organs and their func- 
 tions. The function of the stomach is to digest ; that of the 
 glands is to secrete ; and that of the brain is to feel, think, 
 and will. For a long time a favorite formula was that the 
 brain secretes thought, as the liver secretes bile. Of course 
 the brain has other than mental functions ; but among its 
 various functions are those of thinking, feeling, and 
 willing. 
 
 Such attempts to express the doctrine only destroy its 
 tenability. They overlook the fact that the functions and 
 products of all other organs are physical and material. 
 Thus the secretory organs either eliminate their products 
 from the blood, or make them out of matter taken from the 
 blood. If now we are to regard thought as a secretion, it 
 would follow that thoughts either exist in the blood or are 
 made out of blood. In either case they might be collected 
 and looked at, just as we collect and look at bile. But 
 thought itself is immaterial. If we admit that its cause is 
 material, we have still to affirm that thought itself is noth- 
 ing material. 
 
 Again, it is said, with somewhat less of definiteness, that 
 the brain produces thought ; but the sense of this produc- 
 tion is left unclear. Now all production in the physical 
 realm consists, not in making something else, but in pro- 
 ducing new movements and groupings of matter. The 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 17 
 
 change of motion and the new grouping are the effect. If 
 now the production of thought is to be assimilated to physi- 
 cal production, we should have to say that a certain 
 material grouping is a thought. As n atoms grouped and 
 moving in a certain way do not produce, but are, a chemical 
 molecule, so m atoms grouped and moving in a peculiar 
 way do not produce, but are, a thought. As in the preced- 
 ing case, such thoughts might conceivably be collected and 
 looked at ; and essentially the same absurdity reappears. 
 
 Once more, thought has been called a movement of mat- 
 ter ; and, as motion is immaterial, this view seems less 
 gross than those preceding. But motion is always the 
 motion of something from one point to another, or along a 
 certain path, with a certain velocity. Hence this view must 
 read : The motion of M from A io B with velocity Fis a 
 thought, say a conception in physics or in political economy. 
 But the more clearly we conceive the subject the more im- 
 possible we find it to connect it with the predicate. As well 
 
 might we call the following line, , an aspiration, 
 
 or a profound reflection, or a flash of insight. 
 
 These attempts to illustrate the doctrine only serve to 
 make more clear the difference between physical and men- 
 tal facts. All that is left is the claim that in some obscure 
 way the mental life is the outcome of the physical organ- 
 ism. This doctrine we propose to examine. Throughout 
 the argument matter will be conceived as atomically dis- 
 crete, as that is the only conception admitted in physical 
 science. 
 
 Materialism rejects the reality of the mental subject as 
 apparently given in consciousness and as assumed by spon- 
 taneous thought, because the mental life is found to be pro- 
 foundly dependent upon the organism, and more especially 
 upon the brain and nervous system. But such dependence 
 is ambiguous, and may be explained by either of two 
 hypotheses : — 
 
 2 
 
18 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 1. We may suppose that the organism produces the men- 
 tal facts. This would explaiu the observed dependence. 
 
 2. We may suppose that the mind is distinct from the 
 organism, but is conditioned in its activities by the organ- 
 ism. This also would explain the observed dependence. 
 
 The decision between these views can be reached only by 
 studying all the facts of the mental life. If we find that 
 one better explains and expresses the facts than the other, 
 the decision must be in favor of that one. But before pro- 
 ceeding, it may be well to emphasize the ambiguity of the 
 facts in question. For the most decided spiritualist, the 
 body is the means for educing and inciting the mental life, 
 and for putting the mind in connection with the outer 
 world. Hence the mental state must be affected by the 
 physical. If the nerves be disordered, they can only lead 
 to disturbed mental action. An immature organism would 
 not furnish the mind with the stimulus for a mature mental 
 life. Again, as we know of other minds only through the 
 organism, it follows that the disappearance of the latter 
 would end all manifestation of the former. 
 
 It is the illogical imagination which finds in the facts of 
 mental dependence upon the organism a sure proof of 
 materialism. Common facts illustrative of the dependence 
 of the mind upon the body, such as the influence of stimu- 
 lants, the need of sleep, the depressing effect of familiar 
 diseases, etc., do not affect us. But uncommon facts, as 
 some occult discovery in brain physiology, or the influence 
 of some new drug, these have profound significance. Yet, 
 logically, the influence of a cup of coffee has as much sig- 
 nificance as the newest fact of the hospital or laboratory. 
 All alike are but specifications of the fact, known and con- 
 fessed by all, that the mind is conditioned by the nature and 
 state of the body. If these facts were all, the result would 
 be a drawn battle. But there are certain capital facts of the 
 mental life which make materialism an untenable theory. 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 19 
 
 The first great difficulty which materialism meets is the 
 complete uiilikcness of physical and mental facts. Body 
 has form, position, solidity. Thoughts and feelings have 
 none of these. The attributes of one cannot be ascribed 
 to the other without absurdity. If we pass below visible 
 body to the component elements, we come no nearer to 
 thought, so long as we retain only the conceptions of mat- 
 ter which appear in physical science. The phenomena of 
 matter as conceived by the physicist consist entirely in 
 asTirreiration and movement ; and the forces of matter are 
 without exception moving forces, that is, their effect con- 
 sists entirely in modifying the movement, position, and 
 aggregation of the elements. But it is a simple matter of 
 definition, that the elements, as thus conceived, will never 
 explain thought, unless we assume that a given grouping 
 is thought, which is absurd. All that our system provides 
 for us is aggregation and movement ; and no reflection on 
 changes of motion and grouping will ever bring us to a 
 point where we shall see that the next step must be a 
 thought or feeling, something wholly incommensurable 
 with either or both. We can conceive that such a system 
 of elements might be so connected with a mental subject 
 that their changes should be the ground for a thought or 
 feeling arising in that subject ; but otherwise we begin and 
 end with tlie elements variously grouped and moving. A 
 false conception of physical causation often misleads us 
 here. We fancy that the elements may cause something 
 apart from themselves, but in sound science all physical 
 effects consist in some change of physical states re- 
 sulting in some change of position, aggregation, and 
 movement. 
 
 An apparent exception to this view is found in the facts 
 of sound, light, etc. In these cases the elements produce 
 effects unlike themselves. The sound is unlike the instru- 
 ment ; the light is unlike the vibrating ether. 
 
20 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The exception is only apparent. The vibrating instru- 
 ment produces a vibrating atmosphere, which produces a 
 vibrating nerve. So long as we remain in the physical 
 realm, we have only movement, nor can any one pretend 
 that in this realm a vibration must at last be reached which 
 will have for its consequent, not a vibration, but a sound. 
 The same applies to light. The exception is based on an 
 ambiguity of the terms. The instrument does not produce 
 sound in the psychological sense, but only vibration. The 
 vibrating ether does not produce light in the visual sense, 
 but propagates vibrations. And as long as we remain in 
 the physical realm, with only physical conceptions, nothing 
 more is possible. 
 
 A second objection to this claim has been based on the 
 transformation of energy. This doctrine was supposed to 
 teach that all material forces may pass into one another, or 
 rather that there is but one force which manifests itself 
 under various forms. From this it was concluded that 
 physical energy may become mental energy, and conversely. 
 This was pure mistake. The forces of matter are neither 
 correlated nor transfoi'med. Each of these remains as dis- 
 tinct and separate as ever. The doctrine applies only to 
 the energies of matter, and these are nothing independent 
 of the elements, but only their power of doing work, that 
 is, their power to produce changes in material movements 
 and aggregates. In whatever form they appear, they have 
 this common quality, that they are expressed in some form 
 of movement or aggregation. 
 
 So long as we employ only those conceptions of matter 
 and force which suffice for physical science, it is strictly 
 impossible to bring thought within the chain of ])hysical 
 cause and effect. It rather remains outside of it and in- 
 commensurable with it. So much may be received as uni- 
 versally allowed. Matter as the movable explains only 
 motion and aggregation. But may it not be that we have 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 21 
 
 thought too meanly of matter ? If we allow that the phys- 
 ical properties of the elements will not explain the mental 
 life, why need we go outside of the elements for a special 
 ground ? Why not rather posit in the elements, along with 
 the physical properties, another set of mental properties, 
 different indeed from the others, yet belonging to the same 
 subject ? In certain relations matter manifests gravity ; 
 in certain others, affinity ; in still others, magnetism ; and 
 finally, in others it manifests vital and mental properties. 
 
 Traces of this view are found throughout speculation. 
 It first appears in the hylozoism of the Greeks, and may 
 be called hylozoistic materialism. Modern materialists 
 generally resort to it, and call for " new definitions of 
 matter." There are many differences of detail among 
 those who hold it, but all agree in assuming some mystic 
 principle in matter which is the ground of its vital and 
 mental manifestations. Some regard mentality as co- 
 existent with all materiality, and propose to endow every 
 atom with a kind of soul life, and to found even attraction 
 on a kind of sentiency. Others allow the mystic attribute 
 to play a part only in connection with the organism ; else- 
 where it has no significance. Some, as Hobbes, would 
 endow the elements with " actual sense and perception," 
 though lacking " the organs and memory of animals to 
 express their sensations." Others would attribute to them 
 only a confused sentiency, which in some peculiar way 
 develops under favorable conditions into our conscious 
 mental life. In fact, the theory has never been thought 
 out into definiteness, but has existed as a vague conception 
 of an indefinite possibility, upon which materialism might 
 draw whenever it got into speculative straits. There is 
 only the general conception that matter is more and better 
 than we have been used to thinking. It is a double-faced 
 substance, has an inner side, a subjective aspect, and is 
 essentially something mystic and transcendental. 
 
22 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 At first sight this view seems promising. It appears to 
 overcome the opposition between materiality and mentality, 
 at least to some extent. Instead of leaving them glaring 
 at each other across an impassable gulf, it unites them as 
 opposite manifestations of the same thing. But, first of all, 
 let us try to understand the doctrine. 
 
 It is clear, to begin with, that this view is a distinct 
 abandonment of the vulgar forms of materialism. There 
 is no possibility of deducing mental facts from any physical 
 facts and processes whatever. Matter, as we know it in 
 physical science, is forever inadequate to the explanation 
 of the lowest forms of sensation ; but matter, as we do not 
 know it, accounts for the mental life. Its physical proper- 
 ties explain only physics ; its mystical properties explain 
 life and mind. Moreover, it is as impossible to bring phys- 
 ical and mental facts into linear order on this view as it is 
 on the spiritual theory. Each set of facts remains external 
 to the other in both cases ; but in the former we seem to 
 secure a certain unity in our theory of things by attributing 
 these incommensurable properties to the same subjects, 
 instead of to two incommensurable classes of subjects, 
 mind and matter. 
 
 In order to make the doctrine perfectly clear in its mean- 
 ing, one or two other points have to be cleared up : 
 
 1. What are its relations to established physical science? 
 
 2. What is the relation of the physical and the mental 
 facts in this theory ? 
 
 As to the first point, physical science is built upon the 
 denial of the hylozoistic conception of matter. Hylozoism 
 for ages prevented the birth of physics, and a return to 
 hylozoism would be its death. Physical science is built 
 upon the sharp mechanical notions of inertia, momentum, 
 velocity, mass, energy, etc. By the mental travail of 
 centuries it has wrought these notions out ; and all 
 its successes have been due to them. Physics, there- 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. '23 
 
 fore, had rather let other reahns alone, than by annexing 
 them to destroy the clearness and sharpness of its own 
 conceptions. Where these conceptions apply, hylozoism 
 is excluded. 
 
 This point deserves attention, as materialism has won 
 considerable prestige from the mistaken fancy that it builds 
 upon physics as its chief corner stone. In fact, however, 
 the more faithful we are to physical conceptions, and the 
 more clearly we grasp them in thought, the plainer becomes 
 the impossibility of reaching the mental life. Physics 
 needs no new definitions of matter. Materialism insists 
 upon a new definition of matter. 
 
 The second point concerns the relation of physical and 
 mental facts. We may call the changes of position, group- 
 ing and movement, the physical series, and the changes of 
 thought, feeling, etc., the mental series. How does this 
 doctrine conceive their relation ? 
 
 This point has seldom been thought out. Several con- 
 ceptions are possible. 
 
 1. The two series may be conceived as mutually inde- 
 pendent, the physical series going along by itself, and the 
 mental series by itself. But in that case we should simply 
 have elements acting in two incommensurable ways, neither 
 of which would have any significance for the other. In 
 that case the mental series would be self-contained and 
 independent so far as the physical series is concerned. 
 Nothing that happens in the latter would be any ground 
 for the movements of the former. The outcome would be 
 idealism. 
 
 2. A rhetorical misunderstanding of the doctrine of cor- 
 relation and conservation of energy has led to another 
 view, in which both the physical and the mental series 
 are mutually convertible expressions of a common energy. 
 Why the one energy should have these antithetic forms ; 
 in what way one conditions the other ; whether one form 
 
24 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 might pass entirely into the other, so that all the energy 
 of the system might become mental energy ; whether phys- 
 ical energy disappears entirely from the physical system 
 and vanishes into the mental realm ; and whether there are 
 irruptions of mental energy into the physical system, so as 
 to produce a series of faults in both systems; — these are 
 questions to which there is no answer. But a rhetorical 
 misunderstanding calls for no elaborate criticism. 
 
 3. The desire to maintain the continuity and indepen- 
 dence of the physical series has led to another conception, 
 as follows. Each physical antecedent is expended in pro- 
 ducing its physical consequent, and each consequent is 
 fully explained by its antecedent. The physical series 
 goes along by itself, receiving no modifications from with- 
 out, and expending no energy except to produce new move- 
 ments and groupings of matter, which effects in turn 
 become causes, and produce other movements and group- 
 ings. The mental series is not caused by this series in a 
 physical sense, but only attends it as a shadow attends its 
 substance. Like a shadow, it costs nothing and determines 
 nothing. Life and history are pure automatism. Thought 
 attends nervous action, but does not affect it. Why it 
 should do so, we cannot tell. Why it should attend one 
 form of nervous action rather than another, is equally un- 
 known. We must either refer it to magic, or else affirm 
 some obscure harmony between specific forms of nervous 
 action and the thoughts which are said to attend as their 
 inner " face " or otherwise. In fact, those who have held this 
 view have never been careful to think out its applications. 
 Sometimes, in sheer forgetfulness, the mental series is called 
 an aspect or phenomenon of the physical series. We have 
 seen that the mental series is never phenomenal to any one 
 but its subject ; and where there is no subject there are no 
 " aspects " and no " phenomena." Suppose n atoms turn 
 in a left-hand spiral, love is an aspect of this fact. But for 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 25 
 
 whom ? For the atoms ? If so, for all or for each ? If 
 not for the atoms, for what or whom ? For the motion 
 itself, perhaps ! 
 
 4. In order to leave no unintelligibility untried, some 
 have claimed that the two scries are identical. The thing- 
 series considered subjectively is the thought-series ; and 
 the thought-series considered objectively is the thing-series. 
 So far as this is intelligible, it is absurd. The thing-series 
 is a set of moving molecules ; the thought-series is a group 
 of mental states. That one should cause the other, is an 
 intelligible proposition ; that one is the other, is meaning- 
 less. Moreover, this theory implies mind as the condition 
 of its own existence ; for the two ways of looking at the 
 same fact seem to be founded, not in the reality, but in the 
 mind which grasps it. How there can be two points of 
 view is an important question for this theory, but as yet it 
 has not been answered. 
 
 So far we have only sought to understand hylozoistic 
 materialism. We have now to show that no interaction of 
 a plurality of elements, no matter how mysterious or two- 
 sided they may be, can explain the mental life without 
 assuming a unitary subject of that life. The chief difficul- 
 ties are these : — 
 
 1. Thoughts and feelings demand a subject, and have no 
 meaning apart from it. Materialism, in alliance with sen- 
 sationalism, has generally falsified experience at the start, 
 by assuming that they may exist without a subject, and it 
 derives most of its probability therefrom. If it were clearly 
 seen that thoughts and feelings imply something that thinks 
 and feels, materialism would seldom begin. If the mate- 
 rialist saw that he must explain, not only the occurrence of 
 mental states, but also the existence of a mental subject, 
 his task would seem more formidable. But we have seen 
 that the mental subject is a precondition of the mental 
 state. What, then, thinks and feels in my thinking and 
 
26 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 feeling ? We cannot say that the brain does ; for (1.) while 
 the brain may pi-oduce the thought, there is no ground for 
 saying that it thinks the thought ; and (2.) in any case the 
 brain is an aggregate, and as such has its reality only in 
 the elements which compose it. Apart from these it is 
 nothing. Hence, to say that the brain thinks and feels, 
 can only mean that the component elements think and feel. 
 But which ? All, or some, or only one ? If only one, the 
 unity and reality of the mental subject is admitted. If all 
 or many think, what is the relation of their thoughts to 
 mine ? If they all think my complete thought, my thought 
 is not explained unless I identify myself with some one of 
 the elements ; and then all the reduplications of myself in 
 the other elements are superfluous. We may say that my 
 thoughts are not in the elements at all, but result from 
 their interaction as a function, or resultant, of the whole ; 
 but this view is untenable for the following reasons. 
 
 Suppose n elements, a, h, c, d, etc., endowed with sundry 
 mystic possibilities, and entering into a highly complex in- 
 teraction. As a consequence thereof, they may all enter 
 into the same inner state, m, or into a series of states, 
 m, n, 0, r, etc., different for each. These inner states, 
 owing to the mysterious double-facedness of the elements, 
 may be considered as of a mental nature. The only pos- 
 sible outcome of the elements' interaction is a modification 
 of their space-relations and the production of these inner 
 states. But each of these states is inseparable from its 
 own subject. There is no way whereby tn, w, o, r, etc. may 
 leave their respective subjects, and congregate in the void 
 to form a compound mental state which I call mine. Such 
 a notion would be like that of a series of motions which 
 should break loose from their subjects and compound them- 
 selves in the void to form a new motion which should be 
 the motion of nothing. Hence the mental states of the 
 elements must be subjective to the elements themselves, in 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 27 
 
 which case my mental states arc not explained unless 1 am 
 identified with some one of the elements. But I cannot 
 be identified with any element without thereby removing it 
 from the physical series ; for that element is known only 
 as having mental qualities, and is not known as having any 
 physical qualities whatever. Whereas, too, all the others 
 are in a state of constant change, that element is given as 
 fixed and abiding. But if my mental states are not sub- 
 jective to any one or all of the elements, then outside of 
 a, i, c, c?, etc. there must be another element, i¥, in such 
 interaction with a, b, c, d, etc. that they furnish it with the 
 condition of developing mental states within itself. That 
 M is myself. 
 
 2. A rational life by its very nature demands a unitary 
 consciousness and a unitary subject. For even admitting 
 that a series of states of consciousness is possible without a 
 subject, we have made no progress toward a rational life. 
 In that case, a, b, c, d, etc. are discrete units of feeling, and 
 can never constitute a single consciousness. We repeat 
 the argument already given. 
 
 Suppose a is a sensation of color, b one of sound, c is a 
 pain, d is an odor, etc. Each is an isolated existence, and 
 is unable to advance beyond itself. A consciousness com- 
 posed of such elements would be no consciousness at all. 
 These states of consciousness must in some way be turned 
 into a consciousness of states. But this latter conscious- 
 ness cannot be attributed to any member of the series 
 without violating the primary agreement, which was that 
 each member is only a particular mental state. If a, in 
 addition to being a state of consciousness, is conscious of 
 5, c, d, etc., and is able to discern their nature and rela- 
 tions, it has all the functions of mind attributed to it. Yet, 
 plainly, if there is to be a consciousness of coexistence or 
 of sequence, of likeness or unlikeness, of unity and plural- 
 ity, there must be a consciousness which, instead of being 
 
28 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 a state of consciousness, is a consciousness of states. But 
 this is not provided for by the coexistence and sequence of 
 the states, but only by some unitary subject, which, standing 
 over against the states, grasps them all in the unity of a 
 single apprehension. Before a, 5, e, d, etc. can become 
 elements of a rational life, M must be given. 
 
 3. Again, thought by its very nature must have a single 
 subject. To think is to compare, to distinguish, to unite. 
 But in order to any of these operations, one and the same 
 conscious subject must grasp in the unity of a single act 
 the things compared, distinguished, united. If J/ conceives 
 a, and iVconceives 6, no relation can be established between 
 a and h. The same M must grasp both a and h in one con- 
 sciousness before thought can begin. All reasoning has 
 the implication. Unless the same subject grasp both prem- 
 ises in a single conscious act, there can be no conclusion. 
 The same is true of the consciousness of plurality. The 
 knowledge of the many is possible only through the unity 
 of the one. Hence not merely the consciousness of self 
 as one reveals the unity of self, but much more does con- 
 sciousness of the many compel the same assumption. 
 
 4. The same conclusion is compelled by the facts of 
 memory. What remembers ? The spiritualist says, The 
 soul remembers ; it abides across the years and the flow 
 of the body, and gathering up its past carries it with it. 
 The materialist must explain the fact. We cannot say 
 that the brain remembers, for the same reason that we 
 cannot say that the brain thinks. The elements remember, 
 then, but how ? Those which had the experience are gone, 
 and yet the new-comers know all about it. The original 
 elements, a, 6, <?, c?, contributed nothing to Z, w, w, r, the 
 present elements ; and yet I, m, w, r, know what happened 
 to a, b, c, d. The materialist can only say that memory 
 depends on the form of nervous action, rather than on the 
 identity of the component elements. But in that case we 
 
THK SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 29 
 
 are left without any subject for the memory, and memory 
 loses all relations to time. An organism made at first liand 
 from the inorganic would have just the same mental life 
 as another of the same structure which might have livcnl in 
 the past. The former would have the same memories, 
 beliefs, doubts, and expectations as the latter, and would 
 be equally at home in every relation. But in that case 
 memory would only be a present outcome of a special form 
 of nervous action, and would lose all reference to time. 
 And with all this heroic treatment, the facts would still be 
 unmet. Reasoning similar to that already employed would 
 show that memory demands a unitary mental subject. 
 Memory involves a consciousness of temporal relations 
 between certain elements of experience ; and this con- 
 sciousness falls asunder without the unity and identity 
 of the subject. 
 
 Materialism in its hylozoistic form succeeds no better 
 than in its vulgar form in explaining the facts of the men- 
 tal life. There are certain great capital mental facts which 
 cannot be explained as the outcome of any aggregate of 
 physical elements, no matter how mysterious, as long as a 
 special mental subject is denied. Hylozoism merely con- 
 fuses two realms, and loses the advantages of both. On the 
 one hand, it offers a conception of matter from which physi- 
 cal science has steadily grown away, and which absolutely 
 nothing in experience justifies. On the other hand, it can 
 make no use of the assumed mystic properties in explaining 
 our mental life. They would be mischievous in physics if 
 allowed to influence our conceptions ; and they are abso- 
 lutely worthless in psychology. They must be ruled out, 
 therefore, from both sciences. 
 
 Materialism fails to explain the simplest facts of con- 
 sciousness. On the other hand, spiritualism fits into the 
 facts so well that to spontaneous thought it seems to be a 
 direct utterance of consciousness itself. In addition to the 
 
30 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 previous considerations, certain implications of materialism 
 are to be considered ; first, in its bearing on action, and 
 second, in its bearing on our trust in knowledge. If these 
 prove absurd or inadmissible, then the theory is doubly 
 untenable. 
 
 First, as to the bearing of materialism on action. For 
 materialism the organism is all, and all physical movements 
 are physically determined. These movements are accom- 
 panied by thoughts and feelings, but the latter are never 
 causal. They are the mental equivalent, or representative, 
 of the physical process, but all reality and ground of move- 
 ment are in the physical series. A volition, for example, 
 does not determine action, but is rather only the symbol in 
 consciousness of the physical process which underlies both 
 the symbol and the appropriate action. The symbol counts 
 for nothing in the dynamic sequence of events, but stands 
 apart from the chain of cause and effect as a shadowy 
 attendant, costing and causing nothing. 
 
 It is plain that this is the extreme of automatism. The 
 common thought is, that in the movements of history, the 
 foundation of states, the founding of families, the activities 
 of invention, commerce, literature, etc., the human mind 
 has manifested itself as controlling. But on the theory in 
 question, all this vast activity has taken place without any 
 intervention of thought whatever. Thought may have at^ 
 tended the process, though even that becomes doubtful, as 
 the only reason for affirming thought in another person is 
 the conviction that his activities need thought for their ex- 
 planation ; but in any case thought has added nothing. 
 The elements which produced the process knew nothing of 
 it, nor of the thoughts they are supposed to have produced. 
 The presence of the thoughts, instead of being a help, was 
 rather a hindrance, as they represent so much extra work. 
 To take a single illustration, the Prineipia of Newton, 
 and La Meca7iique Celeste of Laplace, were not the out- 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. Jl 
 
 come of any thought whatever, but of a series of physical 
 processes in two organisms, called, for distinction's sake, 
 Newton and Laplace. There was a highly complex series 
 ot nervous and muscular processes in happy and profound 
 adjustment to the environment, and the outcome was that 
 propositions and scholia and corollaries were written down 
 in the most astonishing profusion, the whole being illus- 
 trated by diagrams, and founded on, or explained in, the 
 most extraordinary series of equations. These are all 
 bound together so as to form a chain of reasoning of the 
 most cogent kind, and to express a series of the profoundest 
 conceptions of physical astronomy. Yet the nerves which 
 did all this knew nothing of the solar system, or of mathe- 
 matics, or of themselves, or of what they were doing, or of 
 the problem at which they were working, or of the attend- 
 ant thoughts which they were producing. These thoughts, 
 indeed, which on the common theory are the ground of the 
 entire process, and its only possible explanation, are on the 
 present theory only so much extra work, and hence are an 
 embarrassment rather than a help or guide. This might 
 be called an extreme proposition. 
 
 The bearings of materialism on knowledge are next to 
 be considered. The following points are to be noted. 
 
 1. Suppose matter can think, it does not follow that it 
 must think rightly. Its thoughts might well be of the 
 nature of fancies or dreams, which, while mental states, 
 nevertheless represent no facts of reality. But, remem- 
 bering that the physical series is known only through the 
 thought-series, it is plain that materialism must not only 
 provide for a thought-series in general, but for one parallel 
 to the nature of reality. Otherwise knowledge has no 
 validity, and the foundations of materialism vanish. 
 
 2. At first sight this seems easy. Since thought is the 
 inner face of the physical process, we may suppose that 
 the inside must correspond to the outside, like the con- 
 
32 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 cavity and convexity of a curve. But, to get any help from 
 this view, we must suppose that the thing known is that 
 part of the physical process which lies over against the 
 thought, or which produces it. But this is never the case, 
 for then our thought would be a repetition of the nerve 
 processes, whereas it never reports these directly, but 
 reports rather facts and processes existing or going on 
 outside of the organism entirely, such as the facts of 
 physical nature, the thoughts and feelings of others, etc. 
 Oddly enough, thought never grasps except indirectly the 
 organic processes on which it is assumed to depend, or of 
 which it is said to be the inner face. Whence, then, the 
 parallelism of the thoughts arising within the organism 
 with the system of nature, which is independent of the 
 organism ? Either we must abandon knowledge to scepti- 
 cism, or we must assume that matter by its nature is shut 
 up to right thinking. Thus we come to affirm an opaque 
 harmony between matter and thought. 
 
 Some have sought to escape this admission by appealing 
 to natural selection. According to them wrong thinking 
 must lead to collision with reality, and thus to destruction. 
 Right thinking, again, will lead to survival, and by he- 
 redity will be transmitted. Hence, in the course of time, 
 natural selection will kill off all false thinking, and will 
 adjust the human mind to reality, yet without assuming 
 any original harmony between thought and thing. 
 
 3. This appeal is inconsistent on the part of the mate- 
 rialist for several reasons. 
 
 a. It contradicts the asserted powerlessness of thought. 
 If thought attends, without affecting, the organism, its 
 adjustment or misadjustment is equally insignificant for 
 survival. Organisms survive because of their physical ad- 
 justments to the system, and not because of mental adjust- 
 ment. They perish also because of physical misadjustment, 
 not because of mental misadjustment. Hence natural 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 33 
 
 selection can never come into play to secure mental adjust- 
 ment. It can only secure physical adjustment, but there 
 is nothing in the idea of such adjustment which implies 
 that thoughts must be parallel to facts. 
 
 h. Allowing that natural selection can act, the principle 
 is too narrow in its range to make it of any use as a crite- 
 rion of thouglit in general. Plainly it could do nothing 
 except in case of truth related to physical survival, whereas 
 most truth has no such relation. The bulk of theory and 
 speculation has such scanty reference to survival, that 
 some other foundation must be sought ; and for the mate- 
 rialist there is none but the assumed harmony between 
 thought and fact in the nature of matter. 
 
 c. Again, if the theory be allowed as a determining prin- 
 ciple of belief, materialism is ruled out forthwith. For in 
 that case wide-spread and enduring beliefs are the only 
 ones which have any credibility. Beliefs contemporane- 
 ous with man, or at least with civilization, catholic beliefs 
 which have developed and established themselves through 
 the ages, have absolute right of way, compared with local, 
 sectarian, upstart beliefs. The former represent the sift- 
 ing action of many centuries, and have the fullest bene- 
 diction of natural selection. But natural selection has not 
 dealt hitherto in materialistic beliefs. The proportion of 
 materialists to spiritualists is probably less than that of 
 idiots to persons of sound mind. Hence, as materialists, 
 we must be careful how we appeal to natural selection, for 
 thus far it has gone dead against us. 
 
 d. If it be said that the principle has not yet had time 
 to work, it can be shown that its future direction will be 
 the same as in the past. There can be no doubt that 
 materialism is a depressing belief compared with spiritual- 
 ism. The welfare both of the individual and of society 
 demands sacrifice, self-control, and high endeavor ; but 
 these are born only of high conception and lofty hopes. 
 
 3 
 
S4 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Materialism furnishes depressing views of man, — of his 
 nature, possibilities, and destiny ; and hence, in the long 
 run, under the influence of natural selection, it would have 
 to yield to the more hopeful and inspiring view. Plainly 
 natural selection is a dangerous ally for the materialists. 
 
 We are, then, shut up to affirm that matter by its nature 
 is determined to right thoughts. But here the fact appears 
 that most beliefs produced by matter are by hypothesis 
 false. Since matter is the sole source of knowledge and of 
 mental states, it is to blame for all superstitions, theology, 
 philosophy, etc., as well as for the truths of materialism. 
 Matter has founded the spiritual school of philosophy, as 
 well as the materialistic school ; indeed, thus far it has 
 favored almost exclusively anti-materialistic beliefs. Now, 
 since for one sound belief matter has produced a myriad un- 
 sound and grotesque ones, when shall we believe it ? These 
 false beliefs cannot be attributed to bad training, the con- 
 tagion of example, the influence of superstition, because 
 none of these things seem able to influence matter, and, if 
 they exist, matter itself is responsible for them. 
 
 The most natural conclusion under these circumstances 
 would be, that all belief is untrustworthy. That which has 
 such an irresistible tendency towards error, superstition, 
 and falsehood as matter has, must surely be untrustworthy 
 in all its deliverances. But allowing that some truth ex- 
 ists, we must have a standard whereby we may disengage 
 it from this tangle of error. We shall find it liard to dis- 
 cover a standard which will enable us to save knowledge 
 and materialism at the same time. 
 
 1. The test of truth in this system is not necessity; for 
 truth and error alike are brought forth with equal necessity 
 by the nervous processes. 
 
 2. It is not reason ; for reason is no self-centred, self- 
 verifying faculty, but only a shifting of mental states as 
 determined by the mechanics of the nervous system. 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. 35 
 
 3. It is uot the majority ; for the majority is anti- 
 materiaHstic. 
 
 4. "We get no help from assuming it to be found in the 
 normal brain ; for then we need a test for the normal brain. 
 It clearly is not the majority brain ; for this is anti-material- 
 istic. Inquiry would show that the normal brain is the ma- 
 terialist's brain, and is known to be normal by hypothesis. 
 
 5. The standard of truth is not success or practical util- 
 ity. Materialism is a depressing and paralyzing doctrine. 
 
 6. In fact, materialism has no standard of truth. Indeed, 
 the distinction of truth and error cannot exist for it. 
 Since physical processes are all, we might as well talk of 
 true or false bile, or true or false blood, as to speak of 
 true or false ideas. Ideas are the inside of nervous pro- 
 cesses, and their coming and going are not determined by 
 their logical truth or falsehood, but by the dynamic rela- 
 tions of the corresponding nervous states. But the ideaa 
 of physical strength and weakness are incommensurable 
 with the logical ideas of truth and error. If materialism 
 be true, reason is exploded. Instead of being the highest 
 science and philosophy, it is rather the death of both. 
 
 "We conclude, then, that materialism is untenable, for 
 two leading reasons. It fails to explain even the simplest 
 mental fact ; and its implications are suicidal. To sup- 
 port itself it is forced to affirm qualities in the elements 
 of which physics knows nothing, and when it has con- 
 structed its " new definition of matter," it stands absolutely 
 helpless before the simplest fact of our rational life. It is 
 further compelled to turn men into automata, and to af- 
 firm that all human affairs and activities are carried on 
 by agents which know nothing of themselves, or of one 
 another, or of the laws according to which they work, or 
 of the effects they produce. Having thus denied all the 
 truths by which men and nations live, materialism is finally 
 compelled to deny truth, and to drag reason itself down into 
 
36 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 utter scepticism. Refusing to surrender, it ends the siege 
 by blowing up the citadel, leaving only mental chaos 
 behind it. 
 
 We began the discussion of materialism by pointing out 
 that the facts upon which it rests are ambiguous. We may 
 suppose that the organism produces the mental facts, or 
 that it simply conditions the activities of something other 
 than itself. A further study of mental facts, however, 
 convinces us that the former supposition is untenable, and 
 shuts us up to the latter. Hence we view man as we find 
 him, as a dual being, body and soul. By the mind we mean 
 the soul in its intellectual activities. The true man is the 
 soul, but the soul is connected with an organism which 
 conditions the mental life. The body, however, though 
 other than the soul, has still the profoundest significance 
 for the soul in all its activities. It is an instrument for 
 eliciting and guiding the mental development, and for put- 
 ting the soul into relation with the world of things. This 
 conclusion, moreover, does not rest upon our ignorance of 
 brain physiology, so that advancing knowledge may at any 
 time displace it. It rests rather upon the essential nature 
 of consciousness, and the insight that the unity of con- 
 sciousness can never result from the interaction of any 
 plurality of things. Whatever progress brain-physiology 
 may make, it will never bring us one step nearer to mate- 
 rialism ; and all the discoveries in this realm will have to 
 be interpreted in accordance with this fact. 
 
 This view of course does not explain all difficulties, nor 
 answer all questions ; for example, it does not explain how 
 body and soul interact, nor the form of their interaction. 
 It does not explain the nature nor the extent of the soul's 
 dependence on the body. It docs not tell what physical 
 facts are connected with given mental facts, nor even why 
 there should be any connection. It does not explain the 
 mental effects of opium, or alcohol, or disturbances of the 
 
THE SUBJECT OF THE MENTAL LIFE. BT 
 
 brain. It does not explain the physical effect of joy, or 
 fear, or depression. So far as these problems can be 
 solved, it must be by experience. Some of them admit 
 of no solution. Experience may reveal that certain facts 
 in the physical series are accompanied by certain facts in 
 the mental series, and conversely ; but the ground of their 
 connection will always remain a mystery. Physiology, psy- 
 chology, and pathology, working together, have the task of 
 finding the actual relations of the two series ; but before this 
 can be done, the two scries must be separately studied by 
 the methods proper to each. No peering even into the liv- 
 ing brain would give the least suspicion of the mental series 
 attending it. Conversely, no inspection of consciousness 
 can reveal the physical facts by which it is conditioned. 
 In this way, by keeping separate things separate, we may 
 hope to learn something of the psychical significance of the 
 body, and of the physical significance of the mind. But if 
 the two series were fully known, and were even found to 
 run parallel throughout their entire length, we should still 
 have simply a coincidence to be accepted, not a connection 
 to be understood. 
 
 But while this view does not remove all difficulties, it 
 does relieve some. It enables us to use the language of 
 spontaneous thought without constant inconsistency. It 
 frees us from the need of talking of feelings which be- 
 ioiig to no one, and of mental states which are states of 
 nothing. It also removes the necessity of hypostasizing 
 consciousness into a fictitious mental subject in order to 
 escape admitting a real one. It makes it unnecessary to 
 repudiate all the utterances of our spontaneous conscious- 
 ness. Finally, it saves us from the somewhat tedious 
 superficialities and drolleries of materialism, — a service 
 by no means to be undervalued. Such arc its negative 
 advantages. Positively, it provides for the unity and con- 
 tinuity of the mental life ; and it agrees so well with our 
 
38 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 spontaneous consciousness, that it almost seems like an 
 immediate deliverance of the same. Finally, by displacing 
 the manikin conception of humanity, it provides for some 
 consistent recognition of the ideals and practical principles 
 by which both men and nations live. The dreary folly of 
 laboriously building up speculative theories, which every 
 hour we practically deny, may seem very brilliant for a 
 wihiie, but it grows tiresome at last. 
 
SENSATION. 39 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SENSATION. 
 
 By sensation we mean that peculiar affection of the 
 scnsihiUty which is referred to some extra-mental cause. 
 In this respect, sensation differs from emotion ; for the 
 latter, while a state of the sensibility, arises from the 
 nature of our mental states themselves, and is not referred 
 directly to any external cause. Tliere is no need to inquire 
 whether this objective reference be objectively valid ; for 
 in any case it is actually made, and serves as a mark of 
 distinction. 
 
 In our mature life, sensations have a double reference. 
 (1.) They are referred to the self as their subject, and 
 (2.) they are referred to extra-mental objects, either as 
 their qualities or as caused by them. In the latter refer- 
 ence, sensation passes into perception. Thus the sensa- 
 tion of light seems not so much a subjective state as the 
 perception of an objective quality. Our present study deals 
 with sensations only as subjective states. 
 
 Of the conditions of sensation nothing can be said 
 apriori. A certain nervous cliange is attended with a 
 sensation of light, another with that of sound, another 
 with pain, etc. But why they should be attended with 
 certain sensations and not with others, no one knows. 
 Or why they should be attended with sensation at all, 
 while others are not, is equally unknown. Or why sensa- 
 tion should result only from movements in the organism, 
 and not from extra-organic movements, is likewise myste- 
 rious. The doctrine of the clairvoyants, who claim to see 
 by some direct gaze of the soul, and without mediation of 
 
40 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the organs of sense, is in itself no more mysterious than 
 the actual order of experience. Apriori, one order is as 
 possible as another. The actual order must be learned 
 from experience. 
 
 The actual conditions of sensation are found in some 
 form of nervous change. The causes of this change are . 
 often external to the organism ; often they are within the 
 organism, and sometimes they are in the mind itself. Cor- 
 responding thereto, we have respectively the extra-organic 
 or objective sensations, the organic, and the subjective 
 sensations. 
 
 Supposing the end of a nerve disturbed in any way, this 
 disturbance must be propagated to the brain. What hap- 
 pens in the nerve is purely a matter of speculation. A 
 thoughtless form of speech often regards the nerves as 
 carrying the sensation to the mind, but a moment's reflec- 
 tion reveals the absurdity. Sensations are not things 
 which can be handed along from one atom to another, as 
 a letter is passed from hand to hand, and hence, if the 
 nerves were full of sensations, they would not explain mine. 
 In accordance with our general views of matter, we regard 
 the nerves as a molecular complex ; and hence we must 
 hold that molecular movement is the essential phenomenon 
 of nervous action. At all events, it is found that some- 
 thing takes place in the nerve, and that this is propagated 
 through the nerve at a rate of from one hundred to three 
 hundred feet a second. It is further found, that no sensa- 
 tion results if the nerve-line be not continued unbroken to 
 the central organ. When this is the case, and the nervous 
 affection is propagated to the brain, there results a fact of 
 a new order, a conscious sensation. This is purely a mental 
 state. It is not contributed to the mind by the nerves ; and 
 the nerves tlicmselves do not feel. Sensation is a mental 
 reaction against nervous action. 
 
 This fact is inexnlicable on any theory. No materialist 
 
iUL. 
 
 SENSATION. ■?! " 
 
 would claim that any analysis of ether- or air-waves, or of 
 a vibrating nerve, would ever lead us to the point where 
 we should see a sensation emerging as its necessary con- 
 sequence. He would be compelled to accept the fact as a 
 mystery. On the other hand, no spiritualist would claim 
 to know why a given form of nervous action should be 
 attended by one form, and intensity, of sensation, rather 
 than another. There is nothing in the cause to suggest 
 the effect ; and, conversely, nothing in the effect to suggest 
 the cause. Just as no reflection on a vibrating nerve gives 
 sensation as its efl'ect, so no reflection on the sensation 
 reveals a vibrating nerve as its cause. All but the circle- 
 squaring type of minds have abandoned the attempt to tell 
 how, or why, nervous action is followed by sensation ; or 
 why one form of nervous action is followed by one form 
 of sensation, and another form by another. All study in 
 this direction is lost, and indicates utter inability to deal 
 with the problem in general. The two orders are con- 
 nected in fact ; but there is nothing difficult in the notion 
 that the mental series should be connected with a totally 
 different physical series, either in other animals or in other 
 spheres of being. 
 
 Thus far we have considered the conditions of sensation 
 only in the most general way. In their further study we 
 begin with the nervous excitant or stimulus. 
 
 This is different for different nerves. Speaking broadly, 
 we may say that the normal excitant for the optic nerve is 
 light ; for the ear, sound ; for the touch, contact and a cer- 
 tain measure of resistance ; for the sense of temperature, 
 heat ; and for the senses of taste and smell, certain chem- 
 ical changes in the corresponding nerves. In most of these 
 cases, however, the action of the excitant is more complex 
 than was formerly thought. The structure of the eye is 
 such as to allow only ether-vibration to reach the optic 
 nerve, but the simple falling of light upon the nerve does 
 
42 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 not produce the sensation of light. Both the optic nerves 
 and fibres are insensible to light, as appears from the 
 so-called blind spot and the Purkinjc figures. Behind the 
 optic fibres is the region of the rods and cones, and the vis- 
 ual purple ; and here it is that the sensibility to light is 
 found. It has been suggested that photo-chemical changes 
 in this region are the true stimuli. In the case of the 
 ear, sound is the external stimulus ; but the auditory- 
 mechanism is extremely complex, and the functions of 
 its several parts are unknown. How auditory impulses 
 are generated in the organ of Corti is as mysterious, as 
 how visual impulses are generated in the region of the 
 rods and cones of the eye. Sensations of temperature are 
 due to changes of heat ; but the heat, instead of acting 
 directly upon the nerve, may produce its effect by various 
 modifications of the surrounding physical structure. The 
 skin and tongue, likewise, have curious structures, whose 
 function may be to give the external excitant a form 
 adapted to the nerve. It has been supposed that sensa- 
 tions of touch are due to one set of terminal organs in the 
 skin, and sensations of temperature to another ; but how 
 the different stimuli act upon these organs is unknown. 
 Smell, too, is due to contact of odorous particles with the 
 olfactory membrane, but it seems necessary that the sub- 
 stance be in a gaseous form. When the nostril is filled 
 with rose-water, no odor is perceived ; though this might 
 well be due to a temporary paralysis of the nerve, as filling 
 the nose with water suffices to suspend smell for a time. 
 There remains, therefore, a great deal that is mysterious 
 in the action of the external stimulus upon the nerves. 
 In the case of the organic sensations, nothing is known of 
 the form and mode of action of the stimulus. A certain 
 state of the muscles, or viscera, or the nerves themselves, 
 becomes a ground of sensation, but why, or how, is 
 unknown. 
 
SENSATION. 43 
 
 For objective sensations the excitant is generally peculiar 
 for each class; for light, ether-waves; for sound, air-waves; 
 for taste, chemical action, etc. But it appears that any 
 agent which affects the special nerves may produce the 
 appropriate sensations. Thus a blow on the head, or 
 pressure of the eyeball, may produce the sensation of 
 light ; a blow also may produce a ringing in the ears ; 
 while electricity serves to excite all the senses. From 
 such facts the conclusion has been drawn that a given 
 class of sensations may be produced by various stimuli. 
 But the facts are not absolutely unambiguous. We do not 
 know what constitutes an adequate stimulus in any case ; 
 and we do not know what modifications the external stimu- 
 lus undergoes before the final effect is produced. It may 
 be, then, that a given class of sensations has only one 
 adequate stimulus, and that, in the cases referred to, this 
 adequate stimulus is produced in an unwonted manner. 
 The pressure of the eyeball might cause a sensation of 
 light, by setting the ether in the eye in vibration. Elec- 
 tricity might work equally indirectly ; producing in the 
 nerves those changes which are the proximate stimuli of 
 their appropriate functions. It is at least conceivable 
 that given sensory impulses are aroused only by stimuli 
 of a special character, and that the action of irregular 
 stimuli consists in producing the adequate stimulus in an 
 extraordinary manner. The point admits of no positive 
 decision. 
 
 Sensations differ in quality to such a degree as to fall 
 into completely incommensurable classes. The sensations 
 of sound, light, pressure, odor, warmth, etc., have nothing 
 whatever in common, except that they are all affections of 
 the sensibility. There is no possibility of regarding them 
 as multiples of a common unit. But for the differences of 
 effects there must be some difference in the cause. We 
 may seek for this difference, (1.) in the external stimuli, 
 
44 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 (2.) in some specific energy of the nerves, and (3.) in the 
 form of nervous action. 
 
 1. The external stimulus falls into different classes, as 
 air- and ether-waves, mechanical pressure, and chemical 
 action ; but this difference of stimulus becomes significant 
 only as it produces difference of nervous action. It is, 
 however, far from plain that the peculiarities of the stimu- 
 lus pass over into the nervous action, so as to found the 
 absolute difference of sensations ; e. g., the enormous differ- 
 ence of velocity between waves of light and those of sound 
 disappears from the wave of molecular movement trans- 
 mitted along the nerves. 
 
 2. The most natural supposition would be, that each 
 nerve has some specific peculiarity, whereby it becomes 
 the sufficient ground of the corresponding sensation. If 
 such a difference were admitted, a reason would be given 
 for the difference of sensations, and for the fact that a 
 given nerve seems to respond to all stimuli only with 
 its appropriate sensation. Of course, the simple fact that 
 a certain nerve is the auditory nerve would contain no 
 explanation of auditory sensations; there must be some 
 difference of structure to found its specific qualities. For 
 a long time this view was held, under the name of the 
 specific energy of the nerves. However, anatomy reveals 
 no difference of nerve structure on which to base the dif- 
 ference of function, and hence the doctrine has been largely 
 abandoned, or at least greatly limited. The essential ele- 
 ments of all nerves, motory and sensory alike, seem to be 
 the same ; and now it is sought to account for the differ- 
 ence of function by difference of connection. In that case, 
 the nerves would be like the wires of an electric battery, 
 which do various kinds of work according to their con- 
 nections at either end, and not according to any specific 
 difference of structure in the wires themselves. Connected 
 with a telephone, they send out one set of signals ; con- 
 
SKNSATION. 45 
 
 nected with a Morse instrument, they send quite another. 
 Again, the effect of a current will vary also with the 
 connections at the other end, producing ticking, articu- 
 lations, incandescence, explosion, etc., according to the 
 circumstances. 
 
 3. On this view, we must have the ground of the peculiar 
 action of special nerves at one end or the other, or at both. 
 In the case of the special senses we find a series of peculiar 
 mechanisms for the reception and working over of external 
 stimuli, and these seem fitted to give the action a peculiar 
 form, which might serve as the ground of the sensational 
 difference. Opposed to this is the fact that the optic nerve, 
 if affected anywhere along its length, responds with a sen- 
 sation of light. This would point to some peculiarity 
 either of the nerve itself, or of its terminal structure or 
 connection. The former view having been abandoned, we 
 have only the latter left. And anatomy does reveal many 
 peculiar structures in the brain ; and we might suppose that 
 the nervous action, whatever its form, may receive here a 
 new and final transformation, which first fits it to be the 
 ground of sensation. We should in that case maintain the 
 doctrine of a specific energy, not, indeed, of the nervous 
 fibres, but of the central organ. But this view also has its 
 difficulties. (1.) It ought to be possible to furnish persons 
 born blind or deaf the sensations of light or sound, provided 
 the trouble is due to some imperfection of the external 
 organs ; but this does not seem to be the case. (2.) The 
 view would demand an absolute constancy of function which 
 does not exist. Many facts are reported which point to 
 a vicarious action of the nerves, so that a given nervous 
 tract can take upon itself the labors of another area upon 
 occasion. 
 
 On all these accounts, the tendency in physiology is 
 toward the following view. The sensory nerves (omitting 
 all reference to the motor nerves) have primarily no differ- 
 
46 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ence of function ; and the ground of their actual difference 
 lies originally in their peripheral endings and the stimuli 
 to which they give access to the nerves. These endings, 
 however, give the nervous action a certain form ; and, as 
 they condition nearly all the stimuli which reach the nerves, 
 a given nerve is confined almost exclusively to one form of 
 nervous action. Hence the nerve gradually adjusts itself 
 to that form, and when disturbed at any point, or by any 
 cause, it tends to take on that form, just as the wood of a 
 violin tends to adjust itself to harmonious vibrations, and 
 becomes more effective thereby. In this way a kind of 
 acquired specific energy would arise, whereby, within cer- 
 tain limits, a given nerve would remain faithful to its ac- 
 quired modes of action. In this way we should explain 
 the fact that sensations of light and sound remain possible 
 long after the destruction of the external organs. But 
 while the tendency is toward this view, it cannot be re- 
 garded as universally accepted. It is still held by many, 
 that certain fibres in the ear are sensitive only to certain 
 tones, like the strings of an instrument, and that different 
 sets of visual fibres correspond to the three colors green, 
 red, and violet. The other colors are supposed to arise from 
 the varying activities of these fibres. Others agree in af- 
 firming differences of function in the optical fibres, but dif- 
 fer in their conception of the basal colors. It is not always 
 easy, however, to see how these views serve the purpose of 
 their invention. The facts of color-blindness would find 
 an easy explanation in them; but it is not clear how blue or 
 yellow is to arise from a simultaneous excitation of the 
 fibres which produce green, red, and violet. 
 
 It is plain from the foregoing, that concerning the par- 
 ticular form of the nervous action nothing can be known. 
 To what extent the original vibration of the ether is modified 
 in the retina, and in its passage through the central organs 
 of vision, is beyond all suspicion. Our current physical 
 
SENSATION. 47 
 
 science, however, leaves us no choice but to regard the 
 action as some form of movement ; and as vibrations are 
 always fashionable, we may view it as a species of vibration. 
 We might in that case assume that the difference of sensa- 
 tions depends upon the difference in these vibrations. Tiiey 
 might be conceived as longitudinal, or transverse, or as 
 moving in closed orbits and with different velocities. Leav- 
 ing such fancies to themselves, we may point out that sim- 
 ple movements of matter, of whatever sort, can never be a 
 sufficient ground of sensation. Such movements are simply 
 a passage of one or more elements from one point to an- 
 other ; and there is no way of connecting them with mental 
 changes except by supposing that there is a deeper dynamic 
 relation which is the real ground of the sensation. Indeed, 
 metaphysics convinces us that, even in the physical world, 
 the spatial system of changes among things is really only 
 the visible translation of a metaphysical system of inter- 
 action in things. Things do not act on one another because 
 they move, but they move because they act on one another. 
 It is not the fact that the nerve molecules vibrate which fits 
 them to the ground of sensation, but the fact that they are 
 in dynamic relations with the soul. The sensations, there- 
 fore, are not to be referred to the vibrations, but rather to 
 that internal energy of which the vibration is the spatial 
 expression. But since the relation between the inner en- 
 ergy and the spatial expression is regarded as constant, we 
 may take the latter as the equivalent of the former, and 
 continue to speak of vibrations as the ground of sensation. 
 This conception of nervous action implies that all ante- 
 cedents of sensation can be conceived as phases of a com- 
 mon process, so that by varying the common factors we 
 might pass through the entire series. By modifying ve- 
 locity and direction any form of vibration might be made 
 to pass into any other whatever. In that case, all sensory 
 impulses might be arranged on a scale like the colors of 
 
48 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the spectrum or the notes of music. But such an order 
 would lead us to expect a corresponding community in the 
 members of the sensational series and the possibility of 
 arranging our sensations on a common scale. Such a fact, 
 however, does not exist. It is not always easy to find a 
 common element in the sensations of the same nerve, e. g. 
 the optic nerve ; and it is impossible to find any common 
 feature in the data of the different senses, or any possibility 
 of passing from one to the other by intermediate gradations. 
 Such a possibility may exist on the physical side, but it 
 does not exist on the mental side. In a later paragraph 
 we shall refer to the attempt to reduce our sensations to a 
 common sensational unit. 
 
 Our complete ignorance of what takes place in the nerves 
 is no psychological loss. For practical purposes, we should 
 be no wiser if we had the profoundest insight into the 
 action of the external stimulus ; and psychologically, also, 
 we should be no better off if we knew all about the form of 
 the nervous action in any special experience, and the place 
 of its location. The ability to locate and describe every 
 sensory and motor process would only give us an exact 
 knowledge of the physical antecedents of sensation, but 
 would bring us no nearer to comprehending how they pro- 
 duce sensations, or how sensations are worked over after 
 they are produced, or even what the sensations are. Indeed, 
 the facts with which we have been dealing are not properly 
 psychological facts at all. The idealist, of course, would 
 deny that they are facts of any kind. 
 
 Another question of considerable interest, but of about 
 as little psychological significance, concerns the relation of 
 the intensity of the sensation to that of the stimulus. 
 
 Sensations differ in quality, and thereby are distinguished 
 into different classes. Sensations of the same class differ 
 in intensity, and the commonest experiences show that this 
 varies with the stimulus. In seeking for the relation be- 
 
SENSATION. 49 
 
 tween the intensity of sensation and nervous action, it is, 
 of course, impossible to observe the nervous action which 
 immediately precedes the sensation, and it only remains 
 to study the relation between sensation and the exter- 
 nal stimulus. Several difficulties may be mentioned in 
 advance. 
 
 1. The distinction of intensity itself is generally a quali- 
 tative as well as a quantitative one, and in most cases it is 
 due to an unwillingness to multiply classes beyond neces- 
 sity. In fact, the sensations of the same class, which, out 
 of respect for established classification, we regard as differ- 
 ing only in intensity, differ also in quality. Hence, a vary- 
 ing intensity of the stimulus often produces, not a more 
 intense sensation, but a different one. Increase of pressure, 
 heat, light, or intensity of flavor or odor results in sen- 
 sations of different qualitative nature. Cold is not a faint 
 sensation of warmth ; and a burn is not an intensified glow 
 of comfort. A given flavor diluted may have a pleasing 
 taste ; concentrated, it may be utterly disgusting. Yet it 
 would hardly do to call the disgust intensified pleasure be- 
 cause the stimuli in the two cases differ only in intensity. 
 It is only in the case of sounds that we can distinguish with 
 any certainty a quality (the pitch) which remains the same 
 through all variations of intensity. 
 
 2. The effect never depends entirely upon the external 
 stimulus. The state of the nervous system, the amount of 
 expectation and attention, the continuance of effects in the 
 nerves after the stimulus has been removed, are all to be 
 taken into account. An exhausted nerve responds with 
 diminishing vigor. An excited nerve, especially the optic 
 nerve, continues to produce sensation after the stimulus is 
 removed. After-images, the vision of complementary colors, 
 and the temporary blindness after looking at the sun, are 
 examples. Sensations of temperature, on the other hand, 
 depend, within certain limits, altogether on the direction of 
 
 4 
 
60 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 change ; so that the same absolute temperature may be felt 
 as either hot or cold, according to circumstances. 
 
 These difficulties would be fatal, if the aim were to find 
 a fixed connection between a given intensity of stimulus 
 and a given intensity of sensation. Discounting such high 
 claims, we may glance at what has been done in this field. 
 
 It is easy to arrange a series of stimuli of a given class 
 on a numerical scale, so that their relative intensity can be 
 seen or calculated. It is equally easy to observe the re- 
 sulting sensations, but it is not possible to arrange their 
 intensities on a numerical scale. We have, indeed, a fine 
 sense for more or less, but we cannot tell how much more 
 or less. We find no sensation of which we can say that it 
 is just twice as strong as another. If this were possible, 
 our task would be easy. We should only need to compare 
 the numerical scale of the resulting sensations in order to 
 get the law of their connection. 
 
 But since this is impossible, we must adopt some indirect 
 method. E. g., we may take some stimulus of measured 
 intensity, and increase or decrease it gradually, and note 
 the point at which an increase or decrease of sensation is 
 perceptible. The process may be repeated in either direc- 
 tion, and thus we may get the following scale : 
 
 S, Oi, /S2, 03, \, 05, /Sg, o^; 
 
 a, «!, CI2, (I3, CI4, Cl^, «6> ^nJ 
 
 where S, etc. represent the just distinguishable sensa- 
 tions, and a, etc. represent the stimuli. The series a, aj, 
 etc. may be a series of weights ; and S, Si, etc. may be 
 a series of just distinguishable sensations of weight. We 
 should find that the same increase of stimulus which pro- 
 duces a feeling of change in the lower members of the 
 series does not suffice to produce such feeling in the higher 
 members ; e. g., we can easily distinguish between one and 
 two ounces, but not between ten pounds and ten pounds 
 
SENSATION. 61 
 
 and one ounce. Or we can see at once that a two-inch 
 line is longer than a one inch line, but not that a line 
 fifty-one inches long is longer than another of fifty inches. 
 In order to produce a sense of difference, the increase of 
 stimulus must bear some general proportion to the stimulus 
 itself. E. H. Weber, who first broke ground in this matter, 
 declared the law to be, that the increase of the sthnulus 
 must be a fixed proportion of the stimulus ; e. g., if, holding 
 a pound weight, I must add an ounce in order to perceive 
 a difference, then, holding a two-pound weight, I. must add 
 two ounces before any difference is perceived. In like 
 manner, n pounds must be increased by n ounces to pro- 
 duce a sense of difference. This ratio is different for the 
 different senses, being about 3 : 4 for the ear and feelings 
 of pressure, 15 : 16 for muscular sensations, and 100 : 101 
 for the eye. We should also find that, below a certain 
 point, there would be no sensation. This point is called 
 the " threshold," and determines the absolute sensibility of 
 the nerve in question. The constant fraction which must 
 be added to produce a feeling of difference determines the 
 discriminative sensibility. 
 
 The formula we have given is known as Weber's law, 
 and the method described was employed by Weber himself, 
 and is known as the method of smallest perceptible differ- 
 ences. Besides this, various ether methods are employed 
 for the same purpose of establishing a relation between the 
 intensity of the sensation and the stimulus, but they add 
 nothing to the result. The law itself is valid only within 
 narrow limits. It does not hold at all for some classes of 
 sensations, and is invalid for others whenever the stimulus 
 is very large or very small. 
 
 This empirical law has been transformed by Fechner, so 
 as to express the numerical relation between the variation 
 of the stimulus and that of the sensation. Recurring to 
 the two series. 
 
62 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 S, Si, S2, 1S3, &\, iS'n, 
 
 a, fli, a-i, as, a^, a^, 
 
 the latter series, by "Weber's law, increases in geometrical 
 progression. If now we assume that the smallest percepti- 
 ble difference, S^, — Sj,_i, is a constant quantity wherever 
 it occurs in the series, then the series *S', *S'i, etc. increases 
 in arithmetical progression. In that case, S, S^, etc. 
 would not increase as a, aj, Oj, etc., but as the logarithm 
 of the respective terms, and the intensity of the sensation 
 would vary as the logarithm of the stimulus. This is 
 Fechner's law. It has several short-comings : — 
 
 1. It assumes the absolute validity of Weber's law, 
 whereas that is only an empirical rule with many 
 exceptions. 
 
 2. It assumes the constancy of the least perceptible 
 difference for all points of the scale, which is not only 
 arbitrary, but doubtful. 
 
 3. It assumes that intensity is the only standard of dis- 
 tinction among the resulting sensations. But we have 
 seen that different intensities of stimulus are often attended 
 by qualitative differences of sensation ; and these might 
 well be the ground of distinction. The possibility at least 
 deserves attention. 
 
 4. Fechner's formula taken absolutely leads to psy- 
 chological nonsense. Mathematically expressed, it would 
 read, 
 
 S=K, log no- 
 where Kis a, constant and JS is the stimulus. Hence for 
 JE =1 we should have 
 
 S=K,\ogU=0; 
 
 and for ^ < 1 we should have S' = a minus quantity ; and 
 finally, for ^ = we should have S =^ — 00. 
 
 That is, for the unit of stimulus we should have no sen- 
 
SENSATION. 63 
 
 sation ; for anything less than this we should have negative 
 sensations ; and finally, for zero stimulus we should have 
 an infinite negative sensation. That is, in the name of a 
 mathematical formula, psychology is loaded down with 
 meaningless absurdity. 
 
 Since the terms compared in the previous estimates are 
 the external stimulus and the subjective perception of dif- 
 ference, which are at least one remove of mediated action 
 from each other, Weber's law admits of a threefold inter- 
 pretation. We may regard it as expressing the relation of 
 the stimulus to the nervous action, or of the nervous action 
 to mental change, or of the nervous action to our power of 
 discrimination. These have been called respectively the 
 physiological, the psychophysical, and the psychological in- 
 terpretations of Weber's law. The second view differs from 
 the third in assuming a continuous order of mental change, 
 which corresponds with the continuity of the physical 
 change, but which may or may not be conscious. On this 
 view the law expresses the relation of the nervous action 
 to this psychical reaction. Consciousness is something 
 which results from this psychical activity when it reaches 
 a certain degree of intensity, called the " threshold." 
 
 The physiological view is exposed to the objection, that 
 it assumes a continuity of physical causation without 
 assignable continuity of physical effect. The cause in- 
 creases continuously, while the effect increases discontinu- 
 ously. To explain this, we must assume some imaginary 
 complexity of nervous structure, or some imaginary laws 
 of nervous action. This view makes Weber's law purely 
 physiological, and without any psychological significance. 
 It assumes, also, that the nervous action and the mental 
 effect vary in the same proportion. 
 
 The psychophysical explanation has been objected to by 
 the physiologists, as not accounting for the varying degrees 
 of sensibilitv to diffei-ence in the different senses. But this 
 
54 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 objection assumes, (1.) that the fact is clearer on the physio* 
 logical theory, which is a mistake ; and (2.) that there is 
 some common factor in the nervous process which is to 
 bo transmuted into a mental process. But if we have to 
 admit that certain nerve processes are attended by certain 
 sensations, and certaiu others by other sensations, there is 
 no difficulty in admitting that more energy is required to 
 produce certain kinds of mental change than to produce 
 certain others. In truth, neither this theory nor the pre- 
 ceding one contains any account of the discontinuity of the 
 sensational series. Even if we admit Fechner's law, we 
 are unable to deduce the discontinuity in question ; for 
 then, for each variation of the stimulus, there ought to be 
 some variation of the sensation. The defenders of each 
 view have generally sought to maintain Fechner's formula 
 rather than to deduce Weber's facts. 
 
 The psychological theory is nearer the facts than either 
 of the others. In Weber's law, the subjective factor is 
 really our power of discrimination ; and the law does not 
 express a relation between the stimulus and the sensation 
 considered as an isolated mental state or a phase of psy- 
 chical activity, but between the stimulus and our power 
 to perceive differences. However the mental change may 
 vary in relation to the stimulus, this change must reach 
 a certain degree to become perceptible. This degree, more- 
 over, is variable. Attention and practice greatly increase 
 our power of appreciating differences ; e. g., with the blind, 
 touch almost takes on the character of a new sense. This 
 is not a very striking or valuable result- ; but it is the gist 
 of the matter. A somewhat blind enthusiasm has magni- 
 fied Fsohner's formula into undue importance. So far as 
 true, it represents simply an interesting fact, but no sig- 
 nificant principle. As far as one can judge from the con- 
 fused utterances on the subject, there seems to be a fancy 
 that the discovery of a measurable intensity and duration 
 
SENSATION. 56 
 
 in sensation in some way proves the mind to be a physical 
 product.' 
 
 The duration of the sensation in general is about the 
 same as that of the stimulus. This is especially the case 
 with hearing and touch. In some cases, howevcj", the sen- 
 sation continues to some extent after the external stimulus 
 is removed. This is best explained by supposing the ner- 
 vous action to continue beyond the excitement, and only 
 gradually to die away. This may be due either to changes 
 in the surrounding physical structure, as in case of heat, 
 or to direct continuance in the nerves themselves, as in 
 the optic nerve. It is in the eye that the phenomena are 
 especially noticeable, and often annoying. After-images are 
 examples. When we look at some bright object and then 
 close the eyes, an image often persists. These are called 
 positive after-images, and are best seen after momentary 
 action of the stimulus. When a white object on a black 
 ground is intently gazed at, and the eyes are then turned 
 to a white ground, the object will appear as a gray image 
 on the white ground. A black object on a white ground 
 has a white negative image on a gray ground. The other 
 colors have negative images in their complementary colors. 
 These facts have been explained as owing to exhaustion of 
 the retinal area upon which the original image fell, so that 
 the subsequent stimulation finds a part of the area less 
 sensitive than the surrounding parts, and thus the after- 
 image arises. If we suppose the area which received the 
 image of the white spot to be exhausted, then, on turning 
 the eye to a white ground, that area will be less sensitive , 
 to the light than the other parts, and thus will give rise to 
 a negative image. This explanation, however, does not 
 
 1 On this subject see Fecliner's works, especially his Revisioti der HaupU 
 punkte der Psyr/io/)hi/xik; Delh(£\\{ 's Elfinents de la Psi/cfinpki/siqiie ; Wiindt's 
 Phyxiologische Psychologie ; and G. E, Miiller's Zur Grundlegung der Psycho- 
 physik. 
 
56 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 clearly apply to those after-images which arise when there 
 is no second stimulation. The eyes may he kept shut, and 
 all light excluded, and after-images may still result. The 
 white spot appears as a black spot, and conversely the 
 black spot appears light. The explanation of these facts 
 is purely hypothetical. Finally, the optic nerve seems 
 never entirely inactive, but always produces some sensa- 
 tions of light, varying greatly, however, with the state of 
 the eye, and with the constitution of the person. 
 
 It is this fact, that the nerves as a rule quickly re- 
 turn to their equilibrium of indifference, which fits them 
 to be servants of intelligence. Otherwise all consecutive 
 excitations would run together, and all rapid action of the 
 senses would be impossible because of the resulting con- 
 fusion. 
 
 Thus far we have spoken only of the stimulus and the 
 nervous action. We have seen that the latter subject is 
 wrapped in mystery, and is likely to remain so. At the 
 same time, we have seen that this is no psychological loss, 
 as the outcome of even a perfect knowledge of the subject 
 would give us no hint of the psychical nature of sensations, 
 but only of their physical conditions. And since, from a 
 causal standpoint, their connection is purely arbitrary, we 
 have no ground for thinking that the same order might not 
 be produced in entirely different ways, or for thinking that 
 our sensations exhaust the possibilities of the case. The 
 system of sensations is not a closed one, and its members 
 have no internal unity. It is, therefore, entirely possible 
 that differently organized beings have orders of sensation 
 of which we have no suspicion, and are affected by agencies 
 to which our nerves make no response. Of course, this 
 possibility does not assure the fact. We pass now to con- 
 sider the sensations themselves. 
 
 Simple sensations are said to be distinguished in quality, 
 intensity, and tone. Of course, they may be distinguished 
 
SENSATION. 67 
 
 in time, duratioR, localization, etc. ; but these are qualities 
 which do not belong to them in themselves, but only in 
 their relations. The primal distinction is that of quality. 
 The other two are more doubtful. It seems probable that 
 they arise from a certain regard for logical convenience, 
 rather than from a study of the sensations themselves. 
 The mind has an obvious interest in reducing the number 
 of classes to a mininum, and thus a great many qualitative 
 difiPerences are overlooked. Nevertheless, they must be 
 taken into account in some way, and then some new dis- 
 tinction must be invented whereby the classification may 
 be retained and the differences be recognized. In this way 
 the notions of intensity and tone arise. We have seen 
 that the so-called differences of intensity are generally 
 qualitative, and the same may be said for differences of 
 tone. Sensations with different tone are qualitatively 
 different sensations, but for convenience' sake they are 
 identified in quality and distinguished in tone. This 
 method is further supposed by the reference of our sen- 
 sations to things as their qualities. In this way the 
 sensations take on the fixedness of things, and all dis- 
 tinction must be put either in the intensity or in the tone. 
 Previous to classification and objective reference, however, 
 all differences must be regarded as qualitative. Thereafter 
 the distinctions made must be recognized. It seems proba- 
 ble that the classification of sensations depends largely 
 upon their localization, so that they are grouped rather by 
 the community of organ than by similarity of content. A 
 consciousness furnished with our sensational experience, 
 but without knowledge of the organs of sense would hardly 
 group its sensations as we do. 
 
 That which we have spoken of as tone is more commonly 
 called feeling ; and some, as Hamilton, have called it sensa- 
 tion. This curious uncertainty arises in this way. Some 
 of our sensations are objectified as qualities of things, while 
 
68 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 others are recognized simply as states of our sensibility, 
 and have no objective reference. Thus the former come to 
 be distinguished from the latter as percepts from sensa- 
 tions. Again, a certain amount of organic feeling attends 
 the action of the external senses, and in the case of taste 
 and smell it is so high as almost to obscure the perceptive 
 element. Hence Hamilton laid down the law that sensa- 
 tion and perception vary inversely, where sensation can 
 only mean the organic feeling attending the action of the 
 senses. But as we have used sensation to designate any of 
 the effects produced in us by the action of the outer world, 
 we cannot adopt the Hamiltonian terminology. Nor do we 
 propose to use the term tone. We are here at a parting of 
 the ways in the mental life. Our sensations as a whole 
 have a double reference. They may present an object to 
 the intellect, and they may be simply an experience in the 
 sensibility. They may be projected outward as qualities of 
 things, and they may remain as simply states of feeling. 
 After the projection takes place, our sensations seem to be 
 really perceptions, and to have no sensational element. 
 This seems to be found only in the other set. Here is the 
 beginning of the distinction between knowing and feeling, 
 or between the intellect and the sensibility. Again, in the 
 case of the projected sensations we find an accompanying 
 element of sensibility, which varies greatly with circum- 
 stances, and which is well described as the tone of the 
 sensation. This tone is an addition to the mental object 
 as presented to the intellect ; it is a coloring given to it by 
 the sensibility. Sensations may be roughly divided into 
 percepts and physical feelings ; but neither of these classes 
 exists in absolute purity. 
 
 Out of the facts just mentioned springs the distinction of 
 the intellectual and the organic sensations. The former 
 are so called because they appear to reveal to us the world 
 of things, while the latter only reveal to us sometliing 
 
SENSATION. 69 
 
 about ourselves and our bodies. Some scruples might be 
 raised if this distinction were made absolute ; but it is 
 sufficiently correct for practical purposes. 
 
 The intellectual sensations are those commonly ascribed 
 to the five senses, — smell, taste, touch, hearing, and vision. 
 The last three are called pre-eminently the intellectual 
 senses, because they contribute immeasurably more knowl- 
 edge than taste or smell. 
 
 The organic sensations have largely the teleological func- 
 tion of giving warning of organic needs or dangers. Such 
 especially are hunger and thirst, and their opposites ; and 
 also the feelings of strain and weariness. The sensations 
 connected with motion are especially significant for the 
 regulation of motion and the position of the body. These 
 are often of a marvellous degree of fineness, and any dis- 
 turbance of them is sure to be attended with clumsy or 
 uncertain movements. The digestive system also may be 
 the seat of not over-pleasant sensations. The nervous sys- 
 tem too may be variously disturbed, and give rise to vari- 
 ous sensations, marked or obscure. From the total action 
 of the organic factors results a general tone of feeling, 
 as of vigor or languor, comfort or discomfort, etc. The 
 general character of the organic sensations is, that they 
 are directly related to action, either as attendants, or as 
 results, or as stimuli, and are only indirectly related to 
 knowledge. 
 
 The proper source of the sensations connected with 
 motion has been much discussed. Three classes are 
 given, — (1.) sensations of the skin, (2.) sensations of the 
 muscles, and (3.) sensations of the brain due to innerva- 
 tion. In sensations of the third class we are supposed 
 especially to have a feeling of effort, and a sense of ef- 
 fort has been added to the list of senses on this account. 
 Naturally there have been attempts to recognize only one 
 source. Some have sought to explain the muscular sen- 
 
60 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 sations as really due to the changes in the skin produced 
 by expansion and contraction of the muscles. The re- 
 ality of a special muscular sense, however, may be re- 
 garded as established. The third class of sensations has 
 been questioned as being only echoes of the muscular 
 sense. The sense of effort may be a complex result of pe- 
 ripheral changes, and not something arising directly in the 
 brain from the impulse of the will. In favor of the central 
 sense is the fact that a paralytic may be conscious of effort 
 when no movement results ; although it is suggested in 
 reply that the effect may be due to movement in other 
 parts of the organism. It is further urged, that the dis- 
 crimination of weight depends on our sense of effort ; but, 
 on the other hand, this discrimination takes place, though 
 not so accurately, when muscular contraction is artificially 
 produced. The sense of effort is a somewhat doubtful 
 hypothesis. 
 
 Organic sensations are often called subjective, particu- 
 larly those which arise from the mental state. Sometimes, 
 too, sensations which normally have an extra-organic cause 
 are produced by abnormal states of the organism. Such 
 are the sights and sounds which often accompany brain 
 disease, or the delirium of fever, etc. Such, too, is the 
 influence of the mind upon the body, that certain sights or 
 expectations, or the concentration of attention upon the 
 sense in question, often serve to produce more or less 
 marked sensations. The sight of a disgusting object may 
 serve to produce nausea ; the belief that we are seriously 
 injured may produce faintness or distress ; the expectation 
 of being tickled may serve to produce unpleasant feeling, 
 etc. It is often impossible to fix the attention upon any 
 organ without observing a modification of its action. We 
 shudder at the thought of a cut or bruise, and are nause- 
 ated at the mention of sundry things. Th:s fact has been 
 made the basis of an explanation of various phenomena of 
 
^TC R A f? V» 
 
 >r TUB 
 
 V^. 
 
 SENSATION. ^vf. -^^ 
 
 mesmerism and spiritualism. Expectation and the power 
 of a dominant idea are assumed to account for the phe- 
 nomena. 
 
 The local character of sensations remains to be noticed. 
 In the developed mental life sensations are referred to 
 some part of the body ; and this can take place only 
 through some qualitative peculiarity of the sensations 
 themselves. If all sensations were qualitatively alike, 
 there would be no reason for referring them to different 
 parts of the organism. This difference founds the local 
 character of the sensations, and has been called their local 
 sign. It is that through which their localization takes 
 place, and without which it would be impossible. At the 
 same time, it is often im})ossible to separate this element 
 in consciousness ; it is known only by its results. 
 
 In speaking of the factors to be considered we have rec- 
 ognized only three, — (1.) the stimulus, (2.) the nervous 
 action, and (3.) the conscious sensation. The suggestion, 
 however, is made, that there may be something interme- 
 diate between the nervous action and the conscious sen- 
 sation. This has been variously named, as unconscious 
 sensation, latent mental modification, sub-conscious mental 
 state, etc. The first of these is a psychological contradic- 
 tion, and is unconditionally to be rejected. The doctrine at 
 this point is intelligible only as a claim that the immediate 
 effect of the nervous action is to produce a series of affec- 
 tions of the soul, which are not revealed in consciousness, 
 but which may rise into consciousness, or which may be 
 the stimulus to the soul to react with proper sensation. 
 We must be careful, however, not to give these affections 
 any of the names which imply consciousness. They can 
 only be regarded as metaphysical states of the soul, and as 
 having no more mental character than the metaphysical 
 states of energy in an atom. There may well be uncon- 
 scious activities of the soul in connection with the body. 
 
62 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 If we ascribe to the soul any formative and directive in- 
 fluence upon the body, we must admit that this is below 
 consciousness. With respect to it the soul is simply 
 a thing with power, not a conscious self. Our present 
 inquiry concerns simply the question whether we need 
 assume such unconscious states in the interaction which 
 mediates sensation and perception. 
 
 Various arguments are offered in favor of the view : — 
 
 1. It is said to mediate the passage from the simplicity 
 and community of nervous action, considered as some mode 
 of motion, to the complete unlikeness of different classes of 
 sensations. We might suppose that the primary effect in 
 the soul consists in some simple form of affection corre- 
 sponding to the simplicity of the nerve processes, and that 
 sensations of different classes arise from varying combina- 
 tions of this basal unit. 
 
 This consideration has no value. The qualitative differ- 
 ences of sensation are not explained by such a common 
 unit. That which has led many to fancy that such a unit 
 can be found is the fact that many of our sensations along 
 with their qualitative content have sundry attendants of 
 feeling, and these may show a certain likeness, yet without 
 in any way showing a common factor in their peculiar con- 
 tent. In any case, such simple, unconscious affections in 
 the soul seem no better adapted to explain the conscious, 
 qualitatively different sensations, than the nervous action 
 itself. Somewhere the transition must be made from un- 
 consciousness to consciousness, and from likeness to unlike- 
 ness ; we should not delude ourselves with intermediaries, 
 which only seem to help, and really hinder. 
 
 2. A better argument lies in the following facts. The 
 physical antecedents of sensation arc often present, yet no 
 sensation results. In the abstraction of study we lose sight 
 of the external world. In the heat of passion or excite- 
 ment we may receive great physical injury without knowing 
 
SENSATION. 63 
 
 it. We must, however, suppose that the physical causes 
 produced their proper mental effects ; and, as these did not 
 rise into consciousness, they must have remained below it 
 as a latent mental state. 
 
 Most of the facts of this kind are exaggerated. Con- 
 sciousness has many grades of intensity ; and no fact is 
 brought out into clear consciousness without a certain 
 amount of attention, and a focusing of our intellect upon 
 it. In this respect consciousness is like the eye ; there is 
 one spot of clear vision. The most of these so-called un- 
 conscious experiences lie in this field of indefinite, or undis- 
 criminated, consciousness, rather than in a sub-conscious 
 realm. At the time, they have no interest for us, and are 
 neglected in proportion to their indifference. 
 
 Allowing, however, that no mental effect whatever can 
 be observed, the conclusion rests on an assumption which 
 may be questioned. In theoretical mechanics we assume 
 that every force will have its full effect, as well in a crowd 
 as when acting alone. If two forces, a and 5, act upon an 
 element, c, successively or together, they will bring the ele- 
 ment to the same point. How far this assumption is valid 
 for all interaction is beyond knowledge. Yet the argu- 
 ment in the present case rests on the assumption that an 
 external stimulus must produce its full nervous effect, no 
 matter what the condition of the nervous system, and that 
 the nervous action, in turn, must produce its full mental 
 effect, no matter what the state of mind. The first part of 
 this assumption we know to be false in many cases. The 
 same stimulus produces quite different results, according 
 to the state of the nervous system. It is, therefore, quite 
 conceivable that nerves reverberating with passion or emo- 
 tion should not respond to a physical hurt with their accus- 
 tomed reaction. 
 
 The second part of the assumption is equally doubtful. 
 The only results of nervous action upon the mind which 
 
64 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 we can estimate are the conscious results ; and these we 
 know do vary with the state of mind, the interest, the pre- 
 occupation, the amount of attention, etc. But since we 
 must allow this fact somewhere along the line of mental 
 effects, we may as well put it at the entrance to the mind, 
 and say that the effect of nervous action is conditioned by 
 the mental state. This is no more difficult a conception 
 than the opposite, that the effect of nervous action is an 
 invariable series of latent states, but that the effect of these 
 states is conditioned by the conscious state. If attention 
 is able to intensify a sensational state, intense preoccupa- 
 tion might be able to prevent it altogether. The claim to 
 remember events of which we were unconscious at the 
 time, which is often made in connection with events imme- 
 diately preceding, is either a case of the exaggeration men- 
 tioned above, or is based on the echo of the nerve process 
 which has not yet died away. 
 
 3. The existence of sub-conscious states is further argued 
 from facts like the following : — 
 
 a. Any antecedent of sensation can be divided into an 
 indefinite number of elements, either of extension or of in- 
 tensity ; and the antecedent itself must be regarded as the 
 sum of these components. Hence, each component must 
 produce a certain effect, as otherwise the whole would have 
 no effect. But we are not conscious of these component 
 effects, but only of their resultant. Hence, the conscious 
 state must be viewed as the outcome of other states below 
 consciousness. 
 
 h. Again, a single beat regularly produced appears as a 
 succession of beats as long as the rate of recurrence falls 
 below a certain standard. When the recurrence is more 
 frequent, that which was perceived as a series of beats is 
 heard as a fine-grained musical note, in which all hint of 
 the components disappear ; and yet they are really there, 
 but below consciousness. 
 
SENSATION. 66 
 
 c. Again, white light is com])osed of several primary 
 colors, each of Avhicli must have its full effect in conscious- 
 ness, but all of which are fused into the one sensation of 
 white light. 
 
 We consider these arguments in order. 
 
 1. Argument a rests on the assumption that each minut- 
 est intensity of action in a sensory nerve must have a cor- 
 respondingly minute mental effect. This is a questionable 
 transference of a physical doctrine to an entirely different 
 realm, and one which a consideration of the facts makes 
 highly doubtful. The connection of the physical series 
 with the mental series, viewed from the causal standpoint, 
 is purely arbitrary. We can see no reason why one form 
 of motion rather than another should be attended with 
 sensation. It would be nothing more surprising if it were 
 found that only certain intensities of nervous action are 
 attended by sensation. In that case, nervous action, which 
 falls below a certain degree of intensity, would not produce 
 latent mental modifications, but would have no mental 
 effect at all. If it be said that this view introduces an 
 arbitrary break of continuity, the answer must be that no 
 theory can escape such a break. Even the theory which 
 regards thought as the inner face of nervous movements 
 cannot tell why a given movement, say an oscillation in 
 an elliptical orbit, should be attended by thought, while 
 another, say a rectilinear vibration, should not be thus 
 attended. 
 
 2. Argument h rests on the assumption that the peculi- 
 arities of the physical cause must reappear on the mental 
 side. If the antecedent is a series of waves, the conse- 
 quent also must be a series of shocks, and the conscious 
 effect can only be the integral of those shocks. Here, 
 again, is an extremely doubtful physical analogy. Consid- 
 ering the unlikeness of the physical and mental series, and 
 the arbitrary nature of their connection in general, it is 
 
 6 
 
66 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 impossible to form any rational expectation as to what 
 mental consequent shall attend a given physical ante- 
 cedent. Whether it shall be as coarse-grained as the 
 antecedent, or an absolute coiitinumn, must be decided by 
 observation of experience. Moreover, we know that sounds 
 do not tend to fuse in consciousness, but remain distinct. 
 This fact is the basis of music. Otherwise, the different 
 tones would run together, and all relations of harmony 
 would disappear. If, then, a given sensation appear as a 
 strict continuum, with no hint of its discrete antecedents, 
 we must reject the alleged discreteness of the sensation 
 until the fact is demonstrated. Until then, we shall hold 
 that one form of nervous action is attended by discontin- 
 uous sensations, and another form by a continuous sen- 
 sation ; and that, in passing from one to the other, the 
 discontinuous do not remain and fuse into the continuous, 
 but that the discontinuous vanish and the continuous takes 
 their place. 
 
 Otherwise expressed, suppose a, b, c, d are a series of 
 sensations which, under changed nervous conditions, are 
 displaced by a new sensation, M. How is this to be inter- 
 preted ? We may suppose that a, 5, c, d are the mental 
 accompaniment of the nervous state R, and that iHf is the 
 mental accompaniment of the nervous state S. In that 
 case there would be no passage of one mental state into 
 another, but a displacement of one by another owing to a 
 change in the external ground. This is the view above 
 suggested ; and if the antecedent sensation were single, it 
 would be accepted at once. When two different notes are 
 sounded successively, it never occurs to us to regard the 
 second as a transformation of the first ; we rather regard 
 each as the mental effect appropriate to its physical ante- 
 cedent. But when the antecedents are plural and there is 
 no break of temporal continuity, then we think this view 
 insufficient. 
 
SENSATION. 67 
 
 Let us take, then, the other view, and see if it meets the 
 purpose of its invention, a, h, c, d are antecedent sensa- 
 tions, whose conscious eifect is M. If, however, they are 
 truly latent mental states, M can be exi)lained only by sup- 
 posing a, b, c, d so to act upon the mind as to cause it to 
 produce in itself the conscious sensation M. But in that 
 case it is impossible to see what advantage a, h, e, d would 
 have over the nervous changes themselves. These might 
 have as their direct resultant M, as well as the series a, 6, 
 c, d ; and the series would be a useless intermediary. 
 
 If, on the other hand, a, 6, c, d fuse into M^ this is only 
 a figurative way of saying that a, 5, c, d exist no longer as 
 either conscious or unconscious mental states, and that M 
 alone exists. An implicit hypostasis of mental states leads 
 us to fancy that their substance must flow together, as in 
 all fusion, to make the compound. If it be said that a, ft, 
 <?, d are M^ as the elements of a molecule are the molecule, 
 this is another misapplied physical analogy, and supposes 
 sensations to be things. Further, it is an attack upon con- 
 sciousness, as it violently identifies what is given as distinct. 
 It would declare, for example, that the coexistent sensations 
 of the several colors of the spectrum are the sensation of 
 white light. If, finally, it be said that an analysis of M 
 reveals a, 6, c, d as constituent elements, that onl}' shows 
 that they may exist out of definite consciousness, not that 
 they exist out of all consciousness. In short, the simplicity 
 or complexity of a sensation can never be decided by 
 apriori assumptions concerning the way the physical ante- 
 cedents must work, but only by analyzing the sensation as 
 found in consciousness. This desire to trace the peculiari- 
 ties of the physical cause into the mental effect has led to 
 much absurd dictation as to what we may experience. 
 Thus black is no color ; cold is a negation, etc. Psycho- 
 logically, however, they are as positive as any other sen- 
 sations. 
 
OO PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 3. Argument c overlooks entirely the fact that the com- 
 position mentioned may take place in the nerves rather 
 than in the mind. Indeed, the very experiment relied on 
 proves this. When a disk on Avhich the primary colors are 
 painted in proper order is made to revolve rapidly, a sen- 
 sation of whitish light is produced. When the disk is at 
 rest, or is instantaneously illuminated by the electric spark, 
 there is no blending of colors. This shows that the blend- 
 ing does not take place in the mind, but in the nerves. No 
 inspection of the color-spectrum reveals the slightest ten- 
 dency towards fusion. But when the spectrum is in rapid 
 motion the nerves receive a variety of impulses which, 
 modifying one another, produce the resultant nervous state 
 which founds the sensation of white light. We know that 
 consciousness keeps sensations separate after they have 
 once arisen ; and we know that nervous impulses can 
 modify each other. There is no need, therefore, to assume 
 a series of unconscious mental states to account for the 
 composition. The known laws of nervous action suffice 
 for that ; and, in addition, the mental state is not a com- 
 pounded one. It is in itself as simple as any of its alleged 
 components; and just as each of them is the mental at- 
 tendant of a certain nervous state, so it is the mental 
 attendant of a certain other nervous state. 
 
 This matter may be summed up as follows. The primal 
 elements of the interaction between soul and body are 
 unknown. It may be that the conscious sensation is the 
 immediate reaction of the soul against the nervous action ; 
 and it may be that the first effect of the nervous action is 
 a change in the organic activity of the soul, and that tiie 
 conscious sensation is a reaction against this change, or 
 an expression of it. But while we do not deny that there 
 may be such sub-conscious activities in connection with 
 sensation, the facts thus far considered do not compel their 
 assumption. If they are assumed, it must be on the basis 
 
SENSATION. 69 
 
 of other facts, especially of forgetfulness and reproduction. 
 These will be considered in their proper place. Hence we 
 draw the conclusion that the assumption of intermediate 
 affections between the nervous action and the felt sensation 
 is unnecessary. It is based upon doubtful physical analo- 
 gies and ambiguous facts, and, worst of all, it helps us to 
 no solution Avhatever. But it is an obvious principle of 
 method, that useless and unverifiable hypotheses must be 
 avoided. Hence it cannot be the duty of the psychologist 
 to prove that these states do not exist. It is rather the 
 duty of the theorist to show that they do exist, and that 
 they throw any light upon our problems. 
 
 Closely akin to this question is another, concerning the 
 simplicity of our sensations. For various reasons, partly 
 speculative and partly partisan, the claim has been set up 
 that none of our sensations are simple, but admit of reso- 
 lution into component elements. In this way it was sought 
 to bring the apparently incommensurable classes of sen- 
 sation together, so as to exhibit them as multiples of 
 some common unit. Here the speculative interest was 
 active. The hope was also entertained, that by such 
 a showing the resources of the associational psychology 
 might be greatly increased. Here the partisan interest 
 was apparent. 
 
 The value of this view can best be determined by ana- 
 lyzing it. We need to know, first of all, whether the aim 
 is to analyze sensations into conscious, or unconscious com- 
 ponents. In the latter case, we should have the view just 
 discussed; and then we should be quite at a loss to see 
 how unconscious elements can be combined to form a con- 
 scious sensation. One might as well aim to construct a 
 sound out of a pair of silences. The only claim that could 
 be made would be, that, when the mind performs uncon- 
 sciously certain functions, its nature demands that it should 
 perform a certain conscious function as a consequence. 
 
70 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 But this would be far enough from a doctrine of composi- 
 tion of sensations. 
 
 If, however, the aim is to analyze our sensations into 
 conscious elements, then, of course, the alleged elements 
 must be pointed out. If a common element is alleged to 
 exist, we need to know how out of this unit such apparently 
 incommensurable classes are built up. We also need to 
 know whether the elements are fused to form the com- 
 pound, or whether the elements exist in the compound. If 
 the fusion hypothesis be adopted, we must then decide what 
 such fusion means, and how it would differ from the simple 
 disappearance of the elementary sensations, and their re- 
 placement by a new and different sensation. If we adopt 
 the other view, we then have to say that a given sensation, 
 say white light, is the sum of the sensations of comple- 
 mentary colors. But this identification is impossible, and 
 we are thrown back upon the view that one set of sensa- 
 tions disappears and is replaced by a new sensation which 
 contains no trace of its antecedents. In proof of the doc- 
 trine of composition, it is said that a musical tone seems 
 perfectly simple and yet is demonstrably compound. But 
 here, too, we need to distinguish between the composite 
 nature of the physical antecedents and the composition of 
 the tone itself ; and we need also to distinguish between 
 the fact that a simple tone may have several distinguish- 
 able elements, and the claim that these elements first exist 
 as distinct sensations and are then fused into an appar- 
 ently simple tone. When these points are all considered, 
 tlie analysis in question will seem neither so easy nor so 
 promising. 
 
 Let us state the question in a new form. Suppose that 
 a, b, c, d are elementary sensations which give rise to 
 M, a new sensation. M may coexist with a, i, c, d ; and 
 then the latter would not be the com])onents of 3/, but its 
 conditions. Or a, 5, c, d may disappear from conscious- 
 
SENSATION. 71 
 
 ness, and M may take their place. In this case we may 
 say that a, J, c, d have fused into M; but this would be 
 only a figure of speech. Or we may say that a, 6, e, d are 
 M; but this would be false. It only remains that we 
 . say that a, 6, c, d are conditions against which the mind 
 reacts by producing the new sensation M. This docs not 
 contain a, 6, c, d, and is not made out of a, 6, c, d, but 
 arises under the conditions a, 6, c, d. But in order to this 
 there must be a specific mental nature, N, which contains 
 the ground of the new reaction, 31; otherwise there is no 
 reason for going beyond the original a, b, c, d. 
 
 Indeed, psychology has been haunted at this point by an 
 implicit hypostasis of sensations. They have been tacitly 
 viewed as self-identical things, or as mental atoms, which 
 may enter into a great variety of mental molecules, thus 
 producing new mental states and forms while at the same 
 time they remain self-identical and never leave the plane 
 of their own sensational nature. In this way the higher 
 mental states have been exhibited as compounded from 
 sensations, and there has been an appearance of striking 
 and profound analysis. Meanwhile, the hypostasizing ten- 
 dency of the mind plays its most transparent trick with 
 us. In truth, sensations are not things, but functions ; and 
 their union can only mean the replacement of one function 
 by another. In that case the one function disappears with- 
 out leaving any substantial remainder, and another func- 
 tion takes its place, yet without being made out of any 
 stuff left over from its predecessor. Indeed, even in the 
 physical world the composition of forces does not involve 
 a fusion of several forces into one, except in a figurative 
 sense, or a continuance of the components in the resultant, 
 but a replacement of the component forces by a new one 
 distinct from them all, but dynamically equivalent. The 
 chief art in analyzing our apparently simple sensations into 
 simpler elements seems to consist in misapplying misun- 
 
72 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 derstood physical analogies, together with sundry disjointed 
 remarks on the short-comings of the introspective method. 
 At all events, it does seem desirable to distinguish between 
 the complexity of the physical cause and that of the men- 
 tal effect, and between the succession of mental functions 
 and their substantial identity. 
 
 Each class of sensations, especially the intellectual ones, 
 furnishes a subject for extended study. Such works as 
 Helmholtz's " Sensations of Tone " and " Physiological Op- 
 tics," and Weber's " Studies of Touch," are examples of 
 what may be done in this field. But such work, though 
 highly interesting and valuable, reveals no new psycho- 
 logical principles, but only specifies those with which we 
 are already acquainted. 
 
 We pass to a second factor in mental activity, the 
 mechanism of reproduction. 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 73 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 
 
 A LARGE and influential school of psychologists hold 
 that simple sensibility is the only original faculty of the 
 mind. When sensations are produced, they enter into 
 interaction with one another, and form various combi- 
 nations according to certain laws. Given sensations and 
 their laws of interaction, we may deduce all the so-called 
 higher mental faculties as consequences of these simple 
 facts and principles. Tliis fact makes it desirable to con- 
 sider the mechanism of reproduction at this point. The 
 results reached will be valid for the reproduction of all 
 mental states, as well as for sensations. 
 
 Upon the cessation of nervous action, the corresponding 
 sensation quickly vanishes, yet without being utterly lost. 
 It is possible to retain or to reproduce the sensation in 
 thought without the presence of the original stimulus. In 
 some sense, then, past sensations, though out of conscious- 
 ness, do still exist. According to some they exist as la- 
 tent, or sub-conscious, mental modifications ; according to 
 others, they exist as more or less permanent modifications 
 of the brain. 
 
 These reproduced sensations, which we may call repre- 
 sentations, differ widely from their originals. The logical 
 content is the same, but the sensibility is differently af- 
 fected. Remembered pain or pleasure has the same sig- 
 nificance for the intellect as real pain or pleasure ; but for 
 the sensibility the difference is absolute. There is an air 
 of reality about the original experience which the recollec- 
 tion never has. The lightest actual rustle is more vivid 
 
74 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 than the memory of the loudest noise. A slight pain dis- 
 tresses more than the remembrance of agonies. This dif- 
 ference is most easily explained by supposing that the 
 recollection is only a mental act, while the original sen- 
 sation had its external ground. The same distinction of 
 vividness obtains between all actual and remembered men- 
 tal states when any element of emotion or external percep- 
 tion entered into the original experience. Where, however, 
 the original experience was one of logical thinking simply, 
 it can be repeated without loss of vividness. The antithesis 
 of faint and vivid mental states, as expressing the distinc- 
 tion between a remembered and an original experience, is, 
 therefore, not absolute. 
 
 Our mental states, sensational or otherwise, do not lie 
 unrelated in the mind, but combine into groups and classes 
 according to certain rules, so that they suggest or recall 
 one another. A given experience. A, can recall another, 
 B, like it, or which has been experienced in connection 
 with it. The spoken, or written, word recalls the meaning ; 
 an odor suggests the flower, etc. In this way simple rep- 
 resentations are combined into compound representations ; 
 and any element of the compound tends to recall the whole. 
 Our notions of sense-objects are all compound representa- 
 tions ; yet so swift and subtle is the work of association 
 that the fact is quite overlooked. A given sense is shut up 
 to a single form of sensation. Vision gives us only per- 
 cepts of color. Touch gives us only percepts of hardness, 
 resistance, etc. Smell can give nothing but odor. There 
 was a point in our mental life when these several percepts 
 were not united; now they are so firmly united that we 
 can hardly believe that they were ever separate. In like 
 manner, the spoken or written word suggests the meaning 
 so surely and involuntarily, that we seem to hear and 
 see the very thought itself. If there were not many lan- 
 guages, it would doubtless be contended that there is a 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 75 
 
 pre-established harmony between the sound and the sense. 
 Such union we call an association. It rests upon no 
 rational connection. There is nothing in any one of the 
 senses which implies that the other senses must exist. 
 There is nothing in a given sound which fits it to express 
 only a certain idea. The connection is purely one of fact. 
 The elements have been associated in experience, and tend 
 on that account to recall one another. Hence the senses 
 seem to act vicariously. In perception any sense seems 
 to give us the entire thing. We see the color, or smell 
 the odor, or even hear the name ; and the whole thing 
 seems to stand before us. The component elements have 
 been welded into a group, and thenceforth they belong 
 together. This fact is called the association of ideas, — 
 where ideas stand for any mental state whatever. We 
 postpone further description of the fact, and pass to con- 
 sider the theories for its explanation. 
 
 Two classes of theories exist. One finds the mechanism 
 of reproduction in the organism, especially in the brain ; 
 the other finds it in the mind itself. And since the repro- 
 duction and association of ideas are mental facts, in most 
 cases without any assignable physical stimulus, it is plain 
 that the mental explanation must have precedence of the 
 physical, unless it be found untenable. Psychology must 
 not have recourse to physiology until its own resources fail. 
 We begin, then, with the mental theory of reproduction. 
 
 Our ideas come and go in consciousness without the 
 presence of the original stimulus, and acco ding to laws 
 of their own. To explain this fact, a highly complex 
 mental mythology has been invented. In its coarser forms 
 the mythological character is too evident to need more than 
 mention ; for example, that consciousness has a certain 
 size, and that hence many ideas cannot find room in it, as 
 if they themselves were extended, and impenetrable, and 
 crowded one another out, — all this is too plainly a figure 
 
76 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of speech to need examination. The same is true for the 
 expressions which present consciousness as a kind of light, 
 which, falling upon ideas, enables the mind to see them, 
 but which, when spread over many ideas, grows less and 
 less intense, and finally leaves outlying ideas in a kind of 
 outer darkness. Such notions arise from the effort of the 
 imagination to picture a process which is essentially un- 
 picturable. The most distinguished effort toward a theory 
 of reproduction is that of Herbart. 
 
 According to Herbart, a simple sensation is a reaction of 
 the soul against external action, and is called by him an 
 act of self-preservation. Such a mental function is in its 
 nature indestructible ; and if it were not interfered with, 
 it would last forever ; that is, it is subject to the law of 
 inertia. But many such functions exist ; and these, because 
 of the unity of the soul, must enter into interaction. They 
 are then conceived as endowed with forces Avhereby they 
 act upon one another, and re-enforce or repress one another. 
 Consciousness is next furnished with a " threshold," which 
 represents the intensity below which an idea is lost to con- 
 sciousness. When the intensity of the function is above 
 the threshold, the idea is in consciousness ; when below, 
 the idea is out of consciousness. This interaction of the 
 ideas results in their passing back and forth across the 
 threshold ; that is, in and out of consciousness. In this 
 way, both the passage of ideas from consciousness and 
 their return are explained by the same process. The forces 
 themselves consist in the opposition of the ideas, and in 
 their intensity. 
 
 Tiiis view is constructed entirely on the analogy of 
 physical mechanics, and more especially on the analogy 
 of molecular mechanics. The representations, or persist- 
 ent sensations, are regarded as the units of the mental 
 life, and by their interaction they are supposed to explain 
 or produce all the higher forms of the mental life. We 
 
THE MECHANISM OF KEPRODUCTION. 77 
 
 may call it, thou, a system of mental mechanics, in the 
 strict sense of the term. The theory has the gravest difTi- 
 culties, as follows. 
 
 1. The forces by which the ideas are said to act upon 
 one another are imaginary or unintelligible. It is impossi- 
 ble to understand either the opposition or the intensity of 
 ideas in such a way as to make them adequate to the 
 demands made upon them. Both of these terms may be 
 applied to the ideas as having a certain meaning, or to the 
 ideas as mental acts. The former would be their logical, 
 the second their psychological interpretation. In neither 
 of these senses can they be made to do what they are sup- 
 posed to accomplish. 
 
 Opposition considered as the logical relation of the con- 
 tents of ideas is no psychological force ; and ideas do not 
 affect each other according to such a law. The most 
 diverse ideas logically considered show no psychological 
 opposition ; and the most similar show no tendency to 
 coalesce. The colors of the spectrum remain separate, 
 and the sounds of a chorus also. The most contradictory 
 ideas can be conceived with the utmost ease, provided we 
 do not attempt to identify them in a judgment. Sour 
 and sweet, round and square, straight and crooked, far 
 and near, are ideas which can coexist in consciousness in 
 the utmost psychological amity, though logically hostile. 
 Hence, logical opposition counts for nothing as a moving 
 force among mental states. 
 
 The opposition, then, must be psychological ; but this ia 
 an idea hard to understand. Thoughts as mental acts have 
 none of the qualities which belong to their logical contents ; 
 for example, the thought of the circle is not round, nor 
 is that of sugar sweet. There is no assignable opposition 
 between the activity which thinks bitter and that which 
 thinks sweet. The only meaning to opposition seems to be 
 the general fact, that the mind cannot perform many funo 
 
78 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 tions or attend to many objects at once, and hence the 
 performance of one function or attention to one group of 
 objects excludes the performance of other functions or 
 attention to other objects. But this fact also expresses 
 no moving force among the ideas themselves, and also 
 no relation of the ideas to one another. The very utmost 
 that sucli opposition among ideas would accomplish, would 
 be the exclusion of many ideas from consciousness ; it 
 would in no way provide for their return. 
 
 Intensity remains to be considered ; and this is even 
 a darker notion than opposition. When speaking of sen- 
 sations, the meaning of intensity is plain. It refers to the 
 amount of disturbance of our inner state. In case of pains 
 more or less intense, the amount of inner disturbance is 
 more or less. But intensity has no clear meaning when 
 applied to representations, or to ideas of any kind. The 
 intensity of the sensations themselves disappears entirely 
 from the representations. There is nothing more intense 
 in the idea of a loud noise than in the idea of a faint 
 one. Ideas of intensity are possible, but intense ideas 
 are meaningless. 
 
 Intensity does not apply to the content; it is equally 
 inapplicable to the mental act. Suppose we conceive a 
 given object, A, there is no meaning to the proposition to 
 conceive A with double intensity. If the object were a 
 sensation, we should find that such an attempt resulted, 
 not in representing A with double intensity, but rather in 
 representing 2 A. Thus, in case of a noise, the attempt 
 to remember a noise more intensely would really result in 
 recalling a louder noise. In short, ideas do not vary in 
 intensity at all, but rather in clearness or distinctness. 
 Thus a triangle may be conceived as three-sided, and then 
 the matter is at an end. What the intense representation 
 of a triangle might be, as distinct from a clear one, is 
 past all finding out. We can, indeed, have a more or less 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 79 
 
 extensive knowledge about a triangle, but a more or less 
 intense knowledge is nothing. 
 
 Moreover, the clearness has no meaning when applied 
 to the simple representations with which Herbart works. 
 Thus, an unclear representation of blue would always 
 mean a representation of unclear blue, that is, a blue 
 bordering on some other color. Hence the clearness of 
 a simple representation also admits of no degrees. When 
 we fancy that we are representing a simple quality with 
 varying degrees of clearness, we are really representing 
 different degrees of the quality itself. As for the clearness 
 of our complex ideas, we shall find hereafter that this is no 
 property of the ideas themselves as mental states, but ex- 
 ists only in and through the act of apprehension. It is the 
 comprehension which is clear, not the idea. 
 
 We conclude, then, that neither opposition nor intensity, 
 in whatever sense they are taken, can be viewed as moving 
 forces among mental states. Indeed, if we are to find such 
 a force anywhere, it must be sought in a realm where the 
 Herbartian is forbidden to find it. Feeling and interest 
 are the great sources of the power of an idea over the 
 current of thought. That line of thought in which we 
 are interested draws all others away and wins the mind 
 to itself. But this interest is no quality of the ideas, but 
 is a certain value which the mind attaches to the ideas for 
 the time being. In general, it is highly changeable, varying 
 with the health, the general state of feeling, the time of 
 life, and a great variety of obscure circumstances besides. 
 
 The general ambiguity of the theory deserves further 
 notice. We may understand by idea either its logical con- 
 tent, or the mental activity by which it exists. But we 
 cannot posit forces in the ideas in the former sense, as that 
 would make them things. We must then take the ideas in 
 the latter sense, and regard their interaction as taking 
 place among a series of psychical functions, rather than 
 
80 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 among logical conceptions. The functions a, b, c, d pro- 
 duce the conscious representations A, B, C, D; but the 
 interaction is only among a, b, c, d. We have just seen 
 that the forces which Herbart attributes to the ideas are 
 unmanageable in either case. Opposition has meaning only 
 for A, B, (7, J) ; and intensity has no meaning. Intensity, 
 again, has meaning only for a, 5, c, d ; and opposition has 
 no meaning. Nor is any mechanical representation of the 
 relations of a, 6, c, d possible. First, there is no assigna- 
 ble way of keeping them separate. When several impulses, 
 X, y, 2, are communicated to the same body, M, they unite 
 in a common resultant, R, in which a;, y, and z no longer 
 exist. If we should suppose them to persist as separate 
 impulses, and should next endow them with attractions and 
 repulsions for one another, we should have precisely the 
 problem in hand. And after we have thus isolated a, 5, 
 c, d, and have endowed them with utterly unrepresentable 
 forces, we have next to consider whether we have not made 
 them into things, and have not cancelled the unity of the 
 mental subject itself. We are no better off if we regard 
 them, not as actual functions, but only as tendencies to per- 
 form functions ; for it is equally impossible to explain the 
 separateness of the tendencies and the possibility of their 
 interaction. In short, there can be no mechanical repre- 
 sentation without the spatial separation and substantial 
 nature of the interacting elements. Where these are lack- 
 ing, mechanical terms are simply figures of speech. 
 
 In addition, it might be pointed out that, if the theory 
 were true, the movement of our ideas would be different 
 from what it is, both in their coming and their going. 
 Our ideas ought to vanish through an indefinite series of 
 degrees of faintness, all the way from the summit of con- 
 sciousness down to the threshold ; and they ought to recur 
 strictly in their ancient form. But there is no need to 
 dwell on this point. 
 
THE MECHANISM OF UEFRODUCTION. 81 
 
 It is easy to see how such a view arises. There are 
 movement and connection among our ideas, and we seek 
 to explain the facts. When several ideas are given, others 
 are excluded ; or when several ideas have been conjoined 
 in experience, thereafter the recurrence of any one often 
 leads to the recurrence of the rest. For the explanation 
 of these facts, promising physical analogies abound. Let 
 us endow the ideas with various attractive and repulsive 
 forces ; let us speak freely of their affinities and opposi- 
 tions ; and the problem is solved. With this outfit we can 
 see the ideas beginning to interact, so as to re-enforce or 
 repress one another. They pass back and forth across the 
 threshold; simple ideas may well combine into complex 
 ideas, just as atoms form molecules ; and the evolution of 
 mental heterogeneity from mental homogeneity is well 
 under way. Few questions longer present any difficulty. 
 Ideas pass out of consciousness, because opposing ideas 
 drive them across the threshold. They return to conscious- 
 ness because of a re-enforcement of energy on their own 
 side, or because of a diminishing energy on the side of 
 their opponents. Association is accounted for by affinity. 
 A and B, in the group A B, are held together by mutual 
 attraction, and hence it is perfectly clear why B should 
 always follow the appearance of A. 
 
 But the joy of new insight must not prevent us from 
 asking whether our theory is to be taken in earnest, or 
 only as a figurative representation of an unpicturable fact. 
 But we cannot seriously regard our theory as a matter of 
 fact, for the following reasons : — 
 
 1. If we mean by ideas their logical content, we must 
 make them things ; we must assume that they can exist 
 out of consciousness ; and we must view reproduction as a 
 literal resurrection of the old experience. 
 
 2. If we mean by ideas the psychical functions which 
 result in conscious states, we are totally unable to name or 
 
 6 
 
82 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 define, or in any way represent, the forces which play 
 among them. We are equally unable to adjust the theory 
 to experience, except in the vaguest way ; and then only 
 because we have constructed it with reference to experi- 
 ence. The deduction only draws out what we put in. 
 
 It is plain from the foregoing that our mechanical con- 
 structions of the reproductive process are failures. All 
 that we do is to apply the terminology of mechanics and 
 dynamics to the observed movements of the ideas, without 
 even the possibility of understanding our own terms in 
 their special applications. The mechanical terms lead us 
 to fancy that we have established a mental dynamics, 
 whereas we have only a series of unintelligible metaphors. 
 If we resolutely eschew these, we are left simply with the 
 fact of movement and connection among our ideas. This 
 fact must, indeed, have its sufficient ground and explana- 
 tion ; but it does not admit of a mechanical construction 
 after the manner of molecular dynamics. 
 
 The English associationalists have never accepted the 
 Herbartian ontology ; and they have also never had any 
 clear conception of their own position. They waver between 
 regarding the association of ideas as an ultimate fact, and 
 viewing the relations of contiguity, similarity, etc. as forces 
 of mental cohesion and movement. In the latter case all 
 the difficulties of the Herbartian theory reappear. This 
 uncertainty has led the later writers of this school largely 
 to adopt the physiological explanation. 
 
 The dark unpicturability of the reproductive process on 
 the psychological side, the near approach to absurdity 
 involved in the doctrine of unconscious ideas, and an un- 
 willingness to leave reproduction unexplained, have led to 
 an attempt to find the ground of reproduction in the brain 
 rather than in the mind itself. If we may suppose each of 
 our ideas to have some physical representative, we seem 
 to escape many of the difficulties mentioned. We need 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 83 
 
 no longer to speak of unconscious ideas, for that which 
 
 represents the ideas when out of consciousness is not an 
 unimaginable mental function, but a distinct physical repre- 
 sentative. For the movement and coherence of our ideas, 
 also, we need not assume anv unconstruable forces amouR: 
 the ideas, as the dynamic relations among their physical 
 representatives dispense with them altogether. Now all 
 is clear again. What appears subjectively as the associa- 
 tion of ideas is objectively a dynamic relation of physical 
 quantities. This theory seems so promising that we can- 
 not but be filled with hope. Indeed, we may even expect 
 to see thought itself going on apart from consciousness, 
 as the outcome of this " unconscious cerebration." 
 
 This theory may be held in a purely materialistic sense, 
 and indeed it has been largely supported by materialistic 
 assumptions. In this sense the theory is repudiated in 
 advance. But it may also be held in connection with a 
 spiritual conception of the soul. Its most general assump- 
 tion is, that every mental state, of whatever kind, makes 
 some relatively permanent impression on the brain, which 
 thus becomes a register of experience. This impression 
 is variously conceived, as a tendency, or as special forms 
 of movement, or as special groupings of the brain-cells. 
 The result is, that the brain tends to repeat its past forms 
 of activity, thus reproducing the past mental experience. 
 This is the basis of reproduction. 
 
 The general dependence of reproduction upon the brain 
 may be conceived in two ways. First, we may suppose 
 that the brain conditions an activity of the mind which it 
 does not itself produce. Second, we may suppose that the 
 recurrence in experience of ideas due to a re-excitation of 
 their physical ground is the sum of reproduction. The 
 former view leaves reproduction a psychical process ; the 
 latter makes it a physiological one. This is the view in 
 question. 
 
84 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Two capital difficulties must be noticed in every such 
 theory : — 
 
 1. It provides for no distinction between original and 
 recalled experience. The same parts are supposed to be 
 active in memory which were concerned in tlie original 
 experience, and withal in the same way. Hence a memory 
 ought to appear as a faint perception, and not as a repro- 
 duction of something before experienced. The memory 
 of a visual object ought to be a seeing of that object ; and 
 that not merely with the mind's eye, but with the bodily 
 eye as well. The theory provides only for faint percep- 
 tions and vivid perceptions, but not for the distinction 
 between things remembered and things perceived. 
 
 2. The theory makes no provision for the most essential 
 element of reproduction, — memory or recognition. At 
 the very best, it would only provide for the recurrence of 
 similar experiences, but not for their recognition. Repe- 
 tition, however, is not memory. Re-experience is not 
 recognition. If, then, the brain were a storehouse of ideas, 
 and should continually present them before the mind, 
 there would be nothing to suggest to the mind the fact of 
 reproduction, unless the mind had an independent power 
 of recognition in itself. Just as a person with a very 
 feeble memory might read the same book over and over 
 again without a suspicion of the repetition, so the brain- 
 register alone could never bring us to a knowledge of the 
 past unless the mind had in itself an independent power 
 of memory. The re-presentation of an external object is 
 plainly not identical with a memory of that object ; and it 
 might conceivably take place forever without awakening 
 the latter. But the ideas supposed to be re-presented by 
 the brain-register are just as external to memory. The re- 
 currence of experience is not the experience of recurrence. 
 The latter is possible only to the mind itself, and can never 
 be done for it by anything beyond itself. The memo 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 85 
 
 randum may help the mind to recall ; but the recollection 
 must at last be the act of the mind itself. On this theory 
 the brain would be the orcran of memory in tlie same sense 
 that a memorandum-book is an organ of memory. 
 
 To this it may be objected that a reproduced experience 
 will always have certain marks which forbid its identifica- 
 tion with the present experience, and that, therefore, we 
 must locate it in the past as a previous experience. But 
 this fails to meet the case. Without a self-verifying power 
 of memory to some extent, this distinction of present and 
 past experience would never arise, but only a division of 
 experience into vivid and faint states. Without a direct 
 knowledge of the past, these faint states cannot be related 
 to the past, but would remain a special form of present 
 experience. Of course all these states, vivid and faint 
 alike, are present states. Left to themselves there is no 
 hint of reproduction in them. We should hardly descend 
 to the mythological fancy that each one is labelled with its 
 date ; and if we did, wc should next need some mind to read 
 the dates and arrange the states accordingly. 
 
 It appears, then, that no cerebral theory of reproduction 
 can get on without a separate power of reproduction in the 
 mind itself. It also appears, that the reproduction possible 
 to the cerebral theory becomes proper mental reproduction 
 only through the action of the mind itself. The former is 
 so far from explaining the latter, that it becomes known 
 only through the latter. But as mental reproduction is 
 the fact to be explained, and as cerebral reproduction is 
 only an hypothesis for its explanation, and fails withal to 
 meet the purpose of its invention, it is plain that the latter 
 has no further reason for existence. Physiology means 
 well, and is doubtless a most useful and estimable science; 
 but in this case psychology must decline its assistance, of 
 course with thanks for its good intentions. 
 
 It is a disappointment, and even a grief, to find this 
 
86 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 promising theory performing so little. Tlie difficulties 
 dwelt upon are fatal, even if the cerebral theories were 
 complete in all other respects ; which is far enough from 
 being the case. But we postpone consideration of their 
 inner mechanism to the Appendix, and draw here only the 
 conclusion that, whatever the significance of the brain for 
 memory may be, it does not consist in doing the mind's 
 remembering. This is one of the elegant conceptions for 
 which psychology is indebted to the " objective method." 
 The brain is the organ of memory in the same sense that 
 it is the organ of thought. It neither thinks nor remem- 
 bers ; and still less does it furnish the mind with ready- 
 made thoughts and recollections. It simply supplies the 
 conditions of mental activity in these directions, without 
 being in any way able to produce it. 
 
 Both the physical and the mental theories of reproduc- 
 tion fail to give us any insight into the facts. Indeed, this 
 entire department of psychology has been devastated by 
 rhetoric ; and our theories are never more than descrip- 
 tions of the fact, or inferences from our own figures of 
 speech. We recall the past, we say ; and forthwith we 
 judge that it must have been somewhere in the mind ; how 
 else could it be recalled? "We have knowledge of many 
 things of which we are not always conscious ; as mathe- 
 matics, science, languages, etc. This knowledge is said to 
 be in the mind, and, when it is not in consciousness, where 
 can it be but below consciousness ? Then, if rhetorically 
 inclined, we speak of memory's vast halls, dim chambers, 
 niches where the past is stored, etc. If we are philo- 
 sophical, and desire accuracy, we speak of latent, or sub- 
 conscious, mental states as the forms in which this 
 knowledge and experience in general exist. Then it is 
 the easiest thing in the world to enrich and advance psy- 
 chology by the invention of faculties. The retention of 
 experience certainly implies a retentive faculty. Its con- 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 87 
 
 serration, also, is impossible without a conservative faculty. 
 Its reproduction, without doubt, demands a reproductive 
 faculty. Its recognition, of course, calls for a recognizing 
 faculty ; and the location of an event in the temporal scries 
 of our experience must be due to a locating faculty. It 
 would not be difficult to invent several more faculties if the 
 interests of the science called for them. But all these 
 faculties are plainly abstractions from the fact to be ex- 
 plained, and do not advance our knowledge in the least. 
 Nor are we any better off when we appeal to mechanical 
 physics. The facts have no physical analogue ; and the 
 application of physical analogies only misleads us by an 
 appearance of knowledge, while they really prevent us from 
 perceiving the true nature of the facts. All that is pos- 
 sible, therefore, is to seek some expression for the facts 
 which shall give them without distortion, and which shall 
 not transcend the facts themselves. We venture the fol- 
 lowing statements : — 
 
 1. Thoughts and mental states in general are not things, 
 but mental acts or functions. As such, they exist only in 
 and through the activity of the soul ; and when the soul's 
 activity is directed elsewhere, voluntarily or involuntarily, 
 they cease to exist anywhere, either in consciousness or out 
 of it. This explains the loss of ideas from consciousness. 
 
 2. The mind is not an extended substance, with various 
 strata in which the marks of its ancient life remain, or on 
 which its past is written. Except in a figurative sense the 
 past is not in the mind at all. The fact is this. The soul, 
 in distinction from what we assume for the physical ele- 
 ments, is not indifferent to its past, but carries that past 
 with it, not at all in the form of latent modifications, but 
 solely in the power to reproduce that past in consciousness 
 and to know it as past. Our possession of a knowledge 
 of which we are not conscious means only that we can 
 reproduce that knowledge upon occasion. In no other 
 
88 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 sense is past experience latent in us. This power of re- 
 production and recognition admits of no deduction, and 
 has no analogue elsewhere. All attempts to tell how it is 
 possible overlook the essential features of the fact, while 
 the various faculties invented for its explanation are ab- 
 stractions from the fact itself. 
 
 3. When two or more elements have been joined in a 
 common experience, the recurrence of any of these ele- 
 ments often leads to the recurrence of the whole experi- 
 ence. Otherwise expressed, when the mind has performed 
 a given function, it may be stimulated thereafter to renew 
 that function by the recurrence in experience of one 
 or more of the factors which entered into the original 
 function. 
 
 4. Reproduction in no way brings back the old fact. 
 The particular experience as a mental fact vanishes for- 
 ever. What remains is the ability to perform anew the 
 ancient function, thus producing a new experience of simi- 
 lar content to the old. In reproduction the mind does not 
 bring from the depths of unconsciousness a series of par- 
 ticular experiences, which have lain there since their first 
 occurrence ; but it is stimulated to reperform the original 
 function, thus producing a totally or partially identical 
 content. How the mind can do this we do not pretend to 
 know. We have to be content with knowing that it does 
 it, although we cannot construct the process. 
 
 In reproduction a distinction is made between the reviva- 
 bility of an experience and its actual revival. This dcj^ends 
 upon the fact that certain experiences are more easily and 
 certainly recalled than certain others ; and the former are 
 said to be more revivable than the latter. Understanding 
 revivability in this sense, we may study its conditions. 
 
 Revivability is often said to depend on the deptli of the 
 original impression ; but this is only a figure of speech 
 which leads us round in a circle, for there is no way of 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 89 
 
 measuring the depth of the impression except by the re- 
 vivability itself. 
 
 Revivability varies with several factors : — 
 
 1. Attention and discrimination in the original experi- 
 ence arc important elements. In general, we remember 
 that to which we attend with more certainty than that to 
 which we give no attention. 
 
 2. Interest also is equally important. We retain a much 
 firmer hold of that in which we were interested, than of 
 that to which we were indifferent. Interest works directly 
 as an emotional element, and indirectly by intensifying our 
 attention. 
 
 3. Repetition increases revivability. Frequent forms of 
 activity tend to acquire the ease of habit. 
 
 4. Revivability in general diminishes with time. The 
 great bulk of events fades out with the years. 
 
 Exceptions are not lacking to most of these rules ; but 
 their general truth is unquestionable. 
 
 The question is often raised, whether anything is ever 
 forgotten. This can only mean. Does any experience ever 
 become absolutely unrevivable ? Most events of life, as 
 Locke says, arc laid in fading colors, and very quickly fade 
 out beyond any present power of restoration. On the other 
 hand, it is certain that events long forgotten have been re- 
 called with the utmost freshness in some crisis of life, in 
 some access of disease, or in some emotional exaltation. 
 This recall, too, has extended not merely to important 
 matters, but to insignificant details. Such facts at least 
 prove a possibility. 
 
 But revivability is not revival, but only the possibility 
 thereof. How does the possible revival become actual ? 
 The general answer has already been given, that revival 
 takes place through the occurrence in present experience 
 of some factor whose content is similar to that of some 
 factor of the recalled experience. 
 
90 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The current answer to this question is given in the so- 
 called laws of association. Of these it is not always clear 
 whether they are supposed to be descriptions or explana- 
 tions of the reproductive process. In truth, they can never 
 be anything more than descriptions. These laws being 
 only classifications of experience, there is room for some- 
 what of arbitrariness in fixing a standard of classification. 
 Accordingly, it often happens that writers redistribute the 
 facts according to some new rule, with the result that new 
 laws are discovered, and psychology is seen to be a pro- 
 gressive science. 
 
 The laws most commonly given are these : (1.) conti- 
 guity in space and time, which is sometimes reduced to con- 
 tiguity in time ; (2.) cause and effect ; and (3.) likeness and 
 contrariety, or similarity and contrast. That is, (1.) things 
 which we have found together in space and time often re- 
 call one another ; (2.) the cause recalls its effect, and con- 
 versely ; and (3.) ideas often recall others like them, and 
 sometimes contrasted ideas. In addition, the means sug- 
 gests the end, and the end the means ; the sign suggests 
 the thing, and the thing the sign. Such a series might be 
 continued indefinitely, thus producing the appearance of 
 fine psychological observation. Concerning contiguity and 
 similarity there is much debate whether one underlies the 
 other, or whether both are equally fundamental. Among 
 those who regard only one as primary, there is no agree- 
 ment as to which shall be put first. 
 
 Many philosophers have sought to reduce all these laws 
 to one, which has been called the law of redintegration. 
 This formidable term means, that, when any part of a pre- 
 vious state recurs in experience, the mind tends to com- 
 plete, and thus to restore, the past experience. Some of 
 the formulations of this law are unfortunate, and would re- 
 strict it to the reproduction of objects which had previously 
 been joined in thought or experience. On this ground, it 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 91 
 
 has been denied that this law applies to association by 
 similarity ; as in cases of resemblance things suggest one 
 another which have never been united in any previous ex- 
 perience. In its tenable form this law reduces to the state- 
 ment already made, that the mind can be stimulated to 
 perform anew any past function by the recurrence in expe- 
 rience of one or more of the factors wliicli entered into 
 that function. This principle, which may or may not be 
 called redintegration, contains, we conceive, all the so- 
 called laws of association. 
 
 All the laws except that of resemblance appear at once 
 as consequences of this formula. Contiguity in space and 
 time has no effect, except as things and events thus con- 
 tiguous are apt to be joined in a common experience. 
 The contiguity is no factor except in an indirect way. If 
 things or events had not been together, they would not 
 have been known together, and hence would not have 
 been recalled together. The same considerations apply 
 to suggestions of cause and effect, means and ends, etc. 
 Our actual life compels us to connect these ideas very 
 often ; and hence, when one element is given, the other is 
 likely to recur. Suggestion by contrast, when it does occur, 
 comes under the same head. There are sundry contrasts 
 which have a special value for our experience, and hence 
 are frequently joined in thought. Beyond these cases the 
 suggestion by contrast is a pure fiction. 
 
 There is, however, another conception of contiguity, 
 according to which the sensations themselves are con- 
 tiguous, and cohere accordingly. This is another phase of 
 the mythology which has long infested this region. Sensa- 
 tions have no spatial contiguity, as if they existed side 
 by side and cohered at their surfaces. Nor can we make 
 any use of their temporal contiguity, unless we mean to 
 affirm a coherence of particular -experiences, so that the re- 
 produced experience is the veritable old one brought back 
 
92 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 to life. And even such a myth would be useless ; for the 
 present particular experience is here for the first time, and 
 has never been contiguous to anything. How, then, can 
 contiguity act, when there has been no contiguity ? It 
 would tend to clearness, and thus to progress, if some one 
 would bethink himself to define contiguity, and to explain 
 what it is that has been contiguous. Quite unconsciously, 
 it would seem, the associationalist operates with universals, 
 and not with particular experiences. 
 
 Similarity or resemblance remains to be considered. It 
 is not easy to know how this law is to be understood. 
 If we take it literally, it seems to find scanty support in 
 experience. As a rule, tones do not suggest tones, nor 
 colors colors, but rather other and diverse elements with 
 which they have previously been joined. Taking the law 
 in literal strictness, it could never take us outside of the 
 ideas to which the suggesting element belongs. No ele- 
 ment could transcend its class. Thus, a sweet taste might 
 suggest another sweet taste, but it could not by resem- 
 blance suggest a piece of sugar, or the fruit or any other 
 circumstance connected with it. For this we should have 
 to fall back upon our principle. 
 
 In general, this doctrine of association by resemblance 
 is extremely obscure. To begin with, it seems absurd to 
 talk of an association between elements which have never 
 been joined in experience, and yet it is precisely such asso- 
 ciations which this doctrine contemplates. The present 
 experience, a, which I now have for the first time, suggests 
 another, h, had long ago. But a and b have never been 
 joined, and hence never associated. It is, then, a strange 
 use of language to speak of them as associated. Let us 
 escape this paradox by saying that a suggests b. Still the 
 fact is as dark as ever. Why docs the mind go from a to 
 a similar idea, 6 ? It cannot be because they seem like to 
 the mind ; for that would suppose the transit made, and 
 
THE MECHANISM OF KEPROUUCTION. 93 
 
 both objects to be already in thought. The likeness so far 
 as active in suggestion is unperceix ed ; for by the time it 
 is perceived it has done its work. But how can unpcrceived 
 likeness be a ground of suggestion ? 
 
 The answer is found in the principle we have proposed. 
 Likeness as such becomes a ground of suggestion only as 
 the present experience, A be D, contains elements b c?, com- 
 mon to another experience, 31 b c N. This common element, 
 b c, stimulates the mind, under favorable circumstances, to 
 fill out the allied form M b e N. Sometimes b c is entirely 
 inefficient, and then there is no suggestion. Sometimes it 
 stimulates the mind to perform the function Mbc N, but 
 with only partial success. Then we have the peculiar ex- 
 perience of being reminded of something, we cannot say 
 what. Sometimes the function is fully performed, and then 
 the object Mbc N is fully recalled, and we ascribe the result 
 to its likeness to A b c D. 
 
 To understand this result, we must remember that all 
 our experiences are compound, or have several distinguish- 
 able elements ; for example, a picture may be distinguished 
 by its subject, the treatment, the grouping, the drawing, the 
 coloring, the frame, the hanging, and even by the location; 
 and association or suggestion may take place through any 
 one of these elements. Hence we may put an object, A, 
 equal to its elements, abode ; and another object, B^ may be 
 put equal to its elements ablmr. If then we have A before 
 us, and our attention be concentrated upon it, there will 
 be no suggestion. In other cases the factor a 5, common 
 to both A and B, may stimulate the mind to complete the 
 function ablm r. If this succeeds, B will be recalled or 
 suggested by virtue of the likeness of A to B, that is, 
 because of the common factor a b. If it does not succeed 
 to the extent of completely reproducing the function, then 
 we say that A reminds us of something, we cannot say 
 what. 
 
94 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Instead, then, of saying that association by resemblance 
 will not come under our principle, we must rather say that 
 there seems to be no way of bringing it under any other. 
 At all events, we can hardly adopt the fiction that simi- 
 larity is a real force of attraction; although many psy- 
 chologists have not scrupled to speak of the " attraction 
 of similars." 
 
 Our conclusion, then, is that ideas have no attractive or 
 repulsive forces among themselves whereby they move and 
 separate or unite, but that all their movements, so far as 
 they are not due to volition, result from the mental ten- 
 dency to reproduce past forms of activity when some factor 
 of those forms is given. We find that all the laws of asso- 
 ciation are results of this principle, and it includes many 
 facts of association besides. Thus we find that simple 
 experiences alone have little power of suggestion. Simple 
 colors or sounds suggest little, except as parts of a total 
 experience into which they may have entered. In them- 
 selves they are so simple as to involve little mental activity, 
 and hence the tendency to repeat it has little occasion to 
 manifest itself. Very different is it with parts of a whole. 
 Hence the recurrence of any of the factors tends to stimu- 
 late the mind to reconstruct the whole. An odor suggests 
 the form and color of the flower to which it belongs ; and 
 all together may suggest places where the flower grows, 
 and many other circumstances connected with it. So a 
 tone may suggest a melody, and then its place therein, and 
 then the circumstances under which it was heard, or those 
 who used to sing it, etc. So the sound of a word may 
 suggest its meaning, or its printed or written form, or the 
 image of the thing meant, etc. In all these cases the 
 various elements have been combined in previous experi- 
 ences ; and the more deliberate and conscious the relating 
 of the several parts in the original experience, the more 
 certainly does the mind reproduce them in connection. 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 95 
 
 Nor does the mind merely re-relate them ; it relates them 
 in the same manner as before. A succession of events is 
 more easily reproduced in their original order, since that 
 is the form of the original function. The alphabet, a mel- 
 ody, a series of any kind, can hardly be reprodued at all 
 apart from the original order. 
 
 If a given idea had only a single association, it might be 
 easy to trace the course of suggestion, and even to predict 
 it. In fact, however, in our developed experience the same 
 element, a, has entered into combination with a great many 
 others, 5, c, c?, e, etc. This complicates the problem beyond 
 all calculation. We have the groups ahc, ade, afg, etc., 
 indefinitely. Yet the recurrence of a does not recall all of 
 these groups, but rather some one to the exclusion of the 
 others. This special direction is due to special circum- 
 stances. A leading one is the predominant interest of the 
 mind at the time. Suggestions are generally relevant to 
 the matter in hand when the mind is seriously engaged 
 upon any subject. In general, too, the greater the similar- 
 ity, the more probable the suggestion ; as then the mental 
 activity in both cases approaches nearer identity, and the 
 stimulus to reproduction becomes stronger. That is, two 
 objects, abed and aefg, would be less likely to suggest each 
 other than two other objects, ahcd and ahef, as the latter 
 functions approach nearer identity than the former. Other 
 grounds of direction are found in the tone and type of feel- 
 ing, and also in our physical condition. One of the most 
 marked defects of the common expositions of the doctrine 
 of association is that they overlook the profound signifi- 
 cance of the feelings and emotions for the association of 
 ideas, whereas ideas are quite as often suggested by feelings 
 as by ideas, and the general direction of association is espe- 
 cially due to the emotional state. But all these factors, 
 the interest, the attention, the general current of thought 
 and type of feeling, are incessantly changing. The mental 
 
96 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 mechanism, if there be one, not only incessantly produces 
 new combinations, but the elements and forces themselves 
 are constantly changing. The result is, that variegated 
 play of ideas which varies from an orderly suggestion of 
 relevant thoughts to the apparently hap-hazard and lawless 
 mental drift of revery and dream. 
 
 It is a question whether the course of suggestion can 
 always be traced, or whether the connecting links are some- 
 times out of sight. There is general agreement that the 
 connecting links exist, but doubt exists as to the possibility 
 of finding them. Experience, indeed, often presents us 
 with ideas which seem to have no connection with our 
 previous mental state. They appear to be new beginnings 
 in the mental flow. To explain such cases, two theories 
 exist. (1.) The connecting ideas were in consciousness, but 
 vanished as soon as they had conjured up the suggested 
 idea, and left no trace behind. (2.) The connecting ideas 
 were not in consciousness, but below it as latent mental 
 states, and the connection took place in this sub-conscious 
 region. Suppose A is given in consciousness, and C sud- 
 denly appears. On the former view, B, the connecting link, 
 was momentarily in consciousness, and disappeared without 
 leaving any impression upon the memory. On the latter 
 view, B was not in consciousness at all. In support of the 
 former view it is urged that ideas are constantly pouring 
 through consciousness, yet without leaving any impression 
 on the memory because of their irrelevancy to our mental 
 state, or because of our total lack of interest and attention. 
 Thus, in reading, all the words make an im})ression upon 
 consciousness, but as words they are immediately forgot- 
 ten. In writing we consciously direct the formation of 
 each letter, but the recollection vanishes with the act itself. 
 Hence we need not assume sub-conscious mental states to 
 account for the fact. 
 
 It is doubtful whether the fact itself exists which these 
 
THE MECHANISM OF REPRODUCTION. 97 
 
 theories seek to explain. Both alike rest on the fancy that 
 ideas are suggested only by ideas. Had it been seen that 
 feelings, even of the vaguest sort, can suggest ideas, the 
 fact iu question would have been doubted. What suggested 
 idea Bl No idea A is found, but it is concluded that the 
 idea A must have been there, either in consciousness or 
 out of it. But, instead of idea A, it may have been a feel- 
 ing F in any of its shades or modifications, and these may 
 have been so fleeting as to attract no attention whatever. 
 They may even remain in consciousness, yet so involved 
 with other elements as to present no clearly distinguishable 
 content. Instead, then, of saying that the connecting link 
 is not in consciousness, we go as far as the facts warrant 
 when we say that we do not distinguish the line of connec- 
 tion. There is certainly no occasion for falling back on 
 unconscious mental modifications, or on what Hamilton, 
 with a close approach to a contradiction, calls latent modi- 
 fications of consciousness. The factors which enter into 
 an object are so numerous as often to admit of no distinct 
 recognition ; and suggestion may take place through any 
 of them. When suggestion does take place through such 
 undistinguished elements, then we have the appearance of 
 the fact assumed by the two theories, an apparently ground- 
 less suggestion. We have an illustration in the frequent 
 experience of being reminded by something of another thing 
 without being able to tell what it is in the first which re- 
 calls the second. 
 
 Various experiments are made in physiological psychol- 
 ogy to measure the time of the associational process. Thus 
 words are called, and the time elapsing before compre- 
 hension is measured. As yet nothing has been revealed 
 beyond the unimportant but familiar fact that things are 
 more quickly recalled in the measure of their familiarity, 
 or that customary associations take less time than infre- 
 quent ones. By the aid of statistical tables and occasional 
 
 7 
 
98 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 woodcuts this commonplace is made to assmne a novel and 
 severely scientific appearance. 
 
 Herewith we close the discussion of the mechanism of 
 representative knowledge. The conclusion is, that the facts 
 admit of no mechanical construction, and that only a general 
 description of the process is possible. There is no theory 
 which gives any real insight into reproduction, and no for- 
 mula which enables us to trace the process in detail. The 
 general law already given does not enable us to predict 
 special cases ; nor is it by any means always possible to 
 trace the course of suggestion after the event has declared 
 itself. 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 99 
 
 APPENDIX TO CHAPTER HI. 
 
 CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 
 
 A DETAILED accoiiiit of tliis tlieory seems desirable, not 
 because of its intrinsic value, but solely because of its facti- 
 tious importance. We have already pointed out that it 
 may be held in a purely materialistic sense ; and in that 
 form it is repudiated in advance. But it may also be held 
 in connection with a spiritual conception of the soul. Its 
 most general assumption is, that every mental state, of 
 whatever kind, makes some permanent impression upon the 
 brain, which thus becomes a register of experience. Its 
 common statement pro\'ides only for the recovery of sensa- 
 tions, as follows. 
 
 Every sensation has for its antecedent some molecular 
 movement in the brain ; and thereby, through repetition, 
 the brain acquires a tendency to that movement. Thus 
 permanent impressions of some sort are made upon the 
 brain-tissue, and these provide for the repetition of the 
 sensations themselves in their faint form as representa- 
 tions. In any future nervous action there will be a ten- 
 dency to re-excite the earlier forms of activity, and the 
 corresponding representations will be reproduced. 
 
 In this form the theory is manifestly incomplete, as it 
 provides only for the case of knowledge obtained through 
 the senses, whereas reproduction has to do, not only with 
 this, but also with emotions, thoughts, resolves, volitions, 
 etc. To make the doctrine adequate, we must assume that 
 all mental states, whatever their origin, impress themselves 
 upon the brain in such a way as to leave relatively perma- 
 nent registers of themselves. We must next assume that 
 
100 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 these registers interact in some way, and thus determine 
 the appearance and disappearance of the corresponding 
 ideas. Those who have held the view have generally held 
 a sensational philosophy, and thus have concealed from 
 themselves the enormous complexity of the theory. 
 
 As thus given, the theory is very vague, and needs fur- 
 ther specification. It is not clear whether the nervous 
 registers consist in special groupings, or in special move- 
 ments, or in a form of organic habit, a tendency to re- 
 peat the customary forms of action. The more common 
 view unites the first and second, and regards the nervous 
 register as consisting in a special grouping leading to spe- 
 cial movements within that grouping. The special group- 
 ing alone would be no ground for either sensation or its 
 recall ; and the special movement implies some special 
 grouping as its possibility. These two views then imply 
 each other. The third view will be considered by itself. 
 Moreover, as the cell is the unit of structure in the gray 
 matter of the brain, where by common consent these regis- 
 ters are located, the brain-cells are supposed to become the 
 carriers of our experience through the modifications pro- 
 duced in them. We shall call the view, therefore, the 
 nerve-cell theory; but our criticism will apply equally to 
 any theory which regards the nervous register as consist- 
 ing in special groupings and movements of the brain ele- 
 ments. By cells, then, we understand, not the physiologi- 
 cal unit of structure, but the peculiar grouping which is 
 supposed to bear our past experience. 
 
 We consider the cell theory first. To begin with, it is 
 plain that we get no aid from the theory unless we refer 
 different experiences to different cells. For if one and the 
 same cell had to preserve distinct a multitude of impres- 
 sions, it would bo quite impossible to see how the one 
 physical cell could do this more efficiently than the mind 
 itself. Hence the theory has generally been regarded as 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 
 
 demanding separate cells for the preservation of distinct 
 experiences ; and this has even been regarded as an ad- 
 vantage, as it furnishes a ready explanation of the strange 
 psychological fact that ideas do not coalesce in conscious- 
 ness although "without dividing walls. We have but to 
 suppose each idea based upon the action of a separate cell 
 to see why this is so. At least we are told so, although it 
 is not at first clear that the distinctness of the cells out of 
 consciousness must forbid the fusion of their resultants in 
 consciousness. 
 
 This theory, like materialism, is perfectly intelligible 
 until one seeks to understand it. Or, like materialism 
 again, it explains facts in general very handsomely, but is 
 rather at a disadvantage when applied to facts in particu- 
 lar. Having decided to call certain hypothetical molecular 
 groupings representatives of ideas, and having further as- 
 sumed them in various dynamic relations, we seem to have 
 all the conditions of insight. But some difficulties emerge 
 upon closer examination. 
 
 First of all, the complexity of the theory must be noticed. 
 Take a single sense, as vision. The same object makes 
 very different sense impressions, according to our distance 
 from it. Every step toward it modifies the visual impres- 
 sion and the number of retinal elements concerned in the 
 vision. Again, I may easily cause the image at any point 
 to fall on different parts of the retina, and thus bring 
 different nervous elements into play, and produce again 
 new and peculiar sense impressions. But since these are 
 all distinguishable, and since a given cell can receive only 
 a single impression, it would follow that an indefinite num- 
 ber of cells is required to represent a short experience with 
 a single visual object. The same considerations apply to 
 any of the other senses. All admit of indefinite degrees of 
 distinguishable sensation, and hence there must be a cor- 
 responding number of cells to make the discrimination 
 
102 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 possible. Likewise, every object is given in an indefinite 
 number of relations, or with an ever-varying content. Tims 
 a given person, A, is known as a boy or a man ; as meeting us 
 in this or that place, or under these or those circumstances ; 
 as wearing a certain style of clothing, or as making this or 
 that remark. Our experience of A, and of every ol)ject in 
 general, is always particular, and never can be universal. 
 Hence there must be a special cell for each of these special 
 experiences. This overwhelming complexity is overlooked 
 by making the logical universal in each case take the place 
 of the specific experience. But this will not do, for two 
 reasons : (1.) it is a peculiarity of the logical universal 
 that it coexists with the cases subsumed under it, and does 
 not arise from their fusion ; and (2.) if the cell represented 
 only the logical universal, we should be unable to recall any 
 of the specific cases. Hence we must have special cells for 
 genera, other cells for the included species, still others for 
 the individuals, and an indefinite number for the myriad 
 contexts in which each individual has been experienced. 
 Thus there must be a cell for color, still others for colors, 
 others again for all possible shades of those colors, and 
 finally a countless number for the myriad experiences with 
 individual cases. When we multiply these by the number 
 of individuals, we begin to get some idea of the complexity 
 of the theory. This must then be increased by the num- 
 ber of possible experiences ; for, by the theory, for each dis- 
 tinguishable form and place of every experience, real and 
 possible, there must be a special nervous grouping and 
 movement which can be appropriated to nothing else after 
 the experience has occurred. And even this is not the 
 end, for separate experiences, real and possible, of the same 
 thing, as well as of different things, must have their special 
 grouping ; for they are certainly distinguishable, and on the 
 theory this must point to peculiar corresponding grouping. 
 Whatever is distinguishable in mental experience, whether 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 103 
 
 in space, time, number, quantity, quality, etc., must be 
 based on correspondent nervous differences, and have its 
 appropriate cell. Indeed, it would follow that the cell of 
 a given experience could never represent any other, even of 
 the same class, for that other would always differ in time 
 at least, and generally in many other respects ; it would 
 then be special, and must have its special cell. 
 
 This complexity may be further illustrated by the facts 
 of language. We must have cells not only for the several 
 parts of speech, but also for every word ; and not only for 
 every word as representing an object, but also for every 
 word as a thing in itself. That is, there must be cells for 
 the objects, and other cells for the words, as the two arc 
 quite distinct. There must also be cells for the sounds of 
 the words, and cells for the words as written. Take, for 
 exami)le, ■•through"; there must be a cell for the sound, 
 others for the printed letters, others for the written letters, 
 and still others for their combination. Without the first, 
 we should not understand the word when spoken ; without 
 the second and third, we should not recognize the word as 
 written or printed ; and without the fourth, we could not 
 spell it. Finally, there must be some kind of nervous 
 grouping for each of the many relations in which this word, 
 as preposition, stands to others. 
 
 Again, if we learn a foreign language, a corresponding 
 number of different cells must be produced outside of the 
 tract which represents the words and grammar of our 
 mother tongue. If we should go on, like Cardinal Mezzo- 
 fanti, who, it is said, spoke fluently in thirty languages, 
 and knew something of seventy-two languages, it would 
 seem as if the language tract would get filled up. Of 
 course it would take a correspondingly great number of 
 cells to represent all this linguistic wealth, and there would 
 be also as many different sets of cells as there were dif- 
 ferent lano;uao;es. It is somewhat hard to see what the 
 
104 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 difference is between the cells of different words in the 
 same language, but the physical difference between Eng- 
 lish, French, German, and Italian cells is highly obscure. 
 This complexity has been lost sight of because of the fancy 
 that experience is of the logical universal ; and that hence 
 a single cell might represent all the individuals of a class. 
 Probably the theory would never have been held at all by 
 any but materialists, except for this mistake. 
 
 To keep the impressions separate is a second point of 
 great difficulty. Suppose a series of impressions on the 
 retina ; where are they stored ? Not in the retina and the 
 optic nerve ; for these perpetually return to a state of equi- 
 librium. Otherwise they could not mediate a knowledge of 
 all visible objects. The impressions, then, are stored some- 
 where in the brain, probably in some area of the enveloping 
 gray matter. Impression a, then, finds its way to a given 
 point in this area, and a cell is formed, or an existing cell is 
 modified. Impressions 5, c, d, e, etc. follow, and other cells 
 are made or modified. To assume that the nerve elements 
 which receive the several impressions were originally 
 adapted to them alone, would be a monstrous extension of 
 the doctrine of the specific energy of the nerves, and would 
 be a physiological form of pre-established harmony which 
 would likely find no supporters. We should need to sup- 
 pose, for example, that the word " two" can be understood 
 only by a certain element in the visual area and by a cer- 
 tain other element in the auditory area ; and that only on 
 the supposition that these elements have been Anglicized. 
 Yet, without assuming such pre-established harmony, it is 
 not easy to see why impression a should be stored in cell a, 
 and not in any other cell whatever. It is still harder to 
 see why impressions J, e, etc. should turn aside to form 
 special cells for themselves, instead of modifying the results 
 of a, and forming a mixed resultant. The original nerve 
 elements were as open to 5, e, etc. as to a ; and hence all 
 
CEUEBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 105 
 
 the laws of physical action would lead us to expect a re- 
 sultant impression, in which the jilurality and peculiarities 
 of the components should disappear. If this does not take 
 place, we must suppose that, for some inscrutable reason, a 
 given nerve element, when once made the bearer of a men- 
 tal experience, is thereafter incapable of receiving new 
 impressions. The method of securing this extraordinary 
 result is beyond all suspicion. Of course, this view fur- 
 ther implies that the possibilities of experience are being 
 used up, and that all new impressions must be referred to 
 the elements which have not yet been pre-empted. 
 
 This implication has been recognized, and the attempt 
 has been made to calculate the probable number of dispos- 
 able cells, and the resulting range of knowledge.^ 
 
 The working of the theory implies that the recurrence 
 of an impression may re-excite the ancient cell ; but as the 
 same impressions never recur, but only similar ones with 
 different contexts, it is hard to see how the same cell can 
 ever be re-excited. In some way, however, similar impres- 
 sions are supposed to betake themselves to the same cells. 
 Hence, a repetition of an old experience must find its way 
 to its proper cell, however many intervening cells of dis- 
 similar experiences there may be. We should expect an 
 in-going impulse to excite all the cells along its track, and 
 thus to precipitate an indefinite number of past experiences 
 upon us. But as this does not happen, we must fall back 
 upon some specific relation between a given impulse and 
 the corresponding cell, so that only the former can excite 
 the latter, and so that the former can excite only the latter. 
 But how this selective action is possible is not clear. It 
 has been suggested that we might conceive of it as the re^ 
 lation of a musical note to a series of stretched cords. In 
 the latter case, a given note is responded to only by the 
 cord which gives that note, while all the others remain 
 
 ^ See Bain's " Mind and Body." 
 
106 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 silent. But this suggestion only restates the problem, with- 
 out giving any kind of idea how the thing is done in the 
 brain. In any case, we have to assume a highly mysterious 
 relation between a given impulse and a given cell ; whereas 
 absolutely nothing is known which suggests that a given 
 impulse is not adapted to excite all cells alike which may 
 lie along its track. Nothing is known, for example, which 
 suggests that a given word, seen or pronounced, is able to 
 excite only one corresponding cell, and not rather all cells 
 connected with the nervous area in question. 
 
 The construction of our complex notions is also a point 
 of great obscurity. Take, for instance, molasses. As 
 having a peculiar odor, there must be a molasses cell con- 
 nected with the olfactory nerve. As having a peculiar 
 look, there must be a molasses cell connected with the 
 optic nerve. As having a peculiar flavor, there must be a 
 molasses cell connected with the nerves of taste. As hav- 
 ing a name which may be both read and heard, there must 
 be a corresponding cluster for both eye and ear. Now how 
 do these several simple cells unite to form the complex 
 notion molasses ? It would not do to have them leave their 
 several sensational areas and meet at some central spot ; 
 for that would take them out of all relation to the sensory 
 nerves. It has been held that each remains where it is in 
 its own sensational area, and that they are united by lines 
 of nervous connection, whereby an affection of one becomes 
 an affection of all. Of course, anatomy knows nothing of 
 these lines ; but, allowing them, they raise more problems 
 than they solve. If there antecedent to experience, we 
 have a physiological pre-established harmony between the 
 brain and the future experience of the individual ; and if 
 not there, we must assume that a single experience, which 
 often results in an abiding association, can produce and 
 maintain a line of nervous connection where there was 
 none before. I meet a person in a restaurant. Both per- 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF KEPUODUCTION. 107 
 
 son and place may be strange to me. In tliat case, at least 
 two new cells and a new line of nervous connection must 
 be established, as a result of a momentary experience. 
 Such extraordinary structural changes do not happen else- 
 where with such rapidity. 
 
 The complexity of this view, again, is hidden by attend- 
 ing only to the logical universal. The general notion with, 
 say, five marks, needs apparently only five cells and five 
 lines of communication ; but the particular case is never 
 the universal, but is subsumed under it. Hence, each of 
 the five marks must have an indefinite number of special 
 cases, and there must be a corresponding number of lines 
 of communication all uniting in the class cell. In the 
 same way, all the words and letters of a language must 
 have the most amazing complexity of interlacing. As 
 words they must be linked with their objects, and not only 
 with an object in general, but with an indefinite variety of 
 particular objects. As words, again, they must be vari- 
 ously linked with one another in an indefinite number of 
 phrases. The letters, too, must have their appropriate cells, 
 and each of these cells must be connected with myriad 
 others in the manifold combinations of spelling. It is not 
 plain whether the cell for t standing alone is the same as 
 the cells for t in "the," "this," "that," etc., or whether 
 there is a special cell for each case ; but the complexity 
 is equally great in either case. In the latter, the single 
 letter requires an enormous number of cells ; in the former, 
 it requires an equally great number of lines of nervous 
 connection. 
 
 Moreover, allowing these lines of communication to ex- 
 ist, the peculiarities of association are far from explained. 
 We have merely explained a possible association, and not 
 the peculiarities of actual reproduction. Thus molasses, 
 again, is given in the greatest variety of contexts. The 
 various kinds and grades of molasses, molasses on bread 
 
108 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 or tlie baby's fingers, molasses in the cruet, the cask, the 
 store, molasses at the boarding-school or in its hygienic 
 relations, molasses in its manufacture, molasses in its re- 
 lation to sugar or New England rum, molasses in its 
 commercial and international relations, — any of these 
 considerations, and any one of an indefinite number of 
 special cases under each of these specifications, may be 
 suggested by the word molasses. Hence, the auditory 
 molasses cell must be connected by nerve-lines with all 
 these other cells ; and since the same effect might have 
 followed if any of the other senses had been excited, all 
 the molasses cells must be in similar connection. But then 
 it is peculiarly hard to see why the stimulus of a given cell 
 should not produce a discharge along all the lines of com- 
 munication. This is what all physical analogy would lead 
 us to expect ; but this is precisely what does not happen. 
 The actual excitation takes place along lines of psycho- 
 logical interest, and these have no physical analogy. The 
 nervous discharge could ha"\'e no interest in going along 
 one line rather than another, and, unless there be some 
 physical hindrance, must take place along all lines alike. 
 In most cases, withal, there is no discharge on any line, but 
 the mind keeps on its chosen course of thought. Hence, 
 after constructing a theory with great pains, we have the 
 mortification of finding that it will not work without as- 
 suming a purely hypothetical set of physical conditions to 
 make it adequate to the effect. 
 
 A still more remarkable case of selection appears in 
 the facts of aphasia. It is well known that, in this dis- 
 ease, there is often a progressive loss of the parts of 
 speech. Proper names go first, then the more common 
 substantives, then the abstract parts of speech, as verbs, 
 verbal nouns, and prepositions, and finally the interjec- 
 tions. 
 
 This order is what we should expect from the familiar 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 109 
 
 psychological law, that the strength of association varies 
 with the frequency with which the elements have been 
 conjoined. In the case of persons they are represented in 
 our thought by their image, rather than by their names. 
 In the case of common nouns the same is true, but to a 
 less extent. The abstract parts of speech, on the other 
 hand, are represented only by the word. In their case, 
 then, the strongest association must be established. These 
 facts, then, are not entirely unamenable to psychological 
 law ; but they are entirely foreign to any known laws of 
 physical action. On the theory of nerve-cells, we must 
 sujipose a curious selection on the part of the disease, — 
 attacking first of all the proper nouns, then addressing 
 itself to the common nouns, and finally, after devouring 
 verbs and prepositions, rooting out the interjections. How 
 such selection is physically possible is not explained. It 
 has been suggested that the parts of speech are put in in 
 layers in the brain-cells ; but this only removes the diffi- 
 culty to the original stowing, and besides creates surprise 
 that the layers should always be attacked by disease in the 
 same order. 
 
 The cell theory labors under the following physiological 
 difficulties : — 
 
 1. The existence of sensational areas is not certainly 
 established, and in any case they form only a small amount 
 of the gray envelope of the brain. 
 
 2. It asserts a specific energy of the nervous elements, 
 either original or acquired, which is opposed to all the 
 indications of physiological research. 
 
 3. Hence its assumption of specific nerve cells for each 
 element of sense experience is very doubtful, while the as- 
 sumption of such cells for every element of thought and 
 feeling is an hypothesis to prove an hypothesis. 
 
 4. Assuming these cells, we have next to assume special 
 lines of nervous connection among the cells whose mental 
 
110 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 counterparts appear together in consciousness ; that is, a 
 second liypothesis is brought in to support the first. 
 
 5. Since all associated elements do not always appear 
 together, but now one and now another, we must next as- 
 sume a series of unknown physical conditions which pro- 
 duce this j)eculiar result, so unlike the uniform action of 
 physical forces. That is, a third hypothesis is needed to 
 support the other two. Moreover, these unknown condi- 
 tions contain the whole mystery of the actual result. 
 
 6. To keep the impressions separate, either as deposited 
 in the original brain-cells or as represented by new group- 
 ings, we have to assume some unknown conditions which 
 do it we know not how. This is an additional hypothesis 
 to prove the rest. 
 
 7. The complexity of the theory makes demands upon 
 the brain which there is no reason for believing that it can 
 fulfil. 
 
 8. The duality of the brain as a mental organ might com- 
 pel us to reduplicate the whole intolerable complexity. 
 
 9. The facts of aphasia mentioned, and various facts con- 
 nected with the loss of memory, lead on this theory to the 
 most fantastic and grotesque assumptions. 
 
 Finally, if these difficulties were all overcome, we are 
 unable to work the theory without assuming an indepen- 
 dent power of reproduction in the mind itself. 
 
 It would be insufferably tedious to pursue this theory 
 any further. In itself it belongs to the department of 
 physiological mythology, and was born either of mate- 
 rialism or of an inability to think except in physical 
 pictures. In such cases the mystery of reproduction seems 
 solved when we feign a multitude of cells duly connected 
 with nervous fibres, and grouped into larger clusters. Such 
 external relations of imaginary spatial inclusion and con- 
 nection have been supposed to account for the unpicturable 
 relations of thought. The same type of mind lias found it 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 
 
 Ill 
 
 easy to explain self-consciousness by supposing tlic brain 
 molecules to move in paths which return upon themselves ; 
 for is not self-consciousness such a recurrent movement? 
 And what is plainer than that the higher forms of mental 
 activity are explained when we sui)pose their seat to lie 
 higher up in the brain ? And yet, perhaps, as profounder 
 forms of mental action, they might more appropriately be 
 located at its base. 
 
 The second form of the cerebral theory is based upon 
 the analogy of habit, and escapes many of the gratuitous 
 difficulties of the cell theory. It regards experience as 
 stored in the brain in the form of tendencies, dispositions, 
 facilities, etc. There is no need, then, to provide a sepa- 
 rate cell for each experience, but one and the same nervous 
 element may preserve various experiences. Our muscles 
 do not contain their past acts in discrete physical repre- 
 sentatives, but rather in increased facility in general, and 
 especially in increased facility in the particular line of 
 action chosen. It would be absurd to look in the musi- 
 cian's fingers for the pieces of music mastered, and it 
 would be still more absurd to seek to determine the range 
 of musical acquirement by the number of the fingers. 
 Individual movements are lost in the common resultant 
 of developed muscular possibilities. Applying this view 
 to the brain, the looking for nerve cells which represent 
 discrete experiences and retain them in their discreteness 
 seems like looking in the athlete's muscles for the separate 
 exercises whereby they have grown to their present facility, 
 or like looking in the vocal chords of a singer for discrete 
 representatives of all the songs sung. Counting the brain- 
 cells, again, in order to determine the range of possible 
 knowledge, seems like counting the strings of a piano to 
 see how many tunes can be played upon it. 
 
 This view, though a great relief from the unmanage- 
 able complexity and fantastic assumptions of the previous 
 
112 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 theory, is itself far from clear. The notion of habit is an 
 obscure one, which cannot be represented in any terms 
 of material movement and grouping. A physical system 
 under the action of physical forces may tend toward a 
 state of molecular equilibrium, as when a bell acquires 
 a finer tone by use ; but beyond this, improvement cannot 
 go. This, however, is anything but habit, and such as it 
 is, it depends upon a new grouping of the elements. If 
 now the view in question recognizes nothing beyond the 
 physical elements in the brain, it must base the growing 
 facility on a change of grouping. Tlie elements in general 
 have no habits but laws ; and a disposition or tendency 
 which is not the result of some grouping is unintelligible. 
 A pendulum acquires no tendency to swing, a clock- 
 hammer forms no habit of striking. But if we base the 
 tendencies of the brain upon a change of grouping in the 
 elements, we pass back into the previous view. But if we 
 assume some mysterious principle besides the elements 
 which is the ground and subject of the growing facility, 
 we have something quite as mysterious as the soul itself ; 
 and something withal which seems no better able to ex- 
 plain reproduction than the soul itself. The assumption 
 of this second mystery throws no light on the general 
 problem. It only explains the obscure by the obscurer. 
 We find a series of activities in the mind which we cannot 
 deduce, but only describe. "We seek to explain these by 
 a series of hypothetical activities in a hypothetical some- 
 thing, and are so pleased with our effort as to fail to in- 
 quire whether we are any better off than before. In many 
 respects this view is worse than the preceding one. The 
 actual order of association is left even more obscure ; for 
 while there might be a concurrent excitation of connected 
 cells, it is extremely hard to get a physical representation 
 of associated " facilities " or " dispositions." 
 
 As a result of all these considerations, we conclude that 
 
CEREBRAL THEORY OF REPRODUCTION. 113 
 
 physiology is not able to construct a theory of representa- 
 tive knowledge which shall greatly advance psychological 
 study. In no case can cerebral reproduction dispense with 
 an independent mental reproduction ; and hence, apart 
 from its grotesque and unmanageable features, it is a 
 purely gratuitous hypothesis. The cerebral theory, with 
 its elegant conception of " unconscious cerebration," is a 
 piece of physiological metaphysics which does great honor 
 to the objective method of psychological study. 
 
 This conclusion, however, does not imply that the brain 
 has no significance for reproduction ; but only that that 
 significance does not consist in being an organic copy of 
 experience. The known facts simply assure us that the 
 state of the body affects the memory, as well as the other 
 forms of mental activity. 
 
 The only sense in which the brain can be called the 
 organ of memory is that in which the brain is the organ 
 of thought. This does not mean that the brain does the 
 remembering and thinking for the mind, or that the mind 
 uses the brain to think and remember with ; both of 
 these notions are absurd. It means simply that the brain 
 conditions the mental activities of thought and recollec- 
 tion. This simple fact of experience is made the occasion 
 for the fantastic and grotesque whimsies of the cerebral 
 theory, with the result of immensely increasing our diffi- 
 culties without adding any insight. Nor are we in any 
 way better able to understand the disturbances of memory 
 on the cerebral theory, than on any other. On any theory, 
 these disturbances remain facts which admit of only a 
 hypothetical explanation. For example, a person com- 
 pletely loses his knowledge of a given language. From 
 the psychological side such a fact is confessedly myste- 
 rious. We must, then, seek a physiological explanation. 
 But did the cells which stored up this linguistic wealth 
 suddenly vanish, or coalesce ? If we attribute it to some 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 paralysis of the language tract, is it quite clear how such 
 paralysis should confiue itself to one language only ? And 
 if the cells do not vanish, but are inhibited in their repro- 
 ductive action by some unknown circumstances, is that 
 view any clearer than the other, that the soul may be 
 inhibited in its reproductive action by untoward physical 
 or mental circumstances ? 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 116 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 
 
 Sensations constitute a first order of mental reaction 
 against external action. These in turn become the ground 
 of a second order of mental reaction. This second order 
 consists in a working over of the sensations into rational 
 forms, or in their interpretation according to certain ra- 
 tional ideas. In this process appears a new factor of the 
 mental life, which wc call the thought-factor. We propose 
 to show that such a factor exists, and to consider some of 
 the leading ideas according to which the thought-activity 
 proceeds. 
 
 At this point we reach a parting of the ways in psy- 
 chology. One school claims that sensibility and the primary 
 laws of association among sensations and their representa- 
 tions, account for all that is in the mind. In this view, 
 there is no specific thought-activity as distinct from sensi- 
 bility, but all the so-called higher mental faculties can be 
 reduced to modifications of the sensibility ; and all appar- 
 ently higher ideas are only modifications, or groupings, of 
 sensation. The primal and only mental reaction is found 
 in the sensations. When these are produced, there is no 
 further mental interference ; but they enter into interaction 
 according to the laws of association, and thus produce and 
 fashion the mental life. That is, after the -sensations are 
 produced, the mind becomes the passive stage or back- 
 ground across which they move according to laws of their 
 own. As finding the principle of movement and synthesis 
 in association, this school is called tlie associational school. 
 As viewing experience as the only source of knowledge, 
 
116 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 it is called the empirical school. As holding that sensa- 
 tion is the ultimate unit of experience, it is called the 
 sensational school. 
 
 Opposed to this school is another, which denies each of 
 the preceding claims. It holds that there is a distinct 
 thought-activity which cannot be reduced to the sensibility, 
 and that there are rational ideas which are forever distinct 
 from sensation. As such, it may be called the rational 
 school of psychology. Further, it holds that experience^ 
 though the occasion, and in this sense the precondition, ol 
 knowledge, is nevertheless not the only source of knowl- 
 edge. As holding that the mind can know some things on 
 its own account, it is called the intuitive school. Finally, 
 the mind is not simply the passive seat of mental events, 
 it is also the active ground of many of its own activities. 
 
 The sensational school would view all mental movement 
 as an occurrence in the mind ; the rational school views 
 some mental movement at least as an activity of the 
 mind. 
 
 The distinction between these two schools has a psy-. 
 chological and a philosophical aspect. We may discuss 
 the origin of our ideas and faculties, or we may discuss 
 the grounds of belief. In the former case the claim of the 
 sensational school is, that all our faculties are only phases 
 of the basal processes of the sensibility, and that all our 
 ideas can be deduced from the same source. The claim 
 of the rational school is, that our faculties are not pro- 
 ducts of sense experience, but factors of our mental consti- 
 tution without which no articulate experience would be 
 possible. Rationalism further finds the origin of many of 
 our ideas in the mind itself. They exist in the mind as 
 constitutive principles prior to all experience, but arc called 
 into action only by experience. In this sense, they are 
 innate. This is the psychological aspect of the question. 
 
 When the debate concerns the srrounds of belief, the 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 117 
 
 claim of empiricism is, that experience is the only ground 
 for believing any proposition whatever. The rational school 
 admits this claim for the great majority of propositions ; 
 but disputes it for certain others. In some cases, it is 
 held, the mind can transcend its particular experiences, 
 and affirm certain propositions to be universally true on 
 the basis of its own insight. This is the philosophical 
 aspect of the question. Our present concern is entirely 
 with the psychological question. 
 
 Historically, sensationalism has been very wavering and 
 unclear in its conception of sensation ; and most of its 
 plausibility is due to this fact. We have pointed out that 
 our sensations have a double reference ; first, they are re- 
 ferred to the self as their subject; and second, they are 
 referred to external objects as their qualities or as caused 
 by them. The sensationalist is supposed to take sensa- 
 tions as simple affections of the sensibility, which have 
 primarily no reference to anything beyond themselves ; but 
 in not a little of his exposition the objectified and rational- 
 ized sensation is tacitly taken as the starting point. This 
 inconsistency is to be guarded against. If the unreferred 
 sensation is the beginning, the reference must be deduced ; 
 if the referred sensation is the beginning, the sensation 
 itself is seen to involve rational elements, and the view 
 becomes indistinguishaljle from the instinct philosophy of 
 common sense. We shall take the former view of the 
 doctrine. 
 
 The earlier forms of the doctrine regarded the mind as 
 purely receptive and passive. It was compared to a sheet 
 of white paper, upon which experience delivered itself free 
 from any subjective adulterations. This notion was based 
 upon the uncritical fancy that sensations pass ready made 
 into the mind, and without any modification. The doctrine 
 of the subjectivity of sense qualities, however, has entirely 
 deprived this fancy of all credit ; and sensationalism has 
 
118 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 modified itseK accordingly. The mental outfit which it 
 now posits is sensiljility and the laws of association ; and 
 with these it claims to exhibit all else as their product. 
 This claim is to be examined. 
 
 All thought and knowledge rest ultimately upon a pro- 
 cess of discrimination, comparison, and assimilation. Even 
 the single sensation is not properly known as long as it 
 is only an affection of the sensibility ; for sensation as 
 a state of feeling is not necessarily a clear mental object. 
 A child whose appetite is satisfied, and whose body is com- 
 fortably warm and at ease in all respects, is doubtless in 
 a pleasant state of feeling ; but it has no rational appre- 
 hension of the fact. The dog on the rug and the cat on 
 the hearth are probably very comfortable, but it is doubtful 
 if they can be said to know it. Before the sensitive state 
 can properly become a mental object, it must be discrimi- 
 nated from the self as its state, and set over against the 
 self as its object. And even this would imply only a gen- 
 eral objectification of the object, and no definite knowledge. 
 In order to reach an intimate knowledge, the sensation 
 must be classified and related. It is hardly known at all 
 until it is known as one of a kind ; and in order to this, it 
 must be discriminated from the unlike and assimilated to 
 the like. Until this is done, we have a feeling without a 
 clearly defined content, and one to which we can give no 
 definite place in our mental system. 
 
 The primal and basal short-coming of sensationalism is 
 failure to notice the implications of this fact. Hence it 
 has assumed that to have like or unlike experiences is 
 equivalent to a knowledge of their likeness or unlikeness ; 
 or to have coexistent and sequent experiences is to have 
 a knowledge of coexistence or sequence. In general, it is 
 assumed that the existence of relations among the objects 
 of experience is the same as a knowledge of those relations. 
 The likeness or unlikeness of two experiences is supposed 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 119 
 
 to be identical with our knowledge of them as such. The 
 interaction or association of ideas may then be relied on 
 to integrate like ideas and to dissociate unlike ideas ; and 
 this is a judgment of likeness or unlikencss. Experience 
 , also gives us experiences in coexistence and sequence, and 
 this is a judgment of coexistence and sequence. Thus the 
 judgment ai)pears as no special faculty, but as a necessary 
 outcome of sensation and association. Association, then, 
 can give us propositions ; and by uniting propositions it can 
 give us reasoning. Thus the entire life appears as a phase 
 of the sensibility and the basal process of association. 
 
 Unfortunately, this view is too easy and complete to be 
 above suspicion. Let us see, then, where the interaction 
 and association of sensations bring us. Suppose that the 
 sensations of a strong light, a, and of a weak one, b, should 
 arise simultaneously in consciousness. If now they interact 
 mechanically, we should expect them to flow together into 
 a common resultant, c, in which a and b should disappear 
 entirely. When two forces, a and b, act upon a material 
 element at the same time, they have a single resultant, r, 
 in which all traces of a and b have disappeared. This, 
 however, does not take place in consciousness ; but a and 
 b remain distinct and unmodified in their content. Only 
 on this condition is a judgment possible. The union of a 
 and b in c would give no hint of the relations of a and b. 
 But how a and b can be kept separate, and at the same time 
 be brought together in the spaceless, partitionless field of 
 thought, is the impenetrable and unparalleled mystery of 
 consciousness. A knoAvledge of the relations of a and b is 
 reached only as a and b remain separate and self-identical, 
 and as a unitary subject, M, grasps, discriminates, and com- 
 pares a and b in the same act of consciousness, and thus 
 forms the judgment that a is greater or stronger than b. 
 Out of such an act of comparison may arise a qualitative 
 judgment of likeness or unlikeness, or a quantitative judg- 
 
120 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ment of equivalence, or of greater or less, according to the 
 nature of the objects compared. But this act is not an in- 
 teraction of the sensations ; it is an activity upon the sen- 
 sations. The utmost that association could do would be to 
 present similar ideas before consciousness ; it could not pro- 
 duce the judgment. In short, likeness and unlikeness are 
 not things, and cannot be given in any sense experience. 
 They are not properties of the sensations as such ; but are 
 rather ideas which arise when the mind brings its several 
 states into the unit}^ of a single act of discrimination and 
 comparison. However like or unlike our states might be in 
 themselves, the knowledge of their likeness or unlikeness 
 is possible only as there is an activity above and apart 
 from the sensations, which distinguishes them as objects 
 and unites them under the forms of the judgment. 
 
 Let us vary the statement. Assume, then, that a, a, h, b, 
 <?, c, d, d, are sensations in a purely sensitive mind, and 
 allow that association should form the groups a a, b b, 
 c c, d d. Still there is no provision for the perception of 
 the likeness or unlikeness. Each sensation is a particular 
 affection of the sensibility, and cannot even know of its 
 neighbors' existence, to say nothing of its passing a judg- 
 ment upon them. There is no movement possible until 
 M distinguishes the sensations from itself and from one 
 another, and, bringing them together in an act of com- 
 parison, unites them in the judgment of likeness or unlike- 
 ness. The sensationalist dispenses with this activity by 
 doing the work himself. He, the speculator, stands apart 
 from aa,bb, etc.; and, seeing that they are like or unlike, 
 he mistakes his perception of likeness or unlikeness for 
 its perception by the mental states themselves. 
 
 Plainly, sensations with reference to that discrimination, 
 comparison, and assimilation upon which knowledge de- 
 pends, are in the passive mood. They do not discriminate, 
 compare, and assimilate themselves ; they are discriminated, 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. ^ 121 
 
 compared, and assimilated. The assimilation possible to 
 association is a concurrent presentation of similar ele- 
 ments ; the assimilation which knowledge demands is the 
 recognition of this similarity, and a reference of the ele- 
 ments to a common class. Associative assimilation may 
 have great significance as a condition of rational assimila- 
 tion, but can never pass into it. The discriminating and 
 assimilating subject must stand apart from the sensational 
 series ; and its activity is not an activity of sensation, but 
 an activity upon sensation. 
 
 A similar argument is possible for the knowledge of 
 relations in general. Existence in relations is not identical 
 with a knowledge of those relations. Likeness or unlike- 
 ness of experience is not an experience of likeness or 
 unlikeness. Coexistence in consciousness is not a con- 
 sciousness of coexistence. Sequence in consciousness is 
 not a consciousness of sequence. Plurality in experience 
 is not an experience of plurality. The likeness, the co- 
 existence, the sequence, the plurality, may be there ; but 
 in order to secure their recognition there must be an 
 activity of the mind upon the objects in question, which 
 shall compare them and affirm the relations in question. 
 Of course, relations could not be established if the things 
 were not in themselves relatable ; but this relatability is 
 not identical with the knowledge of the relations. Likeness 
 and unlikeness in general cannot be made by the mind, but 
 only discerned ; at the same time the likeness or unlikeness 
 in experience emerges into knowledge only through a spe- 
 cial activity above, and upon, the experience. 
 
 We conclude, then, that the mental life reveals two 
 entirely distinct processes ; (1.) the movements and affec- 
 tions of the sensibility, and (2.) an activity upon them 
 which results in the judgment, the establishment of rela- 
 tions, and thus in rational knowledge. This activity is 
 essentially what we mean by the thought-process. 
 
122 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The existence of an activity above sensation is shown by 
 the most familiar experiences. When an affection of the 
 sensibility is simple, it seems as if the sensation and our 
 knowledge of it were strictly the same ; but when the sen- 
 sation or representation is complex, the difference plainly 
 appears. Thus, when we view a complex but unfamiliar 
 object, we have a complete sensation ; yet we cannot tell 
 what we have seen, owing to the failure to establish rela- 
 tions among the component elements of the object. Again, 
 when we look at a large number of objects, or a figure with 
 many sides, we have the same result. The sensation is 
 perfect, but knowledge is lacking. Nor is knowledge pos- 
 sible until the mind has reacted upon the sensation, and 
 by a process of counting and construction mastered its sig- 
 nificance. Again, we may pronounce a sentence whose 
 words are all familiar ; as, Peter's wife's mother's uncle's 
 sister's husband is coming to see us. In such a case we 
 might be greatly puzzled to identify an understanding of 
 the words expressing the relation with a comprehension 
 of the relation expressed. Nor will any mere staring at 
 the object help us to knowledge. Objects cannot count 
 themselves. The eyes cannot count them. The plurality 
 of sensations constitutes the countable, not the counted. 
 The significance of attention does not consist in an in- 
 tenser stare, but in a new order of activity, the establishment 
 of relations among the elements of the sense experience. 
 These facts show that sensation may be complete and 
 knowledge be lacking ; and they cancel the attempt to 
 identify sensation with the knowledge resulting from it. 
 Indeed, even pathology often reveals these elements as 
 distinct. In the so-called " soul-blindness " the sensitive 
 function is undisturbed, while the rational function is re- 
 pressed. Finally, our scientific activity perpetually carries 
 us beyond sensations, to a great system of rational construc- 
 tion which was never revealed to sense. But so slovenlv 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 123 
 
 has been the thinking of sensationalism that it has seldom 
 scrupled to adopt the terminology and distinctions of both 
 science and rational philosophy without ever inquiring 
 whether they are possible on a sensational basis. The 
 distinction of primary and secondary qualities is a case 
 in point. This distinction has no meaning for sensational- 
 ism ; but is borrowed from the opposite view. 
 
 We resume the illustration already given. If we regard 
 sensations as a first order of mental reaction against exter- 
 nal action, w^e must regard this knowledge of relations as 
 due to a second order of mental reaction, and one which 
 makes the sensations and representations its proper object. 
 Or, as we regard the external stimulus as the excitant which 
 leads the mind to react with sensation, so we may regard 
 the qualities of sensation in relation to one another as the 
 excitant which leads the mind to react with the thought- 
 activity. But just as the external stimulus produces no 
 sensation except as it affects the peculiar sensitive nature 
 of the mind, so the sensations themselves could never rise 
 into rationality except as they furnish the occasion for 
 the higher mental nature to unfold itself. 
 
 With regard to the deduction of the higher from the 
 lower forms of mental activity, sensationalists have always 
 overlooked the ambiguity in the facts of mental develop- 
 ment. They will have it that what comes after must be 
 a transformation of what went before ; whereas it may be 
 a new and special manifestation of the mental nature in 
 general. This possibility is one we constantly see realized 
 in nature. Cohesion, affinity, repulsion, are not transformed 
 gravity, though they are manifested only after the elements 
 have been brought together by gravity. They are special 
 and irreducible functions of the elements, although con- 
 ditioned in their manifestation. Before we draw the sen- 
 sationalists' conclusion, we must examine the new functions 
 and see if they can be regarded as phases of the old ones, 
 
or Kiis&er Hie^ lucve special Hud irsredncibiie peeiiiiBrillifis 
 
 "vdoieii eamiK :_ il at nev. iihongh conditiflPfld, 
 
 maniisfisasiiiL :_ _---- . uMinjct. 
 
 Qg CTrwighT of Hm y rfMwmiliTj bof inad£r s. iarse pen of eest- 
 ■ ff Bfrr ■- ' - ^_ 'anL L-' :~ —-l 
 
 inaft - _ , ,- ._ _— i vere _ — - .-- ""-.:■- 
 
 e^er diffpTntrti. Ihir a jrecaEail of ^3at order of mffnta] aevet- 
 ojnneiK ckeciaee nouiiiiig ae ii "S or die iorcef v"r-icl 
 sarry ir oil At appife tzret i-^ _ r iar years beiorr :i 
 bearfc appiefe. ami ir may even be bindered from ever bear- 
 ing ; yer tbax Aoeei not prove ^lar apples are liie ouEcom^ 
 ill 'OK: inree's eEperienee apart rr'Om any defenmmng iaw in 
 &£ uiree iaseH Temporal sequence in einiier pibyBical or 
 mensal feveierpmenl doeis not decide vbedisr iJie mew fact 
 maxiaii of ube past or tbe manifestssian of an 
 w. 
 
 Snt " irbig jiotifln. of a trsmB^onnation of in^ntaT etkenHrnte 
 jreafft'- -: -'-s or m-'^ " -.les. Ab 
 
 vsfc , _.u . _ . _ _r KimpTic itBaeianfi, 
 
 8en8atio3i& are taciiihr viewed ae BeK-identical tbingE, or as 
 a kind of men&sil ra.v material vbicL may be made into a 
 great m^z " rr-^r Tal eomponndfe. vbUe at ^e same time oiey 
 remain .^ ..'jal and never leave tbe plane of tbeir ovm 
 
 eeiiifatiaDal namre. Bnt '^de iancy disappeazfi irben we 
 .T^auioDB . . 7 "TioDfi. Tbere 
 
 sucS in ..itfitannation; 
 
 and we mifrbt as veil resard the later notes in a noelodT 
 as ^ransitirmataam: ^^?w later 
 
 mental Huaiiefc as urai- : -, — ■- ^ente. A 
 
 ireplaeement of one iarm of imictian by another is all that 
 is possible. 
 
 "WbeiL then, ftensatiani ^.. . . d are foDowed by a neir 
 iorm of meoCal action, it is absurd to view the latter as a 
 phase of the iormec- ^e can only regard it as a new r&- 
 action of the mind against its sense experience. But in 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 125 
 
 order to do this the mind must be more than sensitive. 
 In a mind whose nature is fully expressed in the sensations 
 a, b, c, d, there is no assignable reason for movement ; just 
 as in physical elements whose nature is fully expressed in 
 the law of gravitation there is no possibility of chemical 
 combination. Advance becomes possible only as along with 
 a, b, c, d we assume a nature, X, for whose unfolding a, b, c, d 
 are but conditions. That X contains the law of the move^ 
 mcnt and its assumi)tion, can never be escaped. Indeed, 
 this is true for the different classes of sensations them- 
 selves. There is no way of deducing sensations of sound 
 from those of light, but for each class we have to assume 
 some peculiar endowment of the soul. That they are 
 classed together as sensations in no way removes their 
 absolute difference. Classification neither makes identity 
 nor abolishes distinction. 
 
 Thinking proceeds by distinction and comparison. But 
 there can be neither distinction nor comparison in general. 
 Both processes imply some common relation under which 
 the objects are subsumed ; and this common relation alone 
 makes them possible. Things can be neither like nor 
 unlike in general, but only in some common relation, as 
 quantity, quality, number, space, time, dependence, etc. 
 Things which are alike arc such in some respect common 
 to both. Things which are unlike are such in some rela- 
 tion under which they are subsumed. This common rela- 
 tion the scholastics called the tertium quid comparationis. 
 It is the necessary implication of every act of compari- 
 son and discrimination, and hence of every judgment. 
 The judgment is an affirmation of relation under some 
 of these general heads. Thus, all mathematical judg- 
 ments express some relation under the general notions 
 of figure, number, and quantity. Attributive judgments 
 depend on the conception of substance and attribute. All 
 judgments which affirm a dynamic dependence of one 
 
126 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 thing on another come under the general relation of 
 causation. 
 
 It is oversight of this fact which underlies most of the 
 satisfaction and dissatisfaction felt with the statement that 
 thought is only an activity of discrimination and com- 
 parison. The sensationalists have rejoiced in it, and many 
 others have grieved over it. The truth is that the joy is 
 entirely misplaced, and the grief largely so. For if objects 
 may be distinguished as cause and effect, substance and 
 attribute, reality and appearance, we bring in the whole 
 apparatus of the rational philosophy through the very door 
 opened by the sensationalists. It is, then, only a question 
 whether some few judgments may not be better described 
 as the bringing of a given subject directly under the head 
 of the relation. The normal ideas are equally necessary 
 in either case. The sensationalist gains nothing ; and for 
 the intuitionalist it must at last reduce to a question of 
 expression. 
 
 Hence a study of the thought activity demands some 
 notice of those general relations which thought finds, or 
 establishes, among its objects. They have been variously 
 called the categories of thought, norms of distinction and 
 comparison, regulative ideas, etc. Some of these expres- 
 sions may be better than others, but the meaning is the 
 same in all. 
 
 We proceed to notice the leading relations under which 
 knowledge is constituted. Our inquiry, however, will have 
 to do with their psychological nature and origin, rather 
 than with their metaphysical significance. 
 
 Likeness and unlikeness arc not independent notions. 
 They always demand for their understanding some general 
 relation with reference to which the likeness or unlikeness 
 exists. Things may be like or unlike in form, or quality, 
 or quantity, or function, etc., but they cannot be like or 
 unlike in general. Moreover, these ideas admit of no 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 127 
 
 definition in their essential elements ; that is, what tliey 
 mean can never be told, but only experienced. All that 
 can be done in the way of communicating them to another 
 is to prescribe a certain form of mental activity, in the 
 hope that as the result thereof the other will experience 
 in himself the meaning we seek to communicate. 
 
 These ideas arise only as two or more experiences or 
 objects are at once discriminated and compared in the 
 same act of consciousness. When this act, which cannot 
 be construed or further described, is performed, then there 
 arises the idea of likeness or unlikeness, according to the 
 nature of the objects. In particular, qualitative likeness 
 and unlikeness admit of no description. Quantitative like- 
 ness and unlikeness are perceived when two or more cases 
 of a common quality are compared. Here the mind com- 
 paring two or more cases perceives a peculiar identity or 
 change in its inner state as it passes from one to another, 
 which change, moreover, is reversed when the order of 
 mental movement is reversed. This fact is the basis of 
 all ideas of quantitative equivalence, or of greater and less 
 in quantity. But these ideas, though ultimately based 
 upon the sensibility, are not functions of the sensibility. 
 They rather represent a new and higher form of mental 
 function. 
 
 The process just described is the one by which the 
 mind proceeds in all classification and division. In this 
 way arises all that we mean by general or class notions. 
 Given experiences or objects are discriminated from others 
 unlike them, and assimilated to others like them ; and thus 
 the notion of classes is reached. The claim is often made 
 that class notions arise through purely associative assimi- 
 lation ; but we have already seen its untenability. 
 
 Time expresses an order of relations which can be under- 
 stood only in terms of itself. All the various definitions 
 of it either imply it, or are other names for the same thing. 
 
128 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Metaphysics finds reasons for doubting the existence of 
 time as an independent reaUty in which events occur ; but 
 the psychological question as to the origin and function 
 of the notion is independent of the metaphysical theory. 
 However real time may be, the subjective origin of the 
 notion will be the same as in the ideal theory ; and how- 
 ever ideal time may be as an existence, its actual function 
 in our mental life will be unchanged. 
 
 No inspection of consciousness will reveal to us the origin 
 of this idea, inasmuch as the idea is always there long before 
 the reflective consciousness begins the inquiry. We can 
 only study some of its logical conditions. Whence comes 
 the idea of time ? 
 
 A first suggestion might be that time is a quality of all 
 mental states from sensation on ; but this would be a 
 mistake. For time, considered as the relation of ante- 
 cedence and sequence, is not a quality of mental states at 
 all. It is a relation among them which in no way affects 
 their qualitative character ; and this character, in turn, in 
 no way determines the temporal relation. The two are 
 conceived, even by common sense, as mutually indifferent. 
 But if we say that time, as duration, is a quality of all 
 mental states, the objection meets us that duration is an 
 utterly impossible idea apart from an assumed sequence 
 of temporal moments. 
 
 The next thought of common sense, and the traditional 
 doctrine of sensationalism, have been that the simple se- 
 quence of sensations is identical with the idea of sequence ; 
 and then by abstraction from the sense experience we get 
 the notion of time as a whole. But this is only the tra- 
 ditional error already referred to, namely, that relation 
 among the objects of knowledge is the same as a knowl- 
 edge of their relation . In fact, however, a sequence of 
 ideas is so far from being an idea of sequence, that, if there 
 were nothing but the former, the latter could never arise. 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 129 
 
 The reality of sequence does not help us to a knowledge 
 of the same. If we assume a series of sequent activities 
 in the outer world, and assume further that these affect us, 
 still we provide only for a sequence of ideas, and not for 
 an idea of sequence. If a should vanish from conscious- 
 ness and h should appear, there would be a succession of 
 a and h in consciousness, but no consciousness of suc- 
 cession. Or if we should assume that consciousness is an 
 inalienable quality of a and J, this consciousness does not 
 provide for a consciousness of the temporal relations of a 
 and h; in order to this, we should need a consciousness 
 of a second order. 
 
 Memory and self-consciousness are necessary conditions 
 for the emergence of the ideas of time. There is no rea- 
 son for thinking that in a changeless state the idea would 
 ever arise. "Where all changes, the idea is impossible. 
 Where nothing changes, the idea is equally impossible. 
 This union of the changing and the changeless is given 
 in self-consciousness, where the abiding self as given in 
 memory is contrasted with its changing states. Until this 
 is done, there may be a sequence of states, but no knowl- 
 edge of this sequence. If we seek to get the idea from the 
 fact that some elements of consciousness are fixed com- 
 pared with others, and thus give use to a fixed background 
 upon which the temporal sequence may be projected, we 
 merely fall back again into the old error of mistaking 
 sequence of ideas for an idea of sequence. No relation 
 of the elements of consciousness among themselves can 
 give the idea ; they can only furnish the occasion for its 
 development. 
 
 This reference to memory, however, does not quite reach 
 the root of the matter; for while memory serves to bring 
 the idea into consciousness, memory in turn implies time. 
 Memory becomes properly such only as its objects are 
 given in temporal relations Apart from these, memory 
 
 9 
 
130 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 is only a reproduction of experiences without any hint of 
 our having had them previously. Nor will association in 
 any way help us. This, too, could only give us the se- 
 quence of ideas, and not the idea of sequence. There is 
 nothing to do but to declare that the time idea rests ulti- 
 mately upon an original and peculiar mental principle, 
 whereby it connects its experiences under the special form 
 of sequence. To return to a previous statement, the con- 
 ception of sequence would be impossible if there were only 
 a sequence of conceptions. All the conceptions which 
 enter into a perception of sequence coexist in one form or 
 another in the present consciousness. That which con 
 stitutes their temporal order is jiot any existing succession, 
 but the peculiar form of their relation within the field of 
 consciousness. Hence the act of consciousness by which 
 relations of sequence are grasped must itself be without 
 any temporal distinctions in itself ; and in this sense the 
 consciousness of time is non-temporal. All knowledge of 
 the past is in the present. All ideas which represent the 
 past are in the present. Their actual relation in the mind 
 is not a temporal one, but rather a peculiar and unpictura- 
 ble order of connection, to which consciousness gives the 
 form of antecedence and sequence. This does not deny 
 that there may be a real temporal order in the world out- 
 side of us ; it only expresses the conditions of our becom- 
 ing conscious of a temporal order. 
 
 These conditions may be summed up as follows : (1.) 
 Change in consciousness ; (2.) Identity of the conscious 
 subject ; (3.) A comparison of this change with the abid- 
 ing subject ; (4.) A relation of the objects of experience 
 under the form of antecedence and sequence. It must be 
 borne in mind that these conditions decide nothing as to 
 the psychological history of the idea. It is not meant that 
 the idea emerges full-fledged upon the first act of compari- 
 son. It is possible that sensations may come and go for 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 131 
 
 a long time without evoking the idea; and when it is 
 evoked, it will appear, not in a general and abstract form, 
 but in a concrete and confused application. But whenever 
 and however it may come, it must come from within. 
 
 Kant held that the idea of time depends on the idea of 
 causation ; because a series can exist only as the position 
 of its members is determined, that is, caused. There 
 seems to be here a confusion of the series as occurring, 
 and our temporal apprehension of it. The series as occur- 
 ring is possible only through the fact of causation ; and 
 our thought of it as occurring demands for its completion 
 tlie notion of causation. But our temporal apprehension 
 of the series need contain no trace of the causal idea, as 
 especially appears from the fact that in inductive science 
 our determination of causation is always successive to the 
 determination of temporal sequence. It is the latter which 
 suggests the former. 
 
 It is important to make clear to ourselves that this 
 fundamental relation of antecedence and sequence cannot 
 be reached by any process of abstraction. Objects cannot 
 exist for the mind in a temporal relation until the mind 
 by a special synthesis or act of relation has put them into 
 temporal relations. It is this synthesis which constitutes 
 the temporal series for us. Objects may possibly exist in 
 time apart from our minds ; but in order to exist in time 
 for us the external synthesis must be internally repro- 
 duced, and this is possible only as the successive experi- 
 ences excite the mind to unite them under a temporal 
 form. Hence, all that the abstraction could give us would 
 be the form of the synthesis after it has taken place, or 
 the law which governs it. 
 
 Psychologically, time, then, is primarily the law or prin- 
 ciple which compels the mind to connect its experiences 
 and all conceptions of events in general under the form of 
 antecedence and sequence. Secondarily, time is the form 
 
132 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of this syuthesis. As applying to all events alike, no mat- 
 ter what their qualitative difference, this form of synthesis 
 may be called universal. As belonging to the laws of the 
 mind itself, it may be called apriori. At the same time it 
 can have no significance apart from experience, and, like 
 all mental functions, is first excited by experience. What 
 we get when we drop the experienced content and seek to 
 abstract the pure notion of time, is simply the law or form 
 of the synthesis. This form, moreover, because applicable 
 to all events, contains no limitation in itself. Like a recur- 
 ring series in numbers it has no stopping place, and hence 
 seems limitless. In this way the notion of time without 
 beginning or end arises. No event can be conceived which 
 cannot, or must not, be brought into temporal relations. 
 Empty time, or pure time, is merely the phantom of this 
 form of synthesis. The all-embracing time means really 
 an all-embracing formula. 
 
 The unity of time arises in the same way. All the 
 objects of experience, and all events actually occurring, 
 are united together in a common series ; and hence they 
 are said to occur at various moments of one and the same 
 time. But we often give the temporal form to mental 
 objects, without thought of any relation to cosmic time. 
 Thus the development of a drama, or of a story, or of our 
 private castle-building, takes place under the form of time ; 
 but this time of the imagination has no relation to the time 
 of reality. It is the unity and continuity of the world- 
 process, real or imagined, which constitutes the unity of 
 time. 
 
 Temporal relations cannot be pictured. All attempts to 
 picture them rest upon misleading space images. Time is 
 figured as a line, or as a moving point, and even as a limit- 
 less sphere, which contains both things and events ; but 
 all of these conceptions are borrowed from space, and are 
 incompatible witli the idea of time. All the parts of a line 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 133 
 
 coexist ; but the time line exists only in one point, the 
 present. The moving point, again, implies a space in 
 which to move. The spherical time coexists in all its 
 parts, and thus the idea itself is denied. It only remains 
 that time must be understood in terms of itself. It is the 
 one bond of relation whereby all events, both in the inner 
 and in the outer world, arc bound together ; and the estab- 
 lishment of temporal relations is one of the first stops 
 toward that unification of its objects which is the supreme 
 goal of intelligence. 
 
 Psychological time may be regarded as reproducing in 
 thought a temporal order objectively existing. The con- 
 sideration of this question belongs to the theory of knowl- 
 edge; and the nature of this objective time is a problem 
 for metaphysics. 
 
 Space is a leading category in external perception. The 
 objects of perception become such only as they take on 
 spatial forms and enter into spatial relations. This cate- 
 gory, with its implications of extension, direction, and dis- 
 tance, seems at first so clear and self-satisfying that no 
 question can be raised about it. Things are in space, and 
 we know them directly as such. But this self-evidence 
 disappears on reflection. Things are known only through 
 the sensations which they produce in us ; and how can 
 we pass from these sensations to the notion of things ex- 
 tended in space ? Moreover, sensations are in perpetual 
 flow ; how can we pass from their constant change to the 
 cliangeless relations of space ? Whence comes the idea of 
 space ? 
 
 Several answers are given : (1.) It is held that things 
 are immediately known as extended and in space. (2.) It 
 is held that the sensations themselves are extended and 
 external to one another, and that we simply recognize the 
 fact. From a knowledge of them as extended and mutually 
 external we pass by experience to our general knowledge 
 
134 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of space. (3.) Space is viewed as a mental principle which 
 compels the mind to give its objects space forms and space 
 relations. Just as the reaction of the mind against ner- 
 vous action with sensation is due to the nature of the 
 mind, so the intuition of these sensations under the form 
 of space is also due to the nature of the mind. (4.) The 
 associationalists generally deny all of the ]jrevious views,, 
 and claim that the space idea is simply a consequence 
 of the laws of association working over sequent sensa- 
 tions. Time relations alone are primal ; space relations 
 are derivative. 
 
 This question cannot be settled by inspection. The idea 
 of space, like that of time, is produced long before reflec- 
 tion begins. Nor is it possible for us by any combination 
 of activities to watch the actual unfolding of the idea. In 
 the case of number, we can inspect the process. The men- 
 tal function by which number is generated can be per- 
 formed at any time ; but the birth of the space idea is 
 far more obscure. Our study must necessarily be indirect, 
 and must consist mainly in examining the solutions of 
 the problems proposed. We begin with the associational 
 theory. 
 
 This view does not claim to recognize space relations in 
 . the sensations, or in their relations as states of conscious- 
 ness, but seeks to deduce them from simple experiences of 
 sequence. Herbart in Germany and the sensationalists in 
 England have both claimed that a being capable of having 
 sensations and representations in time must develop the 
 idea of space. It is not always plain whether the deduc- 
 tions are meant to explain a knowledge of space as a 
 reality, or only the development of the idea from non- 
 spatial elements without any reference to its objective 
 reality or ideality. In fact the sensationalists differ on 
 this point. Some are pronounced idealists, and deny the 
 reality of space altogether ; others allow its reality, either 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. Vj^cloS 
 
 in a knowable or unknowable form. The average sensa- 
 tionalist rarely raises the ontological question, but confines 
 himself to showing, as he conceives, the true origin of the 
 idea of space. But, with all these ontological differences, 
 their psychological theory is essentially the same. As 
 good an argument as any for their view is the following, 
 by Mr. J. S.' Mill. 
 
 " Suppose," he says, " two small bodies, A and B, suffi- 
 ciently near together to admit of their being touched simul- 
 taneously, one with the right hand, the other with the left. 
 Here are two tactual sensations which are simultaneous, 
 just as a sensation of color and one of odor might be ; and 
 this makes us cognize the two objects of touch as both ex- 
 isting at once. The question then is. What have we in our 
 minds when we represent to ourselves the relation between 
 these two objects, already known to be simultaneous, in 
 the form of extension or intervening space, — a relation 
 which we do not suppose to exist between the color and 
 the odor?" Mill next points out that the peculiarity is that 
 in passing from A to B a series of muscular sensations 
 must intervene, and continues : " When we say that there 
 is a space between A and B, we mean that some amount 
 of these muscular sensations must intervene ; and when we 
 say that the space is greater or less, we mean that the 
 series of sensations (amount of muscular effort being given) 
 is longer or shorter." 
 
 " The theory may be recapitulated as follows : The sensa- 
 tion of muscular motion unimpeded constitutes our notion 
 of empty space, and the sensation of muscular motion im- 
 peded constitutes that of filled space. Space is Room, — 
 room for movement ; which its German name, Raum, dis- 
 tinctly confirms. We have a sensation which accompanies 
 the free movement of our organs, say, for instance, of our 
 arm. This sensation is variously modified by the direction 
 and by the amount of the movement. We have different 
 
136 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 states of muscular sensation corresponding to the move- 
 ments of the arm upward, downward, to right, to left, or in 
 any radius whatever of a sphere of which the joint that 
 the arm revolves around forms the centre. We have also 
 different states of muscular sensation, according as the arm 
 is moved more, whether this consists in its being moved 
 with greater velocity, or with the same velocity during a 
 longer time ; and the equivalence of these two is speedily 
 learned by experience. These different kinds and qualities 
 of muscular sensation experienced in getting from one 
 point to another (that is, obtaining in succession two sensa- 
 tions of touch and resistance, the objects of which are re- 
 garded as simultaneous) are all we mean by saying that 
 the points are separated by spaces, that they are at differ- 
 ent distances, and in different directions. ... It appears 
 to me that this doctrine is sound, and that the muscular 
 sensations in question are the sources of all the notion of 
 extension which we should ever obtain from the tactual 
 and muscular senses without the assistance of the eye." ^ 
 
 This argument has been given at much greater length by 
 other writers, especially by Bain and Spencer, yet with- 
 out adding anything to its real strength. In particular, 
 attention has been called to the possibility of association 
 between the various series of sensation, visual, tactual, and 
 muscular, so as to produce a coexistence of different orders 
 of sensation as well as a coexistence of sensations of the 
 same class. But these suggestions only make it easier to 
 confuse ourselves ; they in no way advance the argument. 
 "We begin with a criticism of Mill. 
 
 There is a fundamental unclearness running through this 
 exposition which makes it uncertain whether these sensa- 
 tions are the idea of space, or produce it. Both possibilities 
 run along in indefinite oscillation, so that either seems to 
 
 1 Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy, Vol. I. pp. 280- 
 282. 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 137 
 
 be on the point of becoming the other. We must discuss 
 them separately. 
 
 No sensations, muscular or otherwise, are capable of 
 originating the space idea. The apparent success of Mill's 
 attempt is due entirely to the space implications of the 
 terms used. Thus we have " direction," " movement," 
 "velocity," "upward," "downward," "right," and "left." 
 A and B, also, are spoken of as coexistent bodies, and 
 sufficiently near together to be touched by each of our 
 hands respectively at the same time; and we are supposed 
 to pass back and forth from one to the other. Of course, if 
 all of these terms are understood in their spatial signifi- 
 cance, it would be very easy to deduce the idea from the 
 experience described, for we should have the idea already 
 in a state of high development. If now we do not propose 
 to beg the question, we must carefully eliminate all these 
 terms. We know nothing of movement, or velocity, or 
 direction. We must not assume that A and B coexist in 
 space or in mutual externality ; for this would beg the 
 question. Coexistent and sequent sensations, like or un- 
 like, are all that is given. If there be sensations attending 
 movement and change of direction and velocity, they are 
 not yet interpreted by the notions of movement, direction, 
 and velocity ; all this is to be deduced. Hence, when we 
 speak of passing from A, all we can mean is that the sen- 
 sation A ceases to exist, and our return to A can only 
 mean the recurrence of a similar sensation. To assume 
 that it is a movement to and from a (ixed object. A, which 
 coexists with another fixed object, B, and which is external 
 to it, would beg the question. We should be seeking to 
 deduce the idea of space from muscular sensations, which, 
 however, arise from certain movements known as move- 
 ments between two bodies known to coexist in mutual 
 externality. It would be strange, indeed, if such a deduc- 
 tion were not victoriously successful. But when we are 
 
138 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 careful to deny ourselves the luxury of begging the ques- 
 tion, it turns out that we never get beyond coexistent and 
 sequent sensations in time. 
 
 Nor are we in any way helped by the suggestion that 
 association may unite various temporal series together, so 
 that the tactual, the visual, and the muscular series may 
 even seem to coexist in consciousness, and to have lost their 
 sequent character altogether. Such coexistence is still a 
 temporal coexistence. Of course, after long dwelling upon 
 this coexistence, we might suddenly remember that space 
 itself is an order of coexistence, and fancy the problem 
 solved. But verbal ambiguity solves nothing. 
 
 Another suggestion is, that some temporal series admit 
 of inversion ; and thus we reach a differentiation of the 
 spatial from the temporal. Thus, by turning our eyes from 
 right to left, we get a given series of sensations; by turning 
 them from left to right, we get the same series reversed. 
 The same is true for touch. We can touch a series of 
 objects in a given order, and then reverse it. But this 
 reversibility is what distinguishes the spatial series from 
 the temporal. Unfortunately, this inversion is impossible 
 without the space idea ; or rather, such inversion as is pos- 
 sible in a time series is of no use in reaching a space series. 
 In such a case we have no turning back of the temporal 
 series upon itself, but simply a repetition in the series of 
 sensations similar to those which occurred before, and in 
 an inverted order, as when we sing the scale up and down ; 
 but the temporal series goes ever onward and never back- 
 ward. Singing the scale up and down forever has nothing 
 in it to turn a temporal into a spatial order. The cloud of 
 words may be never so great or so dense, yet, after all, 
 when the question is not begged, we do not advance one 
 step beyond temporally coexistent and sequent sensations. 
 There is nothing to do but to admit that the space order 
 cannot be deduced from the time order, or else to identify 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 139 
 
 the space order with certain forms of our temporal and 
 sensational experience. 
 
 This is the other view mentioned as contained in Mill's 
 argument. " When we say that there is a space between 
 A and B, we mean that some amount of these muscular 
 sensations must intervene." This would imply, not that 
 muscular sensations produce the idea of space, but that, 
 when associated, certain tactual sensations are the idea of 
 space. This is the utterance of despair. The idea of space 
 refuses to be identified in any way with any kind or amount 
 of sensation. Sensations may serve as a measure of space, 
 and they may furnish the conditions under which the idea 
 is educed ; but no identification is possible. To see this, 
 one need only attempt to enunciate a geometrical proposi- 
 tion in terms of sensation. Thus, that the square on the 
 hypothenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other 
 two sides, would be fairly hard to translate into terms of 
 the relations of different groups of sensations. A geometri- 
 cal representation of the square root of two is not hard to 
 understand in space terms; but ifc would require the greatest 
 penetration to identify it with sundry temporal sensations, 
 •whether coexistent or successive. 
 
 There is plainly no hope of deriving the idea of space 
 from sensations which merely coexist, or succeed one an- 
 other, in time, and it is plainly absurd to identify space 
 with sensation ; but a third possibility remains. We may 
 suppose that the ideas, instead of mechanically cohering, 
 chemically modify one another, and thus produce a mental 
 result quite unlike its antecedents or components. There 
 is a chemistry of ideas which produces, not merely external 
 juxtaposition, but qualitative transformation. The follow- 
 ing difficulties exist in this view : — 
 
 1. The chemistry of ideas is a happy phrase, which ex- 
 presses the theory so effectively that there has been a sur- 
 prising failure to show that it is anything more than a 
 
140 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 phrase. In truth, however, there is no corresponding fact. 
 The chemistry required is one which would modify, not the 
 psychological completeness or intensity of the mental func- 
 tion, but the logical content of the idea ; one, for instance, 
 which could turn a sensation of color into a sensation of 
 odor, or the thought of a triangle into the idea of justice. 
 The only illustration ever discovered of this extraordinary 
 process was mentioned by James Mill, and it has been hard 
 worked ever since. This is the case of white light, which 
 is supposed to result from the fusion of the other color 
 sensations. Unfortunately, this fusion does not take place 
 in consciousness, but in the nerves. The several nerve 
 processes unite into a resultant process which has white 
 light for its sensational attendant, just as other processes 
 have other colors for their sensational attendant. And 
 even if this were not the case, we should be no better off ; 
 for this fusion does not give us a new class of sensations, 
 but only another sensation in a class already experienced. 
 We conclude, then, that there is no such chemistry as the 
 theory demands ; and if there were, it would bring our 
 thinking to an end. Thought rests, as we have seen, upon 
 the fact that the logical contents of ideas shall remain 
 unchanged in consciousness. 
 
 2. Further, allowing such a chemistry, how shall we in- 
 terpret it ? Even chemistry knows nothing of the change 
 of one simple element into another, but only of the union 
 of simple elements into molecules. The elements do not 
 produce a molecule as something distinct from themselves, 
 but a certain grouping of elements is a molecule. Follow- 
 ing this analogy, then, we should have to say that simple 
 sensations may be combined into mental molecules which 
 represent new ideas. At the same time, the simple sensa- 
 tions exist in, and constitute, the mental molecule. Tliey 
 do not produce it as something distinct from themselves, 
 but a certain combination of temporal sensations is the 
 
THi: THOUGHT-FACTOR. 141 
 
 new idea. Thus the attempt to follow out the chemical 
 analogy brings us out where we went in. By hypothesis, 
 the only clt-mcnts in combination arc temporal sensations ; 
 and the analogy appealed to compels us to say that a cer- 
 tain grouping of these sensations is the idea of space. It 
 might also be difficult to work the theory without assuming 
 special affinities in the sensations for the peculiar form of 
 synthesis supposed to result. A universal synthesis like 
 that of space cannot, of course, be referred to accident ; 
 and if the seusations always take on this form there seems 
 no way of explaining it except by assuming some occult 
 affinity in the sensations themselves for this peculiar form. 
 This would differ from the Kantian view only in the loca- 
 tion of this determining principle. Kant would put it in 
 the mental nature itself, where it would be of some service, 
 while this view would put it in the sensations, where it 
 would be of no use ; for the utmost such a principle could 
 do would be to bring the sensations into relations ; it could 
 never account for our knowledge of them in those relations; 
 and this is the knot of the i)roblcm. 
 
 We shall never get on unless we allow the sensations to 
 produce new ideas. We may conceive this production in 
 two ways. When the sensations a, 5, c, d, etc. have come 
 to coexist in consciousness, we may suppose (1.) that a, 
 6, (?, etc. disappear, and are replaced by S; or (2.) that S 
 arises in consciousness when a, h, c, etc. are given, yet 
 without displacing them. But in neither of these cases do 
 a, b, c, etc. appear as the sufficient ground of S, but rather 
 as the conditions under which the mind i)roduces the new 
 idea *S'. For a, b, c, etc. are not things, but mental states ; 
 and the fact that they exist in the mind can never be a 
 reason for the occurrence of anything new, unless we as- 
 sume a complex mental nature, which causes the mind to 
 react upon them with the new and peculiar function S. 
 The sensations themselves are subject to tho law of iden- 
 
142 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 tity ; and the ground and direction of their movement must 
 be sought in the soul itself. But this leads us out into the 
 apriori view, that the space idea results from some special 
 principle within the soul itself, and not from any interaction 
 of sensation. 
 
 The association of temporal elements will not give us 
 space. The alleged deductions of the idea are sorry 
 enough. They owe their force either to the space terms 
 employed, such as movement, velocity, and direction, or 
 to ambiguous terms, which may be referred to either space 
 or time. Examples are " coexistence," " series," " posi- 
 tion," " coexistent positions," and " serial lengths." These 
 are above all price in the deduction. By hypothesis, their 
 temporal significance is the only one employed ; but the 
 spatial meaning gets itself recognized betimes. It is on 
 this broad neutral field of verbal ambiguity that the trans- 
 formation of time into space occurs. 
 
 The construction of the space idea from temporal ele- 
 ments is a failure. We have next to consider the claim 
 that sensations themselves are extended and mutually ex- 
 ternal. This curious view arises from confounding sen- 
 sations as mental acts or functions with sensations as 
 objects. After our sensations are referred to the sur- 
 face of the body, or to different parts of the body, or to a 
 world of external things, it does not seem absurd to speak 
 of them as extended and spatially related. But until this 
 objective reference is made, the sensations show no signs 
 of spatial properties. As mental states, they are neither 
 before nor behind, neither above nor below one another. 
 No more are they round, or square, or crooked, or cubical. 
 These spatial relations and qualities have significance only 
 as applied to objects, and not to sensations. The identifi- 
 cation of sensations as acts with sensations as objects, is 
 like the identification of our ideas as mental acts with the 
 objects meant. We must say, however, that the thought 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOU. 143 
 
 of sugar is not sweet, that of vinegar is not sour, that of 
 the triangle is not three-cornered, and that of size or form 
 has neitlier size nor form. The only intelligible meaning 
 of this view is, that our sensations make us immediately 
 cognizant of extension, not in themselves, however, but in 
 the organism, or in extra-organic objects. In this form 
 the view does not differ psychologically from the common 
 view, and may be criticised along with it. 
 
 We return to the view of common sense, according to 
 which things are extended and in space, and are immedi- 
 ately known as such. If this were admitted, it would not 
 solve the question of the psychological origin of the notion 
 of space, or of how our knowledge of this real space arises. 
 The mere existence of a thing does not explain our percep- 
 tion of it ; and this implies the further statement, that the 
 existence of a thing as such or such does not explain our 
 perception of it as such or such. To be perceived, a thing 
 must act upon us ; and to be perceived as this or that, it 
 must act upon us in a manner corresponding thereto. But 
 space itself and space relations do not act upon us ; only 
 things can do that. Hence, our knowledge of space and 
 space relations must depend on the activities of things. 
 But whoever will consider the physiological processes 
 which mediate perception will see that they have no like- 
 ness to the things and space relations which we are sup- 
 posed to perceive through them. They are as little alike 
 as the written word is like the idea, or as the electric 
 changes in the wire are like the message sent. Hence, if 
 there is to be a recovery of the original forms of external 
 existence, it can only be as the nervous processes affect the 
 mind, and cause it to read them back into their objective 
 meaning. But this mental reconstruction must be accord- 
 ing to laws inherent in the mind ; for the raw material is 
 totally unlike the pattern according to which it is to be 
 woven, and the mind has nothing but this raw material 
 
144 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 and itself. The immediate antecedents of perception are 
 totally unlike the things and relations perceived. Hence, 
 if the mind had no inherent tendency to bring certain of its 
 objects into space forms and space relations, the knowledge 
 could never arise, no matter how real space might be. 
 
 To escape this admission, various devices are resorted to. 
 Thus, the claim is made that the extension of the body, 
 implies necessarily the perception of extension. When, 
 then, the branching of the nerves over a certain surface of 
 the body is shown, as in the eye, and skin, and nerves of 
 touch, this is supposed to explain at once the knowledge 
 of extension. This view has the following difficulties : — 
 
 1. Our perception of extension is never of the extension 
 of the nerves, either of their inner or outer endings. If 
 our perception of color were really a perception of the 
 packed rods and cones of the retina, the sensation would 
 be coarse-grained and discontinuous to correspond ; and 
 the blind spot would appear in the extended color. 
 
 2. The external arrangement of the retinal picture is 
 entirely lost, so far as we can see, in the optic nerve ; and 
 there is not the slightest ground for supposing that it is 
 ever restored. The picture formed on the retina is not 
 transmitted to the brain. Of the space relations of the 
 central elements whose action mediates \'ision, we know 
 nothing. The same is true for the other senses. The 
 peripheral arrangements of parts finds no reproduction in 
 the central organs ; and if it did, we should have the same 
 coarse-grainedness of extension which we should have from 
 an immediate consciousness of the retina. There is no 
 absolutely continuous extension in reality, whether of the 
 nerves or of extra-organic objects. 
 
 3. But, overlooking these difficulties, we are no nearer 
 the idea of extension than before. We have simply the 
 perennial confusion of existence in relations with a knowl- 
 edge of the relations. On the theory, Ave should have aim- 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 145 
 
 ply a lot of ncrve-cndings side by side. But since wc know 
 nothing of these nerve-endings except very indirectly, and, 
 in fact, know almost nothing of thcra in any way, it would 
 be absurd to try to derive our knowledge of extension from 
 the knowledge of their extension. And yet the fact of their 
 extension in space can be no reason why a knowledge of 
 their extension should arise in the spaceless field of con- 
 sciousness. Their effect upon the mind is not extended, 
 but varies only in quality, intensity, and duration. These, 
 however, are not extension ; they can only furnish the in- 
 citement for its mental development. 
 
 Relief has been sought from this difficulty in the notion 
 that the mind itself is extended. Some have supposed that 
 the mind, as a kind of ethereal essence, fills out the body, 
 and comes in direct contact with the surface of things. 
 Others think that the extended nervous surface, at least, is 
 connected with an extension of the soul. In both cases, 
 the physical extension acts upon a mental extension, and 
 thus the mystery is solved. Some have even gone so far 
 as to affirm, that a perception of the extended by the un- 
 extended is a contradiction. This final fancy rests on the 
 whim that the perceptive act has the properties of the 
 thing perceived. The thought of extension is extended, 
 and hence the soul must be extended to hold it. Of course, 
 the thought of infinite space must be very bulky, and the 
 mind must be correspondingly large to contain it. Apart 
 from this whimsey, the doctrine only helps the imagination. 
 "When we suppose a series of impressions on an extended 
 soul, it seems as if the mystery were explained. But, first, 
 we know nothing of such impressions ; and, second, if such 
 impressions existed, the knowledge of them in their space 
 relations would not be explained. Space relations can ex- 
 ist for knowledge only as the mind brings its objects into 
 those relations. Just as a special synthesis is needed to 
 bring out the idea of time, so also another special synthesis 
 
 10 
 
146 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 is needed to bring out the idea of space, and to put objects 
 into space relations. 
 
 The view we are criticising rests also on the assumption 
 that extension is an idea which can be passively imported 
 into the mind without any constructive activity on the part 
 of the mind. But in truth all perception of extension rests 
 on a synthesis of parts. The parts may exist in objective, 
 synthesis, they can be known as spatial only through a sub- 
 jective synthesis corresponding thereto. When the object 
 is large, we can detect this activity very clearly. Then 
 our vision runs around the object, drawing its outline, and 
 gathering up the successive steps in a single form and 
 image. Nor can there be here any thought of a simple 
 gaze at a physiological image, for no such thing exists for 
 consciousness at all. The extension we see is the exten. 
 sion we construct. 
 
 But even this need not be insisted upon. We may admit 
 that the mind has a direct experience of extension in sense 
 experience and even an experience of extended objects, and 
 we should still not be in possession of the idea of space ; 
 and if this were all, wc should never reach it. For this 
 idea embraces not merely the extension of separate objects, 
 but also, and more especially, the relating of these objects 
 in a common space. It is this vast network of relations 
 among objects and positions in space which constitutes 
 the essential content of the idea of space. Objects may 
 suggest their existence, but they are not necessary to their 
 existence ; and after the mind has come into possession of 
 the space idea, it can develop out of itself myriads of ideal 
 relations Avhich have never been realized. Now the simple 
 experience of extended objects contains no account of this. 
 There would be nothing in such experience to bring those 
 objects into further relations. They would be alike as to 
 extension, but they would not exist in a common space. 
 The bare fact of being all extended would be compatible 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 1-17 
 
 with existence in separate and incommensurable spaces ; 
 just as the products of imagination and dreams exist in 
 unrelated spaces. Nor can they come into a common space 
 until the mind brings them into it. By its unifying and 
 co-ordinating activity it must assign each object its place 
 in a system of space relations ; and until this is done, 
 thought has not reached the unity and community of 
 space. We know that all things are in one space, only 
 because we relate all our objects in a common scheme of 
 intuition, and according to a common rule. This locating 
 and co-ordinating of its objects in a common intuition ac- 
 cording to a common principle is the essential space activity 
 of the soul ; and it is the expression of an inherent mental 
 principle, which the mind brings to its objects rather than 
 finds in them. And, as we have just said, after the mind 
 is in possession of the space intuition, it may proceed in 
 entire abstraction from all objects, on the basis simply of 
 its own conceptions and intuitions. In this way the sci- 
 ence of geometry in all its forms is built up. The propo- 
 sitions of this science are not learned from experience nor 
 can they be tested by experience. They are evolved from 
 pure spatial intuitions and are tested by the same. 
 
 This conception of the space activity as a peculiar form 
 of relating a plurality of objects throws further doubt on 
 the assumed possibility of a simple, or passive, conscious- 
 ness of extension. For if the notion of extension involves 
 a relation of different parts as inner and outer, right and 
 left, top and bottom, or a distinction of points as adjacent 
 and separate, then consciousness of extension is impossible 
 without a special relating activity of the mind. 
 
 The difficulty with the associational theory is, that it 
 either begs the question, or else, instead of deducing the 
 idea of space, calls certain associations of temporal sensa- 
 tions space. The difficulty with the common-sense theory 
 is, that it assumes that the existence of extension in the 
 
148 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 organism and in external objects accounts for our knowl- 
 edge of the same, and overlooks the fact that objects can 
 exist in space relations for the mind only as the mind 
 brings them into such relations. That which makes the 
 common view so clear is the complete oversight of all the 
 conditions of perception, especially of the fact that percep- 
 tion is mediated by a complex and highly mysterious ner- 
 vous activity, in which no trace of likeness can be found, 
 on the one hand, to the external things and their relations, 
 and, on the other, to the resulting knowledge. In the fail- 
 ure of these views we turn to the theory which holds that 
 the origin of the idea of space is not to be sought in sensa- 
 tion or in sense experience, but rather in the nature of the 
 mind itself. 
 
 This view regards our sensations, considered as mental 
 states, as having no spatial properties whatever. However 
 produced, they differ in themselves only in quality, inten- 
 sity, duration, and time of occurrence. As in painting, 
 distance, size, and the third dimension are replaced by 
 light, shade, and perspective ; or as in actual perception, 
 the same elements of distance, etc. are replaced by vary- 
 ing shades of color and clearness of outline ; so in this 
 theory, all spatial relations vanish from the sensations, and 
 are replaced by varying shades of quality and intensity of 
 sensation. In the case of the picture the shaded pigments 
 lead the mind to construct the object ; and this it does so 
 spontaneously that we seem to see the very object itself. 
 It requires more effort to see what the eyes really give, 
 namely, a mass of colors on a flat surface, than to see the 
 spatial significance of the whole. In the case of percep- 
 tion, again, the spatial interpretation is so rapid and spon- 
 taneous that we seem to see size and distance immediately ; 
 and it even requires a considerable power of analysis to see 
 that this is not the case. What is partially true in these 
 cases is regarded as strictly true in the theory in question. 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 149 
 
 Space relations of every kind are replaced by non-spatial 
 representatives. These, however, excite the mind to give 
 to its objects space forms and relations, just as the light 
 and shade on the canvas excite it to construct for itself 
 the corresponding objects under the forms and relations 
 of space. But just as the light and shade in the picture 
 can never take on their objective significance again unless 
 an interpreting mind appear, so also these non-spatial quali- 
 ties of sensation will never again acquire a spatial signifi- 
 cance unless the mind whose states they are gives it to 
 them by projecting them as objects under the forms of 
 space. 
 
 What is the essential element in this process ? In our 
 mature thought, we possess the idea of one all-embracing 
 space ; and all space terms seem to imply this as their 
 condition, or to be specifications under it. Nevertheless, 
 we must regard this idea as second, and not first. The 
 essential factor is the synthesis of objects in space relations 
 without any original reference to the unity or infinity of 
 space. Space may be one and infinite, but it is not origi- 
 nally given as such. We begin by representing space only 
 in such extension as our actual sense experience calls for, 
 and it is only at a later peried that the conception of the 
 unity and infinity of space arises. The form and law of 
 the synthesis are first ; the unity is even conditional upon 
 the nature of the object. The spaces in which dream 
 objects appear have nothing in common with real space or 
 with one another. So also the space in which imagination 
 constructs its objects is not a part of the space in which 
 we suppose the real world to exist. I may represent suc- 
 cessively a series of geometrical figures in thought, but they 
 exist in no common space, and least of all in the space of 
 external perception. Here we sec the form and law of spa- 
 tial synthesis active, yet without any suggestion of either 
 unity or infinity. Kant's claim that all spaces must be 
 
160 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 conceived as parts of one and the same space, is true only 
 for the space in which I posit real objects; and then the 
 unity is due to the unity of the mental activity. The mind 
 relates all its objects in space forms and relations ; and 
 hence, whenever a new object or point or place is posited, 
 it is related to the others. In this way the sum of objects 
 is related in a single system, in which it is possible to pass 
 from any one to any other, and in which every object has 
 its special position and relation with reference to all the 
 rest. It is this possibility of bringing all its objects into 
 a single system of relations which constitutes the psycho- 
 logical unity of space and the ground for affirming its real 
 unity in objective existence. Further, this positing of points 
 is possible in all directions ; and thus arises the conception 
 of space equally extended on all sides. There is, too, no 
 reason why the positing of points should cease at any point 
 whatever. The process admits of indefinite repetition ; and 
 thus arises the notion of space extended indefinitely on all 
 sides. The infinity of space, like the infinity of number, 
 depends on the impossibility of exhausting the processes 
 on which the ideas depend. An infinite space cannot be 
 represented ; and an infinite number cannot be reached. 
 Yet while any represented space, or any actual number, 
 is finite, neither exhausts the process which produced it ; 
 on the contrary, the process is inexhaustible. Psychologi- 
 cally, the infinitude of space, time, and number is but the 
 reflection of a mental process which admits of no exliaus- 
 tion, something like a recurring series in division which 
 always has a remainder and calls for a continuance of the 
 division. 
 
 This view includes two factors, (1.) a principle of syn- 
 thesis or a law according to which the mind relates its 
 objects ; (2.) an intuition of tlie results of this synthetic 
 activity. That is, space exists as principle and appears as 
 a product. As product space appears as an all-containing 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR 151 
 
 void, in wliicli all things coexist in space relations. These 
 actual relations, however, do not exhaust the possible re- 
 lations; and this void is simply the vague synthesis in 
 thought of all relations, real and possible. When we say 
 that things are in space, we merely mean that they exist 
 in space relations ; and when we say that things cannot 
 exist out of space, that means that we cannot perceive 
 objects without establishing space relations among them. 
 In number, when we abstract from real things, we come 
 down to the pure form of numerical function ; so in space, 
 when we abstract from real objects, we come down to the 
 pure forms of the spatial function. This function may 
 proceed on the basis of its own constructions without any 
 reference to reality, and thus determine the pure relations 
 of space. To do this is the function of geometry. 
 
 Although space is an apriori contribution of the mind, it 
 is still possible that the external experience may not only 
 serve to elicit it, but also to determine its character to some 
 extent. All our sensations are purely mental reactions, 
 and yet their nature is partly dependent on the object. It 
 is, then, conceivable that our conception of space is not 
 purely a mental product, but one which depends on the 
 nature of experience. Out of this thought have arisen the 
 various schemes of transcendental geometry, and the sug- 
 gestion that space in itself may have altogether different 
 properties from those which we attribute to it. 
 
 To this it may be answered, that space in its geometrical 
 properties is altogether indifferent to the nature of the 
 objects. The system of space relations is one and change- 
 less, no matter what the ol)jects. Besides, our geometrical 
 study goes on in complete abstraction from all objects, 
 dealing only with space intuitions themselves. There is, 
 then, nothing known to suggest the thought that a change 
 in experience would modify space principles. 
 
 The transcendental geometry is properly nothing but an 
 
152 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 analysis of assumed conditions, and says nothing about the 
 possibility of spatially representing its conclusions. The 
 argument is, that, if space had n dimensions, certain propo- 
 sitions would be true ; but it does not follow that they are 
 true until space has been shown to have n dimensions. In 
 the same way we might construct a geometry of the square 
 circle. Assuming a square circle, we might deduce various 
 propositions; but that would hardly prove that square cir- 
 cles are possible. Both geometries would be of equal value, 
 and both would rest upon the fact that language enables us 
 to construct phrases for which there is no corresponding 
 thought. 
 
 Not all sensations are equally adapted to excite the mind 
 to a spatial representation of its objects. The most effect- 
 ive are those connected with touch and vision; and it may 
 be doubted whether many of our sensations originally had 
 any spatial reference. It is not difficult, even now, to ab- 
 stract the sound of a piece of music from all spatial rela- 
 tions, and enjoy it in its purely qualitative significance. 
 This question of the development of space knowledge will 
 come up again in treating of the process of perception. 
 
 In one respect our conception is affected by experience. 
 One visual experience doubtless gives space a certain look 
 because of the connection established thereby between its 
 extension and the sensations of color, which it could not 
 have for the blind. The eye, also, enables us to grasp in 
 a single act a large number of objects and their space 
 relations which we might find it impossible to repi-esent 
 with any such clearness without its assistance. On this 
 account many have affirmed that the blind can have no 
 proper idea of space, and that time takes the place of 
 space with them. This claim is sufficiently disproved by 
 the existence of blind geometricians, a fact which would 
 not be possible if they had not pure spatial intuitions. We 
 cannot say, then, that our knowledge of geometrical rela- 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR 153 
 
 tions is dependent on visit)n, but we may well believe that, 
 without the experience of color, and the power of the eye 
 to present a multitude of coexisting objects before the 
 mind, the look of space would be very different, and our 
 conception of the system of existing relations would be far 
 more incomplete. 
 
 To the question why the mind views its objects under 
 the form of space, the answer has often been given that the 
 mind views its objects in space because they are in space. 
 This is the common-sense view. Its inadequacy has been 
 seen. The associationalist replies, by seeking to show that 
 the sensations themselves must lead to the idea of space. 
 • This reply also we have found insufficient. The final con- 
 clusion is, that space is a mental principle, which compels 
 the mind to give its objects spatial forms and relations. 
 Of course this merely affirms a fact without deducing it ; 
 but not every fact can be deduced. The attempts to deduce 
 the idea of space deserve to be ranked with the attempts to 
 square the circle and invent perpetual motion. 
 
 Number is the next relation which we mention. This is 
 pre-eminently the outcome of a mental activity. There 
 is no other form of activity in which the mind is so con- 
 sciously master of itself and of its processes as in this. 
 It involves (1.) the establishment of a unit, and (2.) a 
 process of counting. 
 
 Of course sensationalism has sought to deduce this idea 
 as a simple consequence of sense experience ; and at first 
 glance the attempt would seem to be successful. Number 
 seems to adhere so closely to the objects that to know 
 them seems to be the same as knowing their number. 
 Yet this, again, is only the old error which identifies plu- 
 rality in experience with experience of pUirality. The 
 very utmost that could be allowed would be that unity 
 inheres in the object; the conception of plurality arises 
 only as the mind takes the separate units together. Until 
 
154 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 this is done, we have not number, but the unit repeated; the 
 countable, but not the counted. Each object may be one ; 
 but no object is two or three, etc. The clock may strike 
 one repeatedly, but by no possibility can it do more. Our 
 ears might give us the separate strokes, but they cannot 
 hear their number. Hence we pass from units to number 
 only by a process of counting, or of adding unit to unit. 
 Number is no property of things in themselves, but only of 
 things as united by the mind in numerical relations. 
 
 Nor can we allow that unity attaches to the sense object. 
 The mind establishes its own unit, as appears from the 
 fact that the same object may be one or many, according 
 to the unit which the mind adopts. If, then, the sense 
 impression may remain the same, and the numerical value 
 be variously conceived, it is clear that there is something 
 beyond the sensation in question. In fact the object is 
 neither one nor many until the mind has fixed its unit of 
 measure. The length of a yardstick is no more one than 
 it is three or tliirty-six. It may be any of these according 
 as we make the unit a yard, or a foot, or an inch. Hence 
 the single sense impression does not constitute itself a unit 
 any more than several such impressions constitute them- 
 selves a number. The unity comes, not from the sensation 
 itself, but from the nature of thought as a discriminating 
 activity. In every act of discrimination the discriminated 
 objects are set apart, each by itself, as a self-identical 
 unit. It is this discriminating process which determines 
 what the units shall be ; and the units will be various 
 according to the fineness, or according to the purpose, of 
 the distinction. In a library, a book is a unit. In a book, 
 a page or a chapter may be a unit. In either of these, 
 again, words or sentences or paragraphs may be units ; 
 and, finally, the letters themselves may be taken as units. 
 In many cases, as in most scientific measurements, the 
 units are purely arbitrary. Thus the unit of work, the 
 
THE TIIt'UGHT-FACTOli. 155 
 
 unit of temperature, the unit of distance, not only do not 
 determine themselves, but their determination is a matter 
 of great difficulty. Any distinguishable mental act or state 
 may be constituted a unit, and a plurality of these may 
 furnish the conditions for the development of the whole 
 science of number. 
 
 Again, number involves, not only discrimination, but as- 
 similation. Number applies only to the members of a com- 
 mon class. This class may consist of external objects, or 
 of internal states ; but nowhere does the idea of number 
 arise, until the numerated objects have been brought under 
 some single point of view, or into a common class. 
 
 All that can be allowed for sense experience is that it 
 constantly furnishes us with discriminable objects of ex- 
 perience, and these may act as a stimulus to the mind to 
 perform its function of numeration, or to develop its numer- 
 ical activity. We may also allow that this function begins 
 only crudely and obscurely ; but whenever and however it 
 begins, it is something forever distinct from any passive 
 affection of the sensibility. Moreover, when this function 
 is once developed, it quickly outruns any possible experi- 
 ence, sensational or otherwise. When the beginning is 
 once made, thereafter the mind is purely spontaneous. It 
 creates its own data and processes and problems, and 
 tests them all by its own insight. Indeed, there is no 
 other test possible. Experience could never decide as to 
 the correctness of a logarithm, or differential formula. 
 This can be d( ne only by the mind itself reviewing its 
 processes and scrutinizing their various steps. One would 
 think, on reading the arguments for the empirical origin of 
 number, that their authors had never heard of numbers 
 larger than ten, and had never heard at all of the various 
 forms of numerical science. It would be interesting to see 
 the physical source of any large number, and to note the 
 physical difference between it and the similar representa- 
 
156 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 tive of the same number plus or minus one. It would be 
 equally interesting to see the physical prototype of a loga- 
 rithm, a differential coefficient, the root of a surd quantity. 
 It is very doubtful if we should recognize these rare objects, 
 even if we should happen upon them. None of these no- 
 tions are abstracted from physical experience. They are 
 rather spontaneous products of the mind, according to laws 
 native to itself. Thus large numbers are developed and 
 dealt with with perfect certainty. Thus also the science of 
 arithmetic, of algebra, of the calculus, is built up. Experi- 
 ence is so far from being the source of these sciences, that it 
 cannot even test them after they are developed. For both 
 origin and proof the mind has no resource beyond itself. 
 
 Number has been called the science of pure time. 
 This was due to the fact that sequence incessantly fur- 
 nishes us with examples of difference, and thus furnishes 
 the conditions for the development of the numerical ac- 
 tivity. But the sequence as such is irrelevant to the 
 matter. It is the discrimination which is essential, and 
 this would be as effective if the discriminated objects were 
 in space, or simply coexisted in consciousness, as if they 
 were in time. Number applies equally to all discriminable 
 objects, no matter whether their differences are in space, 
 or time, or degree, or consciousness. Number is the great 
 measurer ; that is, all quantity, whether in the form of 
 extension, or duration, or intensity of action, or degree of 
 a quality, can be expressed only in terms of number. The 
 numerical function is purely formal in a double sense ; 
 (1.) it can be performed with reference to any experiential 
 content whatever ; and (2.) it can even be performed upon 
 data which itself produces. It is only in this second sense 
 that number is abstract. This does not mean that number 
 is reached by abstraction ; but that the numerical process 
 can go on in abstraction from all concrete objects upon the 
 basis of data which the mind spontaneously creates out of 
 itself. 
 
Till'; TllUUC;ilT-FA("i(JK. 157 
 
 The relations thus far dealt with are formal and logical, 
 and do not necessarily imply any objects beyond the sub- 
 jective states and conceptions of the mind. With these 
 ideas of likeness, of coexistence and sequence, of spatial 
 and numerical relations, it would be possible for the mind 
 to get a very accurate knowledge of its inner experiences, 
 and of the order among its states. Its sensations and 
 feelings and objects might be classed, and the finest sense 
 for their agreements and differences might exist. The 
 order of their coexistence and sequence might also be most 
 accurately determined, and they might also be objectified 
 to thought under the form of space, as in imagination and 
 dream. In this way it would be possible for the mind to 
 read its past and to previse its future with the utmost 
 accuracy. Given sensations would be the signs of others, 
 and past and future alike might be explored. Understand- 
 ing by phenomenon a spatial synthesis and projection of 
 sense qualities, we may say that a complete science of phe- 
 nomena in their coexistences and sequences and in the laws 
 of their occurrence, would be possible. But there would 
 be nothing in such a state to lead the mind to transcend 
 itself. Its knowledge would be of its own states and 
 ideas, their likeness and differences and the order of their 
 succession. In order to pass beyond the subjective circle 
 into an independent world of reality, we must have recourse 
 to the metaphysical elements of thought. These consist 
 especially in the metaphysical relations of substance and 
 attribute, cause and effect. Only by means of these can 
 we transcend ourselves and reach a world of objects. Our 
 sensations are not merely known as states of ourselves; 
 they are also referred to external things, either as their 
 effects or as their properties. In this activity the mind 
 establishes the relations of cause and effect, and of sub- 
 stance and attribute. 
 
 Metaphysics finds reasons for saying that the ideas of 
 
158 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 cause and substance are but different sides of the same 
 thing, — that substance can only be viewed as cause, and 
 that cause must be regarded as substance. Nevertheless, 
 though both ideas enter into the notion of reality, in their 
 actual use they each denote a special element which de- 
 serves to be considered by itself. Our inquiry couccrns 
 not the metaphysical applications of these ideas, many of 
 which are mistaken, but rather their psychological origin 
 and logical function. If it should turn out that many 
 things which we are accustomed to regard as substances 
 are really only phenomena in the sense just explained, that 
 would only concern the metaphysical application, and not 
 the mental function, of the idea. In fact, the origin and 
 function of the idea remain the same, even if its objective 
 validity be denied. 
 
 By substance is meant reality in reference to its attri- 
 butes. By cause is meant reality in reference to its 
 activities. For certain attributes, or qualities, the mind 
 posits a real subject which has them. This is conceived 
 as the ground of their existence, and as the abiding prin- 
 ciple of unity among them. The several attributes of a 
 thing are not supposed to coexist in mutual indifference, 
 but to be bound together by some real principle of unity, 
 which determines both their coexistence and the order of 
 their succession. In the external world the notion of sub- 
 stance is represented by the notion of thing; in the in- 
 ternal world, by the notion of soul and spirit. Both alike 
 are conceived of as the real subject of their attributes, 
 and as the principle of unity among them. Here we reach 
 another of the great battle-fields of psychology. 
 
 That the idea of substance cannot be derived from the 
 senses is evident, and for the reason that the senses do 
 not reach the idea. The eye gives colors, the ear gives 
 sounds, etc. The idea of substance is something which 
 the mind brings into its sense experiences for their ex- 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 169 
 
 planation. Sensations may be experienced, and they may 
 even be projected as spatial syntheses of qualities, or phe- 
 nomena, so as to look like the world of i"cal things ; but 
 there is nothing in this to suggest the notion of an abid- 
 ing and identical reality behind the phenomena as their 
 ground. This idea can get into the experience only as the 
 mind brings it in. 
 
 To see this, let us inquire what the senses could give us 
 if the mind had only the pi'incii)les of space and time as 
 the laws of its activity. Take the case of a moving body. 
 In such a case, we should have a succession of nearly sim- 
 ilar optical phenomena at successive points of space in 
 successive moments of time. We should have no more 
 identity than there is in a continuously reproduced musical 
 note. But there is nothing in this to lead to the concep- 
 tion of one and the same real thing passing from point to 
 point in space, and remaining identical with itself through- 
 out the process. To transform this successive appearance 
 of optical phenomena into the motion of an identical thing, 
 the mind must bring the notion of substance into the ex- 
 perience as the real ground of the phenomena, and as 
 abiding through them. No matter how real the world of 
 things may be, the mind can know it as real only as it 
 brings its experiences under the mental categories of cause 
 and substance. No amount of association will help us; 
 for the utraost that this can do is to produce complexes 
 of sensation. Taken together with the space principle, 
 association may produce phenomena which would look like 
 our intuitions of things in space ; but it could never pass 
 either to the idea or to the reality of objective existence. 
 
 To escape this conclusion, there are two devices: (1.) a 
 polemic against the idea of substance, and (2.) an identifica- 
 tion of substance with a group of sensations. The polemic 
 is metaphysical, and claims to reduce external existence to 
 a group of qualities, and internal existence to a series of 
 
160 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 mental states. The second device consists in deducing the 
 idea of substance by calling it something else. 
 
 The metaphysical discussion is largely irrelevant to the 
 psychological question as to the origin and nature of the 
 idea. It is, moreover, almost entirely a series of deduc- 
 tions from psychological sensationalism, which is assumed 
 to be true. This was especially the case with Himie. He 
 pointed out that neither the internal nor the external 
 sense can give us substance, and then undertook to adjust 
 our views to the doctrine. The aim is to show that our 
 total experience and knowledge can be adequately ex- 
 pressed in terms of sensations and feelings, real or ex- 
 pected. That is, the theory is first consulted to see what 
 we may mean, and then we are told that is what we do 
 and must mean. We examine the doctrine with reference 
 (1.) to the mental life and (2.) to the external world. ^ 
 
 The mind on this theory is a series of sensations and 
 feelings, and we are told that, when we examine ourselves, 
 we find we mean nothing more. Let us see. By hypothe- 
 sis, these sensations are not sensations of anything, and 
 they belong to nobody. They are simple, unrelated sensa- 
 tions, as a, h, c, d, e,f, etc. Of course, a knows nothing of 
 b, c, etc., for then it would be more than a sensation ; it 
 would be a knowing subject having b, c, etc. for its objects. 
 But all the rest are in the same state, and a consciousness 
 of objects could never arise. If we suppose association to 
 unite the sensations into groups, SiS a be, bed, etc., we sim- 
 ply have a coexistence of sensations, not a knowledge of that 
 coexistence. But consciousness, memory, and expectation 
 are possible. Hence, some member of the series, as m, 
 though by hypothesis only a unit of sensation or feeling, 
 must still have a knowledge of other members in their 
 various relations. It must also, though now existing for 
 the first time and existing only for an instant, have a 
 knowledge of past sensations as having previously existed 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 161 
 
 as states of its experience ; and it must further be able to 
 look into the future, and foresee other sensations which are 
 to become elements of its experience after it has ceased, 
 by hypothesis, to exist. But a sensation, or feeling, which 
 has other sensations and feelings together with memory 
 and expectation, and which, moreover, distinguishes those 
 otlier sensations and feelings as its own states and activi- 
 ties, is precisely what others call a mental subject, a real 
 agent and patient in our internal experience. Mr. Mill 
 calls the view a " paradox " ; it is more than this, it is 
 plain nonsense. Not the first step can be taken in under- 
 standing the mental life without the conception of a real 
 and abiding self. 
 
 The corresponding doctrine of the external world has 
 been expounded by Mr. Mill as well as by any one. His 
 conclusion is, that things are really only " permanent pos- 
 sibilities of sensation," and that this is all we mean in 
 ascribing reality to them. He shows how, in the course 
 of experience, actual sensations must come to be regarded 
 as fleeting, in comparison with their possibility. Hence 
 gradually the possibilities come to be more prominent and 
 permanent in our thought than actual sensations. From 
 tliat time on, they are regarded as things, which is only 
 another name for permanent possibilities of sensation. The 
 following quotation sums up the conclusion : — 
 
 " The sensations couceived do not, to our habitual 
 thoughts, present themselves as sensations actually ex])e- 
 rienced, inasmuch as not only any one in any number of 
 them may be supposed absent, but none of them need be 
 present. We find that the modifications which are taking 
 place more or less regularly in our possibilities of sensa- 
 tion are mostly quite independent of our consciousness, 
 and of our presence or absence. Whether we are asleep 
 or awake, the fire goes out, and puts an end to one particu- 
 lar possibility of warmth and light. Whether we are pres- 
 
 11 
 
162 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ent or absent, the corn ripens, and brings a new possibility 
 of food. Hence we speedily think to learn of Nature as 
 manifested in the modifications of some of these by others. 
 The sensations, though the original foundation of the whole, 
 come to be looked upon as a sort of accident depending on 
 us, and the possibilities are much more real than the actual 
 sensations, nay, as the very realities of which these are. 
 only the representations, appearances, or effects. When 
 this state of mind has been arrived at, then, and from that 
 time forward, we are never conscious of a present sensa- 
 tion without instantaneously referring it to some one of 
 the groups of possibilities into which a sensation of that 
 particular description enters ; and if we do not yet know 
 to what group to refer it, we at least feel an irresistible 
 conviction that it must belong to some groups or others ; 
 i. e. that its presence proves the existence, here and now, 
 of a great number and variety of possibilities of sensation, 
 without which it would not have been. The whole set 
 of sensations, as possible, form a permanent background 
 to any one or more of them that are, at a given moment, 
 actual ; and the possibilities are conceived as standing to 
 the actual sensations in the relation of a cause to its effects, 
 or of canvas to the figures painted on it, or of a root to the 
 trunk, leaves, and flowers, or of a substratum to that which 
 is spread over it, or, in transcendental language, of matter 
 to form." 1 
 
 This account is not perfectly clear. The system of pos- 
 sible sensations seems to have an objective existence. It 
 is spoken of as independent of our presence and conscious- 
 ness, and elsewhere it is declared to exist for other minds 
 as well as our own. The dying fire and the ripening corn 
 are given as illustrations. Moreover, there is an " active 
 force " among them, wliich is " manifested in the modifica- 
 tion of some of these by others." Further, these " possi- 
 
 ^ Examination of Sir Wm. Hamilton's Pliilosophy, Vol. I. pp. 240, 241. 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 163 
 
 bilities are conceived as standing to the actual sensations 
 in the relation of a cause to its effect." But things which 
 exist apart from our perception, have active forces, modify 
 one another, and produce sensational effects in us, are bet- 
 ter described as real things than as possibilities of sensa- 
 tion. If these words are to be taken in their ordinary 
 sense, Mr. Mill has given us, not a new conception, but 
 only a new terminology. The permanent possibilities of 
 sensation mean those real things which condition sensa- 
 tion. Our ideas remain what they were, but language has 
 been outraged. 
 
 But Mr. Mill can hardly have meditated so inglorious an 
 outcome ; and we must reckon the above terms as speci- 
 mens of his frequent use of language to express doctrines 
 which his words seem to contradict. Let us try, then, to 
 understand the phrase " permanent possibilities of sensa- 
 tion." By a possible sensation, we can only mean a con- 
 ception of a sensation which would be realized in an actual 
 sensation if certain conditions were fulfilled. But such a 
 sensation represents nothing objective or permanent. My 
 real sensations exist only for myself; my possible sensa- 
 tions can certainly have no more objectivity. In fact, a 
 possible sensation is strictly nothing and nowhere until 
 it becomes real, and then it has existence only for the 
 mind that has it. Nevertheless, Mr. Mill speaks of those 
 possibilities as objective and permanent. Of course, if 
 there were real things external to the mind, and capable 
 of acting upon it, many sensations might be possible ; but 
 when the real things are denied, the objective and perma- 
 nent possibility is nothing. A possibility is always a con- 
 Bequence or implication of something real, and is a pure 
 figment of abstraction otherwise. When next Mr. Mill 
 speaks of the possible sensations as the cause of actual 
 sensations, we are in the lowest depths of unintelligibility. 
 Thus, I see an apple, and have a sensation of color. The 
 
164 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 cause of this actual sensation is tlie possibility of touching, 
 tasting, and smelling the apple I By hypothesis, the apple 
 is not a substantial thing, but a complex possibility of sen- 
 sation ; and I have a sensation of color because I might 
 have sensations of touch, taste, and smell. But if this is 
 not the meaning, then the terms have some occult sense 
 which has not been revealed except to faith. In short, if 
 there be a real something external to ourselves which 
 causes sensations, that something is more than a possi- 
 bility ; it is a productive agent. If there is no such thing, 
 then our sensations are only our own states, and, however 
 complicated they may become through association, they 
 can never acquire more than a fictitious objectivity and 
 independence. 
 
 The metaphysical denial of the reality of substance leads 
 to nonsense in the mental world, and to nihilism and sol- 
 ipsism in the outer world. This only can be allowed, that 
 the objects of sense perception may be only phenomena to 
 which the mind has given substantial form; but in that 
 case we should still have to affirm objective reality behind 
 the phenomena as their ground, and we should also have to 
 affirm substance as a mental principle to explain the sub- 
 stantial form which the mind gives its phenomena. 
 
 The psychological origin of the idea needs little separate 
 discussion. The senses do not give it. Not the eye, for 
 then it would be a color ; not the ear, for then it would be 
 a sound ; not the nose, for then it would be an odor ; not 
 touch, for then it would be a feeling of pressure or resist- 
 ance. Nor can any combination of these sensations repre- 
 sent it. I have this or that sensation, or I expect this or 
 that sensation, can never be made to mean that this or that 
 real thing exists. We cannot identify this idea of reality 
 with any groupings or possibilities of sensation. The lat- 
 ter phrase defies all construction until we bring the idea 
 of reality into it. The idea of substance which sensation- 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. ^<-ii: lb5 
 
 alism explains is not the one we have : and the idea we 
 have is not explained. There is a certain excess in the 
 actual idea over any [tossible work of association ; and the 
 excess contains the gist of the idea. The ground of this 
 excess must be sought in the laws of the mind itself. 
 Hume refers this excess of our rational ideas over sensa- 
 tional compounds to a mental " propensity to feign." That 
 is, they are of subjective origin after all; and since the 
 " propensity to feign " is universal, it may, with more pro- 
 priety, be called a law of thought. The " propensity to 
 feign" means only that the mind, on its own warrant, 
 transcends simple sense experience by bringing certain ra- 
 tional elements into the sensations for their rationalization 
 and interpretation. We regard substance, therefore, as pri- 
 marily a mental principle, and secondarily as an ontological 
 reality ; but the recognition of substance as reality is possi- 
 ble only because of its control as a mental principle. 
 
 The principle of causation whereby the mind brings its 
 objects into the relation of cause and effect next demands 
 consideration. This, too, is no datum of experience, but a 
 mental contribution by the reason in order to comprehend 
 experience. Since the time of Hume, sensationalism has 
 sought (1.) to deny the objective validity of the idea, (2.) to 
 deduce the idea, and (3.) to reduce it to something else. 
 By causation is meant any production or determination of 
 one thing by another, or the production or modification of 
 any state of a thing by any other state of the same thing. 
 
 The denial of the objective validity of the idea rests upon 
 the assumed truth of the sensational theory of knowledge. 
 The senses can never give us causal connection, even when 
 they are supplemented by the temporal and spatial activity 
 of the mind. Even then we have only a coexistence and 
 sequence of phenomena. The sequence may be irregular, 
 and it may be constant ; but it is still sequence, and not 
 efficiency. And since the senses cannot give us causal 
 
166 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 connection, there is no such thing. In Ihat case no mental 
 state is aifected by any antecedent mental state, for there 
 is no such thing as affection. If, then, we now have the 
 thought of a variety of past experiences, that is not due 
 to our having had a past experience; for that would be 
 to suppose the antecedents to condition the consequents. 
 In short, it would not be due to anything. The present 
 thought would be what it is, causeless and groundless. 
 Again, our mental states would not be the products of 
 any system of external things, for that would be to assume 
 causation again. Each mental state, whether referring to 
 a past experience or to a world of objects, would be only 
 a mental state, causeless and groundless. It would contain 
 no warrant for transcending itself ; and if we continued to 
 allow a mental subject, solipsism would be the result. Un- 
 less we are prepared to dive into this depth of absurdity, 
 the objective validity of causation must be allowed. It is, 
 indeed, possible that our apparent objects are only phenom- 
 ena, and have no dynamic relations among themselves ; 
 but even then we should have to affirm an efficient ground 
 behind them, which produces them and determines their 
 laws and relations. 
 
 The metaphysical question is irrelevant to the psycho- 
 logical question. For if the idea were denied to have any 
 metaphysical validity, its psychological existence and logi- 
 cal function would remain the same. As a matter of fact, 
 we do establish relations of cause and effect among our 
 objects, and this fact must be accounted for. Temporal 
 succession and spatial coexistence reveal no such relations ; 
 whence, then, does the idea come ? The deduction of the 
 idea from experience consists in taking for granted the world 
 of things in causal relations. This conception being kept 
 well in mind, sensations are supposed to be generated, and 
 invariable relations of sequence are supposed to be estab- 
 lished. When this process has gone on for some time and 
 
THE THOJGHT-FACTOIt. 167 
 
 the product has become very complex, we may sn])pose 
 that " internal relations " among sensations have been 
 " adjusted " to " external relations " among things. But 
 the "external relations" were relali<jns of causality among 
 , real things. We remember this, and the deduction is com- 
 plete. So naturally and si)ontaneously does the mind aflirm 
 the causal relation, that it never occurs to the speculator 
 and his disciples that the mind can pass to that world of 
 real things in causal relations only by virtue of the causal 
 principle. The raw material of perception is sensations ; 
 and these have to be built into a world of things before 
 such a world can be known. However real that world 
 may be, it can be reached only through a principle in the 
 mind itself, whereby it brings its objects into the relation 
 of cause and effect. When this is borne in mind, it will 
 not seem to be so brilliant an effort of analysis to assume 
 in the data the idea to be explained. 
 
 We must, then, reduce the idea to something else, or 
 regard it as a mental datum of reason itself. This reduc- 
 tion was attempted by Hume in the assurance that by cau- 
 sation we mean only invariable antecedence and sequence. 
 This was met by Reid with the objection that there are 
 cases of invariable antecedence and sequence, as day and 
 night, which are not regarded as in causal relations. Mill 
 proposes to amend the definition by adding "unconditional." 
 " Invariable sequence, therefore, is not synonymous with 
 causation, unless the sequence, besides being invariable, is 
 unconditional. . . . We may define, therefore, the cause of 
 a phenomenon to be the antecedent, or the concurrence of 
 antecedents, on which it is invariably and unconditionally 
 consequent." 1 " Unconditionally" is defined as " subject to 
 no other than negative conditions" ; and " negative condi- 
 tions . . . may all be summed up under one head, namely, 
 the absence of preventing or counteracting causes." ^ 
 
 1 System of Logic, 8th edition, p. 245. ^ ibij.^ p. 241. 
 
168 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 In the first quotation Mr. Mill seems to be defining cau- 
 sation as meaning invariable unconditional sequence. In 
 the second, his language may be interpreted as defining 
 causation, or as indicating which of various antecedents is 
 the cause. This amljiguity is increased by the fact that 
 Mr. Mill disclaims all reference to efficient causation, his 
 aim being to define causation as used in inductive science. 
 At the same time, he often lapses into the assumption that 
 this definition includes all there is in causation, and that 
 any excess in the philosophic conception is a speculative 
 phantom. In either case, it is rather discouraging to find 
 the notion defined appearing in the definition. Thus cau- 
 sation is not invariable sequence, but " invariable uncon- 
 ditional sequence"; but an unconditional sequence is one 
 which always occurs when not hindered by " preventing or 
 counteracting causes." Mr. Mill's laborious attempt to 
 find a formula to take the place of the principle of causa- 
 tion results in producing one which demands the idea of 
 causation for its comprehension. One of the most extra- 
 ordinary features of this attempt to reduce causation to 
 invariable sequence is the failure to notice that in that 
 case we should affirm causation as the rare exception, and 
 not as the universal rule. Nature does not present itself 
 as a series of invariable sequences, but as a highly variable 
 order of succession. The belief in uniformity is a late 
 product ; while the belief in causation is as old as the 
 mind. The belief in uniformity is even now a scientific 
 rather than a popular belief ; and the uniformity in most 
 cases is believed in rather than perceived. One would 
 think, to read the reductions of causation to uniformity, that 
 nature is a series of straight lines, instead of a tangled web 
 whose pattern is mostly a matter of guess-work. 
 
 The aim of inductive science is to find the uniformities 
 of nature; and our definition of causation is irrelevant to 
 this aim. Further, we may suppose a formula invented 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 109 
 
 which should cover every case of causation and exclude 
 all others, yet without covering causation itself. Let us 
 admit that the relation of causation involves the invariable 
 and unconditional sequence of the effect, we still have only 
 a mark and consequence of the relation, and not the relation 
 itself. To be sure, we ought not to mean any more than 
 sequence, but we do mean more. We do not mean that 
 one state of things was, and another state is ; we mean 
 that one state is because another state was. This idea of 
 efficiency, of determination, is omitted from the temporal 
 formula ; and yet this is the gist of the matter. As in the 
 case of substance, the idea we have is not explained, but 
 rather the idea which we ought to have but have not. We 
 must take our choice. If causation be real efficiency, the 
 idea cannot be deduced from sense experience. If it mean 
 only sequence, then no thing or state of things affects any- 
 thing else, or i)roduces any new state of things. In that 
 case our sensations point to nothing beyond themselves. 
 Every mental state simply is as it is and while it is. Any 
 reference of it to objective things or persons as its cause 
 is groundless. Likewise any reference to past experience 
 as explaining its peculiarities is equally groundless. It is 
 as it is, and where and when it is, for no reason or cause 
 at all. It simply is. 
 
 This view would cancel sensationalism entirely. A curi- 
 ous inconsequence has always appeared in sensationalist 
 philosophy at this point. The aim has been to represent 
 all rational ideas as products of sensation and the laws of 
 association. But when this is applied to causation, the 
 philosophy cancels itself. For all the manifold " explana- 
 tions " which sensationalism has vouchsafed to a long- 
 suffering world consist in showing how antecedent mental 
 states must determine new mental states according to the 
 laws of association ; and as for sensations most sensational- 
 ists have had no hesitation in referring them to external 
 
170 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 causes without scruple, or even suspicion of the inconsist- 
 ency. Concerning any conception of our mature life, we 
 are warned against taking it as an original mental fact. 
 We are told how it came about as a deposit of experience 
 either in us or in our ancestors. If a suggestion of fi-ee- 
 dom is made, it is frowned upon forthwith as one of the 
 most unscientific ideas possible, if not a trace of an anti- 
 quated superstition. But if sensationalism be admitted, 
 all this is hopelessly inconsistent. No idea is, or is as it 
 is, because any other idea was ; rather some ideas were, 
 and some other ideas are. To suppose an influence, a 
 modification, is contrary to the hypothesis. It is equally 
 so to assume a world beyond our sensations, a process of 
 evolution, etc. To suppose a determination in volition is 
 likewise to fly in the face of the theory. If anything is or 
 occurs, we must not ask why ; for there is no why. Thus 
 all the explanations of sensationalism disappear, and by 
 sheer excess the doctrine cancels itself. 
 
 We have the idea of causation. It cannot be abstracted 
 from experience, for the reason that it cannot be found in 
 experience until the mind puts it there. We cannot get 
 along without it. The sensationalist can neither explain 
 it nor explain it away. We must, then, regard the law of 
 causation as primarily a mental principle upon which our 
 rational life depends. Its ontological significance may be 
 left to metaphysics. 
 
 The conditions of the development of the ideas of cause 
 and substance admit of no sharp determination. The most 
 general statement would be, that the notion of cause is devel- 
 oped only through the perception of change, and the notion 
 of substance only through some perception of permanence. 
 
 In the external world the notion of substance is expressed 
 in the notion of thing ; and to the formation of this notion 
 there are necessary (1.) a spatial se])aration and (2.) a 
 temporal continuity. Space is pre-eminently the principle 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 171 
 
 by which we differentiate things ; and when this is impos- 
 sible, we view the thing as one. Temporal continuity is 
 also the principle by which we identify things. We regard 
 a thing as the same, no matter what changes of form and 
 quality it may undergo, if there be a temporal continuity of 
 phenomena connected with it. On the other hand, a com- 
 plete likeness of properties would not be taken as pointing 
 to the same thing, if we assumed a solution of continuity in 
 the thing's changes. Such a fact would bo interpreted as the 
 disappearance of one thing and the appearance of another. 
 This spatial separation and temporal continuity, which were 
 originally necessary to the formation of the notion of a 
 thing, we retain as marks of a thing even when it eludes 
 our perception. The atomic theory and the doctrine of the 
 indestructibility of matter are examples. 
 
 Change is necessary to the development of the idea of 
 causation. This is the truth in the claim that sequence 
 leads to the notion. It does lead to it, but it does not 
 give it. Any variation of one thing with another leads to 
 the notion of causal connection. 
 
 It is often claimed that this idea arises only from the 
 consciousness of our own activity, so that, if we were not 
 volitional and active, the conception of causation would 
 never arise. This implies (1.) that we have a direct con- 
 sciousness of causation in our own activity, and (2.) that 
 this is the source of all ideas of causation. 
 
 The first point is mistaken, so far as our external action 
 is concerned. In the control of our body we are only occa- 
 sions for the agency of some foreign power ; our activity 
 extends only to the production of the volition. We are 
 not, then, conscious of ourselves as causes in the outer 
 world. It may also be questioned how far our inner cau- 
 sality is a matter of direct consciousness. But admitting 
 such consciousness, the question would next arise whether 
 this is a case of causation or the meaning of causation. 
 
172 PSYCHOLOGr. 
 
 If wc call it a case, then the causal idea is presupposed. 
 If we identify it with causation, then we must say that 
 causation means willing guided by purpose. But in fact 
 causation does not mean this primarily for the great ma- 
 jority even of thinkers. Such an identification, if reached 
 at all, must emerge as the result of a long course of meta- 
 physical reasoning, and not as an analysis of the simple, 
 notion of causation. And even this would apply only to 
 causation in things. But mental states modify one another, 
 and we apply the notion of causation to them ; yet in most 
 cases they are not products of any assignable volition, and 
 still less can they be supposed to have volition. When the 
 idea a is in the mind, the idea h is produced. Here is 
 causation, but whichever way we read it we cannot get the 
 idea of volition into it. We do not will the appearance 
 of J, nor does a will it. Nor is there any way of getting 
 will into the problem except by saying that the First 
 Cause wills h on occasion of a. 
 
 The truth in this general claim is this : — 
 
 1. We cannot represent causation to ourselves except 
 under a psychological form. Hence the mind has often 
 sought to interpret it anthropomorphically by attributing a 
 kind of will to the cause and a kind of feelino; to the thins: 
 acted upon. When this is left out there remains only the 
 representation of antecedence and sequence, with the con- 
 viction, however, that we mean more, even the unrepresent- 
 able notion of efficiency. 
 
 2. Our own activities are especially effective in awaking 
 the notion of cause. In particular, the resistance we ex- 
 perience in our dealing with the external world is pecu- 
 liarly adapted to lead to a differentiation of the self and 
 the not-self. We may well believe that, if we were simply 
 intellectual lookers-on upon the movements of phenomena, 
 we should be much longer in reaching the idea of causation 
 than we are when we are ourselves in volitional interaction 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 173 
 
 with the outer world. But if our rational nature remained 
 unchanged, the demand for a cause would arise even apart 
 from all vohmtary activity. For while the will may reveal 
 a case of causation, it is the reason which demands causa- 
 tion and declares it universal. 
 
 The formulated principle of causation is, of course, sec- 
 ond, and not lii-st. As in the case of space, the mind does 
 not begin with an idea of one all-embracing space, but rather 
 begins by setting })articular objects into space relations, so 
 here also the mind does not begin with a general formula, 
 but by affirming causal relations among its objects. It is 
 only later, througli a reflection upon its procedure in so 
 doing, that the mind reaches the generalized principle that 
 every event or change must have a cause. 
 
 The notions of cause and substance stand in the most 
 intimate relations to each other, and mutually affect each 
 other's development. Likewise they receive vaiious modi- 
 fications in their several applications. The clcmont of cau- 
 sality taken up into tlie notion of a thing modifies greatly 
 the notion of substance by turning its qualities into activi- 
 ties. In this way arise such notions as force, energy, 
 power, capacity, etc. These are causal terms considered as 
 denoting qualities of a substance. Similarly, in psychology 
 we have faculties, capacities, impulses, etc. The develop- 
 ment and analysis of these ideas must be handed over to 
 logic and metaphysics. 
 
 The general aim of this chapter lias been to show that 
 there are two orders of movement in the mind. The first 
 comprises the sensations and their changes, according to 
 the laws of association. The second com{)riscs the reac- 
 tion upon the sensations, and the establishment of relations 
 among them for their rationalization and interpretation. 
 The former is a phase of tlie sensibility; the latter is an 
 activity of thought or reason. The former furnishes the 
 raw material : the latter gives it form and interpretation. 
 
174 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 There is no possibility of either of these passing into the 
 other. The rational activity cannot dispense with the raw 
 material of sensibility ; and the attempts to elevate the 
 sensibility to the plane of reason by the force of association 
 belong to the sorriest efforts of speculation. 
 
 Within the general aim mentioned, the specific aim has 
 been to discuss the leading rational relations which consti- 
 tute the framework of knowledge, and ultimately of intelli- 
 gence itself. The mind attains to knowledge only through 
 the establishment of these relations. If we drop them out 
 of our mental scheme, the whole system of knowledge falls 
 together in a chaotic mass, and thought perishes. But it 
 has not been our aim to write the psychological history of 
 the categories, but only to determine their source and seat. 
 We do not regard them as existing primarily as ideas, bat 
 as being determinative principles of mental procedure, or 
 as constitutive principles of intelligence. Supposing this 
 established, one may go on to study the order and con- 
 ditions of their manifestation. The question whether they 
 mediate a valid knowledge also remains open. All that 
 appears at present is, that there are certain directive and 
 constitutive principles in the developed mental life, which 
 can only be viewed as expressing the fundamental build 
 of the mind itself. 
 
 We have discussed only the leading categories. Whether 
 a completed system of categories is possible is much dis- 
 cussed; our own conviction is that it is not possible. The 
 categories, also, do not admit of deduction from a single 
 root. This ideal has been fondly cherished, and eagerly 
 followed ; but we have to take them as given, without 
 any hope of deducing one from another. It can never be 
 shown that a being who has experiences in time must also 
 project them under the form of space, or that the category 
 of causation implies space relations. 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 176 
 
 APPENDIX TO CHAPTER IV. 
 
 As the sensational philosophy is supposed to have re- 
 ceived great aid and comfort from the doctrine of evolu- 
 tion, it seems desirable to consider briefly its bearings 
 upon psychology. 
 
 No individual experience is able to transform sensations 
 into the ideas and categories of the reason. Tt is sug- 
 gested, however, that a race-experience might accomplish 
 this wonder in such a way that what is now apriori for the 
 individual may be aposteriori for the race. By heredity 
 the individual inherits the experience of his ancestors, and 
 thus mental forms and faculties are produced as the inte- 
 gral of this race-experience. This suggestion has been 
 eagerly adopted, and has ]:)een supposed greatly to extend 
 the resources of the sensational school. In fact, it leaves 
 the argument weaker than it was before ; as it in no wise 
 strengthens the positive argument, and has in addition 
 many special difficulties of its own. Tn particular, it re- 
 jects the sensationalist's analysis of the individual con- 
 sciousness, and declares that this cannot be understood 
 as the outcome of the individual experience. If, then, it 
 cannot make its theory of a race-experience work, it has 
 surrendered in advance. The difficulties are commonly 
 kept out of sight by words ; all the more necessary is it 
 to seek to comprehend the process. 
 
 Inasmuch as this theory is often joined with materialism, 
 we first point out that materialism cannot be joined with any 
 sensational philosophy without mutual destruction. The 
 grounds for this claim are these : — 
 
 1. Materialism is opposed to sensationalism and empiri- 
 cism, because it deduces all mental states from physical 
 
1T6 PSYCHOLOCxY. 
 
 structure. They represent no deposit of experience at all ; 
 but are solely the subjective expression of a special phase 
 of molecular aggregation and movement. This is so much 
 the case, that, if the physical double of any person were pro- 
 duced at first hand from inorganic raw material, it would 
 have all the memories, expectations, knowledge, and mental 
 insight of the person himself. Of course, the organism 
 might be slowly developed, but the mental states, as such, 
 would be at every point only the necessary subjective ex- 
 pression of what the body is at that moment, and would 
 have no more connection among themselves than the cloud- 
 shadows which chase one another over the fields on a sum- 
 mer's day. For a given kind and shade of feeling, there 
 would be a special molecular grouping. For a specific 
 thought or judgment, there would be another and peculiar 
 grouping. For moral ideas and for religious conceptions, 
 likewise, there would be specific and definite groupings. On 
 this theory, what is needed for an all-embracing memory, 
 for the profoundest insight into present and future, and 
 even for the loftiest moral and religious aspirations, is not 
 mental experience, but the proper organism. The mental 
 results, also, are never anything contingent and adventi- 
 tious, but rather something inherent and essential. The 
 intuition, the morality, the religion, are all as inherent in 
 the nature of matter as gravitation and affinity, and need 
 only the fulfilment of certain conditions for their manifesta- 
 tions. There may be an order of succession, but there can 
 be no psychological transformation of lower into higher 
 forms. The theory provides only for succession, not for 
 transformation. To be sure, the materialist has generally 
 been a sensationalist, and having, as he thinks, explained 
 sensations, he then leaves them to combine on their own 
 account. But in so doing he forgets that in his theory 
 feelings have no power to come, or go, or combine, of 
 themselves, and that every mental state is what it is, a 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 177 
 
 subjective phase of a special form of molecular grouping 
 and movement, and not in any sense a modification of 
 other mental states. Materialism ought to teach a lofty 
 form of apriorism. The existing alliance between materi- 
 alism and sensationalism is one of the many inconsisten- 
 cies of evolutionary thinking. 
 
 2. Conversely, sensationalism is incompatible with mate- 
 rialism; for, as we have already seen, sensationalism, when 
 reasoned out, must deny matter as an objective reality 
 altogether. Matter becomes only a group of sensations 
 projected as an object, and so far from explaining the 
 existence of mind, it is dependent upon mind for its own 
 existence. 
 
 Psychological transformationism is impossible where there 
 is not a real mental subject. Now all that heredity could 
 do in this direction would be still more probable if we sup- 
 pose one and the same person to live through the life of the 
 race. Such a fact would be the most favorable for the pro- 
 posed transformation ; but the considerations already de- 
 duced in considering the deductions of the ideas of space, 
 cause, and substance are fatal to its success. The diffi- 
 culties there dwelt upon had nothing to do with time ; 
 and they would be no less if the time were indefinitely 
 extended. The premises were incommensurable with the 
 conclusion ; and there is nothing in simple duration to 
 fill up the gulf between them. It was necessary at last to 
 falsify the ideas, and call something else by their name ; 
 and this was the deduction. And so it would be if we 
 supposed the individual experience to be of indefinite 
 duration. The ambiguity of the facts of successive de- 
 velopment, and the fanciful character of the " chem- 
 istry of ideas," have already been pointed out. Hence 
 m this most favorable case we are no better off as sensa- 
 tionalists with the doctrine of evolution than without it. 
 The strange terms and long times impress the imagina- 
 
 12 
 
178 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 tion and minds of a passive type, but have no rational 
 significance. 
 
 The actual circumstances are far more unfavorable to 
 success, as they involve a series of different minds, and it 
 becomes a difficult problem to connect a race-experience 
 with an individual experience. Of course the solution is 
 found in heredity, but this is a word more easily pro- 
 nounced than understood. Let a, h, c, d^ etc. represent the 
 successive members of a genealogical series ; these mem- 
 bers are ontologically as distinct as different atoms. But 
 if the notion of a race-experience is to help us, there must 
 be some way whereby the experience of a may become that 
 of h, etc. At the same time, it must not become J's own 
 experience, nor yet be known as a's experience ; for then, 
 in one form or another, the memories of the later members 
 of the series would go back to the beginning. Experience, 
 then, must be transmitted as tendencies or capacities of 
 some sort, and not as conscious knowledge or conceptions 
 of any kind. If we ask how this is done, we arc referred 
 to heredity ; but heredity is the problem, not its solution. 
 
 The current device for solving this problem supposes the 
 transmission to take place through physical modifications, 
 especially of the brain, which are transmitted by heredity. 
 In this way posterity inherit improved brains, and through 
 them improved thought. This puts the mystery of heredity 
 in the physical realm. The device limps in the following 
 respects. 
 
 1. If it were so, the fact would be ambiguous. On any 
 theory, an improved brain must lead to improved mental 
 action, other things being equal. Such a brain would be 
 more pliant to mental demands, and would furnish the mind 
 a finer and subtler stimulus to the unfolding of its own 
 proper powers ; but such a fact would be irrelevant to the 
 present question. It remains undecided, then, whether the 
 effect of heredity is to transmit a mental experience or 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 179 
 
 merely to produce a more facile organ. The former view 
 is the only relevant one. 
 
 2. Against this view, we have seen that all known facts 
 oppose the theory that ideas are represented by any structu- 
 ral combinations in the brain. But if they were, and if 
 those combinations were reproduced in the brains of de- 
 scendants, there would be no transmission of ideas, but 
 only a physical stimulus to the production of these ideas 
 by the mind. The idea would still come from the mind ; 
 and all we should inherit would be an incitement to its 
 production. Its ground and nature would still be due to 
 the mind in question, and not to ancestral experience. In 
 any other sense than this, there can be no transmission of 
 mental experience ; but this fails entirely to meet the case. 
 The fact would be, that the new mental subject, M, would 
 be in interaction with an organism genealogically connected 
 with antecedent organisms. But this organism neither 
 thinks nor has thoughts in it; but merely stimulates M 
 to unfold its own proper nature. That M still contains the 
 mystery. 
 
 The truth is, that the holders of this view have generally 
 Ijeen haunted by the fancy that the actual mental experience 
 may be handed bodily along. Under the influence of this 
 fancy they have produced such highly elegant conceptions 
 as " mind-stuff," and " psychoplasm," and have spoken 
 freely of present thoughts and emotions as integrals or 
 echoes of all ancestral experiences. But such figures of 
 speech defy all interpretation. The experience of the in- 
 dividual as a particular mental event cannot be recovered 
 by the person himself ; still less can an ancestor's experi- 
 ence be recovered. If, then, we should examine an evolved 
 nervous system, we should certainly find no sensations or 
 experiences, or echoes, or integrals of mental states of any 
 kind, in it. We should find simply a physical organism 
 which has reached its present state as the result of a long 
 
180 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 process of development. But it would have no more expe- 
 rience in it than a similar organism made direct from the 
 inorganic ; and in order that the structure of this evolved 
 organism should ever acquire any mental significance, it 
 must come into interaction with a distinct mental subject, 
 which shall not be furnished by it with ready-made ideas 
 and experiences, but which shall be stimulated by it to 
 unfold its own essential nature. 
 
 Supposing all these difficulties surmounted, we are as 
 badly off as ever in seeing how heredity can help us in 
 the advance to new ideas. It seems clear, first of all, that 
 before our ancestors could transmit an idea they must have 
 had it, and that we cannot well inherit what they did not 
 have. Mental heredity with all its mystery is simply a 
 means of transmitting what is possessed, and not a method 
 of originating new ideas. If, then, our ancestors had ex- 
 perience only of sensations, they could by no possibility 
 have transmitted other than sensational experience. Be- 
 fore they could do more, they must have risen above the 
 sensational plane ; and this carries us back to the analysis 
 of the individual consciousness. Indeed, heredity, instead 
 of giving us more than our ancestors had, would rather give 
 us less ; as the transmission takes place in the form of ten- 
 dencies and instincts, rather than in conscious and rational 
 perception. For example, our moral instincts are supposed 
 to be due to ancestral perceptions of utility ; hence, where 
 our ancestors had a rational perception of utility we have 
 an instinct from which the rational element has disap- 
 peared. The intelligence has " lapsed " by transmission. 
 
 In these mechanical notions of transmission there is the 
 crude fancy before mentioned, that ideas are something 
 which can be passed along bodily and ready made. But 
 in fact all ideas, and especially our ideas of rational rela- 
 tions, are mental functions which exist only in and through 
 the mental activity which produces them. Hence, to trans- 
 
THE THOUGHT-FACTOR. 181 
 
 mit ideas or experience means only to stimulate the mind 
 to perform the appropriate function; and that which fits 
 the mind to perform that function must always be sought, 
 not in experience, but in the mysterious nature of the mind 
 itself. 
 
 It is needless to pursue the view further. The imagina- 
 tions of its upholders have been so impressed with tJie 
 grandeur of the theory, that they have not analyzed it to 
 see whether it would do what it promised. In addition to 
 the influence of the vast periods of time dealt with, and the 
 strange terminology employed, the use of the general term 
 mind has been very effective. This has been " developed " 
 all the way up from the feeble stirrings of the polyp's ten- 
 tacles to the mental insight of the philosopher. Of course 
 there is no mind, but a series of individual minds ; but to 
 have remembered this would have seriously embarrassed 
 the " development." We conclude that evolution has no 
 such importance for psychology as its friends imagine. In 
 the history of the world, there is a successive appearance 
 of mental subjects of ascending grade ; in the history of the 
 individual, there is a successive appearance of graded men- 
 tal functions. Both facts are interesting, but without theo- 
 retical significance. The attempt to identify these functions 
 as essentially the same is a failure. The gathering up of 
 these mental subjects under the one term mind is simply 
 an echo of the scholastic realism. Finally, the dispute does 
 not concern the facts of development, but their interpreta- 
 tion. The fact is a successive and conditional development 
 of mental functions. The explanation is double. Sensa- 
 tionalism seeks to identify these functions as phases of the 
 same sensitive process. Rationalism regards them as es- 
 sentially different, so that, while the lower may condition 
 the unfolding of the higher, they cannot of themselves pass 
 into the higher, neither in an individual experience nor in 
 a race-experience. 
 
182 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FEELINGS. 
 
 The doctrine of the feelings is the most confused part 
 of psychology, and has been least developed. From a phil- 
 osophical standpoint, the psychology of cognition is more 
 interesting; and from an ethical standpoint, the psychology 
 of volition is more important. Further, the cognitive ele- 
 ments admit of much more exact determination than those 
 of feeling. The former are fixed and universal ; the latter 
 are fleeting and individual. The former admit of direct 
 inspection and analysis in consciousness ; the latter can be 
 studied only indirectly, for the reflective consciousness is 
 fatal to their spontaneity. Nothing is so real as a feeling, 
 nothing is so hard to define. In objective perception we 
 can at least point to the object, and be fairly sure that 
 others have the same thing in mind ; but here we are 
 confined to language, and the terminology of feeling par- 
 takes of the vagueness and indefiniteness of the feelings 
 themselves. 
 
 No definition of feeling can be given. We can only iden- 
 tify and name it. In sensation we can distinguish the per- 
 ception of a quality and a state of agreeable or disagreeable 
 consciousness which attends it. This state of conscious- 
 ness is a physical feeling. The perception of the quality is 
 the cognitive side of the sensation ; the feeling is the ac- 
 companying state of the sensibility. These are the two ele- 
 ments which, under the names of perception and sensation, 
 Hamilton declared to vary inversely each as the other. 
 
 Again, in our perception of objects we can distinguish 
 the simple cognitive grasp of the fact from any delight 
 
THE FEELINGS. 183 
 
 or dislike we may feci. Wc see a flower. Perception 
 simply gives it as it is in color, outline, etc., and does not 
 go beyond this colorless presentation of the fact. But 
 along with this perception there goes a sense of delight in 
 it. This is something added to the cognition. It is an 
 aesthetic feeling. 
 
 Again, wc conceive an act both in its motives and in its 
 consequences. We read, perhaps, of some great deed of 
 heroism or of self-denial. Cognition simply reports the 
 fact ; but along with this there go various sentiments of 
 approval, admiration, etc. These, too, are not cognitions, 
 but moral feelings. 
 
 We might, then, define feeling as that state of conscious- 
 ness which consists in some form of pleasure or pain, like 
 or dislike, satisfaction or dissatisfaction. Of course, this 
 is not a definition, but only an identification. What the 
 terms mean can be known only in experience. If we give 
 pleasure and pain the widest meaning, so as to include all 
 desirable and undesirable states of consciousness, we may 
 say that feeling, in opposition to knowing, consists in some 
 form of pleasurable, or painful, consciousness. This exten- 
 sion of terms, however, is more likely to confuse than 
 otherwise. The feelings of aesthetic and moral satisfaction 
 or dissatisfaction, the simple intellectual feeling of sur- 
 prise or curiosity, the many feelings which have so little 
 affinity with pleasure or pain as to seem indifferent to 
 both, — none of these are well described as pleasurable or 
 painful. Let us say, then, as a final definition, that feel- 
 ing is feeling, just as knowing is knowing ; and it does 
 generally consist in some form of desirable or undesira- 
 ble consciousness, which either springs directly from our 
 physical experience, or which attends our mental activities, 
 or which arises from the contemplati(jn of our objects and 
 ideas. 
 
 Feeling cannot be deduced. Sensation, considered as 
 
184 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the simple cognition of a quality, involves no feeling. Per- 
 ception, considered as a cognition of objects and their rela- 
 tions, also involves no feeling. Reflection, too, considered 
 as a form of internal cognition, likewise implies no feeling. 
 Action, finall}', considered as the execution of a purpose, 
 does not imply feeling. Actually, all of these processes 
 are accompanied by feeling, not, however, as an analytic im- 
 plication, but rather as an incommensurable addition. A 
 purely cognitive intelligence might have perfect knowledge 
 of things and their relations to itself ; it might know that 
 certain things, or courses of action, would destroy its own 
 existence ; it might even know that its own existence was 
 about to be destroyed ; but this knowledge alone would 
 imply no feeling. Such an intellect would be like a mirror; 
 it would accurately reflect all that passed before it ; but it 
 would be as indifferent as the mirror. Even the blow that 
 should shatter it would be reflected with the same passion- 
 less indifference as all things else. Nor would it be other- 
 wise if we supposed this intelligence to be connected with 
 a physical organism. It would know the physical condi- 
 tions of its existence, and might know that those conditions 
 were being violated ; but neither the knowledge nor the fact 
 would involve any feeling. Just as no state of the organism 
 involves perception as an analytic implication, so no state 
 of the organism, however abnormal it may be, involves feel- 
 ing as an analytic implication. Indeed, in our own case, 
 the most deadly interference with the health of the organ- 
 ism can take place without any affection of the sensibility. 
 Thus parts of the brain can be cut away without pain ; and 
 many forms of disease are most fatal when painless, while 
 some are even attended by feelings of unusual comfort. 
 If now we find that such complete sensitive indifference to 
 physical and intellectual states in general does not exist, 
 ■we must conclude that the soul is not merely cognitive, but 
 also sensitive, that it not only knows, but enjoys and suf- 
 
THE FEELINGS. 186 
 
 fers, and that this feature of our life must be ascribed to a 
 special reaction of the soul against the incitements of its 
 physical and cognitive experience. 
 
 Until the time of Kant there was a general tendency in 
 psychology to regard feeling as a kind of knowing. Des- 
 cartes defined pleasure as a " consciousness of some one 
 or other of our perfections." Leibnitz viewed feeling as a 
 confused or obscure perception. Wolff called pleasure " an 
 intuitive knowledge of perfection." Locke defined the feel- 
 ings by the cognitive cii"cumstanccs under which they arise. 
 Thus, " Sorrow is uneasiness in the mind upon the thought 
 of a good lost." " Despair is the thought of the unattain- 
 ableness of any good." (Essay, Book II. c. 20.) The last 
 definition is a good example of his tendency to identify the 
 feeling with the conception. Even Kant, who strove to 
 distinguish feeling from cognition, defined pleasure as the 
 feeling of furtherance, and pain as the feeling of hindrance, 
 of life. From the physiological side, also, there have been 
 attempts to define feeling as unconscious perception of 
 harmony or discord between our state and the normal con- 
 ditions of well-being. Opposed to this attempt to reduce 
 feeling to cognition is the attempt to reduce cognition to 
 feeling. This has been the general aim of the sensation, 
 'alists; but by feeling they have generally understood sensa- 
 tions which involve both cognitive and sensitive elements ; 
 so that the deduction turns out to be a device of defini- 
 tion. The apparent success of both of these opposed 
 attempts is due to the fact that in actual mental states 
 both elements are present ; so that, whichever we resolve 
 to make fundamental, the other will surely creep into rec- 
 ognition. This subreption will easily pass for deduction. 
 Kant first emphasized the separateness of feeling and cog- 
 nition. This, however, does not mean that feeling and 
 cognition exist in absolute separation and independence, 
 but only that neither can be deduced from the other. 
 
186 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The attempts to deduce feeling gencrall}^ confound feel- 
 ing with its conditions. Thus physical feeling is said to 
 result from the state of the organism. Allowing this to be 
 true, we have only a condition, not the thing. As there is 
 nothing in the conception of nervous action which implies 
 that a sensation of light must result, so there is nothing 
 in any physical conception which implies that it must be 
 accompanied with pleasure or pain. There is nothing in 
 the conception of congestion, or atrophy, or a burn, which 
 implies that it must be felt as pain ; and if pain does result, 
 it can only be as there is a subject capable of feeling, and 
 in such relation to the organism that the states of the latter 
 furnish the conditions for the development of feeling. The 
 fact that pain so generally results from an abnormal state 
 of the body must not mislead us into thinking that the 
 connection is one of logical implication, or anything more 
 than a simple fact. Moreover, we have seen that this con- 
 nection is not constant. In general, an abnormal state is 
 indicated by pain ; but sometimes there is just the opposite 
 result of unusual comfort. If we should allow that pleas- 
 ure actually attends all action which tends to conserve the 
 individual or the race, while pain attends action of opposite 
 tendency, we should still have no deduction, but only a dis- 
 covery of a biological and teleological function for feeling 
 which actually exists. For all that we can see, the same 
 end might have been reached in other ways. 
 
 Herbart has sought to deduce feeling from the inter- 
 action of our representations. This also is a failure in 
 all respects. We have seen that the notion of interaction 
 among mental states is an imclcar one at best, and, in most 
 of its forms, absurd. But, apart from these difficulties, the 
 theory has the following short-comings : — 
 
 1. It ignores physical feeling, and would imply that nei- 
 ther fire nor frost could hurt until a store of ideas had 
 been developed. 
 
THE FEELINGS. 187 
 
 2. There is no proof possible that the simple dynamic 
 relations of mental states, whereby they should strengthen 
 or repress, rc-cnforce or extinguish one another, must be 
 experienced as pleasure or pain. Beginning with purely 
 cognitive elements, there is no way of transition to sensitive 
 elements. 
 
 3. If such transition, however, is made, it can only be as 
 the soul is more than a purely cognitive being. It must 
 have a complex nature, such that the relations of its ideas 
 furnish the incitement to a special form of sensitive reac- 
 tion. Loss is not sorrow ; repression is not pain ; failure 
 is not disappointment ; success is not happiness ; facility 
 is not pleasure. These subjects and predicates are not 
 analytically connected ; and no reflection upon the defini- 
 tion of the former will reveal the latter. 
 
 The claim that feeling is a perception of the significance 
 that a given state has for our well-being, is of the same 
 sort ; or rather it confounds feeling with its conditions on 
 the one hand, and Avith perception on the other. Without 
 doubt, feeling is often conditioned by the agreement or dis- 
 agreement of our state with the conditions of our normal 
 existence, but we cannot identify it either with the agree- 
 ment or disagreement, or with a perception of the same. 
 Much of our feeling toward objects also arises from some 
 conception of their significance for our well-being ; but .this 
 conception again is only the ground of the feeling, and not 
 the feeling itself. A toothache arises from an abnormal 
 state of the nerve ; but for all that, it is neither that state 
 nor a perception of that state ; it is purely its own wretched 
 self. We conclude, then, that while feeling attends our 
 physical and mental functions, and springs also from the 
 contemplation of objects and relations, there is no way of 
 deducing it from them. 
 
 Feelings have two sources, the state of the organism and 
 the relations of our mental states and ideas. Feelings from 
 
188 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the former source we call the physical feelings ; for those 
 having a mental source, there is no comprehensive term. 
 They are sometimes called the emotions ; but in popular 
 language the emotions are commonly viewed as passive 
 feelings in distinction from the desires. In actual experi 
 ence many forms of feeling exist which have both a physi- 
 cal and a mental root. Indeed, the physical state enters as 
 an important factor into many of our higher emotions. 
 The most striking example is that of parental and conjugal 
 affection. Here the physical and spiritual factors of our 
 nature work together. The physical elements furnish the 
 occasion and the stimulus for the development of spiritual 
 sentiments; and these in turn idealize physical relations 
 and prevent them from ever sinking to the level of their 
 purely physical significance. Feelings of this class cannot 
 be understood from either the physical or the mental side 
 alone ; but only from the co-working of both. The ana- 
 logues of these sentiments in the brute world seem to 
 have only a physical root ; as they do not last beyond the 
 physical conditions which occasioned them. 
 
 The physical feelings arise from some physical state or 
 function. The special feelings are connected with some 
 special part, either some of the organs of special sense or 
 some specific part of the organism. The organs of the 
 special senses vary very greatly in their relation to feeling. 
 Those which have the function of giving us a knowledge of 
 the outer world are almost sensitively indifferent in their 
 normal activity. The eye and ear have only the faintest 
 functional feelings, except when strained, wearied, or dis- 
 eased. The other special senses are more pronounced in 
 this respect ; and the organic sensations are pure feelings. 
 As the feeling increases, the cognitive element diminishes ; 
 and where both are present, an excess of feeling absorbs 
 attention and makes it hard to concentrate thought. When 
 the feeling is not located, we have a general sense of com- 
 
THE FEELINGS. 189 
 
 fort or discomfort, of strength or weakness, of health or 
 disease, etc. 
 
 The ph\sical feelings may be roughly distinguished as 
 constitutional and contingent. The former arc such feel- 
 ings as attend those physical appetites and cravings which 
 arise from the nature of the organism itself. Hunger and 
 thirst, the need of exercise and of rest, are examples. 
 Other physical feelings do not spring from the nature and 
 law of the organism, but depend upon some contingent 
 state, either arising within the organism or resulting from 
 external action upon it. 
 
 The teleological character of the physical feelings has 
 already been sufficiently indicated. They are almost entirely 
 related to the use and well-being of the organism, or to the 
 arousing and directing of our activity. Taken together, 
 they constitute a highly complex series both of incite- 
 ments and of repressions of activity ; and this activity is 
 in the main adapted to preserve either the individual or 
 the race. This rule, however, is subject to many excep- 
 tions. Physical appetites, especially acquired ones, often 
 incite to injurious and destructive forms of activity. Even 
 hunger and thirst are seldom accurately adjusted to the 
 demands of perfect health. 
 
 In speaking of the form of the nervous process which 
 underlies sensation in general, we saw that nothing is 
 known about it. That which underlies physical feeling 
 is equally mysterious. At first it would seem that the 
 process might well be one and the same, and that the 
 perception of the quality and the having of the feeling are 
 double only in consciousness. In that case we should bave 
 a complex reaction against the single process. Neverthe- 
 less, the facts of analgia show that the perception can take 
 place without the feeling. In the use of anaesthetics, it is 
 often found that the perceptive function remains after the 
 sensibility to pain has vanished. Even the nerves of touch 
 
190 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 in the parts affected may remain active after all pain has 
 ceased. These facts show either that there is a special 
 nervous function for the production of feeling, or that feel- 
 ing is connected only with a special intensity of the gen- 
 eral nervous function upon which perception rests. The 
 distinction is further suggested by the changeability of our 
 likes and dislikes with reference to the same object. Ac- 
 quired tastes, like those for tobacco and olives, are striking 
 examples. In such cases the external stimulus and the 
 perceptive element are constant, but the sensitive factor 
 varies from one extreme to its opposite. Nor can we do 
 much with the notion of intensity as the ground of feeling. 
 If we find the ground of pain in too great intensity of 
 nervous action, we ought to find the ground of pleasure in 
 the opposite direction, and ought further to find a point of 
 indifference between them. Generally, it would seem that 
 the ground of both lies in the form of the nervous activity 
 rather than in its quantity. The entire subject is in pro- 
 found obscurity ; but we need to guard ourselves against 
 applying terms with psychological implications to the 
 nerves, and then fancying that we liave deduced the psycho- 
 logical idea from our physiology, and not from the terms 
 employed. Thus, when we have referred pain to nervous 
 exhaustion, the term exhaustion makes it easy to transfer 
 our feelings to our nerves, and then we deduce our feelings 
 from the nervous states with the greatest ease. We need 
 equally to guard against the fancy that the nervous process 
 which conditions the feeling in any way explains it. The 
 feelings are not in the nerves, and are physical only in the 
 sense of having a physical incitement. 
 
 The feelings which have a purely mental source are 
 much more numerous and important These do not arise 
 from the organic functions, but from some conception or 
 mental state. Thus, the aversion which attends the vision 
 of a serpent, or of blood, or of any disgusting object, does 
 
THE FEELINGS. 191 
 
 not arise from any pernicious effect upon the nerves, but 
 from the significance which we attribute to the objects. 
 The conception is necessary to the feeling. Again, the 
 feelings of mirth, contempt, etc., arise from the relations of 
 ideas, and would disappear with the ideas. The grossest 
 insults may be heaped upon us in an unknown tongue, 
 without disturbing our equanimity. They must pass into 
 the idea before they can awaken feeling. 
 
 No satisfactory classification of these feelings exists, 
 and any detailed description would be superfluous. In- 
 stead, then, of seeking a new classification, we shall do 
 better to confine ourselves to a few general points of view. 
 In any case, feelings are understood in themselves, and 
 not in their classification. 
 
 The physical organism has conditions of existence, which 
 may be furthered or interfered with from without. Such 
 furtherance or interference results in pleasure or pain. 
 Again, there is an immanent law of development in the 
 organism, whereby its unfolding is determined. Accord- 
 ing as this inner tendency is helped or hindered, we experi- 
 ence pleasure or pain. A widely received doctrine of the 
 mental feelings attempts to explain them by applying this 
 analogy to the mental organism. The mind, too, has condi- 
 tions of well-being, and an immanent law of development ; 
 and whatever meets these conditions or obeys this law 
 gives rise to pleasurable experiences, while anything of 
 opposite character gives rise to opposite experiences. A 
 free and facile performance of mental functions results in 
 feelings of pleasure or satisfaction, while opposite feelings 
 attend repression and failure. As the body by its constitu- 
 tion demands an alternation of rest and action as a condi- 
 tM)n of its well-being, so the mind makes the same demand 
 as a condition of its well-being. When the waking mind 
 is inactive, or rather empty, there result feelings of tedium 
 and ennui, which may rise to positive distress. The same 
 
192 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 mental constitution calls for a certain measure of variety 
 and unifoiniity of experience as a condition of pleasure. 
 Monotony becomes wearisome; too rapid change is confus- 
 ing and painful. Within certain limits novelty is pleasing, 
 and within certain limits the familiar is pleasing. 
 
 This fact is the basis of the claim of Aristotle, reproduced 
 also by Hamilton, that any unimpeded exercise of energy 
 according to the laws of the faculty in question is pleasur- 
 able, while the opposite is painful. Confused and obscure 
 ideas are disagreeable ; clear and distinct ideas are agree- 
 able. The reduction of unrelated phenomena to rational 
 order is pleasing ; the inability so to reduce them is dis- 
 pleasing. The discovery of unity in the manifold, or of har- 
 mony in the discordant, is pleasing; the failure to find 
 these elements is displeasing. In like manner, success or 
 failure, furtherance or hindrance, in our activities, becomes 
 a ground of feeling. Self-assertion and self-realization are 
 the deepest necessities of life. Whatever furthers them 
 produces complacency ; whatever hinders them gives rise 
 to feelings varying from slight vexation to intense indig- 
 nation. In all of these cases our tendencies are furthered 
 or thwarted, and we feel pleasure or pain accordingly. 
 
 In this conception mental feelings, like the physical, are 
 functional ; that is, they arise from the performance of 
 mental functions, and are pleasing or not as the form of 
 activity agrees or disagrees with the nature of the faculty 
 in question. There are many feelings of this kind. They 
 spring directly either from our constitution or from the 
 form of the mental function. Curiosity is a case of the 
 former ; the excitement of gambling is a case of the lat- 
 ter. There is an intenser feeling of life connected with 
 emotional excitement, which is desired for its own sake ; 
 and the desire for it may become a decided craving. Much 
 of our interest in games of chance, in novel-reading, in tne 
 tragic drama, and even in some phases of religious expeiv 
 ence, has its root hero. 
 
THE FEELINGS. 193 
 
 But when this conception of feeling as functional is 
 made universal, it becomes formal and empty. It is thus 
 formal when applied to the large class of feelings which 
 depend, not on the form of the mental function, but on the 
 nature of the mental object. This is the case with all 
 aisthctic emotion where the feeling is due to some quality 
 of the object, and where, so far as we can see, there is no 
 furtherance or hindrance of mental functions. Even our 
 delight in knowing depends less on satisfying our constitu- 
 tional curiosity than on finding something worth knowing. 
 Knowing, simply as a form of mental activity, may be exer- 
 cised upon the most insignificant objects. It is the nature 
 of the thing known which is the great source of feeling. 
 If, then, we insist that feeling is due to agreement or dis- 
 agreement with the laws of the mind, we must either make 
 those laws include the object, or we must admit that often 
 the only warrant for affirming an agreement or disagree- 
 ment is our theory that feeling must be explained in that 
 way. In either case the view becomes formal and barren. 
 
 Without inquiring further why we feel, we pass to con- 
 sider several important classes of feeling. These are (1.) the 
 ego feelings, (2.) the social feelings, and (3.) the impersonal, 
 or disinterested, feelings. The last class consists of the 
 aesthetic feelings, the ethical feelings, and the religious 
 feelings. Perhaps it would be better to regard these as 
 three classes of elements which enter into our sensitive 
 life, as in actual experience these elements often enter 
 into one and the same emotional state, and seldom occur 
 in isolation. They are proposed simply as points of view 
 from which the feelings may be advantageously studied. 
 
 In one sense all feelings which relate to the personal 
 interests of the individual are ego feelings. Personal pams 
 and pleasures, dislikes and av^ersions, exist only for their 
 suljject. But we prefer to reserve the title of ego feelings 
 tor another class, which depends not upon consciousness, 
 
 13 
 
194 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 but upon self-consciousness. These feelings are not elements 
 of passive pain or pleasure, but exist only through their re- 
 lation to our self-esteem and desire for self-assertion. The 
 ego is at once their subject and their object. Hence they 
 are pre-eminently the ego feelings. 
 
 It is this relation to self which chiefly determines the 
 value of an experience in the developed mental life. Both 
 pleasures and pains, except purely physical ones, depend 
 to a great extent on being connected with self as their 
 subject. Thus, an athletic feat, a long tramp, a perilous 
 climb up a mountain, are never estimated by the passive 
 sensations attending them, but by the exaltation of self- 
 feeling which results. We have a sense of power and 
 efficiency, and delight in the deed as our own. Most of 
 our plans and aims also have their value, not in their in- 
 herent power to please us, but in the fact that they are 
 ours. Few of our experiences have value in themselves, 
 as passive gratifications of our sensibility ; their value lies 
 rather in the element of personality which we have put into 
 them. It is oversight of this fact which led to the strange 
 proposal of Bentham to form an arithmetic of pleasures 
 and pains, whereby the value of any experience could be de- 
 termined. The sum of the pleasures minus tlie sum of the 
 pains equals the value of the experience ; where pleasure 
 and pain are supposed to be passive affections of the sensi- 
 bility. This arithmetic vanishes when all significant values 
 in experience are seen to be constituted by their relation 
 to self in self-consciousness. The same oversiglit under- 
 lies the shrewd surmise that probably a pig's lot is happier 
 than that of a man. If there were nothing but passive 
 gratifications of sense in life, this might well be the case. 
 To increase knowledge may well increase sorrow, and the 
 freeman may have a harder lot tlian the slave. But with 
 men the comfort of ignorance, or slavery, or piggishness. 
 is not valued in comparison with the exaltation of seii- 
 
THE FEELINGS. 195 
 
 feeling and self-respect which comes from knowledge and 
 freedom and manhood. Indeed, the distinction between 
 passive and active pleasures is so marked, that it has often 
 been a dogma in etliics that the former are valueless and 
 unworthy of desire and effort. In the former, the self is 
 passive ; in the latter, it is active and self-determining. 
 The passive pleasures are seldom without a suggestion of 
 the animal. 
 
 The same reference to self underlies a great variety of 
 feelings of a less exalted kind. Apart from this self- 
 consciousness, the pains of poverty, of social slights, etc. 
 would be a vanishing quantity. On the other hand, the 
 satisfactions of pride, vanity, and ambition would be nothing 
 without the same reference. To secure the exaltation of 
 self-feeling we are ready to submit to any passive discom- 
 fort or to make any sacrifice. Failure in this effort is the 
 world's great source of grief and heart-burning. It is this 
 conception of self-consciousness which has led to the fa- 
 miliar onslaughts upon it as the sum, or at least the root, 
 of all evil. 
 
 Since we can interpret others' experience only by our 
 own, a broad and intense ego-life is the condition of any 
 full and deep social life. It is only in our own conscious- 
 ness that the meaning and value of life and its experiences 
 can be revealed ; and without the knowledge of these there 
 can be no sympathy for others and no understanding of 
 them. Selfishness does not consist in valuing ourselves, 
 but in ignoring the equal claims and rights of others. 
 
 An equally great variety of feelings arises from our social 
 nature. Here belong the social impulses and sentiments, 
 in all their diversified forms. Psychological doctrinaires 
 have displayed great ingenuity in deducing the social ele- 
 ments of our nature from selfish necessities. An artificial 
 and fictitious man has been constructed at great cost of 
 time and labor. This being has been endowed with only 
 
196 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 egoistic impulses, and then his creators have proceeded 
 to turn him into a social and benevolent person. Being 
 endowed with a desire for approbation, he seeks society 
 that he may win approval. Having also a penetrating in- 
 tellect, he soon sees that others are necessai^' to him in 
 many ways; and his wise selfishness takes on the forms 
 of benevolence. When this point is reached, the power 
 and penetration of the psychological analysis are praised, 
 and altruism is deduced from egoism. Unfortunately for 
 this view, the social impulses manifest themselves so long 
 before there is any hint of the profound insight presupposed, 
 that it would hardly seem less absurd to claim that the 
 cattle, or the ants, became gregarious in the same way. 
 However possible it may be to reason out the selfish wis- 
 dom of social action, it is sure that the race did not develop 
 the social impulses in that way. Man is naturally selfish, 
 and naturally social and sympathetic. There is provision 
 in our nature both for selfishness and for society and mu- 
 tual help. The whim that the natural state of man is the 
 war of all against all was the conclusion of a theory rather 
 than the expression of experience. Man seeks man and 
 delights in man far more than man wars upon man. This 
 primal man who reasoned himself into society is a near 
 relative of the men who emerged from inhuman isolation 
 and made the social contract which figured so largely in 
 the political philosophy of the last century. The real func- 
 tion of the various considerations of interest and mutual 
 advantage which are appealed to, has not been to develop 
 the social sentiments, but to extend their application beyond 
 narrow family or tribal limits. 
 
 The provision for social and unselfish existence is seen, 
 first of all, in the nature of all human love, whether con- 
 jugal, parental, filial, or the love of friendship. No one 
 who has felt these emotions will ever view them as selfish ; 
 and no one else has a voice. It is also seen in the law of 
 
THE FEELINGS. 197 
 
 sympathy. Unless hindered by some disturbing or paralyz- 
 ing conception, sympathy is natural and necessary. The 
 provision for social life is apparent also in the faculty of 
 language. The great function of language is exchange of 
 thought, and would have no meaning in a solitary exist- 
 ence. And tliouglit itself is developed and continued only 
 in and through society. Here the individual has his life ; 
 and here learning and science and knowledge have their 
 abiding source and seat. It used to be a favorite problem 
 with the speculators of the last century to know what a 
 human being would come to if brought up in isolation. 
 Plainly he would never become a human being at all. 
 
 The field of social relations is the sole field of the benevo- 
 lent and malevolent impulses ; it is, too, the great field of 
 the ego feelings. Indeed human life in general exists only 
 in society. Of course there can be no society without the 
 individual as its nnit ; but the individual comes to himself 
 only in society. On the one hand, we can understand others 
 only by assimilating their life to ours ; but, on the other 
 hand, our own life is dormant until it is called out by the 
 universal social stimulus. Opposite errors are traditional 
 here. Some, forgetting that life must be experienced in 
 ourselves before it can be found anywhere else, would 
 make society the sufficient source of all individual experi- 
 ence ; while others set the individual apart in a false self- 
 sufficiency, and forget that without the social stimulus the 
 mind of the individual would never unfold. 
 
 The ego feelings have already been referred to as con- 
 stituted by their relation to self ; but they demand society 
 for their development. Obnoxious forms of egoism are 
 made possible only by a comparison with others resulting 
 m an assumption of superiority and an undue exaltation of 
 self-esteem. Indeed, complete satisfaction is never reached- 
 until this superiority is in some way recognized by others. 
 The self-worshipper takes little plcasuj-e in subjective values 
 
198 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 SO long as thej are unknown or unallowed by the rest of 
 the world. There must be at least a prospective recogni- 
 tion ; and no Mordecai can be tolerated at the gate. Pride 
 or vanity is never content to be. It is never sufficient to 
 itself, but lives on others' recognition. Thus it carries in 
 itself its own contradiction and torment. 
 
 The aesthetic feelings are another form of feeling which 
 has a mental source. They represent a satisfaction or dis- 
 satisfaction with our objects apart from their relation to our 
 personal interests. Our feelings toward some things arise 
 directly from our conception of their utility or inutility for 
 us ; other feelings are independent of this personal refer- 
 ence, and seem to depend upon an objective quality of the 
 objects themselves. These are the aesthetic feelings ; and 
 in this sense they are impersonal and objective, or rather 
 disinterested. The feelings previously described represent 
 only a state of our sensibility, and are not objectified as 
 qualities of their objects. In the aesthetic feelings the mind 
 is contemplative and disinterested. We do not need the 
 object ; we do not prize it for its utility ; we are pleased to 
 find that the object exists. 
 
 The aesthetic feelings lie at the foundation of all aesthetic 
 judgments ; for these at bottom only express a feeling of 
 aesthetic satisfaction or dissatisfaction with our objects. A 
 scruple is sometimes raised as to the possibility of a judg- 
 ment founded on feeling ; as feeling is said to be subjective 
 and particular, while the judgment must be objective and 
 universal. But there is no reason why there may not be 
 universal elements in the sensibility as well as in the 
 reason. Again, many of our judgments do but express 
 in logical form a content which can be realized only in the 
 sensibility. All judgments of sensation are of this kind. 
 They have the forms of logic, but they can be understood 
 only in sensible experience. And ultimately our aesthetic 
 judgments rest upon a fact of the same sort, an immediate 
 
THE FEELINGS. 199 
 
 feeling of delight or aversion. Of course, this feeling must 
 be wrought out into systematic form before a science of 
 {Esthetics can be reached ; but without this feeling, the 
 science would have no contents whatever. Perhaps it 
 would be better to say that both intellect and sensibility 
 are pure abstractions ; the reality being the rational and 
 sensitive soul. If this soul were only sensitive, it would 
 never reach an assthetic judgment ; but if it were not sensi- 
 tive, such judgment would be equally impossible. 
 
 Esthetic feeling appears in various forms : — 
 
 The simplest form is in connection with sensation and 
 movement. Colors, tones, odors, and rhythmic movement 
 have an Eesthetic value, both in themselves and still more in 
 their combination, as in painting, music, rhythm, and the 
 dance. It has been much questioned whether simple sensa- 
 tions have any aesthetic significance, or whether they are 
 only organically agreeable or disagreeable. It is indeed 
 difficult in these cases to separate the aesthetic from the sim- 
 ply agreeable ; but that they have an aesthetic value is clear 
 from the fact that in higher sesthetic effects they constitute 
 a necessary part of the whole. Compare the colorless en- 
 graving with the painting ; or the same music on different 
 instruments. At the same time, the aesthetic value of 
 tones and colors lies chiefly in their combination and sym- 
 bolism. Melody and harmony please, not only by virtue 
 of the se{)arate tones, but also and mainly through the 
 form of their combination. A piece of music played back- 
 wards, or even in different time, would give the same 
 sounds, but not the music. 
 
 ^Esthetic feeling further appears in connection with form 
 and outline, especially as developed in drawing, architec- 
 ture, and sculpture. Here we demand regularity, symme- 
 try, and proportion, combined into an harmonious wliolc. 
 
 Still another phase arises from the perception of certain 
 relations of ideas. Here belong the feelings of the absurd, 
 
200 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the ridiculous, the comical, the witty, and of fitness and 
 unfitness in general. Here the effect is entirely due to 
 the relation, and not to the ideas themselves. 
 
 Esthetic feeling arises at times from the form, at others 
 from the content, of our ideas. Symmetry, proportion, 
 harmony, completeness, are examples of the former class. 
 Truth, goodness, nobility, baseness, and vastness are exam- 
 ples of the latter. In this class aesthetics rises into the 
 realm of ethics and religion. 
 
 Esthetic feeling is especially aroused by whatever ex- 
 presses or symbolizes the life, the aspirations, the solemn 
 forebodings, the deep experiences of the soul. This is the 
 source of our highest interest in the tragic drama. The 
 aesthetic value of nature, also, lies chiefly in its deep sym- 
 bolism of thought and life. Poetry in general is little more 
 than a working out of this symbolism. Music also aims to 
 do the same thing. The mind is pleased with whatever ex- 
 presses thought or purpose, or with whatever gives form to 
 its own inner life. This is the meaning of Plato's claim 
 that the mind alone is beautiful ; it also explains the claim 
 often made, that the beautiful must be an adequate realiza- 
 tion of an " idea." Even that which in itself is disagreeable 
 or ugly may have profound significance because of its power 
 to symbolize. Darkness and storm, the restless ocean and 
 the desert waste, are illustrations. A broken column in a 
 building is utterly ugly ; in a cemetery, it may have a sad 
 significance. 
 
 It is at this point that we find the significance of asso- 
 ciation for aesthetics. Association itself does not produce 
 aesthetic ideas, but it largely conditions their application ; 
 for example, the human form as a simple figure in space 
 could not lay claim to striking beauty. It acquires its 
 chief aesthetic significance from connection with the life 
 within. In itself it has beauty of symmetry, proportion, 
 adaptation of parts and functions ; but this is insignificant 
 
THE FEELINGS. 201 
 
 compared with its symbolic value. The same is true of 
 music. A melody in itself insignificant may affect us 
 powerfully from being a national air, or connected with 
 our past history, or associated with certain words and 
 ideas. 
 
 The complexity of the sources of aesthetic feeling makes 
 the aesthetic problem correspondingly complex. It also ex- 
 plains in some measure the diversity of aesthetic judgments. 
 We find simply sensuous elements, purely intellectual rela- 
 tions, the opposition of form and meaning, and a symbol- 
 izing function entering into aesthetic experience ; and any 
 one of these may be emphasized to the neglect or exclusion 
 of the rest. Hence, one-sided and often mistal^en aesthetic 
 judgments. In music, the intellectual and symbolic ele- 
 ments may be exaggerated, and the sensuous element ne- 
 glected. The result is music highly intellectual and full of 
 meaning, but needing an interpreter, and unable to please. 
 Or, on the other hand, the sensuous element may be made 
 supreme ; and the outcome is a tiresome and cloying sweet- 
 ness. So in art and literature, the form may be exalted 
 above the content, or the content above the form ; and in 
 both cases the result is failure. A brilliant treatment is 
 offered as the justification of an ignoble or worthless sub- 
 ject ; and a good meaning is made to apologize for stupid- 
 ity and awkwardness. For the highest aesthetic effect there 
 must be a satisfaction of the entire nature. A worthy 
 matter must be married to a fitting form. Diversity of 
 aesthetic judgment is further due to the fact that the judg- 
 ment is often not properly aesthetic. We may be pleased, 
 not with the thing, but with the treatment, the technical 
 skill, and very often with our own ability to detect that 
 skill. Much apparent delight in music and painting is of 
 this sort, and is really only a reflex of vanity. 
 
 Why do objects please us aesthetically ? Various answers 
 are given, but no one is adequate to a complete solution of 
 
202 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the question. Physiology offers to explain the elementary 
 aesthetic feelings as the result of agreement or disagree- 
 ment with the conditions of nervous action and physical 
 well-being in general. Others have found the one principle 
 of beauty in the perception of unity in variety, or harmony 
 in the manifold. The further claim is made, that aesthetic 
 feeling is built up out of agreeable or disagreeable personal 
 feelings, which by association are connected with their 
 causes. Thereafter the latter are viewed as beautiful or 
 ugly. This is the utilitarian conception. 
 
 Physiological aesthetics has the full indorsement of the 
 Zeitgeist, but is not so successful with analysis. Thus, 
 discord is ugly, concord is pleasing ; and the explanation 
 offered is, that discordant sounds in some way transgress 
 the conditions of nervous action, while harmonious sounds 
 agree with them. Of course, if this were so, we should 
 have no explanation of the mental effect ; for we have seen 
 that no nervous state explains any mental state as an an- 
 alytical implication of itself; but allowing that nervous 
 states may give rise to mental states, wc may seek the 
 ground of the aesthetic effect in the nerves. But it is very 
 doubtful if this view is adequate. To begin with, there 
 is no proof that a simple noise is more injurious to the 
 nerves than a musical note ; and especially there is no proof 
 that harmonious sounds are especially advantageous to the 
 nerves. The explanation is not only hypothetical, but the 
 data of the explanation are hypothetical also. 
 
 Moreover, the view is far from being as simple as it 
 seems. Suppose two notes to be struck which singly are 
 not unpleasing, but together are discordant. We assume, 
 then, that the nervous processes corresponding to the notes 
 are in some way prejudicial to nervous well-being when 
 occurring together. But in order that this fact shall exist 
 for us, it must in some way affect us by the production of 
 unpleasant feeling. We need then, first, a synchronous 
 
THE FEELINGS. 203 
 
 production of the two notes ; second, a production of un- 
 pleasant feeling by the abnormal nervous process ; and, 
 third, a distribution of this feeling over the notes which 
 thus appear as discordant or unpleasing. Our delight in 
 harmony would be explained in the same way. We should 
 have the separate nerve processes corresponding to the 
 notes, then a resultant nerve process which, without modi- 
 fying the others, should be particularly grateful to the 
 nerves, then a production of pleasant feeling by this pro- 
 cess, and, finally, a reference of this feeling to the original 
 notes. 
 
 Now, remembering that the data of this explanation are 
 hypothetical, it really does not cast a very strong light upon 
 this simple problem. And if two nervous processes can give 
 rise to a third process different from either, and grateful 
 or otherwise to the nerves, it does not seem impossible that 
 two sensational processes might give rise in the mind itself 
 to a third process, the aesthetic feeling, and that without 
 having recourse to the nerves. We renew our protesta- 
 tions of appreciation of physiology, but fail to see that it 
 has cast much light upon this problem. 
 
 The attempts to make aesthetic feeling depend upon some 
 single principle, as the perception of unity in variety, over- 
 look the elementary aesthetic feelings altogether, and the 
 complexity and manifoldness of the aesthetic scale. 
 
 In the utilitarian conception, it is not plain whether aes- 
 thetic feeling is the perception of utility, or arises from 
 it. Neither view finds any justification except in the expe- 
 rience of the unimaginative and prosaic. Apart from such 
 pathologic cases, the love of the beautiful, at least in the 
 form of personal adornment, is a marked feature of hu- 
 manity, even in its savage and infantile stages ; and Mr. 
 Darwin has made it a factor even in animal development. 
 
 The best answer to the question why objects please us 
 aesthetically lies in the remark, already quoted from Plato, 
 
204 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 that the mind only is beautiful. That is, the soul delights 
 in itself ; and hence it is i)leased with whatever expresses, 
 or embodies, or symbolizes its own inner life. Regularity, 
 symmetry, proportion, harmony, please because they ac- 
 cord with and express the orderly nature of intelligence. 
 The great symbolisms of light and sound, of sky and 
 sea, of hills and plains, are of perennial significance ; as 
 only in them do the dumb souls of men find adequate 
 expression. 
 
 The boundaries of the aesthetic realm do not admit of 
 being sharply drawn. Accordingly, there is no agreement 
 as to where the aesthetic scale begins or ends, or as to its 
 internal divisions. Many deny testhetic character to sen- 
 sations altogether, and confine aesthetics entirely to intel- 
 lectual relations. Still, as we have seen, high aesthetic 
 effects are often dependent on purely sensible effects, 
 either directly presented or indirectly suggested. A land- 
 scape in outline is lifeless. The color, the light, the 
 warmth, the life, must be there to produce any marked 
 effect. The attempts to divide the aesthetic scale into 
 sharply separated divisions is equally unfortunate, and 
 leads to various arbitrary dicta on the part of critics, few 
 of which are recognized by unsophisticated feeling. 
 
 In truth, the aesthetic scale is highly complex, and 
 stretches all the way from the agreeable in sensation up to 
 the sublime in thought and action. In the negative direc- 
 tion, it extends from the disagreeable in sensation to tlie 
 terrible and awful in thought and action. Nor is it possi- 
 ble to draw lines upon the scale where one form ends and 
 another begins. As the colors of the spectrum shade into 
 one another and yet are different, or as heat and cold are 
 antithetical ideas and yet have no fixed frontier, so the 
 system of aesthetic ideas presents a set of fixed and graded 
 conceptions without allowing us sharply to determine their 
 precise limits. 
 
THE FEE LIN (J S. 205 
 
 Attempts to reduce tlic oesthetic feelings to some single 
 form abound. In such cases, the classifying and simplify- 
 ing tendency of the mind plays a trick upon us. The very 
 essence of a feeling is to be felt ; and feelings which are 
 felt to be different are different. But when feelings show 
 some common clement, we gather them into a class, from 
 which their specific differences have been excluded ; and 
 then all the conditions for a penetrating psychological 
 analysis are present. We forthwith mistake the logical 
 universal for a reality ; and then conclude that the specific 
 feelings are all phases of this one universal and undiffer- 
 entiated feeling. The analysis is complete and successful. 
 We should reason with equal profundity, if we deduced all 
 specific horses from the universal horse. This is the per- 
 ennial mistake of sensationalism. Quite unconsciously, the 
 universal is taken as the starting-point, and then real ex- 
 perience is deduced from it. But it is well to remind our- 
 selves occasionally that there is no feeling in general ; 
 that the reality is always specific feelings, each with its 
 specific quality and coloring ; and that no amount of logi- 
 cal classifying can abolish these differences, or make them 
 other than they are. Even our {esthetic feelings are com- 
 plex and manifold, and vary with the objects themselves. 
 There is no common beauty, but each beautiful thing is 
 beautiful in its own way. There is beauty of form, of tone, 
 of color, of sentiment, of action, of character ; and none of 
 these have any common element beyond the fact that we 
 delight in them all. At the same time, our delight has a 
 specific and peculiar quality in each class of cases. But 
 psychology has not yet freed itself from the blunders of 
 scholastic realism. 
 
 The moral feelings agree with the sesthetic feelings in 
 expressing a satisfaction or dissatisfaction in the presence 
 of certain conceptions. They differ especially (1.) in the 
 sense of obligation which is inherent in the moral feelings, 
 
206 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 and (2.) in the sense of merit or demerit which attends 
 the resultant action. The perception of the good carries 
 obligation, or contains an implicit law for conduct ; the 
 perception of the beautiful does not. The former com- 
 mands the will ; the latter delights the sensibility. Never- 
 theless, the two run closely together. The good is the 
 highest beauty ; and the beautiful in action and character is 
 the morally good. If, then, we were seeking for the ideal 
 law of life, it would be indifferent whether we sought for 
 it as the beautiful or as the good. Many of our so-called 
 moral judgments are properly sesthetic, referring to the 
 beauty or harmony of the life, rather than to the merit or 
 righteousness of the person. 
 
 Ethical study may take two directions. First, we may 
 study the actual manifestation and development of the 
 moral nature : this is the psychology of ethics. Second, 
 we study the conditions or postulates of an ethical system 
 assumed to be rationally consistent and defensible : this 
 is the metaphysics of ethics. Our present concern is with 
 the psychology. 
 
 The universal ethical fact is the recognition of a dis- 
 tinction between right and wrong in conduct, and a result- 
 ing sense of obligation. Traced to its root, this depends 
 upon a feeling of approval or disapproval in connection 
 with the aims and principles of conduct. As long as these 
 are unrecognized, there is no moral life. As long as they 
 are uncleai'ly perceived, there are only the germs of a moral 
 life. When they are brought out into clear recognition, 
 the self-conscious moral life begins. Out of this basal feel- 
 ing, the ideal of life and the law of conduct spring. 
 
 It is often objected that feeling cannot be a basis for 
 ethics, because feeling is particular while ethical law must 
 be universal, and hence must be founded in reason. This 
 is merely a war of words. If there were no sentient beings, 
 all conduct would be indifferent ; and when we ask for the 
 
THE FEELINGS. 207 
 
 right principles of conduct, wc can only represent the 
 motives and aims of action to ourselves, and wait for the 
 immediate feeling of approval or disapproval to manifest 
 itself. As to the universality, the fact is not made univer- 
 sal by calling it an utterance of the reason; nor is it made 
 less than universal by calling it feeling. Its universality 
 depends upon its content, and not upon its psychological 
 classification. It is indeed true, that if man did nothing but 
 feel, there would be no science of ethics; but it is equally 
 true, that if man never felt, there would be no science of 
 ethics. We have here the mistake, already referred to, of 
 holding feeling and reason apart in unreal separation. 
 
 Simple harmony with the ideal is beautiful even if con- 
 stitutional, just as good health may be. The failure to 
 reach such harmony is unsatisfactory, however meritorious 
 the person may be. The ideal commands perfection and 
 condemns all below it. Hence many have thought that ob- 
 ligation might transcend ability. This, justice rejects with 
 indignation ; and yet it is the most prominent fact of moral 
 experience that to do the best we can satisfies no one. 
 This is due to the fact that the ideal as such is aesthetic, 
 and takes no account of ability, but only of perfection 
 or imperfection. Ethics, on the other hand, while get- 
 ting its law from the ideal, is forced to limit its actual 
 requirements to the ability of the agents. This double 
 point of view underlies some chronic disputes in ethics 
 and theology. 
 
 The secondary moral feelings are those which result 
 from obedience or disobedience to moral law. AVhen the 
 action is our own, we have the sense of merit or demerit, 
 of personal worthiness or baseness, of remorse, shame, etc. 
 When the action is another's, we have feelings varying all 
 the way from profound esteem and approbation to intense 
 indignation, according to the circumstances. These feel- 
 ings are highly variable, and admit of all degrees of in- 
 
208 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 tensity, according to the nature of the deed itself and the 
 grade of moral development. 
 
 The double standard referred to produces a double set of 
 feelings to correspond. When wc compare ourselves with 
 the ideal, we have a feeling of imperfection and unworthi- 
 ness. This arises from the opposition between what we are 
 and the ideal perfection. When we measure ourselves by 
 the standard of ability, we may have a feeling of innocence 
 or of guilt, of merit or of demerit. These feelings depend 
 upon the relation of our deed to our power to do. Tlie 
 former set of feelings may exist in an intense form without 
 any sense of guilt. In general, they are found only where 
 there has been a good degree of moral development. 
 
 Of course deductions and reductions of the moral senti- 
 ments abound. The method employed is that dwelt upon 
 at so great length in a previous chapter. They are identi- 
 fied with their conditions or with some of their attendants, 
 or something else is called by their name, or their suc- 
 cessive and conditioned genesis is identified with the trans- 
 formation of non-moral elements into them. Heredity and 
 the chemistry of ideas also play their well-known part ; 
 and finally comes the great act of faith which is the su- 
 preme condition of success in the transformation. The 
 procedure is purely verbal. If we begin with a soul capa- 
 ble only of selfish, or social, or prudential considerations, 
 there is no way of getting beyond them. Our sense of 
 duty, then, must be identified witli pity, or sympathy, or 
 fear of punishment, or fear of public opinion, or desire of 
 esteem, or considerations of prudence, or some other non- 
 moral element. But this identification is impossible ; for 
 the sense of duty refuses to coalesce with any of the things 
 mentioned ; and the surest proof that different feelings are 
 different is the fact that they are given as different. But 
 if we set out to deduce the moral sentiments from non- 
 moral antecedents, the data lie dead and motionless as long 
 
THE FEELINGS. 209 
 
 as the soul is supposed to have fully expressed itself in 
 them. To reach any progress, we must once more assume 
 that these data are in interaction with a mental nature 
 which transcends them, and which under certain conditions 
 manifests itself in new forms. Without this assumption, 
 our deduction is as absurd as the attempt to deduce chemi- 
 cal action from atoms whose nature is supposed to be ex- 
 hausted in simple gravitation. Who knows what might not 
 happen in such a case, if the atoms had much experience? 
 
 A'erbal ambiguity, also, is ready to help us out. We can 
 define beneficence as doing things for others, and this we 
 may call altruism. Then we may show that a wise egoism 
 must lead us to do things for others ; and thus we tran- 
 scend egoism and deduce altruism. Of course, such al- 
 truism is purely egoistic, and has absolutely nothing in 
 common with that principle which commands us to let 
 otliers' rights and happiness weigh as much as our own ; 
 but we may call it altruism in a special sense, and then 
 quietly drop the limitation. We may not notice the fal- 
 lacy ourselves ; and our readers will almost certainly fail 
 to do so. 
 
 Finally, we may attempt to deduce morality by confining 
 our attention to external conduct. What we think right or 
 wrong in outward action depends very largely upon custom, 
 tradition, and society in general. Society, then, may be 
 called the source of the individual's code, and hence of his 
 morality. Right and wrong, then, are the creation of soci- 
 ety. But external conduct is not the sum of morality ; and 
 this view has to provide for the internal sentiments and 
 sanctions connected with the notion of duty. For this it 
 can only fall back upon the chemistry of ideas, and seek to 
 transform non-moral elements into moral ones ; or it must 
 attempt to identify our sense of duty with fear of punish- 
 ment, or of public opinion, etc. In either case there is 
 utter failure. 
 
 14 
 
210 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The actual development of moral sentiments and ideas is 
 a slow and complicated process, into which all the factors 
 enter by which the associationalist seeks to explain it. 
 The moral element itself is originally given only as a germi- 
 nal potentiality, and not as a completed and systematic 
 insight. Its right development depends upon a great many 
 favoring circumstances. Attaching fundamentally to the 
 aims and motives of conduct, it has but little scope until 
 these aims and motives have acquired some complexity and 
 richness of content. It must next be specified into codes 
 of life and conduct which shall correspond to the ideal law 
 within. In this process there is the most complex and pro- 
 found interaction between the moral and the intellectual 
 nature. Our experience of consequences, our knowledge of 
 tendencies, our underlying world-view, all enter into the 
 formation of our codes. This accounts in great measure 
 for the discordant moral history of mankind. We believe 
 in an ethical development both of the individual and of the 
 race ; we deny only that this development is possible without 
 assuming an original ethical germ, or predisposition, in the 
 mind, which contains, not indeed an unconditioned princi- 
 ple, but an immanent law, of moral development. 
 
 The religious sentiments are closely connected with the 
 ethical. They differ especially in this, that the former are 
 explicitly directed toward some supernatural being or beings 
 conceived as personal, while the latter do not immediately 
 contain such reference. When the idea of God is given, the 
 moral law is almost inevitably thought as expressing His 
 will ; and this has led many to claim that the moral nature 
 immediately reveals a Holy Person as its author ; but this 
 is an exaggeration. 
 
 Since religious feeling is thus connected with the concep- 
 tion of supernatural personality, we have first to inquire 
 where this conception comes from. 
 
 Experience does not reveal its source. History finds it 
 
THE FEELINGS. 211 
 
 everywhere present ; and wherever we find man, we find 
 him in possession of it in some form. Nor is it derived 
 from argument ; for all ai-gumont presupposes its exist- 
 ence. The so-called proofs of the being of God originate 
 nothing, but attempt only to determine the authority of an 
 idea already existing. Religious progress has never con- 
 sisted in finding the idea of God, but in elevating and 
 purifying that idea. The idea of the supernatural, like the 
 idea of right and duty, is universal ; but, like that idea 
 again, its content is not clearly defined. Both ideas have 
 a formal position of authority, from which they will never 
 consent to be degraded ; but both ideas also may be very 
 imperfectly conceived. 
 
 Only hypothetical answers can be given to the question. 
 One of these is that the idea of the supernatural arises 
 from the deification of natural objects, as the sun, the 
 heavens, etc. This does not much advance the matter, as 
 it amounts only to saying that the idea arises from regard- 
 ing the natural as supernatural. It presupposes the idea 
 of the supernatural in at least some vague form. Sense 
 objects must always be taken as they appear, until some 
 transforming idea is found elsewhere. If we have darkly 
 lurking in us some conception of divine power, it would be 
 easy to regard sense objects as symbols thereof; but until 
 then the sun can only be taken as a luminous disk, the idol 
 as a stick or stone, and neither can be regarded as divine. 
 
 Another answer has been that the idea of a supernatural 
 realm first arose through the phenomena of dreams and 
 apparitions. They suggested the notion of a ghostly exist- 
 ence, and, when the idea once got afloat, it was speedily 
 taken up, and by degrees wrought out into the various 
 forms of religious conception. These are all sublimated 
 forms of an original belief in ghosts. Such a view might 
 be entertained if it were demonstrated that the supernatural 
 in the religious sense does not exist; but even then we 
 
212 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 could not explain the universality of the belief without as- 
 suming that there is something in human nature which de- 
 mands it and to which it corresponds. It would require too 
 much faith to believe that a conception purel}^ adventitious 
 and fictitious could secure such spread and pre-eminence. 
 
 At the opposite extreme is the view that the existence of 
 God is immediately revealed, either in feeling or in intuition. 
 This view arises from the failure of other views, rather than 
 from any psychological observation. Neither the feeling 
 nor the intuition can be pointed out. A feeling as such is 
 only a state of the sensibility, and can only inferentially 
 give information about objects. That we have no such in- 
 tuition appears from the fact that men have generally 
 sought to prove the existence of God. No one argues to 
 prove what every one immediately sees. 
 
 The last view must take on the following form. The 
 human mind is such that as the outcome of its total experi- 
 ence it forms the conception of the supernatural, not as the 
 result of conscious inferential processes, but as an expres- 
 sion of its own needs and nature. As the result of some 
 sensations, we posit a world of things; as the result of 
 others, we posit a world of persons ; as a result of our to- 
 tal experience, we posit God. The result is not the out- 
 come of logical compulsion, but of a certain psychological 
 necessity expressed, in the nature of our intelligence. It is 
 not made or deduced, but grows out of life itself. This view 
 is the only one which clearly accounts for the universality 
 and persistence of the idea. 
 
 But with the bare affirmation of the supernatural, the 
 religious problem is by no means solved. The idea has 
 next to be defined so as to meet the demands made upon 
 it. In this work all the factors of our complex nature 
 work together. Each faculty has its special ideal, and God 
 is the ideal of the whole nature, or the ideal of ideals. 
 The intellect demands unity, and contributes its ideal of 
 
THE FEELINGS. 213 
 
 perfect reason and insight. The conscience furnishes its 
 ideal of perfect righteousness and holiness. The aesthetic 
 nature furnishes its ideal of perfect beauty and liarmony. 
 The heart furnishes its ideal of goodness and love. These 
 are all united in the thought of God, the ideal of religion. 
 "When this is impossible, there is discord in our nature, 
 with resulting dissatisfaction. As long as any claim of heart 
 or conscience or intellect is unrecognized, there can be no 
 abiding peace. But when all the claims of our many-sided 
 nature are united iu the thought of an all-wise and holy God 
 of love, our whole nature is at peace, and each faculty finds 
 its claims at once recognized and assured. The intellect 
 finds its highest support and warrant in the thought of the 
 Eternal Reason at the root of things. The conscience rests 
 secure in the thought of a throne of righteousness which 
 can never be overturned, a Holy Will which can be neither 
 defied nor mocked. The aesthetic nature finds its full sat- 
 isfaction, and tlie heart finds an object worthy of everlast- 
 ing love. The clearing up of the idea has been a long and 
 complex process, into which many factors have entered, 
 the most prominent being the Christian revelation. But 
 the implicit aim of the process has been to reach a religious 
 conception in which all the demands of our nature, voli- 
 tional, aesthetic, affectional, and intellectual, should find at 
 once recognition and fulfilment. A great variety of feel- 
 ings and interests lead to the religious conception ; and 
 it in turn reacts upon them, and raises them to a higher 
 form of development, and gives them greater power. When 
 the conception is unworthy, it reacts upon the life, some- 
 times with an awful force of degradation, and sometimes 
 it leads to a blighting of the religious impulse and a with- 
 ering of the emotional nature. 
 
 The feelings thus far considered are primary, that is, 
 they spring immediately from experience without the need 
 of any mental work beyond that involved in the experi- 
 
214 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ence itself. But after they have been experienced, they 
 may be conceived as possible in a future experience, and 
 thus may give rise to desire and aversion, hope and fear. 
 When they are connected with the thought of their causes, 
 these also become objects of desire or aversion, hope or 
 fear. These feelings are conditioned by simple experiences 
 of pain or pleasure in past experience, and so far as they 
 apply to objects they depend upon the conception of the 
 objects as related to our well-being. Where there is no 
 knowledge, neither desire nor aversion, neither hope nor 
 fear, is possible. The desires themselves admit of all 
 degrees of intensity ; and according as they are gratified 
 or not, they give rise to a boundless variety of feelings, both 
 pleasurable and painful. 
 
 As thus understood, the desires are plainly secondary, 
 being conditioned (1.) upon previous experience of pain or 
 pleasure, and, (2.) as far as they relate to things, upon a 
 knowledge of the causes of those experiences and of their 
 relation to our own interests. The desire for power, wealth, 
 place, etc. is entirely dependent upon their relation in some 
 way to our happiness or purposes. Simple possession as 
 such counts for nothing, even with the miser. If it were 
 not for the gratification, implicit or potential, in his hoards, 
 the miser would lose all interest in them. But, as in the 
 fixed order of life the connection between the objects of 
 desire and our gratification is tolerably constant, the for- 
 mer seem often to be passionately desired for their own 
 sake. The love of money is a striking example. Never- 
 theless, the secondary nature of such objects of desire is 
 manifest. 
 
 A dispute exists as to the object of desire. Is it the 
 pleasure, or the thing which gives it ? For partisan rea- 
 sons, it has often been claimed that the object of desire is 
 always pleasure, and that the object is desired only for the 
 pleasure it gives. Amount of pleasure being equal, one 
 
THE FEELINGS. 215 
 
 thing is as desirable as another, or, as Bentham put it, 
 " push-pin is as good as poetry." 
 
 The claim in this form assumes the commensurability, 
 or rather the essential identity, of pleasures. This rests, 
 in turn, upon a scholastic hypostasis of a class term. 
 Pleasure is pleasure, no doubt, and so are metals metals ; 
 but, as belonging to a common class in the latter case does 
 not exclude incommensurable differences among metals, 
 so belonging to a common class in the former case does 
 not exclude specific and incommensurable differences among 
 pleasures. In fact there is no common pleasure to which 
 all things minister in varying degrees, and by which their 
 worth can be measured. This is purely a fiction of doctri- 
 naires who have eyes only for their own theory; or rather 
 it is the old scholastic blunder of mistaking the logical 
 universal for the common element out of which particular 
 experiences are made. 
 
 The question whether we desire the thing or the pleasure 
 it produces further assumes that these objects are separable 
 in reality, which is far from being always the case. When 
 we are dealing with external objects which have only a 
 utilitarian value, the separation is possible ; and the object 
 is desired because of that value. But when we are dealing 
 with aesthetic objects, or our own powers and faculties, the 
 separation is impossible. Do we desire the beautiful object, 
 or only the delight in beauty ? Do we desire to know, or 
 only the pleasure of knowing ? In such cases the suggested 
 separation is absurd. To be sure, if we lost aesthetic or 
 intellectual interest, we should lose the corresponding de- 
 sires ; but the desires themselves have no meaning when 
 separated from those objects or mental functions in which 
 alone they are realized. We conclude, then, on the one 
 hand, that nothing would be desired if there were no 
 pleasure connected with it, and, on the other hand, that this 
 pleasure is often so connected with the thing as to have no 
 
216 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 meaning when separated from it. The pleasure is but an 
 evaluation of the thing in question, and like all values 
 presupposes the thing. 
 
 The relation of feeling and desire to other objects is 
 highly variable, especially in intensity. We can repress or 
 exalt feeling, and we can direct desire. The physical feel- 
 ings may change from pleasure to pain, or conversely, with 
 the same object ; and many of our mental likes and dis- 
 likes are equally unstable. Practice and habit make many 
 things agreeable, and even necessary, which at the begin- 
 ning were positively distasteful. The development of so- 
 ciety shows similar changes, especially in a willingness 
 to work. In a consciousness not preoccupied with aims, 
 plans, ambitions, ideals, the passive emotional elements 
 would be fairly constant, at least in character ; but the 
 actual consciousness of mature life is thus preoccupied. 
 The mind cares less for passive satisfactions than for the 
 feelings which attend active self-assertion, or self-realization. 
 Hence the leading interests of the mind are connected with 
 those objects or aims to which it has given once for all an 
 abiding value, or which it has made the standard of its 
 action. Here the interest increases with the self-devotion ; 
 and the devotion grows with the interest. Such a state of 
 mind is more than a simple desire ; it represents a funda- 
 mental interest or disposition of the mind. It is in the 
 nature of these interests that character is especially re- 
 vealed. They modify profoundly the nature of the emo- 
 tional life, and give it a general direction. 
 
 The feelings, then, are not invariable outcomes of their 
 cognitive conditions, but to a very considerable extent 
 admit of direction and control. This control, however, is 
 not immediate, but indirect, thro"ugh the direction of atten- 
 tion. The feeling which cannot be driven off by immediate 
 volition can be outflanked by directing the attention else- 
 where. And here the fact appears, that there is an ideal 
 
THE FEELINGS. 217 
 
 order implicit in the soul, according to which the feelings 
 should be regulated. We demand that we feel toward our 
 objects in proportion to their rank and worth. To be in- 
 terested solely in physical goods, is the mark of an animal 
 life. To be enthusiastic over the insignificant, is a form of 
 folly which finds its perfection in the fool. To be cold and 
 indifferent toward the highest, indicates either an atrophy, 
 or a distortion, of the emotional nature. The indifferent 
 must be treated with indifference ; the commonplace must 
 not be exalted ; enthusiasm and devotion belong only to 
 noble objects ; and wrath must be reserved for injustice, 
 baseness, and degradation. 
 
 Experience first acquires living reality in feeling. A 
 mental life in which ideas should succeed one another 
 while the mental subject remained utterly indifferent, 
 would be utterly mechanical and meaningless. A voli- 
 tional life of equal indifference would be equally worthless. 
 These mental functions become personal and significant 
 only as our feelings and interests inform them with life 
 and meaning. And, in general, all values and all goods 
 exist as such only in the sensibility. Apart from this, 
 there is no reason for desiring one thing rather than 
 another, or for saying that one thing or state is better 
 than another. Will and understanding have no signifi- 
 cance except as instruments of this throbbing and aspiring 
 sensitive life. 
 
 The desires and their opposites form the transition from 
 knowing to willing. In feeling and knowing, we have the 
 condition of desire ; and in desire, we have the condition of 
 proper volition. Our feelings and interests are the deepest 
 thing in us. They furnish the great impulses to action, 
 and they also outline its direction. The great distinction 
 between the human and the brute mind lies less in the 
 cognitive faculties than in the motive powers. Man can 
 interest himself in truth, in righteousness, in beauty, in a 
 
218 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 great variety of ideal aims, which thus become the norms 
 and guides of his action. For these basal interests, the 
 intellect is simply instrumental, and the will is merely 
 executive. Because of this relation of the desires to voli- 
 tion, they have often been classed together, but improperly. 
 A desire, as a state of feeling, has no element of will in it ;. 
 but only the conditions of willing in a volitional being. 
 
 The aim of this chapter has not been to furnish a classi- 
 fication of feelings, but to describe the various elements 
 which enter as constituent factors into our emotional life. 
 Of course, it is not meant that they occur in this separate- 
 ness in experience. Actual sensitive states are variously 
 compounded, and form a complex web into which many 
 forms of feeling enter. 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 219 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WILL AKD ACTION. 
 
 The spontaneous consciousness of the race as revealed 
 in language distinguishes a realm of mental passivity and 
 one of mental activity. In the former, we are acted upon ; 
 in the latter, we act. To the former belong all the affec- 
 tions of the sensibility, and the rise and association of 
 ideas. To the latter belong thinking proper, and all activity 
 directed toward external objects. The same spontaneous 
 consciousness has further distinguished from knowing and 
 feeling a third great form of mental manifestation as will- 
 ing. This is the next subject of our study. 
 
 The assumption of willing is so interwoven into thought 
 and speech, that language would be wrecked by its removal, 
 or at least very greatly modified. Hence, no psychologists 
 venture to deny the existence of willing as a form of inter- 
 nal experience, though they differ widely as to what the 
 will may be. Some, as Schopenhauer and Hartmann, ex- 
 tend willing even to unconscious activities ; others, as Spi- 
 noza, and, to a great extent, Leibnitz, regard it as only a 
 form of cognition ; and still others, as Herbart, regard it 
 as the form of interaction among our ideas, — a view which 
 has been modified by some physiological psychologists so 
 as to make will the form of interaction among the nascent 
 motor impulses in the nerves which are supposed to attend 
 our mental states. All of these views, however, are deduc- 
 tions from some general metaphysical or psychological the- 
 ory, rather than formulations of psychological facts. We 
 shall do better to bemn with the facts. 
 
220 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Not all of activity is volitional. In one sense, all forms 
 of mental experience, including even sensations, are modes 
 of action ; as they express a mental reaction against either 
 external or internal stimuli. The mind when passive is 
 not properly inactive ; but the form of its activity is deter- 
 mined by its circumstances, according to some fixed law. 
 Popular thought, however, recognizes activity only where 
 some external change is produced, or where the mental 
 current is changed or directed by volition. We are said to 
 be passive when the ground of our state is other than our- 
 selves ; and active when we ourselves are that ground. 
 
 But not all of this activity is volitional. A good part 
 of our external activity is of a reflex nature, and follows 
 its antecedents by uniform law. Within the mind, also, 
 the desires and appetites form a complex series of impulses 
 to action, which tend of themselves to pass into activity 
 without any volition of ours. A large part of our activity 
 is of this sort, and may be called constitutional or mechan- 
 ical. Its general characteristic is that it follows uniformly 
 from its antecedents, according to fixed law. Such activity 
 is not recognized by the common consciousness as voli- 
 tional ; and we can call it such only by a violent wrenching 
 of terms. This has, indeed, been done ; and all active re- 
 action against stimuli, whether internal or external, has 
 been referred to will. In this way even reflex action has 
 been brought under the head of willing ; but at the same 
 time willing has been reduced to the plane of reflex action. 
 All that such violent assaults upon language result in is 
 the possibility of confusing the subject and the student. 
 
 This constitutional activity is highly complex. In con- 
 nection with the body we have simple reaction, largely de- 
 termined by the structure of the nervous system. We also 
 have the physical appetites and impulses which furnish the 
 ground for highly complex mental reaction. Within the 
 mind, also, we have stimuli to action in the simple pains 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 221 
 
 and pleasures, and still othors in the constitutional needs 
 and impulses of the mind itself. These precede volitional 
 activity, and are only partially subject to volitional control. 
 There is no need to describe them in detail. 
 
 For these constitutional feelings which determine the 
 mind to action wc have no single word in English. We 
 call them appetites, impulses, instincts, etc. Their nature 
 is well expressed by their German name, Trieh, or Natur- 
 trieh. This brings their driving or impelling character to 
 light. 
 
 But above and beyond this mechanical or constitutional 
 activity, the common consciousness recognizes a form of 
 volitional action. This is not a wish, or a desire, or a con- 
 stitutional impulse, though it may spring from any of these 
 as a condition. It is also not a cognition or a judgment, 
 though it may spring from these too. It is not a feeling of 
 pain or of pleasure, though such a feeling may lead to it. 
 In short, a volition is a volition, and cannot be explained 
 or understood through anything else. 
 
 It is highly important to distinguish volition from its 
 psychological attendants. Because volition is often based 
 on a judgment, it is concluded that a volition is a judgment. 
 Yet the two are sharply distinguished, both in their psycho- 
 logical nature and in their direction. The perception, or 
 judgment, that a given course of action is wiser than an- 
 other, is by no means a willing of the same. The former 
 may exist without the latter, and the latter may contradict 
 the former. Again, because volition often springs from 
 desire and the accompanying impulse to action, it is often 
 identified with desire. This is the traditional confusion. 
 Nevertheless, these two also are distinct, both in their char- 
 acter and, at times, in their direction. A thing may be 
 most strongly desired without being willed, either because 
 we perceive the thing desired to be impossible, or in conflict 
 with prudence, or with other plans, or with our ethical 
 
222 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ideas. In this case desire does not include a volition. 
 Again, we often oppose our will to our desires, so as to 
 repress, or at least resist them. All exhortations to pru- 
 dence, to self-control, to righteousness, rest upon the 
 assumed possibility of doing this. Here the volition is not 
 only distinct from the desires, it appears as the expression 
 of an energy directed toward their resistance and control. 
 In short, we may sum the conception of will as it exists 
 for spontaneous thought before any theories have been 
 formed about it in the notion of a power of self-control. 
 The will is the power which the soul has of controlling 
 itself within certain limits, and a volition is an act of such 
 control. Within those limits the soul can elicit or guide, 
 intensify or repress, its activities, according to a precon- 
 ceived rule, or for the realization of a preconceived end. 
 
 Volitional action is conditioned by consciousness. Un- 
 conscious action is regarded as volitional only by tliose 
 who war upon the conventions of language ; and even they 
 understand volitional in some esoteric sense. The only 
 clear notion which can be attached to unconscious willing 
 is that of a necessary agent, which may act with adaptation 
 to its environment, yet without becoming any less blind 
 and mechanical. Even if we call such action spontaneous, 
 we can only mean thereby that it arises from impulses 
 which originate within the agent itself ; but it is no less 
 blind and necessary in such a case than when it is a reflex 
 action against external action. Generally, volition implies 
 foresight and intention ; in all cases it implies conscious- 
 ness. When the emotional or other disturbance is so 
 great as to make foresight and intention impossible, or 
 when there has not been suflicient mental development to 
 provide for them, the activity is generally regarded as non- 
 volitional. 
 
 In spontaneous thought, volitional activity is always 
 regarded as free. This arises partly from the peculiar con- 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 223 
 
 flciousness vrc have in sucli activity of being the cause and 
 source of the activity. In conducting, for example, a 
 train of thought, wc have a very clear conviction that it 
 depends upon our volition whether it shall go on or not, 
 and that the volition depends upon us. So with other 
 activity which falls within volitional limits ; wc are clearly 
 conscious that we can begin, continue, or end it, and that 
 without compulsion of any sort, internal or external. The 
 conviction of freedom arises also, and especially, from the 
 ethical sense of responsibility. Under normal circum- 
 stances, and when undebauched by speculation, no one can 
 help regarding himself and his neighbors as responsible 
 for voluntary action ; and, under the same circumstances, 
 no one can regard any one as responsible who, by internal 
 or external necessity, is shut up to a single course of 
 action. The great form of excuse for wrong-doing is, I 
 could not help it. These two facts lead us to refer our 
 acts to ourselves as their responsible, that is, as their free 
 cause. 
 
 The conception of freedom in spontaneous thought al- 
 ways involves the thought of a possible alternative. This 
 view has the advantage of being intelligible and valuable. 
 Many attempts have been made to define freedom so as to 
 include necessity. Thus, that is free which is not coerced 
 or impelled from without ; or that is free which unfolds 
 without hindrance its own nature. At the same time this 
 freedom may be absolutely determined by some internal 
 necessity. But when this inner necessity is extended to 
 the entire activity, we have nothing of freedom left but 
 the name ; and it would tend to clearness if this were 
 dropped. 
 
 This spontaneous conception of the will is not accepted 
 by a large class of speculators. Some of these deny the 
 existence of will altogether as a reality, and make willing 
 only a peculiar ]ihase of mechanical activity. Others admit 
 
224 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the reality of the will and the efficiency of volition, but 
 claim that the will itself is determined. These admit that 
 my volition determines within certain limits whether my 
 activity shall begin, continue, or cease ; but they deny that 
 the volition itself is free. Both views agree in denying 
 freedom, but differ in the underlying psychology. The 
 difference, however, is much less than appears. 
 
 The first view conceives action as follows. All our 
 ideas, especially when accompanied by feeling and desire, 
 tend automatically to pass into action. In thinking, we 
 notice a tendency to pronounce the words. In watching 
 the movements of an athlete, we experience a tendency to 
 imitate them. The desires show this tendency in a much 
 higher degree. Here, then, is a basis of activity. When 
 the idea or desire is single, it passes automatically into 
 action. When the mental state is complex, then the con- 
 stituent desires and motor impulses conflict with one an- 
 other. This conflict appears in consciousness as reflection 
 and deliberation. Finally, the strongest represses its com- 
 petitors and passes into action. Such an act is called 
 volitional. It is, however, purely mechanical ; and its 
 volitional character is but the reflex in consciousness of 
 the mechanical conflict of the active impulses, arising from 
 the ideas and desires in question. A volitional activity is 
 essentially a complex mechanical activity, whose factors 
 largely elude our knowledge. And since we are rarely con- 
 scious of all the impulses at work, we come to think that 
 we determine our will ; or that whatever the motives may 
 be which compete for our assent, we have the casting vote. 
 In this way arises the illusion of the freedom of the will, 
 or rather of freedom in willing. 
 
 The second view differs from this only verbally ; for its 
 philosophy of action is essentially the same. Desires and 
 impulses are introduced as constitutional elements, and are 
 supposed to conflict, especially in the form of motives. In 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 225 
 
 this conflict the etrongest al\vii\ s prevails, and its preva- 
 lence is the volition. The difference is plainly verbal. If, 
 in addition to the prevalence of the motive, there Avere 
 needed a special act of volition for the realization of the 
 motive, we should have all our work for nothing. The 
 result would be an incongruous mixture of freedom and 
 necessity. The two views, then, may be treated as one. 
 Both alike reduce action to a series of occurrences within 
 us, according to the laws of causation. 
 
 This view is not founded on consciousness. The con- 
 sciousness of freedom, of self-control, is admitted, but ex- 
 plained as an illusion arising from our ignorance of the 
 forces at work upon us and within us. This is aided by 
 regarding this consciousness as negative, as the lack of con- 
 sciousness of compulsion ; and then we are instructed that 
 our unconsciousness of compulsion does not disprove its 
 reality. It might be questioned whether our consciousness 
 is thus purely negative ; but at any rate our unconscious- 
 ness of compulsion does not prove that we are compelled. 
 This extraordinary conclusion has not been unknown in 
 the history of the debate. Nor is it at all clear how the 
 consciousness of freedom could ever have arisen in this 
 negative fashion. The conception of freedom is not the 
 same as ignorance of causation ; and if we suppose the 
 mind to think only under the law of causation without 
 positive experience of freedom, there is no way of trans- 
 forming simple ignorance of causation into the conception 
 of freedom. And if there were, then whenever we are 
 ignorant of causation we ought to affirm freedom, which 
 is absurd. We are then shut up, first, to admitting a posi- 
 tive consciousness of freedom, and, second, to declaring 
 this consciousness to bo delusive. 
 
 Sundry other difficulties exist for this view. To begin 
 with, it provides only for positive impulses, whereas nega- 
 tive conceptions may decide volition. In particular, the 
 
 15 
 
226 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 conception that an object is unattainable paralyzes action, 
 while the desire may be even intensified by this knowledge. 
 Facts of this kind admit of no adjustment to the theory. In 
 the next place, the theory assumes a commensurability of 
 impulses which is' in the highest degree doubtful. A physi- 
 cal appetite, an emotional desire, an intellectual conception, 
 a moral conviction, hardly seem to be commensurable ele- 
 ments. But we pass over its psychological foundation 
 concerning which many other scruples might be raised, and 
 call attention to several embarrassing implications : — 
 
 1. If the theory be true, action must follow immediately 
 upon its antecedents. When the scales are loaded, there is 
 no hesitation, no deliberation ; but the heavier weight be- 
 gins at once to sink. When two or more mechanical forces 
 act upon a body, the resultant is at once and irrevocably 
 declared. If, now, volitional action is to be brought under 
 such mechanical laws, there is likewise no room for hesita- 
 tion, or deliberation, or comparison of consequences. As 
 well might a mechanical resultant compare the component 
 forces, inquire which was the strongest, and finally decide 
 for it. Yet all determinists have allowed a power of think- 
 ing twice, of reserving decision, of refraining from action. 
 But if this be a real power, we have a power outside of 
 motives and impulses, which is able to control both itself 
 and them. If we say it controls them by bringing up some 
 other motive, that only affects the manner of control and 
 not the fact. A being which can control itself through 
 motives must have control over the motives ; and thus the 
 fact of self-determination reappears, though in a special 
 form. But if this be denied, the appearance of deliberation, 
 of comparison of motives, reasons, etc., must be explained. 
 It cannot be explained by the motives in consciousness, for, 
 by hypothesis, these, if left to themselves, would pass at 
 once into volition and action. By hypothesis, also, it is 
 iiot due to any self-control of the mind. We must, then, 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 227 
 
 feign a series of impulses out of consciousness to account 
 for it ; and these too must be such as to make it seem as 
 if we ourselves were controlling in the matter. 
 
 2. But this conception, if followed out, would lead to 
 scepticism of reason itself. Reasoning similar to that em- 
 ployed in discussing the materialistic theory of knowledge 
 would show that no system of necessity can construct a 
 theory of knowledge and of error which shall not vanish 
 into hopeless scepticism. The attainment of truth implies 
 the existence of a standard of truth in the mind, and the 
 possibility of directing our rational activity accordingly. 
 The one thing which the truth-seeker must be on his guard 
 against is the tendency to conclude hastily. He must, then, 
 test his facts, criticise his processes, repeat his arguments, 
 tear asunder the misleading conjunctions of association, 
 and reserve his assent until the crystalline and necessary 
 conjunctions of reason are reached. Where this cannot be 
 done, there is no proper rationality, but only a psychologi- 
 cal succession of mental states. And this is the result of 
 the theory in question. One conclusion is as necessary as 
 another, and as good while it lasts. Conclusions are not 
 drawn by force of logic, but mental states are called up 
 and shifted by the mental mechanism. There is no longer 
 any distinction between truth and error : and everything 
 sinks to the mere level of psychological facts, which as 
 such are neither true nor false, but simply real or unreal. 
 However we work the theory, we shall find it impossible 
 to establish any standard of distinction between truth and 
 error, and equally impossible to use it if we had it. Free- 
 dom is no less necessary to rational action than it is to 
 moral action. Indeed, the purest illustration we have of 
 self-determination is in the case of thinking. We direct 
 and maintain attention, we criticise every step, and look 
 before and after, until we reach the rational conclusion. 
 And there is the advantage in considering the question in 
 
228 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 this realm, that most of the confusion about motives is 
 impossible here. 
 
 3. The theory involves the denial of all personal respon- 
 sibility. Manifold attempts have been made to escape this 
 result ; but they belong, without exception, to the most ab- 
 ject and ghastly parodies of reasoning. The most approved 
 device is that which makes conduct depend on character ; 
 but the speculator generally forgets to define character, 
 and always forgets to inquire what character depends on. 
 Sometimes it is claimed that our moral judgment of a 
 person depends upon what he is, no matter how he be- 
 came so ; but this overlooks the double standard of moral 
 judgments mentioned in the last chapter. Imperfection 
 is charged upon whatever falls below the ideal ; but respon- 
 sibility belongs only to the free. 
 
 4. We have, then, a theory which cannot begin without 
 disparaging the common consciousness of the race, and 
 which is also highly unclear in its psychological basis. In 
 the next place, it cannot go on without assuming a variety 
 of impulses of which nothing is known except by hypothe- 
 sis. Further, and finally, the theory is forced to break 
 down reason itself, and to reject the universal sense of 
 responsibility. Plainly, there ought to be very weighty 
 reasons to warrant a theory like this. 
 
 The denial of freedom rests entirely upon theoretical 
 grounds. These are, first, the impossibility of comprehend- 
 ing free action, and, second, the supposed demands of the 
 law of causation. The first fact makes us unwilling to 
 admit freedom ; the second seems to make it impossible. 
 
 1. As cognitive beings, we have an undoubted interest in 
 explaining all events according to some system of general 
 laws. At the same time it must be remembered that ex- 
 planation cannot extend to everything. It presupposes 
 the existence of a set of facts and laws which furnish the 
 conditions of explanation. These have to be taken for 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 229 
 
 granted ; and a demand that they shal . be explained by the 
 processes of which they are the foundation is the mark of 
 a mind not in full possession of itself. A mania for ex- 
 plaining makes it inii)0ssible to understand the nature and 
 conditions of explanation. Since, then, the very nature of 
 explanation refers us to facts and processes outside of 
 itself as its own foundation, we need not be concerned at 
 finding in freedom a fact which admits of no deduction or 
 comprehension, — a fact to be recognized and admitted, not 
 deduced or comprehended. There is all the less reason 
 for disturbance, when we see that this freedom is a neces- 
 sary implication of that rational activity in whose interests 
 explanation itself is undertaken. 
 
 2. But the law of causation contradicts the notion of 
 freedom ; and, as the former is a necessity of thought, the 
 latter must be given up. To this it might be said that the 
 contradiction is doubtful. The law of causation says sim- 
 ply, For every event seek a cause. In this sense a free 
 act has a cause as much as any other. Its cause is the free 
 spirit. If we ask what caused it to cause, we are shut up 
 to an infinite regress. The question. Why did the mind 
 act thus ? is always ambiguous. It may mean, "What were 
 the reasons in the presence of which the mind acted ? and 
 it may mean, What caused the mind to act thus ? The 
 first question would be answered by recounting the reasons ; 
 the second would be answered by the libertarian by deny- 
 ing that anything caused the mind to cause. It acted out 
 of itself, and that must be the end of the matter. 
 
 It may be objected from the other side, that this does not 
 meet the demands of causation. Freedom supposes a cause 
 which, in given circumstances, may take either of two or 
 more directions ; and hence the actual direction must be 
 causeless. Here, also, there is a certain ambiguity, in that 
 there may be reasons for the course taken in the presence 
 of which the mind determined its action. The question 
 
230 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 can be reduced to this : Does the law of causation demand 
 that every cause must be uni-potential, or may there also 
 be pluri-potential causes ? The former assumption implies 
 that uniformity in causation is a necessity of thought ; and 
 the latter implies that there may be causes which, within 
 certain limits, can determine their own direction. The 
 former supposition cannot be maintained ; and the latter 
 cannot, from its very nature, be understood. The only 
 sense in which the law of causation is an absolute law of 
 thought is, that nothing can arise from nothing, or that 
 nothing can ever make itself into something. It does not 
 decide that something must act uniformly, or that some- 
 thing can in no sense determine its own direction. Causa- 
 tion, as uniformity of action, is a postulate of our cognitive 
 activity, but not a necessary principle. The question of 
 uniformity or non-uniformity in action is one which cannot 
 be speculatively decided. We can comprehend the one 
 just as little and just as much as we can comprehend the 
 other. The insight we seem to possess into the meta- 
 physical possibility or impossibility is purely fictitious. 
 
 If, however, we insist on taking the law of causation 
 absolutely, and referring every event to a determining an- 
 tecedent, the law is seen to limit itself. Such a conception 
 would lead to an infinite regress, in which the law of 
 causation itself would be lost. To escape this every sys- 
 tem of speculation has had to allow an uncaused being or 
 series of beings, which simply are because they are. The 
 law of causation has no application to them in their exist- 
 ence. Further, it is necessary to admit within this series, 
 either an absolute beginning of activity and movement, or 
 an unbegun activity and movement. Of this also the law 
 of causation could give no account. It, too, would be a 
 fact admitting of no deduction, but only of recognition. If, 
 however, the law of causation compels the admission at one 
 point, there is no objection of principle to recognizing such 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 231 
 
 facts anywhere in the world process, if experience seems to 
 reveal them. The very utmost, then, that the spcciihitive 
 objections to freedom can lead to, would be a drawn battle ; 
 and the practical postulates of life and conscience would 
 turn the scale in favor of freedom. 
 
 A series of minor objections exists, based throughout on 
 misunderstanding. First, freedom is attributed to the will, 
 which is then erected into an independent agent, and sep- 
 arated from both intellect and conscience and character. 
 Then it is easy to show that the action of the will must be 
 left to chance or caprice, that such a will is a dangerous, 
 rather than a desirable possession, that there is no secu- 
 rity that it will not at any moment reverse the whole tenor 
 of the past life, etc. This is only a bugbear of misunder- 
 standing. If anything is free, it is the soul, and not the 
 will ; for the will is only an abstraction from the volitional 
 activity of the soul. And this free soul is also the knowing, 
 prevising, ethical soul. It can, then, estimate motives and 
 reasons ; it can foresee consequences ; it can compare its 
 principles of action with the law of right. Hence, the soul 
 does not act in the dark, but in the light. When it is ob- 
 jected that motives have weight, it seems to be assumed 
 that, if man be free, motives should have no weight ; 
 whereas a free man who is also rational is just the one 
 who will give every motive its proper weight. Nor does it 
 follow, that what a free being can do, that he must do. He 
 can be arbitrary and capricious ; but he need not be and 
 ought not to be. He can be inconsistent, but he ought not 
 to be unless the consistency is in evil. 
 
 Nor do we get any relief from these things by invoking 
 necessity. For in any case men are what they are ; and 
 they are arbitrary and capricious. If we suppose that they 
 are so by necessity, we are certainly no better cff than 
 when we suppose that they have the power to do better. 
 Again, good men often do fall into evil ; and hence the 
 
232 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 necessitarian must admit that necessity contains no assur- 
 ance of consistency of character, imless we have an insight 
 into the content or direction of that necessity. Apart from 
 such insight, it is at least as assuring to hold that we can 
 govern ourselves to some extent, and thus can maintain our 
 loyalty to righteousness, as it is to hold that we are subject 
 to some opaque necessity of whose content and direction 
 we know nothing. 
 
 In theology this debate has often taken on strange forms 
 for dogmatic reasons. In particular a distinction has been 
 made between freedom of choice and freedom of willing ; 
 and determinism has been placed in the choice, while the 
 will has been left free. Our choice is fatally bound by our 
 nature, or by what we are ; but we are free in execution. 
 Hence the doctrine of moral inability and natural ability. 
 In practical life, however, this doctrine seems to invert the 
 difficulty. Freedom of choice does not seem to be so diffi- 
 cult a conception ; the trouble lies entirely in realizing our 
 choice in life. And for this the soul must be able to in- 
 tensify its effort until it bears down all resistance. In our 
 executive inability lies the weakness of life, rather than in 
 a lack of power to choose the good. 
 
 The outcome of this sketch of the argument is this : 
 (1.) We find freedom supported by a somewhat positive 
 consciousness. (2.) We find it also implied in the prin- 
 ciples by which men and societies live. (3.) We find its 
 denial leading to scepticism of reason itself. (4.) Opposed 
 to these facts we find the necessitarian argument, leading 
 at best to no more than a drawn battle. We may therefore 
 decide in favor of freedom. We may not view it as abso- 
 lutely proved ; yet it is certainly a necessary postulate of 
 reason and conscience, and as such we hold it. 
 
 Volitional activity may enter to some extent into all the 
 mental functions ; and, on the other hand, some factors of 
 the mental life are entirely withdrawn from volitional con- 
 
WILL AND ACTION. 233 
 
 trol. Thus the essential nature of the susceptibilities and 
 the constitutional activities is independent of volition. The 
 laws of mental procedure and of mental change and combi- 
 nation also admit of no volitional control. Such are the 
 interactions of thought and feeling, the laws of formal 
 thought, and the judgments of conscience. These are for- 
 ever secure from volitional modification. These laws fur- 
 nish a basis of uniformity of which the free soul may avail 
 itself, and without which freedom itself becomes meaning- 
 less. Of the feelings we have little or no direct control. 
 We govern them by directing our attention either toward 
 objects connected with feelings we desire to arouse, or to- 
 ward objects connected with feelings incompatible with 
 those we desire to repress. In the intellectual life self- 
 control is chiefly manifested in the form of attention, and 
 the guidance of our cognitive powers toward a desired end. 
 Attention may be non-volitional ; but in all earnest effort 
 it is volitional. An end is conceived, and our cognitive 
 activities are governed with reference to it. So in all sci- 
 entific investigation there must be most careful and per- 
 sistent application of our energies and the most watchful 
 supervision of the same. Whatever is valuable in knowl- 
 edge is due to freedom. This of course does not mean 
 that the mind can coerce its conclusions, but that it cannot 
 reach trustworthy conclusions without strict self-control. 
 The laws of thought do not of themselves secure obedience ; 
 otherwise there would be no error. In addition to the laws 
 there must be an enforcement of them by the mind upon 
 itself. In memory volition appears in a voluntary use of 
 the laws of reproduction. In the constructive imagination 
 the mind freely combines given elements. In all constitu- 
 tional forms of activity volition enters as eliciting, guid- 
 ing, repressing, according to laws inherent in the nature 
 of the soul itself. Desultory executive volitions need no 
 mention. 
 
234 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 We see, then, that our freedom is fax from absolute. It 
 is limited, on the one hand, by our mental and physical 
 constitution ; and, on the other, by the intensity of the de- 
 sires and impulses which it has to control. These might 
 be so intensified as to execute themselves without permis- 
 sion from the will, and in spite of it. "Within these limits 
 freedom has its realm ; and even these limits are not fixed. 
 The outcome of volitional action is habit, fixed disposition, 
 settled character. The soul may freely bind itself with 
 chains which it can never undo. Herein lie the psycho- 
 logical significance of probation and the tragic element of 
 freedom. Freedom may choose the seed, but it can neither 
 determine nor escape the harvest. 
 
 This limitation of our freedom demands a word of final 
 emphasis. There is an automatic as well as a voluntary 
 element in human activity ; and it is as impossible to ex- 
 clude the former as it is to deny the latter. Corresponding 
 to the one-sidedness of the necessitarian who makes au- 
 tomatism all, is the one-sidedness of the libertarian who 
 makes freedom all. Even the claim that motives are rea- 
 sons, and not causal or dynamic, cannot be unconditionally 
 allowed ; for while motives as conceptions are not dynamic, 
 motives as springing from or expressing impulses, consti- 
 tutional or otherwise, do exercise an influence upon volition, 
 and may even defy our attempts to control them. There 
 are fixed laws within, as well as without ; and our conquest 
 of mental realms, like that of physical realms, depends 
 upon obedience to laws which we find, and which we can 
 neither found nor abrogate. 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 235 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 In the actual mental life, all its factors exist in complex 
 synthesis from the start. In our study of that life, we 
 must consider its factors successively, and one by one. 
 The discussion of consciousness is not postponed to this 
 point because consciousness is a late development in men- 
 tal experience, but because it can be better dealt with after 
 some study of the general factors of the mental life. It is 
 not the psychologist's affair to construct the mental life, 
 but to understand it. 
 
 Various definitions of consciousness have been given, but 
 they all reduce to tautology, or else presuppose the thing 
 defined. Thus Herbart defines consciousness as the sum 
 of all the real or coexistent present representations ; but 
 the phrase " real and present representations " means pre- 
 cisely those of which we are conscious ; for thereby alone 
 are they constituted real and present. Consciousness has 
 been further defined as a differentiating activity ; but as 
 differentiation in general does not imply consciousness, 
 it can only be conscious differentiation which is con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 Again, there has been a very general tendency to iden- 
 tify consciousness with knowing, so that to know and to 
 be conscious are often used as identical. This is due partly 
 to the looseness of language, and partly to the fact that 
 there can be no knowing apart from consciousness, and no 
 consciousness without some knowing. But this identifica- 
 tion of the two has led to especial difficulty in determining 
 the relation of consciousness to the other mental facts of 
 
236 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 volition and sensibility ; and very often they have been 
 allowed to exist on their own account, and we are supposed 
 to become conscious of them upon occasion. Others have 
 gone still further in this direction, and have separated 
 knowing itself from consciousness. This tendency is still 
 further strengthened by mistaking the classifications of 
 psychology for absolute distinctions. Hence, because 
 feeling and willing are treated apart from knowing, it is 
 assumed that they may exist apart from knowing. Con- 
 sciousness is even erected into a faculty distinct from the 
 rest, and having the function of inspecting their products. 
 It would seem, then, that we know by the faculty of know- 
 ing, and become conscious of both knowing and the knowl- 
 edge by the faculty of consciousness. In such views, 
 cousciousness appears as a kind of addition to mental 
 states which might exist in their completeness apart from 
 it. Those especially delight in this view who hold to latent 
 mental modifications, unconscious cerebration, etc. ; and 
 consciousness almost appears at times as a disturbing and 
 distracting element, rather than as a necessary condition 
 of all mental states. But in spite of manifold assurances, 
 it is quite impossible to tell what is left when the element 
 of consciousness is dropped out of a mental state. Still 
 others have defined consciousness as the knowledge the 
 soul has of its own acts and states ; but this view also 
 limits consciousness to knowing, and supposes other men- 
 tal states to exist as the object of this knowledge. In 
 order to save the definition, we might point out that the 
 soul's power to observe objects does not necessarily imply 
 the power to observe its own operations ; and to this sec- 
 ond power we might give the name of consciousness. But 
 in that case we should arbitrarily limit consciousness to 
 one phase of knowing, and on no better authority, appar- 
 ently, than the etymology of the word. 
 
 Led by these considerations, or rather warned by these 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SKLF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 237 
 
 failures, we define consciousness as tlie specific feature, or 
 condition, of all mental states; not, indeed, as something 
 apart from, or antecedent to, mental states, but as that 
 element which constitutes them mental states. It is that 
 element which makes an act of knowing knowing, an act 
 of feeling feeling, and an act of willing willing. It is not 
 an act of knowing, nor an act of feeling, nor an act of 
 willing, but the condition of all alike ; or tliat factor with- 
 out which they could not exist. Unconscious knowing and 
 unconscious willing are phrases which defy all interpreta- 
 tion. It is, indeed, possible that the soul may perform 
 many unconscious functions, but they would have no men- 
 tal character. 
 
 Consciousness, then, is not a faculty in addition to other 
 faculties, but an implication of the other faculties. It is 
 not a light which reveals mental processes existing in 
 themselves, but is rather an essential property of thoae 
 processes. On this view, the field of consciousness is sim- 
 ply that of immediate experience without admixture of 
 inference. It does not extend beyond the mental states 
 and activities themselves, and the presentations which they 
 mediate. What all this may mean admits of no further 
 definition ; it can only be experienced. The impossibility 
 of deducing consciousness as the resultant of uncon- 
 scious forces has already been dwelt upon. The fact ad- 
 mits neither of deduction nor of resolution into anything 
 else. 
 
 Much of the uncertainty just dwelt upon rests upon the 
 mistake referred to, of taking the classifications of psy- 
 chology for absolute differences in the mental facts them- 
 selves. In truth, there is no such thing as pure knowing 
 without admixture of sensitive and volitional elements ; 
 and just as little is there any pure feeling or willing apart 
 from cognitive elements. The simplest mental fact is com- 
 plex ; and the elements into which we break it up in our 
 
238 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 analysis are only the different phases of the one indivisible 
 conscious state. 
 
 But though consciousness can be neither defined nor de- 
 duced, its conditions may be studied. The general form 
 under which consciousness exists is that of the antithesis 
 of subject and object ; that is, the object of which we are 
 conscious must be distinguished from self as its subject, 
 and objectified to self either as its state or act, or as a 
 quality of external things. When this primal distinction 
 is sharply made, we have a clear consciousness ; when it is 
 vaguely made, we have an indefinite consciousness ; and 
 when it is altogether lacking, we have nothing that can be 
 called consciousness at all. For to be conscious, we must 
 be conscious of something ; and we are conscious of that 
 something only as we distinguish it from self, and place it 
 over against self as our object. 
 
 This point has been much disputed, but mostly on parti- 
 san grounds. It is plain that our personal experience can 
 never justify the denial, as we can by no possibility have a 
 conscious experience which is not known as our own. No 
 more can any observation of others ever reveal the inner 
 structure of their consciousness, as such structure is hidden 
 to external observation. The question must be decided, 
 then, on theoretical grounds. 
 
 Because of the exigencies of the sensational philosophy, 
 the claim has been made that a purely sensitive conscious- 
 ness is possible, which contains no reference to either sub- 
 ject or object, but is simply itself. These references come 
 later as the result of associated experiences. Our experi- 
 ence is said to fall into two groups, one of vivid, and one 
 of faint experiences. The former comes from the object ; 
 the latter, from the subject. But these two groups are 
 only gradually formed and distinguished, through the coa- 
 lescence of like experiences, and the separation of unlike. 
 Up to this time there is neither subject nor object, but only 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 239 
 
 particular feelings. Out of these, association builds up the 
 conception of both subject and object. The claim is un- 
 tenable, for the following reasons. 
 
 Such units of conscious feeling could never constitute a 
 unitary consciousness. If a, 6, c, c?, e represent the several 
 conscious states, they fall entirely asunder so long as the 
 conscious self is not added. The consciousness of a is not 
 that of h. Moreover, the series being in time, it perishes 
 as soon as it is born. In short, we have states of con- 
 sciousness, but no consciousness of states ; and a proper 
 consciousness is possible, not as a series of states of con- 
 sciousness, but only as a consciousness of states. But in 
 order to the latter, there must be an abiding subject of the 
 series, and one which discriminates itself from the series. 
 Only as the states are discriminated from self as their 
 subject, and are united in the various rational relations, 
 does any intelligible consciousness arise. The truth in 
 the sensationalists' claim is, that these acts of discrimina- 
 tion may be more or less definitely performed, and hence 
 consciousness may be more or less distinct and compre- 
 hensive ; but they are implicit in every act of conscious- 
 ness. Where they are entirely lacking, there is nothing 
 which can be called consciousness, but only a mechanical 
 reflex activity. 
 
 Consciousness admits of various degrees, because the 
 function on which it depends may be more or less defi- 
 nitely performed. The lowest range of consciousness of 
 which anything is known is that which exists when drop- 
 ping off to sleep, or that of objects which affect our senses 
 when our attention is otherwise directed. In these cases 
 consciousness approaches a vanishing point, and often 
 reaches and passes it. The objects exist for us only as 
 a vague objectivity without definite significance. They 
 emerge from this state only by a voluntary or involuntary 
 direction of our attention toward them. If now we choose 
 
240 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 to call this state unconscious, and reserve the name of 
 consciousness only for clear or distinct consciousness, we 
 should say that very many mental states exist below con- 
 sciousness. This has often been done, and the theory 
 maintained that we may have manifold sensations and 
 feelings without being conscious of them. But this is 
 simply the extravagance of confounding a vague and im- 
 perfect consciousness with none ; the truth being, that we 
 have vague and unobtrusive sensations without directing 
 our attention to them. This lower limit of consciousness 
 does not admit of being definitely fixed. 
 
 Our attention may be directed to the different factors of 
 consciousness, to the neglect of the others. Thus we may 
 confine our attention to the object, or to the subject, or to 
 the object in relation to the subject. This fact has given 
 rise to the distinction of consciousness and self-conscious- 
 ness, of perception and apperception. But this also is an 
 extravagance. There is no consciousness, or perception, 
 without some element of self-consciousness or apperception. 
 When we perceive something, we at least know who it is 
 that perceives ; and when we lose ourselves in an object, we 
 always know who it is that is lost. The antithesis of sub- 
 ject and object never vanishes, but one member is dwelt 
 upon rather than the other. A great deal of what is called 
 self-consciousness is simply a consideration of objects and 
 aims in their relation to self. Wlien we say that we not 
 only know or feel, but we know that we know or feel, the 
 truth is merely that we make the fact of knowing or feel- 
 ing the object of our attention. 
 
 Attention is a condition of rational consciousness. When 
 the sensibility is affected without fixing our attention, only 
 a vague and indefinite consciousness results. But the sig- 
 nificance of attention is double. Attention may mean 
 simply the direction of our activity toward a given object. 
 In this sense it is a form of self-determination, and is a 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 241 
 
 condition of mental action. But the significance of atten- 
 tion for consciousness consists quite as much in the kind 
 of activity as in its direction. Attention as a simple 
 staring at our objects leads to nothing. To reach a clear 
 rational consciousness, we must establish relations among 
 uur objects and assimilate them to one another ; and thus 
 our attention leads to new knowledge, or to a clearer per- 
 ception or comprehension of our objects. We can fix our 
 attention continuously upon an object only on condition 
 that wc continuously find something new in it, either by 
 making new distinctions or by establishing new relations. 
 When this is not the case, we become mentally j)aralyzed by 
 the fixed stare, and thought comes to a stand-still. Atten- 
 tion, then, runs right into the rational, or relating, activity 
 of the mind; and this it is which has such high significance 
 for consciousness. 
 
 Consciousness depends on the distinction of subject and 
 object ; but this distinction alone would give only a vague 
 objectivity, without any rational content. Consciousness 
 emerges from this confused state only as the mind estab- 
 lishes rational relations among its objects. To see the 
 significance of this relating activity for consciousness, we 
 need only drop out the rational relations from our objects. 
 With the vanishing of temporal distinctions all our objects 
 flow together into a confused present. With the vanishing 
 of space relations there is nothing but an indistinguish- 
 able objectivity left. With the conception of causation all 
 dependence vanishes ; and such consciousness as might 
 remain would be as meaningless as a language composed 
 of interjections. A rational consciousness is possible only 
 through the relating activity of the mind, whereby it consti- 
 tutes its objects in rational relations. If, then, we should 
 allow the possibility of a simple sensitive consciousness as 
 a consciousness of the first order, we should have to affirm 
 a higher rational consciousness as a consciousness of the 
 
 16 
 
242 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 second order. The fact, however, is rather that conscious- 
 ness admits of varying degrees of clearness according 
 as the functions upon which it depends are more or less 
 definitely performed. 
 
 It is the range of this relating activity which determines 
 the limits of consciousness. We can grasp a plurality of . 
 objects only on condition of being allowed to relate them, 
 and thus to unite them. And here the categories which 
 are norms of distinction are also principles of unification. 
 Things distinguished in time, space, number, etc., are at 
 the same time united by those relations. Number in par- 
 ticular is the great unifier, whereby a plurality is made 
 amenable to our intellect. The idle question has often 
 been raised whether we can be conscious of more than one 
 thing at a time. It is plain that, if we could not be, a 
 rational life would be impossible. No relation can be 
 established with only one object, and without relations 
 there is no thought. Of course the question vanishes if 
 time itself, instead of being an independent duration in 
 which thought occurs, is really only the form of our 
 experience. 
 
 The claim that consciousness depends on the antithesis 
 of subject and object has been variously misunderstood. 
 In particular, it has been taken to mean that the subject 
 and object are ontologically distinct. Hence it has been 
 argued that idealism is certainly false, as that doctrine 
 denies the object. Hamilton especially argued that con- 
 sciousness embraces both subject and object, and hence 
 that both are given as equally real. But this claim con^ 
 founds a mental function with an ontological distinction. 
 The object of consciousness is never the outer world, for 
 consciousness extends only to our own states and acts. 
 It is always and only our representations of which we are 
 conscious in dealing with the outer world. These may 
 represent an outer world ; but in any case our conscious' 
 
( 
 
 TJNIVEBSITT 
 
 AU^O^''' 
 
 CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. -43 
 
 ness extends only to our thought of that world. We have 
 the same form of objectivity in dreams, where there is no 
 thought of an ontological otherness ; and yet the object in 
 waking perception is not projected outward with more self- 
 evidence than obtains in many dreams. The same error 
 has been used to prove that the Infinite cannot be con- 
 scious ; since to be conscious there must be an independent 
 object, while the Infinite as one and only can have no 
 object beyond himself. On the same ground self-conscious- 
 ness has been declared a contradiction ; for if the self be 
 the subject, it has no object ; and if it be the object, it has 
 no subject. All of this quibbling disappears upon remem- 
 bering that the distinction of subject and object represents 
 primarily the form under which consciousness takes place, 
 and not any ontological separation between them. 
 
 It is a very general conviction that self-consciousness is 
 a late development of the mental life, and many deductions 
 thereof abound in the associational psychology. We are 
 said to live a conscious mental life long before we live a 
 self-conscious life ; and thus self-consciousness is explained 
 as a late result of experience. Even the intuitional psy- 
 chologists differ on this point, some claiming that we have 
 immediate consciousness of self, and others that the self 
 is known only b}" inference. Materialists and many sensa- 
 tionalists claim that the self is nothing but a name for the 
 sum of mental states. These cluster together and thus 
 constitute the self. In these claims we have some extrava- 
 gance, some ambiguity, and considerable nonsense. We 
 deal with the last first. 
 
 The reality of the self has already been established in 
 Chapter I., and we refer only briefly to the subject here. 
 Let a, b, c, d, e, etc. be the mental states whose sum is to 
 constitute the idea of self. For whom does this sum exist ? 
 For a ? or for h ? If for a, or for any other member of the 
 series, then that member is more than a mental state, for 
 
244 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 it must be able to be conscious of itself and of all the 
 others, and must be able to distinguish them from itself 
 and from one another, and also to unite the others in its 
 single thoughts of their sum. But if <x, h, c, etc. are 
 simply mental states, they never become a sum, or even 
 a series. Each remains an isolated unit of consciousness, 
 and a rational consciousness never begins. The attempt 
 to construe the self as merely a cluster of mental states 
 breaks down before the fact that even a cluster cannot 
 be known as a cluster except by some unit which compre- 
 hends them all. 
 
 Two elements are to be distinguished in self-conscious- 
 ness, (1.) our thought, or conception, of ourselves, and 
 (2.) our experience of our thoughts, etc. as our own. The 
 former element is developed and variable; the latter is 
 original and constant. The conceptions we form of our- 
 selves are manifestly acquired like our conceptions of any 
 other object ; and this conception, like all others, may be 
 more or less accurate. 
 
 With children, and with many besides, the body is iden- 
 tified with the self. Our body enters into all our ex- 
 periences, either as affected or at least as present. In 
 particular, it is the seat of a great mass of feelings of pain 
 and pleasure, and, with those who have no higher feel- 
 ings, the body will not fail to be viewed as the self. But 
 the facts of death and of the religious nature soon led 
 the race to a different conception, according to which the 
 soul is something distinct from the body and able to live 
 apai li from it ; and yet even here the attempt to picture 
 this view always results in conceiving a physical form with 
 the physical attributes of the actual body, though in a 
 somewhat sublimated form. And after all the utterances 
 of the philosophers, nothing is .more common than for us 
 to wonder what we are, whether a passing bubble on the 
 ocean of existence or an abiding essence. These facts 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 245 
 
 show clearly that our conception of self is a variable one, 
 and that it is least of all an original and constant datum 
 of consciousness. Even yet it is not complete, as appears 
 from the oft-repeated question, What are we ? It not only 
 does not yet appear what we shall be ; it does not even 
 appear what we are. If complete self-knowledge were 
 given in immediate consciousness, this could not be the 
 case. In this sense, then, the idea and knowledge of self 
 are developed, and the history of tlie idea can be given. 
 
 But this conceptual self-knowledge is by no means iden- 
 tical with self-consciousness ; indeed, we can conceive a 
 mind to have the fullest conceptual knowledge of itself, 
 and yet have no proper self-consciousness at all. It might 
 have all the categories of the reason, and might know that 
 every mental state must have a subject and that every 
 thought must have a thinker, and still have no self-con- 
 sciousness. Nor should we get on if we endowed this be- 
 ing with perfect knowledge of all existence. In that case 
 it would discover a great many minds, and itself among the 
 rest. It would also discover one of these minds to be the 
 same mind which was thinking of all these other minds ; 
 but its knowledge would carry it no further. Its concep- 
 tion of itself would be just as objective and indifferent as 
 its conception of all others ; and there would be nothing 
 in its experience to explain that peculiar intimacy and 
 vividness of self-consciousness which makes each mind 
 for itself, not merely a specimen of a class, but a special 
 case which puts all other things and persons into absolute 
 antithesis to itself. For every individual, the world falls 
 into two members, himself and all other things and per- 
 sons : and this antithesis admits of no inversion. "We may 
 think of others with thoughts and experiences like our 
 own ; but these conceptions lack entirely the vividness and 
 reality of our experience of ourselves. The personality 
 of others we merely conceive ; our own personality we 
 
246 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 experience. Our mind is not merely a mind ; it is our 
 mind. The simple categories of the intellect would affirm 
 only a mind ; we pass from a mind to our mind, because 
 we do not merely grasp ourselves in conception, but also 
 realize ourselves in immediate experience. It is this self- 
 experience which attends all our mental states which 
 interprets to us what is meant by our ; and if it were lack- 
 ing there would be no way of telling what is meant thereby. 
 This self-experience is the original and irreducible factor 
 of self-consciousness. It is in the life of feeling, desire, 
 emotion, interest, that selfhood acquires any vividness and 
 reality. 
 
 No deduction of this self-experience is possible. It is 
 something unique, and can be understood only in terms of 
 itself. Some materialists have urged that self-conscious- 
 ness is explained by the movement of the brain molecules 
 in paths which return upon themselves. The source of 
 this folly is evident. Self-consciousness may be called a 
 reflection of consciousness upon itself, and hence a move- 
 ment returning upon itself might, in extremely gross minds, 
 pass as an explanation of self-consciousness. Scarcely bet- 
 ter are the various philosophical accounts which teach that 
 self-consciousness arises only through an outgoing activity 
 of the self, which, meeting the non-self, is reflected back into 
 the self again. This is entirely unintelligible except as a 
 highly figurative way of describing self-consciousness, and, 
 if allowed as a fact, we should not have self-consciousness, 
 but simply an emitted and reflected activity. To call this 
 self-consciousness is an abuse of language. 
 
 Equally unsuccessful are the attempts to deduce the idea 
 from the interaction of other ideas. Many striking things 
 are said of " conception masses," which represent the self, 
 and which, by repelling or assimilating new experiences, 
 produce all the phenomena of self-consciousness. Such 
 utterances belong to the department of psychological my- 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 247 
 
 thology. The " conception masses," having by hypothesis 
 no subject, could never attain to a rational consciousness 
 of any sort. They but illustrate the too familiar fact that 
 we easily mistake abstract fictions for things. Equally 
 hopeless is the claim that we reach self-consciousness by 
 inferences from our mental states. The difficulty is, that 
 such inference must be either from our mental states, or 
 from mental states not known to be ours. In the former 
 case, there would be no need of inference, and in the latter 
 case we should come to a knowledge only of a self and not 
 of my self. Hence we hold that self-consciousness rests on 
 an immediate experience of self. This self-experience is 
 the raw material out of which our developed conceptions of 
 self are wrought. Experience does not intensify it, but 
 only furnishes us with clearer ideas whereby to interpret 
 it. The small child, who has not the least idea of self and 
 not-self as formal conceptions, has yet the liveliest experi- 
 ence of itself in its feelings of pain and pleasure. We con- 
 clude, then, that all consciousness of which anything can 
 be said has in it this element of self-experience, and that 
 this element is primal and undeducible. The self does 
 not stand behind experience as its mysterious noumenal 
 ground to be reached only by inference, but reveals itself 
 as present in experience. We have neither an abstract 
 consciousness of self, nor only a consciousness of mental 
 states, but a consciousness of self as having states. 
 
 This distinction of the experience of self from the con- 
 ception of self enables us to adjust a dispute of long stand- 
 ing in psychology. The question is raised whether we 
 have direct consciousness of the ego, and both sides arc 
 taken. • Against the affirmative, it is urged that our knowl- 
 edge of the ego is purely a matter of inference from states 
 of consciousness. What the ego is, is known by studying 
 its phenomena, just as the nature of hydrogen is learned 
 by studying its phenomena. It is further urged, that we 
 
248 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 are not conscious that the ego is a substance at all ; as is 
 shown by the possibility of materialism. This seems to 
 make out a case for the negative ; but, on the other hand, it 
 is urged that no consciousness exists without an implicit 
 reference to self as its subject. We arc not conscious of 
 thoughts and feelings, but of our thoughts and feelings. 
 It is, then, nothing strange that we succeed in deducing 
 self-consciousness when we start with it. This seems to 
 make out a case for the affirmative. That these two views 
 do not apply to the same factor of self-consciousness is 
 apparent. The first claim is valid for our conception of 
 the nature of self; the second is valid for our immediate 
 experience of our thoughts and feelings as our own. 
 
 Self-consciousness may remain on the lowest level of 
 self-experience ; and it may advance from this to a dis- 
 tinct conception of self, and to an affirmation of self as the 
 controlling subject of experience. Only in that case would 
 self-consciousness be perfect. This state is reached only 
 as the mind comes into reflective self-possession and self- 
 control. In childhood there is an abundance of self-experi- 
 ence, but no reflective self-knowledge. The idea of self 
 does not appear as a central idea in the mental life, and 
 the mind is absorbed in its objects, or in its experiences 
 of pleasure or pain. Even in our mature human life, self- 
 consciousness often remains on the level of self-experience, 
 without any distinct reflection upon self as the subject of 
 our experience, and even without much reflection upon the 
 nature of our activity in general. In this state of mind we 
 often do and say things without any true sense of their 
 significance; and afterwards, upon reflection, vrc are hardly 
 able to conceive the deed or word as our own. In the 
 delirium of passion this is very common ; and the man 
 is said to forget himself, or to be beside liimself, etc. If 
 now we should decide to call only developed and perfect 
 self-consciousness self-consciousness, it would be true that 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS AND SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 249 
 
 self-cousciousiiess is a late development of the mental life, 
 and that it may even fail altogether. But this would be 
 the extravagance already referred to. The facts show 
 simply, uot that either element of subject or object may be 
 absent from consciousness, but that the mind may direct 
 its attention to either to the neglect of the other, or rather 
 that consciousness may be focused upon either of its ele- 
 ments, according to our interest at the time. It is possible 
 that, in the case of the lower animals, self-consciousness 
 may remain permanently on the level of simple self-experi- 
 ence without further rationalization of that experience. 
 
 The experience of self is primal. The conception of self 
 is secondary. The latter is reached like all other concep- 
 tions, and may be more or less adequate. Here is the 
 place for the fine psychological observation, that children 
 are slow in learning the use of the personal pronoun of the 
 first person ; for though not clearly relevant, it is always 
 charming. The bringing out of the idea of self into clear 
 consciousness as the centre of the mental life is, indeed, a 
 slow process. In childhood, this conception seems lacking. 
 There is self-feeling or self-experience ; but the self has 
 not been clearly set over against its objects and activities 
 as their subject and controlling source. Wlien this is 
 done, we have the consciousness of freedom, a fact which 
 explains the claim often made, that to be self-conscious is 
 to be free. In such developed self-consciousness the soul 
 is aware of its aims and ideals, and directs its activities 
 accordingly. 
 
 Developed self-consciousness is subject to various dis- 
 turbances. In the delirium of fever or of passion, the 
 mental states may break from control, and hinder the func- 
 tion upon which clear self-consciousness depends. Again, 
 the feeling connected with mental states varies, and espe- 
 cially our interest in objects. In cases of mental disease, 
 disturbances of feelin"; sometimes occur, which make the 
 
250 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 person seem strange to himself. Profound apathy, also, 
 can arise, which causes everything to seem foreign to the 
 mind, as a paralyzed limb to the body. This does not 
 imply an absolute ignorance of self as the subject of the 
 experience, but only a profound indifference, in which all 
 self-interest has vanished. And as it is the life of feeling 
 which gives any vividness to selfhood, disturbance of the 
 former must affect the latter. 
 
 Herewith we close our study of the factors of the mental 
 life. The aim has not been to exhibit these factors in 
 combination, but to show the factors themselves. Con- 
 cerning them a double error is possible. On the one hand, 
 we have an attempt to reduce these factors to some com- 
 mon form ; and on the other, we have a tendency to regard 
 them as distinct entities. The former appears in the sen- 
 sationalists' deductions, and the latter in the traditional 
 doctrine of the faculties. Both errors are to be guarded 
 against. The transformations of sensationalism are purely 
 verbal ; and we have to assume a complex mental nature 
 to account for the complex mental life. But we are not to 
 suppose that this complex nature is made out of a bundle 
 of independent faculties. The faculties are always and 
 only abstractions from the many-sided mental life. This 
 life is the reality. Here and here only do the reason, the 
 will, the intellect, the understanding, the sensibility, have 
 their existence ; and all alike represent only phases of this 
 basal life. 
 
PART 11. 
 
 THE FACTORS IN COMBINATION 
 
PART II. 
 
 THE FACTORS IN COMBINATION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PERCEPTION. 
 
 We have studied thus far the elementary factors and 
 processes of the mental life without any reference to their 
 products and combinations. These we have now to con- 
 sider ; and first we deal with perception. This has often 
 been regarded as a simple and unanalyzable form of mental 
 activity ; whereas it is really a process into which all forms 
 of mental activity enter to a greater or less degree. Will 
 enters in the form of attention. Thought contributes its 
 categories, and the sensibility furnishes the raw material. 
 Even reproduction plays an important part, as we shall see. 
 Essentially, perception is a process of rationalizing sensa- 
 tion, or an application of the categories to the raw material 
 of sensation. In this way the mind reaches the world of 
 things. This is the thesis to be established. 
 
 When two persons converse, no thoughts leave the mind 
 of the one and enter bodily into the mind of the other. 
 The nervous action and vibrating waves of air which inter- 
 vene contain no thought. How, then, is an exchange of 
 thought possible ? 
 
 All thought of transmission except in a figurative sense 
 is impossible. The fact is this. By an entirely mysterious 
 world-order the speaker is enabled to produce a series of 
 sensations in the hearer which are totally unlike thought, 
 
254 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 but which by virtue of the same mysterious world-order 
 act as a series of incitements upon the hearer, so that he 
 constructs in his own consciousness the corresponding 
 thought. The act of the speaker is in availing himself of 
 the proper incitements, that of the hearer is primarily the 
 reaction of the soul against the incitement. Hence, to per- 
 ceive another's thought we must construct it in ourselves ; 
 and to inform another of our thought is not to pass some- 
 thing over to him, but to incite him to a form of mental 
 action like our own. All communication of finite minds is 
 of this sort. Instruction and education of every kind con- 
 sist, not in pouring ready-made knowledge into the mind, 
 but in directing its activity so that it shall develop knowl- 
 edge within itself. The wisest teacher can do no more 
 than avail himself of the system of incitements which the 
 world-order provides, and then trust to the student's mind 
 to react against incitement with growing thought and in- 
 sight. Thoughts are not things which can be handed along 
 ready made, they are rather mental functions ; the only 
 way in which a thought can be put into a mind is to stimu- 
 late it to perform the corresponding function. 
 
 What is thus true of the perception of another's thought 
 is equally true of our perception of the outer world in gen- 
 eral. To perceive the universe we must construct it in 
 thought ; and our knowledge of the universe is but an un- 
 folding of the mind's inner nature, a reaction of the mind 
 against external action. The mere existence of a thing is 
 no ground for our perception of it on any theory ; it must 
 in some way act upon us. If we might personify the uni- 
 verse, and attribute to it a desire to pass into human knowl- 
 edge or to appear in the human mind, we should say that 
 it must proceed as a human teacher does. The latter avails 
 himself of a system of excitations whereby he incites the 
 mind of the student to unfold itself and develop knowledge 
 within itself. All the while he is putting nothing in, but 
 
PERCEPTION. SG6 
 
 is leading the mind out into possession of itself. In the 
 same way must the universe proceed. It can put nothing 
 into the mind except by inciting the mind to special forms 
 of activity, which in turn arc only expressions of the mind's 
 own nature. The grounds of this conclusion lie in the no- 
 tion of interaction and in the physiological facts concerning 
 perception. We consider them in order. 
 
 For us the soul is a real agent, and all perception rests 
 upon an interaction between the soul and the world of 
 things. But in all interaction, when one thing acts upon 
 another it contributes nothing, but merely furnishes the 
 conditions of the other's action or manifestation. Least of 
 all can the cause of an effect be laid in only one of the 
 things. Thus, a ray of light falls upon ice, upon a mixture 
 of hydrogen and chlorine, and upon the eye. In the first 
 case melting results ; in the second, explosion ; and in the 
 third, a sensation. Here the antecedent is the same in all 
 the cases ; the difference of the consequents must be at- 
 tributed to the nature of the things acted upon ; and the 
 effect in each case can be viewed only as a manifestation of 
 the peculiar nature of those things, and not as something 
 carried into them. What is thus true of all interaction is 
 true of that between the soul and the world of things. The 
 reaction of the soul in such cases represents nothing poured 
 into it from without, but is rather an expression of what 
 the soul is. But perception depends upon such an inter- 
 action, and hence we cannot find the sufficient ground of 
 our knowledge in the object, as is often done, but must 
 rather hold that the resulting knowledge is an expression 
 of the nature of the mind itself. The external action, here 
 as elsewhere, only furnishes the incitement which leads to 
 a peculiar reaction on the part of the soul in which the 
 soul manifests itself. 
 
 The physiological facts connected with perception lead 
 to the same conclusion. Things have often been spoken of 
 
256 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 as stamping, impressing, photographing, themselves upon 
 the mind ; and these figures of speech have been taken for 
 explanations. But to see their purely verbal character we 
 need only ask (1.) where these stamps, etc. are; (2.) where 
 the extended mind is that receives them ; and (3.) how 
 these pictures 07i the mind become thoughts in the mind. 
 If we should allow the grotesque fancy that things really 
 stamp themselves upon the mind as an extended substance, 
 the perceptive act would be as far from being explained 
 as ever. We should have outlines on the mind, but no 
 thoughts in the mind ; these would be reached only as the 
 mind, by an inner act, changed the stamp, or image, into 
 conception. The strength of such figures of speech lies in 
 the fact that we regard the knowing mind as something 
 objective to ourselves. Accordingly, when we figure tlie 
 mind as a tablet with pictures on it, we also think of our- 
 selves as looking at the picture ; and then we mistake our 
 imagined perception of the picture for its perception by the 
 impressed mind. But all these whims disappear when we 
 remember the conditions of perception. On the most real- 
 istic theory, nervous action is the medium of all our knowl- 
 edge of the outer world ; and this contains neither thoughts 
 nor pictures. It is totally unlike tiie world of things, on 
 the one hand, and the world of thoughts, on the other. No 
 reflection upon it will claw out of it either the external 
 thing or the internal thought. A printed page contains no 
 thoughts ; these arise only as some mind appears which 
 can read the page back into its significance. Likewise 
 nervous action contains no knowledge ; this can arise only 
 as this action is upon some mind which can read back the 
 nervous sign into its objective significance. But to do this 
 the mind must have the principle of interpretation in itself. 
 It has no standard or pattern by which to go, for the ner- 
 vous action is all the outer world contributes, and this the 
 mind has to read back into a world of things. But in so 
 
PERCEPTION. 267 
 
 doing, it is only reacting against external stimulus and 
 unfolding its own nature. Our world vision is primarily a 
 product of the mind under external incitement. Whether 
 it truly represents the outer fact is a question for separate 
 discussion ; but in any case our knowledge, such as it is, is 
 gained in this way. It is not a passive importation into 
 the mind, but is developed by the mind within itself. 
 
 Psychologists of the common-sense school have sought 
 to evade this conclusion by speaking of an immediate 
 knowledge, or a direct gaze on reality. Supposing the fact 
 to exist, the question still remains. How is this immediate 
 knowledge possible ? The things may be there just as we 
 conceive them ; but their existence does not explain our 
 perception. Things, too, do not throw off images or phan- 
 toms of themselves, as the scholastics thought, which enter 
 into the mind and mediate knowledge. The impressions 
 on the retina or on the surface of the body, likewise, do not 
 explain the fact. The only answer is that which we have 
 given. Things act upon the mind, and the mind reacts by 
 constructing in itself the thought of an object, and affirm- 
 ing the object as a reality ; and this constitutes our knowl- 
 edge of the thing. Mediate knowledge in sense perception 
 is that gained by inference, as in the acquired perceptions ; 
 and immediate knowledge can only mean such knowledge 
 as results directly from the interaction of the mind with 
 the object. But this implies no passive reception of ready- 
 made knowledge ; but only a spontaneous development of 
 knowledge by the mind under the proper conditions. In- 
 deed, the psychologists of this school have formed their 
 theory less from a study of the facts than from a pre- 
 determination to avoid anything which might lend aid and 
 comfort to idealism. This is especially the case with 
 Hamilton's theory of immediate perception. In his desire 
 to have no go-betweens in perception, he was forced io 
 maintain that every sensation is really felt where it seems 
 
 17 
 
258 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 to be, and hence that the mind fills out the entire bodj. 
 Likewise he had to affirm that the object in vision is not 
 the thing, but the rays of light, and even the object itself 
 had, at last, to be brought bodily into consciousness. Thus 
 he reached the absurdity that the true object in perception 
 is something of which we are totally unconscious. 
 
 This, then, is the way in which our world vision is built 
 up. Sensations are produced in us, and associate accord- 
 ing to certain laws. The mind next reacts upon these by 
 classifying and distinguishing them, and finally objectifies 
 them under the forms of space and time, of cause and 
 effect, and of substance and attribute. Our objectified 
 representations constitute for us the external world. This 
 does not forbid that the world may be as real as common 
 sense assumes ; it only points out that to perceive the 
 outer world we must think it, or construct it in thought. 
 The mind can never grasp the object other than through 
 the conception ; and the object exists for the mind only 
 through the conception. Hence our knowledge of the 
 outer world arises only as we form certain conceptions and 
 objectify their contents in independent existence. 
 
 Concerning the reality of the knowledge thus gained, we 
 here say nothing. We are considering perception as a psy- 
 chological process, and leave the inquiry into the validity 
 of its results to the theory of knowledge. We point out, 
 however, that if our objective knowledge is valid, we must 
 assume that the laws of thought are parallel to those of 
 things. Since the thing is known only through our con- 
 ception, and since in forming this conception the mind 
 follows strictly its own laws, it follows that the validity of 
 the conception implies that the laws of thought and those 
 of being are parallel. We must further assume that there 
 is a fixed relation between the antecedents of sensation and 
 the nature of things, on the one hand, and between those 
 antecedents and the thought activity on the other. That 
 
PERCEPTION. 259 
 
 is, if knowledge be of the fact, then the activity which 
 produces sensations must be adjusted to the fact, and must 
 arouse the mind to an activity which shall reproduce the 
 fact in thought. Without this assumption of an exact 
 adjustment of heterogeneous elements, there can be no 
 trust in perception. 
 
 But how in that case can error occur ? Manifestly we 
 cannot place any trust in perception without assuming a 
 fixed order of interaction between the subject and object ; 
 but if there be such an order, how can error arise ? This 
 question can be answered only by assuming that the fixed 
 order extends only to the elements of the interaction ; and 
 that these elements may be united either by association or 
 by arbitrariness in ways which are foreign to the truth of 
 things. 
 
 Thus far we have only sought to determine our general 
 conception of the perceptive process, without describing it 
 in detail. It is conceivable that all perception should be 
 immediate, so that the rational interpretation of our sen- 
 sations should be instantaneous, and independent of in- 
 ference and experience. The relation between the object 
 and the mind might be such that we should at once per- 
 ceive it as it is and where it is. But this is not the case. 
 We learn to perceive. The interpretation of our sense 
 experience into a world of things of fixed nature and in 
 definite relations is a gradual process ; and very much of 
 it rests upon an automatic interpretation of sense signs 
 which we have learned. A history, then, of the perceptive 
 process is conceivably possible ; but unfortunately it is 
 hard to write. We learn to perceive long before we reflect 
 upon the process ; and by the time reflection begins, the 
 process has become so familiar that its steps are no longer 
 visible. The factors which enter into it can be discovered 
 by analysis of the product ; but the genetic stages are not 
 manifest. The details of how we come to refer our sensa- 
 
260 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 tions to definite objects in space, either as their qualities or 
 as caused by them, must, then, be matters mainly of sur- 
 mise and guesswork. In our mature life all our sensa- 
 tional experiences are immediately referred to things in 
 time and space, and this fact leads us to fancy that it 
 always has been so, and it also makes it difficult to assign 
 to the several senses their significance for the process. 
 
 The perception of things and that of space relations 
 grow together. Things first become things for the mind 
 when individuated in space ; and, on the other hand, as 
 soon as things are distinguished in space relations they 
 appear as things. We have already pointed out that not 
 all sensations are equally efficient in arousing the mind 
 to a spatial projection of its objects ; but it is not easy to 
 decide the efficiency of the several senses. Tastes, sounds, 
 and odors, in themselves, locate their objects very faintly, if 
 at all. There is little difficulty in abstracting from space 
 relations in their case, and confining ourselves to their 
 purely qualitative significance. If they have any power in 
 themselves to cause a localization, it seems to be only a 
 reference to the part of the organism which is affected. 
 
 Sight, touch, and the muscular sensations attending move- 
 ment, are much more effective ; though it is impossible to 
 tell to what extent they affect one another. What we need 
 to know is whether sight alone, or touch alone, or muscular 
 sensations alone, would give us any developed conception 
 of space. It seems that a staring eye which could not move 
 would give us little or no knowledge of space relations ; 
 and the other senses witliout the aid of the eye would never 
 enable us to grasp our objects in a common space with any- 
 thing like the clearness of actual experience. Indeed, we 
 find it impossible to grasp the space relations of a mani- 
 fold in a common intuition, unless it be presented in vision. 
 We lose the beginning before we come to the end. Hence 
 it is often claimed that with the blind an involved set of 
 
PERCEI'TION. 261 
 
 temporal conceptions takes the place of space relations ; 
 but this claim is disproved by the existence of blind ge- 
 ometricians. They must possess the elements of the space 
 intuition ; but the total image of space is probably very 
 imperfect. 
 
 In actual experience, our various external senses work 
 together, and may be aided by changes in the brain itself 
 due to our various movements. One general assumption, 
 however, must be made ; namely, that sensations cannot 
 be interpreted into any and every space form, but that there 
 is a fixed relation between a given form of sensation and 
 its spatial interpretation. This is simply an application of 
 the notion of law or uniformitv to the process, without 
 which there would be no fixed connection between any 
 object and our perception of it. What at one time appears 
 as round might at another appear as square, etc. 
 
 Various attempts have been made to adjust the signifi- 
 cance of the several senses for the spatial localization of 
 our objects, but with no very great success. The common- 
 sense philosophers take the fact for granted, without asking 
 how. A wide-spread view is that the elements of space are 
 first learned from touch and movement, and that these are 
 extended and completed by connection with the eye. Others, 
 again, seek to vindicate an original localizing power for the 
 eye itself. Still others think that all our senses may have 
 such a power in some degree. For the perception of the 
 extension of our body a doctrine of local signs has been 
 proposed, according to which every sensation from any 
 part has a local coloring, whereby it is distinguished from 
 all the rest, and may be located. But the doctrine is 
 plainly of no use until the perception of extension has 
 taken place. Until then the local signs are simply quali- 
 tatively distinct sensations, without any hint of their spa- 
 tial origin. We are not anxious to decide among these 
 various theories. The fact is, that the localization did not 
 
262 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 take place instantaneously with the first sense experience, 
 and that it takes place with much greater rapidity and 
 accuracy through some of the senses than through others. 
 But it could not take place at all, and our space experi- 
 ence in general would be impossible, if certain forms of 
 sensation were not attended with fixed elements of spatial 
 construction. 
 
 The strict solution of this question of localizing power in 
 tlie different senses is not to be expected. Before observa- 
 tion begins, the localization has taken place ; and either 
 from association or from original power the objects of all 
 the senses have received a local reference. Thereafter it 
 is impossible to isolate any sense so as to get its unalloyed 
 product. Nor can much weight be laid upon the pathologi- 
 cal observations upon persons who were born blind and 
 received their sight in later years. In such cases it would 
 be hard to prove that the eye itself is in an optically per- 
 fect state ; indeed, the probability would be for the negative. 
 But admitting the fact, the only conclusion would be that 
 the eye is not able at once and finally to locate its objects 
 apart from all previous experience. It would by no means 
 prove that the eye, when exposed to such changes as motion 
 would produce, would not finally excite the mind to a de- 
 veloped and complete image of objects in their space rela- 
 tions. If we could have a human being made to order, and 
 were permitted to furnish him successively with the several 
 senses, we should get on with the problem ; but this can 
 hardly be called a probable contingency. 
 
 Perception is not complete until its objects are assimi- 
 lated and classified. If the mind sim[)ly projected its ob- 
 jects under the general categories without any further 
 classification, thought would still be in its rudimentary 
 form. We should have objects in general, but nothing 
 defined and specific. Our objects pass from this vague 
 generality to definite content only through classification. 
 
PERCEPTION. 263 
 
 We cognize the thing by recognizing it, that is, by referring 
 it to a known class. If an object is presented to us, our 
 first effort is to tell what it is ; and if we can refer it to 
 some class, we feel that our knowledge is increased When 
 this cannot be done, the thing remains for us an indefinite 
 object, under some one of the categories. To see the sig- 
 nificance of this classificatory element, we need only remem- 
 ber that all the terms of a language, except the interjections, 
 are general terms. Hence, to name anything, or to apply 
 any term Avhatever to it, is an act of classification. The 
 completed perceptive process, then, involves classification 
 as one of its essential factors. 
 
 The total result of the perceptive process is, that the 
 mind forms a conception of a manifold of objects in space 
 relations, and having various sense qualities ; and thereafter 
 the object of perception is not the thing as it appears, but 
 the thing as it exists for thought. Thenceforth there is a 
 distinction between the appearance and the thing signified. 
 The appearance of any object varies with our distance from 
 it, and changes constantly as we approach or leave it. The 
 mind, however, passes spontaneously to the conception of 
 the thing as existing in a self-identity in space, and never 
 dreams of confounding the changing appearance with the 
 constant thing. From this time on, the appearance is con- 
 nected with the thing as its symbol, and the mind passes, 
 not by inference, but by association, from the symbol to the 
 thing. Thus in painting we seem to see the thing, and in 
 speech we seem to hear the meaning ; whereas the mean- 
 ing in both cases is something added by the mind through 
 an automatic connection of the sign with the thing signi- 
 fied. If we should allow the mind to add nothing, and 
 should limit it strictly to what the senses give, we should 
 have neither identity nor constancy in our objects, as the 
 sense appearance is perpetually shifting. 
 
 The clearness with which our objects stand out before 
 
264 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the mind in perception varies with the distinctness of the 
 sensations produced in us ; and we learn by experience 
 that this distinctness is itself a function of the size and 
 distance of the objects. It is this general fact which gives 
 rise to the so-called acquired perceptions. Perceptions of 
 size and distance are not immediately given in sensation, 
 but are reached, either automatically through association, 
 or inferentially through judgment. Hence they are said to 
 be acquired. The simple fact is, that we learn by experi- 
 ence to estimate the spatial significance of many forms of 
 sensation. 
 
 At this point, also, emerges the possibility of sense illu- 
 sions. The senses themselves, as giving us only affec- 
 tions of self, can never deceive us. Such affections are 
 neither true nor false, but simple facts of consciousness. 
 Delusion first becomes possible when we refer the affection 
 to its causes, or when we seek to interpret its objective 
 significance. We first find in experience a given sensation 
 referred to a certain objective ground, and connected with 
 others as possible. When this order is once established, 
 any factor of it is sure to suggest all the rest. Hence, when 
 any sensation which we have been accustomed to associate 
 with a given thing is produced, we always perceive the tbing 
 which in our normal experience goes with that sensation. 
 But the sensation may be produced by disease or imagina- 
 tion, without the customary external stimulus. In all such 
 cases we have sense illusions, and seem to see something 
 where there is nothing to see. Delusions of this kind are 
 impossible until sense experience has acquired some con- 
 sistency and fixedness; and, on the other hand, experience 
 could never acquire any fixedness if cases of this kind 
 were frequent. The more common cases of sense illusion 
 are those connected with our perception of size and dis- 
 tance. In experience our perception of size and distance 
 is connected with a peculiar quality of the visual appear- 
 
PERCEPTION. 265 
 
 ance, and hence whatever affects the latter affects the 
 former. 
 
 It is impossible, however, entirely to absolve the senses ; 
 for though in the strict sense they do not deceive us, they 
 are well adapted to deceive us. That is, the appearance is 
 presented in such a way that illusion is almost unavoidable. 
 If we accept the current doctrine of the subjectivity of 
 sense qualities, our entire sense experience is a continu- 
 ous and gigantic illusion. Minor illusions are found in the 
 distortions of perspective, the vision of complementary col- 
 ors, etc. The general untrustworthiness of the senses, 
 within certain limits, is an axiom in physics. Here the 
 first aim is to reach some objective standard which shall 
 free us from the uncertainty of subjective estimates. 
 
 In speaking of association, we said that there was a time 
 when the representations of the different senses had no 
 connection. There is nothing in the vision of color to 
 suggest any of the sensations of touch, odor, etc. Their 
 actual union is brought about by experience, and its 
 method is highly obscure. It is conceivable that the per- 
 cepts of the different senses should never have been united 
 into a common object with various sense qualities ; and 
 it is not easy to tell how the composition is effected. But 
 after it has been brought about, and after the eye has been 
 taught, the eye becomes the chief organ of knowledge. 
 Thus the object of vision becomes, not what the eye sees, 
 but what the mind sees or the eye suggests. The eye can 
 really see only different colors and outlines ; but we pass 
 so immediately from these to what they suggest, that we 
 seem to see the thing signified. In actual perception, what 
 the eye gives is as different from what the mind sees as 
 it is in painting or drawing. This general fact, which 
 was first brought out into clearness by Berkeley, in his 
 " New Theory of Vision," helps us to explain many prob- 
 lems which otherwise would remain great puzzles. 
 
266 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The first of these is the upright perception of objects. 
 It is well known that the rays of light must form an in- 
 verted picture on the retina, and hence it has been con- 
 cluded that we ought to see all objects upside down. But 
 as we do not thus see them, the fact of upright vision be- 
 comes a problem. It has been suggested, (1.) that the 
 mind follows the rays outside of the eye beyond their 
 crossing point, thus righting up the object, and (2.) that, 
 because everything is inverted in the picture, we do not see 
 anything so inverted. But apart from the difficulty that 
 the mind knows nothing of rays of light, etc., all this rests 
 on the assumption that the mind looks at the picture on 
 the retina, which is a pure whim. There is in such notions 
 so coarse an identification of the soul with the body, that 
 it is strange, as Lotze has suggested, that no one has 
 thought of turning the soul end for end, thus by a double 
 inversion restoring the object to correct position. The fact 
 is, that the object is not perceived by the eye at all ; but, 
 from our total experience of the several senses, the mind 
 constructs an object in space with various properties and 
 relations, and certain visual sensations come to stand as a 
 sign of this object. This object is what the mind sees, not 
 the visual percept. Berkeley himself contended that the 
 tactual percept is the real object in perception, and that 
 the visual sensation is only the sign of the same. The 
 truth is, that the mental object is neither the visual nor 
 the tactual percept, but the conception which the mind has 
 built out of its past experience, and of which either may 
 serve as the sign. 
 
 A second series of problems concerns our estimate of 
 distance from vision. Here, too, the geometers appeared 
 with the doctrine of visual angles formed by rays of light, 
 and thought thus to explain the problem. But the same 
 difficulty appears. The mind knows nothing directly of 
 rays of light and visual angles ; and it is absurd to suppose 
 
PERCEPTION. 267 
 
 the mind to infer distance from data of which it knows 
 nothing. But this also admits of easy explanation. In 
 common experience, dimness or confusion of visual sen- 
 sations represents distance. We learn this by experience 
 alone ; but when learned, such dimness becomes a sign and 
 measure of distance. We find, the size of the object being 
 fixed, that clearness of the visual perception varies directly 
 with the distance ; and wc further find, the distance being 
 fixed, that the clearness varies with the size of the object. 
 Hence, the same object often looks nearer, or larger, at 
 one time than another. This is especially the case with 
 the moon, and the fact was long a standing puzzle with 
 the geometers. The reason is, that the moon, near the 
 horizon, owing to the denser medium, seems dimmer than 
 when overhead, and hence seems to be farther away, and 
 hence seems bigger. In this case the effect of association 
 is such as apparently to modify the visual perception. In 
 some cases, association even produces outright the visual 
 perception; for example, in speaking or reading, missing 
 words or sounds are often supplied without any sense of 
 their absence. That is, they are apparently heard or seen, 
 because we know from experience what to expect. 
 
 Because of the constructive activity in perception, many 
 have called it a process of inference or judgment. But it 
 is plainly not a process of conscious inference, and so they 
 have called it unconscious inference. The soul uncon- 
 sciously infers from its sense data the existence of those 
 objects which correspond to them in its normal experience. 
 It is plain that there might be an inferential process based 
 on sensations, but it is equally plain that, in general, there 
 is none. Unconscious inference is a phrase in which the 
 adjective devours the noun, and the noun annihilates the 
 adjective. Nor do we need any such contradictory notions. 
 The primal activity in perception comes under the head of 
 interaction, according to a law fixed in the nature of the 
 
268 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 interacting agents ; and the facts with which we have just 
 been dealing come under the well-known laws of associa- 
 tion or suggestion. There is simply an automatic passage 
 from sensations to conceptions which have been connected 
 with them in past experience. 
 
 The objective perception may be the affection of the 
 particular sense, and it may be what the mind perceives 
 through that affection. In general, it is the latter. The 
 object is not what the eye sees, but what the mind sees. 
 This object, however, is presented to the mind by its repro- 
 ductive activity. Just as the meaning of spoken words is 
 not heard by the ear, but by the mind, and just as this 
 meaning is evoked by the spoken word only by the laws of 
 association, so the object before the mind is not perceived 
 by any or all the senses, but by the mind only, and so also 
 this object is brought before the mind upon occasion of the 
 sense experience only by the laws of association. It fol- 
 lows, that perception is no simple process, but a highly 
 complex one, in which the representative faculties are more 
 active than the presentative. In any developed mental life, 
 the past is more active than the present, even in our appar- 
 ently immediate perceptions. The significance of classifi- 
 cation has been already referred to. 
 
 In leaving this subject, reference may be made to a set 
 of cases in which the constructive action of the mind in 
 perception is very apparent. These are the cases of the 
 deaf and dumb. Here the normal incitements to mental 
 action are lacking ; but others have been devised, whereby 
 the mind is put in possession of itself and of the outer 
 world. The most notable case is that of Laura Bridgman. 
 With the blind, also, touch almost takes on the character 
 of a new sense through the growing fineness of its dis- 
 criminations. In all of these cases the mind remedies the 
 defects of its physical instrument by adopting new sys- 
 tems of signs, or by improving the imperfect ones in its 
 possession. 
 
THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 269 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 
 
 In a previous chapter, we have studied the mechanism of 
 reproduction, but not its special forms and its significance 
 for knowledge. It has been the custom in English works 
 on psychology to distinguish presentative from representa- 
 tive knowledge. In the former, the object is directly pre- 
 sented to us, as in perception. In the latter, the object is 
 recalled in memory, or created in fancy or imagination. 
 In this view, moreover, presentation is made to cover the 
 entire process of perception, so that representation has no 
 part in it. Representation, on the other hand, is recog- 
 nized only where the senses are inactive, as in memory or 
 imagination. 
 
 It is plain from the previous chapter that we cannot 
 accept this view. We have seen perception to be a com- 
 plex process, involving both presentation and representa- 
 tion. Indeed, we have seen that the reproduced elements 
 of knowledge are far more prominent even in an act of 
 perception than the elements directly given in the sensa- 
 tion. In all mature perception the mental object is not 
 given in the sense, but is suggested by it through the force 
 of association. So in the use of spoken or written Ian* 
 guage ; the ear hears no meaning, and the eye sees none. 
 It is the principle of association which connects the two. 
 In spoken language this fact often hides from us the im- 
 perfections of utterance ; we know what to expect, and 
 we hear accordingly. In written language the same thing 
 appears. Unless we distinctly concentrate our attention 
 upon the page, we fail to notice the errors of print or spell- 
 
270 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 ing, etc. ; because, having a conception of what the sentence 
 should be, we seem often to see the very corrections which 
 we unconsciously make. Another illustration of the same 
 fact is the familiar experience of seeing words on the page 
 which are not there. In this case some letter or letters 
 catch our eye ; and the mind fills out the allied word, and 
 projects it so vividly upon the page that we are sure we 
 see it until we look for it, and then it disappears. Thus 
 we see that the presentative and representative processes 
 go on together, and both alike enter into all completed acts 
 of knowledge. 
 
 But while all mature and completed perception involves 
 representative activity, there are many forms of represen- 
 tation which involve no present perception. Such are 
 memory, revery, imagination, etc. ; and these constitute 
 a special phase of mental action. The mind is able to 
 present to itself past, or absent, or non-existent objects 
 and events ; and this is representation. This includes im- 
 agination and fancy, because all the elements with which 
 they deal have been given in experience. We can produce 
 new combinations in imagination, but nothing more. By 
 no effort can we tell what a new sense would be ; and 
 all our dreams of another life consist in assimilating it 
 to this. 
 
 Past events may be reproduced as they were, and may 
 be temporally located in our past experience. This form 
 of reproduction we call memory or recollection. When 
 the event is located in the future, we have expectation. 
 Again, elements of experience may be reproduced without 
 any regard to their original order, and without any refer- 
 ence to our personal experience. When this activity is 
 automatic and aimless, it may be called fantasy. Finally, 
 elements of experience may be purposely combined into new 
 forms not hitherto experienced ; or the past and absent 
 may be called up, not for memory, but for contemplation. 
 
THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 271 
 
 This form of reproduction may be called imagination. In 
 fact, however, there is no consistent terminology for the sev- 
 eral phases of the representative activity. Memory, recol- 
 lection, reminiscence, fancy, fantasy, imagination, creative 
 imagination, are examples. In memory the element of rec- 
 ognition and temporal location is prominent. In fantasy 
 both of these elements are lacking ; and the activity is 
 automatic, resulting often in a straggling series of inco- 
 herent, and often grotesque images. In imagination the 
 will controls and directs the reproductive activity with ref- 
 erence to an end. Fantasy passes into imagination by an 
 infusion of directing and rational volition, and imagination 
 sinks into fantasy by its withdrawal. Memory also sinks 
 into fantasy or passes into imagination as the element of 
 recognition and temporal location in past experience van- 
 ishes. In actual experience, it is impossible to draw a 
 fixed frontier between these forms. Generally some ele- 
 ment of each is to be found in all. 
 
 Perfect recollection would involve the reproduction of 
 the content of a past experience with all its elements and 
 relations complete. This is seldom possible, except when 
 the experience is near and simple. An experience involves 
 both objective and subjective relations. By the former, we 
 mean those relations which exist among the elements of 
 the experience considered in itself as a mental state. By 
 the latter, we mean the relation of the experience as a 
 whole to self and our total experience. Both of these rela- 
 tions are liable to dislocation or displacement. Memory 
 never gives all the elements of experience, and seldom 
 gives them in their exact relations to one another. The 
 position of an experience in our total experience, also, is 
 very often mistaken. When the fact is at a distance, the 
 temporal order is often inverted ; and sometimes imagina- 
 tion takes the form of memory, and creates its objects out- 
 right. The local signs of events in the distant past are 
 
272 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 generally very indistinct ; and all that memory produces is 
 the conviction that we have had such or such an experi- 
 ence. In this stage memory is especially liable to become 
 creative, or at least to adopt the fictions of imagination for 
 realities of past experience. 
 
 It is this fact, that complete recollection involves many 
 elements, which accounts for the paradox that we often 
 remember something without being able to recall it. We 
 often remember an event apart from its relations, and 
 especially apart from its local sign ; and in that case we 
 say that we remember it, but cannot place it. Often, too, 
 we remember certain elements which assure us that cer- 
 tain other elements were present ; and then we seem to 
 remember elements out of memory. Often, again, we re- 
 call ourselves as having had experience under certain cir- 
 cumstances, without being able to fill up its outlines ; or 
 something reminds us of something, we cannot tell what. 
 
 Objects are bound together in experience in various rela- 
 tions, according to the degree of mental development. In 
 the dawn of intelligence, the categories of space and time 
 are much more prominent in the mental life than those 
 of cause, order, purpose, etc. The latter categories, being 
 more abstract, are reached at a later date. Memory fol- 
 lows the original experience in this respect. At first, it 
 tends to reproduce all things indifferently in their original 
 spatial and temporal order. Memory of this type is often 
 remarkably tenacious. Long series of words combined into 
 meaningless sentences have been reproduced with astonish- 
 ing accuracy. But as the original experience involved no 
 high mentality, so the memory of the same involves no 
 high mentality. Indeed, this kind of memory is often 
 associated with a low grade of intelligence ; so much so, 
 that a strong memory of this sort is often spoken of as a 
 mark of mental weakness. This kind of memory is most 
 prominent in childhood. 
 
THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 273 
 
 But as intellect develops, the tendency in the original 
 experience is to pass over the insignificant and irrelevant, 
 and to fix the attention only on the significant and im- 
 portant. Memory shows the same progress and selection. 
 This has been thought to be another type of memory, and 
 has been called the philosophic memory. But, in truth, 
 the reproductive activity only follows the original order of 
 interest and attention. The selective activity is first mani- 
 fested in the original experience ; and by such selection 
 and (lie direction of interest, the mind prescribes the direc- 
 tion of reproduction. 
 
 The general law of reproduction shows that an experience 
 will be the more certainly recalled the more ties of connec- 
 tion it has with our total experience. Thus, the intelligible 
 is more easily recalled than the unintelligible. In the for- 
 mer case, we have both a sense experience and an intellect- 
 ual one ; in the latter, the intellectual element is lacking. 
 In memory in general, the more the intellect is brought 
 into play, the easier the memory. This is due to the dou- 
 ble fact, (1.) that a new bond of connection is given, and 
 (2.) the logical relation of the parts also constitutes a bond. 
 No one can remember the premises and forget the conclu- 
 sion. When the mental element is lacking, the matter is 
 generally soon forgotten. " Crammed " examinations are 
 examples. Things once understood, in their causes, con- 
 nections, consequences, etc., are not easily forgotten. But 
 this is not a particular kind of memory, but the natural 
 result of the form of the original experience. 
 
 The energy and direction of memory in general further 
 depend on the attention and interest which entered into 
 the original experience. Other things being equal, the 
 energy of memory will vary with the intensity of attention 
 in the original experience ; and other things being equal, 
 it will vary also with the interest felt in that experience. 
 That object is far more likely to be remembered which 
 
 18 
 
274 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 awakens feeling, than one which is indifferent. Many ob- 
 jects are incessantly passing through consciousness ; yet, as 
 having no significance, attracting no attention, and awaken- 
 ing no interest, they are instantly forgotten. But while it 
 is a general law that we remember only that to which we 
 attend and in which we take interest, there are exceptions 
 enough firmly to demonstrate the rule. Often some utterly 
 meaningless or isolated fact will obtrude itself with the ut- 
 most persistency, while some important fact escapes us. 
 
 A common form of expressing the fact just dwelt upon 
 is, that the revivability of experience depends upon the 
 depth of the original impression, while the depth in turn 
 depends upon attention and interest. The impression is 
 said to be further deepened by repetition, and especially 
 by frequency of impression. This form of speech arises 
 from a desire to picture the process, and often leads to a 
 false appearance of insight. We know simply that a defi- 
 nite form of mental activity may be reproduced ; and that 
 this possibility increases with a variety of circumstances, 
 such as interest, attention, repetition, and especially fre- 
 quency of repetition. On the other hand, a long cessation 
 from a given form of activity makes its renewal increas- 
 ingly difficult. Thus, one may practically forget his native 
 language by long residence in foreign lands ; yet even here 
 one retains something at least in an increased facility for 
 reacquiring it. 
 
 The possibility of reproduction varies with the nature of 
 the experience. Sensations and emotions can only be very 
 feebly recalled. In both cases we are greatly aided by lan- 
 guage. In the case of sensations we are aided by a nascent 
 aff'ection of the organism. In the case of the emotions we 
 either produce emotion by reproducing the circumstances, 
 or we remember that we had an emotion without being able 
 clearly to reproduce it except in name. It is only to these 
 elements that the distinction of vivid and faint states applies 
 
THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 275 
 
 as the mark of difference between present and remembered 
 experience. It is otherwise with the products of the un- 
 derstanding. Forms, thoughts, purposes, admit of being 
 completely recovered without any loss of their original 
 vividness. 
 
 Reproduction, whether as memory or as simple imagin- 
 ing power, varies very greatly with dil'ferent persons, and 
 often w^ith different senses or different forms of experience 
 of the same person. Many have a good memory of form, 
 others of color, others of names, others of ideas, etc. These 
 differences are largely matters of training, and to some ex- 
 tent result from original differences of constitution. These 
 differences, however, are probably less to be sought in the 
 reproductive faculty than in the original tastes and inter- 
 ests of the person, whereby the experience is first modified, 
 and thus direction is given to reproduction. Galton has 
 sought to treat the subject statistically, by issuing a series 
 of questions to which answers were obtained. The results 
 are given in his work, " Inquiries into Human Faculties." 
 In particular, he claims that the power of visual represen- 
 tation differs greatly, and that this power is generally weak 
 in men given to abstract thinking. But apart from the 
 original difference which inclines one to abstract thought, 
 the law of habit seems adequate to account for this fact. 
 
 Memory is commonly said to be the form of mental 
 action which is most dependent on physical conditions, 
 and the one in which mental failure first shows itself. 
 This is probably much exaggerated. A failure of memory 
 is easily discerned, and cannot be mistaken; while a failure 
 of judgment by no means manifests itself with equal clear- 
 ness and cxplicitness. Under the influence of the assump- 
 tion, also, all failures of memory with the old are referred 
 to old age, while the myriad cases of forgetfulness in all 
 ages are overlooked. Finally, if there be a greater appar- 
 ent failure of memory than of the judgment, it is possible 
 
276 PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 that this is due less to the failure of memory proper, than 
 to a growing lack of interest in the subjects forgotten. 
 
 The actual recall of objects is not secured by their sim- 
 ple revivability ; there must be, in addition, something in 
 present experience to suggest them. This fact has been 
 dwelt upon at length in treating of the mechanism of re- 
 production, and needs no further description here. The 
 fact itself, however, serves to explain a great many forms 
 of forgetfulness which often seem mysterious. A somnam- 
 bulist awakes and recalls nothing of his dream ; but when 
 the dream recurs, he may take up the activity of the pre- 
 vious dream as if he had full recollection of it. Or a 
 sick person may recover and forget all the events of his 
 illness, and on occasion of a second attack recall them. 
 Ordinary dreams, also, are generally promptly forgotten. 
 Such facts seem due to the fact that these events have no 
 associations with the normal daily life ; and hence there 
 is nothing in daily experience to suggest them. Hence, 
 though revivable, they remain unrevived. 
 
 Since memory, like all mental functions, is physically 
 conditioned, we should expect a general failure of memory 
 with the failure of the organism. Such a fact would have 
 in it nothing surprising. But there are various losses of 
 memory which are much more difficult to manage. The 
 progressive loss of memory in certain forms of aphasia ad- 
 mits of some psychological explanation; but other facts, 
 such as the fogetting of a single language, or certain classes 
 of subjects, remain utterly opaque on any theory. 
 
 In fantasy the reproductive activity is purely automatic. 
 It has no reference to an actual past, on the one hand, nor 
 to any mental aim, on the other. This activity is in inverse 
 ratio to the self-conscious and rational activity of the 
 soul. Hence it is at its highest when the will is relaxed, or 
 when reason is overturned. Dreams and revery exhibit the 
 purest forms of its action. Revery is commonly less gro- 
 
THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 277 
 
 tesque and impossible than dreams of the same sort, be- 
 cause there is more of rational direction in the former than 
 in the latter, and because the corrective mfiuence of the 
 external world is more prominent. 
 
 There is no need to add much about the imagination. 
 In its widest sense this is the power of representing absent 
 or unreal objects and events to ourselves without any ref- 
 erence to our own past. It differs, then, from memory, 
 in not producing the past as it was, in lacking the element 
 of recognition, and in having a certain creative character. 
 Various forms of imagination have been distinguished as 
 the mathematical, the artistic, the poetic, the scientific, and 
 the philosophical. These represent no distinctions of im- 
 agination however, but only differences of objects to which 
 imagination is directed. 
 
 The significance of imagination for the higher uses of the 
 intellect is obvious. It enables us in most cases to put our 
 problems clearly before us, and thus furnishes the psycho- 
 logical conditions of thinking. A chief condition of pene- 
 trative thought is that the data of the problem be distinctly 
 presented and steadily held before the mind. When this is 
 impossible, thought becomes utterly uncertain. It is like 
 the vision of a dizzy person, or the counting of one who can- 
 not remember from one number to another what the last 
 one was. But the ability thus sharply to present and re- 
 tain our objects depends, in most cases, upon the imaging 
 power ; and it is here that differences of mental power are 
 most manifest. The ability to reason profoundly depends 
 in many cases quite as much ui)on the imagination as upon 
 abstract logical penetration. In this sense imagination is 
 a pronounced element of mental strength, and a necessary 
 condition of greatness. Imagination as such is never a 
 mark of weakness, though it may become a source of weak- 
 ness when combined with a feeble judgment and a dreamy 
 character. Then we have the day-dreamer, pleasing him- 
 
278 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 self with fictitious objects, and losing sight of the world 
 of reality. Indeed, it is not imagination which makes the 
 daj-dreamer, but the fanciful content of his imaginings. 
 
 Imagination also underlies all invention and discovery, 
 and precedes all creative production. It is equally neces- 
 sary in the moral realm. It underlies all sympathy and all 
 formation of ideals. The ideal exists only in the imagina- 
 tion, and to sympathize with another we must put ourselves 
 in his place. Indeed, our life is largely spent in a world of 
 imagination. The actual present fact is of little interest. 
 Memories, expectations, goods to be gained, evils to be 
 shunned, — these constitute the staple of life, and are the 
 prolific source of its joys and woes. Out of it are the 
 issues of life and death. 
 
 In speaking of sensations, we pointed out that the mind 
 has a certain power over them. By directing its attention 
 in other directions, sights and sounds may fail to become 
 objects of knowledge. With some persons this power of 
 abstraction is very strong ; and they can carry on a train 
 of thought in the midst of confusion, such as the noise of 
 a street, or the practising of a musical student. "Without 
 this power to some extent a rational mental life is impos- 
 sible. The mind must be able to abstract itself from its 
 sensations, and direct its attention in any desired direction. 
 In speaking of perception, also, we found the power of self- 
 direction necessary to explain error without cancelling 
 truth. If the mind be throughout subject to its states, 
 instead of controlling them, then no trust in reason is 
 possible. The same need appears in studying reproduc- 
 tion. If the process were entirely removed from our con- 
 trol, the mind would be so stormed upon by the past that 
 it would have no leisure to attend to the present. We 
 occasionally meet with persons in whom the representative 
 activity is abnormally prominent ; and the result is always 
 mental disorder. This is especially the case in insanity. 
 
THE FORMS OF REPRODUCTION. 279 
 
 As the mind must be able to withdraw its attention from 
 the manifold impulses which at every moment come pour- 
 ing up from skin, eye, ear, muscles, and viscera, so it is 
 equally necessary that it be able to withdraw its attention 
 from the past and attend to tlie present. It must be able 
 to control the direction of reproduction, so as to bring it 
 into harmony with its present thoughts and plans. And 
 this within certain limits the mind can do. It can form 
 new associations and undo old ones, and, by directing its 
 present activity in a definite direction, exclude all those 
 functions which are incompatible with it. When this ele- 
 ment of volitional and rational direction is wanting in 
 memory, we have a chaotic reproduction of details with- 
 out order or selection, and with perpetual and wearying 
 digressions. 
 
 The tendency of experience is to give the mental nature 
 a fixed set, which, when once established, can only with 
 difficulty, if at all, be changed. Settled associations are 
 established, and the spontaneities of thought and feeling 
 flow in certain channels. Such a total mental cast repre- 
 sents the person's character, and it tends to fixedness or 
 permanence. 
 
280 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 
 
 In a previous chapter we have sought to show the ex- 
 istence of a specific tliouglit-activity distinct from any 
 function of the sensibility, and have dwelt upon some of its 
 leading norms of procedure. We have now to consider it 
 more in detail. 
 
 In the traditional doctrine thought is distinguished from 
 perception, or simple apprehension, as a later process. In 
 the former we know the concrete and particular ; in the 
 latter we reach the abstract and universal. Perceptive 
 knowledge, then, is of individual cases only ; thought 
 knowledge is through universals. It is already plain that 
 we differ from this view. For us there are two grand di- 
 visions of the purely intellectual life, (1.) the raw material 
 of the sensibility, and (2.) the process whereby this mate- 
 rial is worked over into the forms of the understanding. 
 Thought includes this entire process, and perception is only 
 the first stage of its activity. Indeed, we have seen that 
 perception in its completed form is second, and not first. 
 
 The thought-process presents two stages, the sponta- 
 neous or automatic, and the reflective and volitional. In 
 the former stage thought goes on by the psychological 
 necessity of our mental constitution ; in the latter, it be- 
 comes self-conscious and self-directing. In the former 
 stage the laws and categories of thought are implicitly 
 present as principles of our constitution ; in the latter, 
 they are explicit as formal rules of mental procedure. 
 
 This constitutional activity furnishes the basis of reflect- 
 ive thought. Whenever reflection begins, we find ourselves 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 281 
 
 already in possession of a mental world. We have just 
 seen that the world of things exists for us only as we con- 
 struct it in thought by bringing into sensation the catego- 
 ries of the intellect. Besides these, we find also a world 
 of ideas which lay no claim to substantive existence, but 
 which exist only through a highly complex mental activity. 
 These mental products, whether common nouns, adjectives, 
 or verbs, arc all universals, and can only arise through an 
 activity of classification. Moreover, we find this mental 
 store fixed for us in the forms of language. This work is 
 not the product of our volition, but the expression of our 
 constitution. In it we see the mind operating, not with 
 consciousness of its aims and governing principles, but 
 according to the necessity of its nature. 
 
 The universal form of knowledge is the judgment. 
 Knowledge cannot exist in isolated ideas, but only in the 
 union of ideas into judgments. But judgments are impos- 
 sible without the ideas united in them. I cannot say this 
 is red or green, without having already some idea of red 
 or green. A judgment of likeness or unlikeness is indeed 
 possible between any two experiences whatever ; but such 
 judgments would never get us beyond the individual cases, 
 and the mind would lose itself in hopeless confusion as 
 soon as experience became at all complex. Articulate 
 thought cannot go on until, in addition to the judgment of 
 likeness, the common element is abstracted from the par- 
 ticular cases and from their mdividual temporal and spatial 
 relations, and is set apart as a fixed unit of thought hav- 
 ing only logical relations. "When this is done, the complex 
 experience is reduced to unity, and thus to a portable 
 form. This unit of thought is a logical universal. It 
 has no temporal or spatial relations, but exists as a gen- 
 eral expression for all possible cases of its kind, and as a 
 standard for their classification. 
 
 But since the universal in some form and in some degree 
 
282 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 of development antedates reflective thought and is a neces- 
 sity of all thinking, we must reckon the tendency to ab- 
 stract, to generalize, to classify, as a part of our mental 
 constitution. When many experiences have a common 
 element, the mind tends by a certain psychological neces- 
 sity to fix attention upon that element, to abstract it from 
 its surroundings, to form it into a fixed unit of thought, 
 and finally to use it as a standard of classification. 
 
 A double condition, then, must be fulfilled : (1.) the 
 experiences themselves must admit of classification, and 
 (2.) there must be in the soul an inherent tendency to 
 pass from the particular to the universal. The first con- 
 dition, while necessary to thought, is not necessary in 
 thought. There is no contradiction in the notion that all 
 our experiences should have been as incommensurable as 
 the products of the several senses, say colors and sounds, 
 or odors and pressures. In that case a thought life would 
 have been impossible ; for the raw material of experience 
 would have been unadapted to our rational nature. The 
 inner structure of the world of sensibility, whereby it lends 
 itself to the operations of the understanding, is something 
 which thought does not make, but finds. 
 
 The second condition has been generally repudiated by 
 the associational school ; and the claim has been made 
 that by simple association like experiences must coalesce, 
 and differentiate themselves from unlike, and thus produce 
 general ideas. This claim overlooks the nature and func- 
 tion of the universal altogether. If the question wore 
 to determine the content of a given universal, something 
 might be said for the claim that it is reached by averaging 
 the particulars ; but the universal is something very differ- 
 ent from such an average or resultant. Tlie universal is 
 an abstraction from all particular cases, and is itself never 
 given in specific experience. The universal is not only 
 never given in reality, it is impossible in reality. The 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 283 
 
 particulars, on the other hand, do not coalesce to form the 
 universal, but are ranged under the universal. We have 
 also pointed out that association does not even provide for 
 the recognition of likeness, upon which classification de- 
 pends. The very utmost that association could do would 
 be the presentation of like experiences. The recognition 
 of this likeness, the abstraction of the common element, 
 the making of it into a fixed unit of thought, and its use as 
 a standard for further classification, — these are elements 
 for which association makes no provision, even in the case 
 of things which can be presented to the senses. This is so 
 patent as to be palpable in the case of the majority of ab- 
 stract and scientific conceptions, which, instead of coming 
 of themselves, are reached only through great labor. This 
 gathering of many objects under a single conception, which 
 is not itself one of the objects, but the representative of all 
 alike, is something added to any possible product of asso- 
 ciation. It can only be viewed as the outcome of a specific 
 tendency in the mind to pass from the particular to the 
 universal. 
 
 It is at this point that the possibility of language arises. 
 Language deals with universals as soon as it gets clear of 
 the interjectional stage; and interjections are not words, 
 but noises. Even the particular thing must have some 
 element of universality in it before it can become an object 
 of articulate thought or speech. When the classifying ten- 
 dency of the mind is lacking, there can be no rational 
 utterance, for there would be nothing to utter. For the 
 production of language several elements are needed. There 
 must be (1.) a plurality of experiences, (2.) an abstraction 
 of the common element of these experiences as a fixed unit 
 of thought, (3.) the creation of a name for this common 
 element, and (4.) an extension of this name to all the 
 individuals of the group possessing this element. 
 
 In classification the mind grasps a multitude of cases in 
 
284 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 a single conception, which stands for all alike. But objects 
 themselves are often complex, and must be reduced to 
 simplicity to prevent our losing ourselves in the mass of 
 details. The mind guards against this by fixing its atten- 
 tion upon some striking feature to the neglect of the others. 
 This serves to identify the thing ; and the other elements 
 are referred to only as occasion may require. It is this 
 form of abstraction which is especially prominent in the 
 formation of language. Things are named from their lead- 
 ing trait. Accordingly, when we get down to the roots of 
 a language, we find some abstract conception expressive of 
 a prominent quality of the thing in question. In lack of a 
 verbal sign, this abstract quality itself serves as the sym- 
 bol of the thing. In both the classifying and the symbol- 
 izing process, the mental aim is to master complexity by 
 reducing it to simplicity and unity. 
 
 The logical necessity of the several elements just men- 
 tioned is plain, except in the case of the vocal sign. The 
 others belong to thought itself ; the latter is something of 
 an arbitrary addition. Its teleological significance as a 
 condition of rational society is apparent ; but the inner 
 necessity by which it is reached is not clearly seen. If 
 it were not for the multiplicity of languages, one might be 
 tempted to think that there is some pre-established har- 
 mony between sound and sense ; but the facts clearly show 
 that the actual sounds are arbitrary, at least within the 
 easy compass of the vocal organs. We content ourselves 
 with pointing out the logical conditions of language, and 
 leave to others to guess at the physiological and psycho- 
 logical structure which leads to its realization. 
 
 If the view expounded be correct, language depends on 
 thought. Before the word, there must be the meaning. 
 Thought must establish its classes and its short-hand sym- 
 bols, or the vocal sign will be only a noise. This sign has 
 a double function, — the communication of thought, and 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 285 
 
 the registration of thought. The generation of thought 
 must be sought elsewhere. This order, however, lias often 
 been inverted, and thought has been made the ])roduct of 
 language. The truth in this notion is, that language as a 
 register of thought may very greatly abbreviate the work 
 of thought. Every word expresses the result of a process 
 of abstraction and generalization ; and we who inherit a 
 language find a vast amount of mental work done for us. 
 We have simply to understand the language, not to con- 
 struct it. The difference is at least as great as that be 
 tween understanding a demonstration and inventing one. 
 A very commonplace student can understand what only 
 Newton or Laplace could discover. 
 
 But language not only serves thought by storing up its 
 results and abbreviating its processes, it also often mis- 
 leads thought, and thus becomes responsible for much error. 
 Some of the chief blunders of speculation have been dis- 
 eases of language. Its vagueness and ambiguity, when ap- 
 plied to many facts, are sources of mistake ; but its chief 
 danger lies in the fact that it can be used without due re- 
 gard to the underlying thought. In this way phrases, 
 doctrines, and even philosophical systems, have been con- 
 structed, which have the most swelling sound but are empty 
 of the slightest substance. While, then, thought must al- 
 ways be indebted to language, it must at the same time 
 exercise critical supervision over it. 
 
 In studying the genesis of judgments, we may consider 
 either the logical or the psychological order. In the former 
 case we should decide that judgments of sensation a^re basal, 
 as the raw material is directly given, and we have only to 
 recognize the likeness or unlikencss which exists. Judg- 
 ments of time, space, and number would come next, and, 
 last of all, judgments of substance and causation. But 
 though this may be the logical order, it certainly is not the 
 psychological order. The central idea around which the 
 
286 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 mental life spontaneously grows is that of things. This is 
 the idea which supports all the rest, and to which, in one 
 form or another, all others attach themselves. Qualities 
 are qualities of things ; relations are relations of things ; 
 numbers are numbers of things ; activities are activities of 
 things. In spontaneous consciousness, judgments of sen- 
 sation are never actually made until there has been a con- 
 siderable practice in abstraction. Our first judgments are 
 not that we have sensations or perceive phenomena, but 
 that we perceive things. That a sense object is only a 
 phenomenon or bundle of qualities, is a proposition which 
 spontaneous thought cannot even understand. So little is 
 it true psychologically that things are built up out of per- 
 ceived qualities, that the converse is rather true, that quali- 
 ties as sucli are reached only through the analysis of things. 
 The changes in a sense aggregate first teach us that it has 
 separable qualities ; and it is only after the experience of 
 such change that we distinguish the thing from its quali- 
 ties. Until then it is all thing and no quality. In like 
 manner, the idea of causation arises only as the changes 
 and movements of things are discovered, and thus the no- 
 tion of activity is reached. The notion of number first 
 arises through the experience of similar things. Whenever 
 we first come upon the mind in its spontaneous working, 
 we find it dealing with things. The categories inherent in 
 our mental constitution give a form to experience, and pro- 
 duce original syntheses, before the mind itself becomes con- 
 scious of its own aims and the principles which govern it. 
 These syntheses are not the product of reflection, but the 
 outcome of our mental nature ; and when the psychologist 
 comes to study them, he cannot hope to come upon them in 
 the making, but only to find the mental principles on which 
 they depend. His work will consist in taking apart what 
 the mind has, by the necessity of its nature, joined together, 
 and not by any means in helping the mind to construct its 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 287 
 
 world of thoughts and things. This construction was at 
 once too complex in its nature and too important for prac- 
 tical life to be left to our devices ; and a law of our nature 
 does for us far better than we could do for ourselves. 
 
 But this question of psychological priority in the order 
 of judgments has no speculative interest. That which has 
 made it seem so important is the fancy that, if we could 
 only find the psychologically first, we should discover the 
 true original of intelligence, and might regard all later 
 manifestations as phases of that first element. This mis- 
 take has already been sufficiently dwelt upon. 
 
 Spontaneous thought gives us the world of things as it 
 exists for perception, and the world of thought as it exists 
 in language. It brings neither of these worlds, however, 
 to a point where all the demands of reflective thought are 
 met. Spontaneous thought remains on the surface of the 
 world of things, and its thought world is vague and in- 
 exact. When it comes to science, the classifications of 
 common sense often have to be abandoned altogether, as 
 being superficial or mistaken ; and its terminology is so 
 inadequate or misleading, that a new one has to be created 
 outright. In order, then, that knowledge shall be assured 
 and extended, it is necessary that reflective thought begin. 
 In this the mind seeks to become conscious of its own laws 
 and principles, to give an account of its processes and aims, 
 and to render our spontaneous conceptions and judgments 
 more clear and exact. The doing of this work is the espe- 
 cial function of logic. 
 
 The treatment of the judgment in formal logic is often 
 entirely false to its psychological character. Fundamen- 
 tally, a judgment is the establishment of a relation between 
 the content of two notions. This relation docs not exist 
 between the notions as mental acts, but only between their 
 logical content. But this relation does not admit of being 
 reduced to a single form. Judgments take place under all 
 
288 PSYCHOLOaY. 
 
 tho categories, and vary accordingly. We have judgments 
 of tilings, and judgments of their various relations of space, 
 time, number, quantity, dependence, likeness, and unlike- 
 ness, and, finally, judgments of the relations of these rela- 
 tions. Attributive judgments take place under the category 
 either of substance and property, or of subject and predi- 
 cate. Judgments of dependence depend on the category of 
 causation. Spatial judgments depend on space and its sub- 
 categories. Quantitative judgments depend on the category 
 of quantity in its various forms. In the attributive judg- 
 ment, the predicate P is declared to belong to or inhere 
 in the subject S. That is, whoever thinks S in its com- 
 pleteness must include P as a part of its content. In the 
 causal judgment, P is declared to be the effect of S. In 
 the quantitative judgment, P is put equal to or greater or 
 less than S. In the classificatory judgment, S is included 
 in the class P, or the mark P is affirmed of S. Each cat- 
 egory has its own type of judgment. 
 
 For various technical reasons, logic has not recognized 
 this fact, but has sought to reduce all judgments to a 
 single type. The traditional logic has regarded subsump- 
 tion as the essential form of the judgment. Subject and 
 predicate are class terms, and their only relation is that 
 of inclusion or exclusion. Accordingly, to say that snow 
 is white means that snow is included in the class of white 
 things. This meaning can indeed be derived from the 
 judgment ; for snow "vrould not be white if it were not 
 included in the class of white things. But at the same 
 time it is plain that psychologically such a rendering of 
 the judgment is false. Psychologically, the judgment is 
 one of predication, and not of inclusion ; and the meaning 
 is, that white is an attribute of snow. It would never occur 
 to any one but a logician to think first of a set of white 
 things, and then to identify snow with one of the set. 
 
 Indeed, so far from viewing subsumption as the essential 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 289 
 
 form of the judgment, we must rather regard it as an arti- 
 ficial type, whicli seldom or never occurs in spontaneous 
 thought. Even when both subject and predicate are nouns, 
 the attributive character of the judgment is still apparent. 
 Thus, Iron is a metal, means that iron has the properties 
 of a metal, and not that iron is included in the class of 
 metals. Or if we say that oaks are trees, we do not think 
 of the general class of trees and then put oaks in the class, 
 but we mean to attribute to the objects denoted by oaks 
 the properties signified by tree. Indeed, the attributive 
 judgment is the real foundation of the subsumptive one; 
 for how could things be subsumed under a class, if they 
 had not the attribute which the class mark implies ? The 
 logical reading may be allowed for convenience' sake, but 
 only so long as it does not pretend to be a true rendering 
 of the psychological fact, but confesses itself to be a logical 
 makeshift. 
 
 It is manifestly impossible to apply the principle of sub- 
 sumption to such judgments as that A is to the right of B ; 
 A is later than B ; A is longer than B ; A = B, etc. 
 The absurdity of the principle when applied to mathe- 
 matics has always been so evident, that some logicians 
 have sought to save it by denying that logic has any appli- 
 cation to mathematics. 
 
 Some modern innovators have thought to reduce the 
 relation of subject and predicate to that of identity. If 
 snow is white, of course snow must' be identical with some 
 white thing, namely, snow. If iron is a metal it must be 
 identical with some member of the class of metals, that is, 
 with iron. Hence, " Iron is a metal," can be read, "Iron = 
 iron-metal." Here, again, the grotesque reading may be 
 allowed if there be any gain in it ; but the psychological 
 distortion is even worse than in the preceding case. Both 
 views were constructed without reference to psychological 
 truth, but only to the exigencies of logical rules. 
 
 19 
 
290 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 But it is not our purpose to give any list of judgments 
 and their classes, but only to call attention (1.) to the 
 difference between the actual judgment of the mental life 
 and the artificial judgment of the logicians, and (2.) to the 
 fact that the categories are the principles under which judg- 
 ments take place. 
 
 In the judgment we first come upon the ideal distinctions 
 of truth and error. Many of our mental states represent 
 notliing beyond themselves. They are simply facts, and as 
 such are neither true nor false, but simply real. Again, 
 many connections of mental states are of the same sort. 
 They cohere by the force of association, but this coherence 
 is accidental and represents no truth. It is different with 
 the judgment. The relation of ideas in the judgment is 
 not merely a subjective fact in the individual consciousness, 
 but claims to represent an independent truth. 
 
 This claim presupposes an order existing independently 
 of individual volition and consciousness. This may be an 
 order of fact or an order of reason. In the order of fact 
 there are certain things in certain relations and with cer- 
 tain laws. In the order of reason there are certain ideas 
 which belong together, and others which are mutually re- 
 pugnant. Judgments are true which agree with this order ; 
 those are false which depart from it. In the true judgment 
 conceptions are joined which in the nature of things or in 
 the nature of reason belong together; in the false judgment 
 conceptions are joined which in the nature of things or in 
 the nature of reason should be kept apart. What that 
 order of fact and reason may imply, and what the nature of 
 its existence may be, we leave to metaphysics to inquire. 
 In actual experience we distinguish tlie order of fact from 
 the order of reason ; and our judgments have constant ref- 
 erence to one or the other. 
 
 It is this reference which underlies what we call convic- 
 tion, belief, assent, etc., and which gives the judgment its 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 291 
 
 objective character. On this point there has been a curi- 
 ous uncertainty among logicians. Some have insisted tliut 
 things are united in the judgment ; how otherwise could 
 the judgment have objective significance? Others, seeing 
 that things are not in the mind, and that the mind can 
 never get beyond its thoughts of things, have held that only 
 thoughts are united in the judgment. Neither view ex- 
 presses the fact. The judgment as a process is of course 
 subjective, and the elements of the judgment can never be 
 more than our conceptions ; but their union or separation 
 claims to represent an order of fact or reason which is 
 independent of the judgment itself. This constitutes the 
 objectivity and universality of the judgment, and expresses 
 our conviction. What happens in assent or dissent beyond 
 uniting or separating ideas, Mill declares to be a most intri- 
 cate problem. The surplus consists in the tacit reference 
 to a fixed order with which our thought agrees. 
 
 The judgment, then, is an attempt to reproduce in thought 
 some fact or synthesis of the universal order. We learn 
 what these facts and syntheses are, from three leading 
 sources, — experience, inference, and insight, or intuition. 
 
 Concerning the first two there is no dispute. Experience 
 and inference from experience are by universal consent the 
 only source of knowledge of the world of fact except so far 
 as the latter falls into the necessary forms of intelligence. 
 Concerning the world of reason there is debate. One school 
 holds that in this world there are universal truths, which 
 the mind discerns by its own insight and takes on its own 
 warrant. They are not held because the mind has found 
 them to be true in experience, but because it perceives 
 them to be necessarily true. Another school holds that 
 the only warrant for believing anything to be true is that 
 we have found it true in experience. Apart from this, the 
 mind has no standard of true or false, possible or impos- 
 sible ; in particular, it is utterly unable out of itself to dis- 
 
292 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 cern any truth whatever. A famous formula for this 
 doctrine is, that, for all we can sav, two and two may 
 make five in some other planet. This is the philosophi- 
 cal aspect of the debate between the rational and the 
 sensational school of philosophy, to which we referred in 
 a previous cha])ter. 
 
 In inference a relation is established between the subject 
 and predicate of the conclusion, generally by means of their 
 relation to some other notion or notions. If two things 
 agree with a third thing in the same respect, they agree 
 with each other in that respect. If one agrees and the 
 other disagrees, they disagree with each other. The impor- 
 tant thing is to establish a relation between the subject and 
 predicate of the conclusion. This may be done by compar- 
 ing them with one thing or with many ; in either case the 
 conclusion is valid. The so-called fallacy of four terms in 
 logic does not consist in the fact that the terms are four, 
 but entirely in the fact that the premises establish no rela- 
 tion between the subject and predicate of the conclusion. 
 
 Actual inference does not proceed according to any one 
 method. Sometimes a thing is subsumed under a class, 
 and then the marks of the class are affirmed of the thing. 
 This is the method of subsumption, and has been falsely 
 assumed to be the only method. 
 
 But quite as often we proceed by the method of substitu- 
 tion. That which is true of a given thing is true of all 
 equivalent things in so far as equivalent. We may, then, 
 for the given thing substitute any equivalent thing and 
 draw the appropriate conclusion. 
 
 By using a little violence, we might make the latter 
 method include the former ; but this would only gratify the 
 logical lust for unity, and would in no way remove the fact 
 that the mind actually follows both. Many forms of in- 
 ference do not rest upon logical analysis, but on a direct 
 intuition of the relations specified in the premises. Thus, 
 

 THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 293 
 
 A is earlier than ^, and B is earlier than C ; hence ^4 is 
 earlier than C; — or A is to the right of B, and B is to the 
 right of C; hence A is to tlie right of C; — or A is larger 
 than B, and B is larger than C; hence A is larger than 
 C. Without the intuitions of space, time, and quantity, 
 these premises would be impossible ; and the inferences arc 
 reached through intuition of the relations affirmed in the 
 premises. We do not analyze the terms, but construct the 
 relations and see the conclusion. But we must leave to 
 logic to develop the various forms of inference. 
 
 We have seen that the logical doctrine of the judgment is 
 highly artificial, and often docs violence to the psychologi- 
 cal fact. This charge is even more applicable to the logical 
 doctrine of inference. The traditional logic has held that 
 all reasoning is upon class terms, and has had to resort to 
 unspeakable distortions to provide for quantitative and sub- 
 stitutional reasoning. Language, again, admits of the in- 
 version of subject and predicate ; and this fact has been 
 made the basis of an elaborate doctrine of mood and fig- 
 ure, as if the accident of language were the foundation of 
 thought. Finally, under the influence of Aristotle, and 
 the fancy that all reasoning must be subsumptive, one of 
 these figures was decided to be the perfect figure ; and a 
 highly complex verbal mechanism was devised for reducing 
 all the moods of the imperfect figures to the perfect one. 
 The ingenuity was boundless, but the procedure was arti- 
 ficial, and the product absolutely worthless. There was no 
 pretence of psychological truth, or even of increased practi- 
 cal facility, but rather a barren study of verbal permutations, 
 in which, moreover, the real nerve of inference was for the 
 most part overlooked. In its latest form of symbolic logic 
 this tendency has reached its climax by becoming purely 
 mechanical. 
 
 We return now to the question whether there are any 
 truths of reason which are intuitively discerned. This 
 
294 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 question divides into two : (1.) Are there any universal 
 truths ? and (2.) How do we recognize them as such ? 
 These two questions are seldom separated ; and the doc- 
 trine of empiricism has always been vague and unsteady in 
 consequence. Many empiricists have held that there are 
 truths which are universally valid, but we reach them not 
 by direct insight, but by inference or abstraction from ex- 
 perience. This was the general view until the time of 
 Hume, and in some belated minds it survives still. Others 
 hold that we know nothing of universal truths, but only 
 of rules which are valid within the limits of experience, 
 with what has been naively called " a reasonable degree of 
 extension to adjacent cases." 
 
 The former view is forced to pass over into the latter. 
 For since the truth is not known by direct insight, it must 
 be derived in some way from experience ; and we have to 
 show how a particular experience can prove a universal 
 truth. But without the aid of some principle, no particu- 
 lar experience can carry us beyond itself ; and if that prin- 
 ciple itself is not self-evident, it also needs proof. Strict 
 proof, then, is impossible without some self-evident princi- 
 ples somewhere which the mind takes on its own warrant; 
 for in that case proof would never come to an end, and 
 nothing would be proved. Hence, either we must credit 
 the mind with a power of knowing some things on its own 
 account and warrant, or we must pass on to the second 
 phase of empiricism, and hold that we have no ground for 
 believing that any truth is strictly universal. 
 
 To empiricism in both forms mathematics has been a 
 perennial stumbling-block. We have here a great body of 
 apparent truth, which seems to be valid everywhere and 
 always, and which is not abstracted from experience or 
 proved by it. For mathematical truth there is no source 
 beyond the mind itself. The science is built upon the 
 basis of definitions, and the corresponding intuitions. To 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 295 
 
 see that a straight line is the shortest distance between 
 two points, we make no experiments, bnt construct the 
 problem in thought. Most of the conceptions dealt with, 
 also, liave no analogue in experience, but are generated by 
 the mind itself. Roots, logarithms, differentials, integrals, 
 are examples. The mind evolves such notions out of itself, 
 and deals with them by its own insight. And even in 
 cases where the quantities admit of representation, experi- 
 ence is still unable to deal with them because of their 
 vastness, or the fineness of perception and measurement 
 required. The products of large quantities, the properties 
 of curves, the ratio of the circumference of the circle to 
 its diameter, are examples. In all these cases the mind 
 works by methods of its own invention, and tests these 
 methods by its own insight. Proof and disproof are alike 
 impossible to any form of objective experience. Either, 
 then, we must allow that the mind is able to know some 
 things on its own account, or we must drag the whole 
 system of mathematics down into ruin, and say that, for 
 aught we know, two and two may make five in some other 
 planet. But why five rather than fifty, or five hundred, or 
 three, or nothing, would be hard to say ; or why in another 
 planet, and not in another street or another moment, or for 
 another person, would be equally hard to say. Indeed, it 
 would be difficult to give any reason why two and two 
 should not equal all these things at once, and at the same 
 time be unequal to all at once. The condition of absurdity 
 is the existence of a rational standard ; and when this 
 has been struck down, there is no longer anything irra- 
 tional or absurd. Hence, until the empiricists have either 
 overthrown mathematics, or shown the experience upon 
 which mathematical truths are based, it seems safe to 
 hold that the mind is able to know some things by its 
 own insight. 
 
 Facts which are immediately given in experience, and 
 
296 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 propositions which are either proved or directly seen to be 
 true, are elements of knowledge. Besides these, there is 
 a great realm of belief. This comprises all propositions 
 accepted as true whose denial would involve no contra- 
 diction of consciousness, and no violation of the laws of 
 thought. Most of what is practically important in life 
 lies in this realm. If our mental possessions should sud- 
 denly shrink to what we know, the residue would be 
 paltry and pitiable in the extreme. It is only by ventur- 
 ing beyond knowledge that a social, or even a mental, 
 existence becomes possible. 
 
 To this realm of belief belong trust in testimony, the 
 practical faith of man in man, our faith in the uniformity 
 of nature and the whole department of scientific and specu- 
 lative theory. This theory is throughout an attempt to 
 rationalize our experience, and rests upon assumptions 
 which while practically necessary are forever speculatively 
 underaonstrable. 
 
 In this realm we attain to practical, in distinction from 
 theoretical, certainty ; and for life and practice the former 
 is often as good as the latter, and perhaps even better. In 
 fact, the human mind is adjusted to easy belief ; so much 
 so, that the function of argument and criticism is less to 
 produce than to reduce belief. We generalize hastily ; we 
 take for granted that what has been will be ; and we de- 
 duce a law from a very scanty experience. This fact has 
 probably a teleological explanation; and in any case it is a 
 highly fortunate circumstance. It is the source of that 
 practical certainty which is necessary to our orderly mental 
 life. If man had to wait to reason out his way, he would 
 never get started, and if he should start would soon stop. 
 For beings with our feeble insight and practical necessities, 
 some other and shorter way was necessary ; and this was 
 provided by so adjusting our constitution that a system of 
 beliefs sliould spring up from our experience, not by way 
 
THE THOUGHT-PROCESS. 297 
 
 of strict logical inference, but by the psychological necessi- 
 ties of our nature. 
 
 Very many of our beliefs are of this kind. They do not 
 represent reasoned truths, but practical assumptions. They 
 do not express mental inferences, but rather the mental 
 nature itself, its tendencies, interests, the grade of its de- 
 velopment, etc. liclicfs of this kind arc not displaced by 
 being disproved ; indeed, they very rarely admit of either 
 proof or disproof ; they vanish only by changing the men- 
 tal soil. They spring naturally from one kind of mental 
 soil, and die out on another. As long as the conditions 
 are favorable, beliefs of this kind are held with a practical 
 certainty which surpasses logical demonstration. The psy- 
 chology of belief is highly complex, and has never been 
 adequately studied. 
 
 The same tendency which leads the mind to form classes 
 from individuals leads it also to classify these classes, thus 
 forming more and more comprehensive groups. It would 
 seem that in this way we must at last come down to a 
 single class, comprehending all others ; but this is true 
 only for limited fields of thought. In the organic world 
 we may pass from individuals through species and genera 
 to the most general conceptions of plant and animal ; and 
 these again may be united in the one notion of organic 
 existence. But when we take the mental life as a whole, 
 we come down to no such unity, but rather to a series of 
 conceptions which admit of no further reduction. Judg- 
 ments take place under the various categories of substance 
 and attribute, cause and effect, space, time, number, etc.; 
 and if we should classify all our mental objects, we should 
 find distinct and irreducible classes corresponding to the 
 categories. In this way the categories which exist prima- 
 rily as implicit laws of mental procedure emerge as distinct 
 and recognized conceptions. 
 
298 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 
 
 All but materialists distinguish between soul and body ; 
 and this fact gives rise to a special set of questions con- 
 cerning their mutual relations. We need to know, if pos- 
 sible, the laws according to which they affect each other, 
 and their significance for each other. This general prob- 
 lem we treat under the head of the interaction of soul and 
 body. By interaction we mean only that they affect each 
 other. Indeed, this is all that the union of soul and body 
 means in any case. It has become conventional with the 
 frivolous opponents of the spiritual view to ask for the 
 band which ties soul and body together. The band is 
 the fact of mutual influence. Other band there is none ; 
 and no other is needed. 
 
 The complete unlikeness of soul and body in sponta- 
 neous thought has led to a very general conviction that 
 this mutual affection is impossible ; and many theories 
 have been invented to escape it. Materialism and idealism 
 go around it by denying either the soul or the body. The 
 Cartesians invented their theory of occasionalism, accord- 
 ing to which physical and mental states do not cause each 
 other, but are the occasion upon which a cause above both 
 produces one or the other, according to circumstances. 
 Leibnitz further showed that the interaction of soul and 
 body is nothing especially difficult, but that all interaction 
 between any two things whatever is equally mysterious. 
 As his solution, he proposed the doctrine of the pre-estab- 
 lished harmony, according to which all things were so 
 adjusted to one another in the beginning that they run 
 
INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 299 
 
 together yet without any dynamic influence. The discus- 
 sion of these difficulties belongs to metaphysics. For our 
 purpose it is indifferent what view we adopt, as we only 
 aim to discover the law of their mutual changes. We will 
 only add, that the fancy that the interaction of soul and 
 body is a specially difficult problem rests upon the further 
 fancy that matter is a series of inert lumps which act only 
 by impact, — a whim which is absolutely groundless. The 
 presence of a spark determines oxygen and hydrogen to 
 unite ; the affection of a nerve determines the mind to feel. 
 One fact is just as mysterious as the other. 
 
 The first question we consider concerns the mutual space 
 relations of soul and body, or, as it is commonly called, 
 the seat of the soul. This question, of course, exists only 
 on the supposition that space is real ; and this reality 
 metaphysics finds reasons for doubting. Apart from this 
 scruple the following considerations are possible : 
 
 1. Misled by the apparent immediateness of sensation 
 in every part of the body, many have held that the sen- 
 sation is felt where it seems to be, and hence that the 
 soul is omnipresent in the body. But the simple fact that 
 there is no sensation unless there be continuous nerve 
 communication with the brain disposes of this view, or at 
 least of its apparent grounds. It is hardly credible that 
 the soul which is in the fingers, and feels in the fingers, is 
 still unable to feel until a nervous affection has been trans- 
 mitted to the brain. Hence there is a very general agree- 
 ment that the seat of the soul is in the brain. This belief, 
 together with the assumption that action can only take 
 place through contact, led the earlier anatomists to look 
 for some central point in the brain in which all the nerves, 
 sensory and motor alike, should have a common junction. 
 Such a point, it was assumed, would certainly be the seat 
 of the soul. The Cartesians fancied for a time that such a 
 point had been found in the pineal gland ; and this was 
 
300 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 called the seat of the soul in the Cartesian philosophy. In 
 fact, however, there is no such point of common junction 
 in the brain ; or we may say that there is no central 
 station to which all messages come and from which all 
 messages proceed. 
 
 2. Must we, then, think of the soul as omnipresent in 
 the brain, or as located at any or all of the nerve endings ? 
 This is purely a matter of taste. The statement that the 
 soul is in the brain means only that the soul is in direct 
 interaction with the brain. A change in the brain is at- 
 tended by a change in the soul, and, conversely, a change 
 in the soul may be attended by a change in the brain ; but 
 it is not necessary to think them in contact. Astronomy 
 finds no difficulty in the assumption that one atom can 
 immediately affect another, across the whole diameter of 
 the system, or that it can immediately affect all others at 
 the same time. If, then, the soul is really in space, it is 
 entirely possible that the interaction of the soul and body 
 should occur as it does, if the soul were in the third heaven 
 or elsewhere. There is further no need of finding some 
 one point in the brain with which alone the soul is in con- 
 tact ; but just as physics teaches that an atom may stand in 
 immediate relations to many others, so the soul may stand 
 in immediate relations to many elements in the brain, yet 
 without being in contact with any of them. Beyond the 
 fact that physical and mental states may mutually deter- 
 mine each other, the question as to the whereabouts of the 
 soul in the body is idle and empty. If it should turn 
 out that space itself is only a mode of appearance, and 
 not a fact of reality, of course the question would vanish 
 of itself. 
 
 3. What has just been said applies only to the conscious 
 activities of the soul. If we should assume, with some 
 writers, that the soul organizes and maintains the body, 
 there would be nothing to forbid the thouy-ht that in this 
 
INTEKACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 301 
 
 organic activity the soul is in direct interaction with all 
 parts of the nervous system, though aroused to conscious- 
 ness only by changes in the brain. 
 
 The use of the body by the soul is a question of far more 
 significance. It is very common to speak of the body as 
 the instrument of the soul ; and many figures of speech are 
 employed which are rather more definite than the facts 
 warrant. The soul is the harper, the body the harp ; the 
 soul is the boatman, the body the boat ; the soul is the 
 agent, the body the instrument. All these expressions 
 imply a more external relation than really exists ; and 
 they imply besides a knowledge which the soul does not 
 really possess. How does the soul come to use the body ? 
 and. How does it use the body ? are questions for special 
 discussion. 
 
 If we had been left to discover the use of the body for 
 ourselves, we should never have succeeded. We know 
 directly nothing of the various nerves and muscles, and 
 their uses. We know that we can use the body ; but we 
 know directly only the mental starting-point and the physi- 
 cal resultant. Of the mediating mechanism we know 
 directly nothing ; and we should be no better off if we 
 did, as we should be quite unable to make any use of 
 our knowledge. The wisest anatomist would find himself 
 utterly at a loss to control his body through its mechanism, 
 if he had to manage the mechanism directly. Indeed, so 
 complete is our ignorance of the motor mechanism that 
 we should probably never have even suspected that the 
 body is usable, if movements did not originate within it 
 apart from any purpose or control of ours. 
 
 Several classes of physical movements are to be distin- 
 guished. First and lowest are the reflex movements. 
 These may take place without our knowledge or volition ; 
 and all we can do in the case is to control them to a greater 
 or less extent. The system is able of itself to carry out 
 
302 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 certain movements necessary to life ; and it seems also 
 able, under the influence of internal and external stimuli, 
 to produce movements which have the appearance of in- 
 telligence and purpose. By the grouping of nerves and 
 muscles, co-ordinated movements are produced in response 
 to stimuli which are adapted to the development and con- 
 servation of the organism. Such are the movements of 
 young animals in sucking and swallowing. Such also are 
 the movements of coughing, sneezing, maintaining an up- 
 right position, avoiding a blow, recovering our balance, 
 etc. If we extend reflex action to include all motor reac- 
 tion against stimuli, without deciding whether the reacting 
 agent is the nervous system or the soul, we may probably 
 include all instinctive action under this head. 
 
 In the reflex movements the stimulus may be external 
 to the soul. Another set of physical effects have their 
 ground in an inner state of the soul itself. This is the 
 case with all expressions of emotion, such as crying or 
 laughing, and the various physical expressions of joyful or 
 sorrowful, tranquil or excited states of mind. These are 
 often so vehement as to produce profound disturbance of 
 the organic functions, and sometimes death itself. Here be- 
 longs also the whole language of expression through physi- 
 cal bearing and appearance. This order is no invention 
 of ours ; nor do we see the least reason for it other than a 
 teleological one. But the connection of soul and body is 
 such that a given state of mind tends to echo itself at once 
 in the body. The will can affect the counection only to 
 the slightest extent. In itself it is no product of human 
 volition or wisdom, but is rather a law of nature. 
 
 More important in our control of the body is the class of 
 movements which spring from our conceptions, especially 
 from our conceptions of the movements themselves and the 
 accompanying feelings. These also precede any distinct 
 volition. There is a tendency in our conceptions of con- 
 
INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 303 
 
 Crete activity to discharge themselves upon the motor 
 nerves. Tims in reading we detect a nascent excitation 
 of the vocal mechanism ; and many ignorant people can 
 hardly read at all without reading aloud. Again, when we 
 read a detailed description of a gymnastic performance 
 with which we are acquainted, we find each step accompa- 
 nied by a corresponding excitation of the motor apparatus. 
 An uncultured person in giving an account of anything goes 
 into the most extensive gesticulation corresponding to the 
 matter recited. That these results are not due to volition 
 is plain from the fact that they follow all the more surely 
 the more we lose ourselves in the object. The effect is 
 still more sure to follow when the conception is accom- 
 panied by some representation of the appropriate feeling. 
 This especially appears in our attempts to imitate some 
 movement requiring skill, or to produce a given facial 
 expression, etc. Here we know what we want to do with- 
 out knowing how to do it ; and not until we have done it 
 and distinguished the accompanying feelings are we able 
 to produce it at will. There has been a tendency with 
 many writers of physiological leanings to include all the 
 cases mentioned under reflex action. This is done by 
 extending reflex action to include all action which is not 
 voluntary. The result is merely a verbal identification of 
 different things, with much resulting confusion. Some go 
 still further in the same direction, and include voluntary 
 action under the same head ; and by the same device of 
 extending reflex action to new meanings. 
 
 We conclude, then, that we learn to control our bodies 
 in this way. First, the reflex mechanism makes us ac- 
 quainted with various movements and their accompanying 
 feelings. Second, the connection between soul and body 
 is such that our conceptions tend to realize themselves in 
 corresponding action. Third, when these feelings and con- 
 ceptions are produced in the mind, there is a tendency in 
 
304 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the organism to reproduce the corresponding movements. 
 This order exists apart from and before volition, and con- 
 stitutes the possibility of our control of the body. The 
 will modifies and employs this order, but does not originate 
 it. The function of the will is double in the case, inhibi- 
 tory and directive. In the first case we prevent movements 
 from taking place which would result if the nerves were 
 left to themselves. Such are the cases in which we submit 
 to pain, and repress outcry and movement. Self-control is 
 manifested largely in the form of repressive action. Our 
 directive agency consists entirely in producing in ourselves 
 the mental state with which by a mysterious order physical 
 effects are connected. Further than this our power does 
 not extend. The execution of our commands is taken up 
 by the organism quite independently of any further in- 
 fluence of the will. We sometimes fancy that we feel our 
 own power flowing over upon the body, or that we feel the 
 strain of our effort ; but all that we feel is certain muscular 
 sensations which result from muscular tension. Their use 
 is to guide us in regulating the intensity of our volition so 
 as not to ruin the organism, but in themselves they are 
 effects of our effort, and not the effort itself. Our will 
 reaches immediately only our mental states, and an inde- 
 pendent world-order provides for the rest. The distinction 
 between willing and fulfilling depends on this fact to a 
 great extent. 
 
 In the previous paragraph we have seen that the physical 
 mechanism plays an important part in the development of 
 the mind. We have now to point out that the mind plays 
 an equally important part in the development of the body. 
 While the body initiates the mind, the mind perfects the 
 body. Left to itself the soul never would learn to use the 
 body, but the body left to itself would never come to any 
 high development. The ease and accuracy with which 
 physical movements follow our mental states admit of in- 
 
IJ^TEliACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 305 
 
 definite increase, as the body itself becomes more sensitive 
 to commands. Tliis fact is the basis of all active physical 
 habit and of all acquired physical facility. In speaking, 
 writing, piano-playing, etc., wc see a host of complicated 
 movements, coincident and successive, in which the mental 
 representation scarcely exists in consciousness at all, so 
 ra\nd is the movement. This state of physical sensibility 
 is acquired only by practice ; but when reached, the work 
 proceeds without anything but the general guidance of the 
 will. There is a kind of wholesale willing which suffices 
 for the process. Such a state is the stored-up result of 
 past effort, and is due to the mind as well as to the body. 
 The latter is simply receptive and retentive ; the former 
 originates and guides. This possibility of training the body 
 to be the servant of the mind is of the utmost significance 
 for our mental life. Otherwise we should be ever learning 
 and never progressing, because of the perpetual need of 
 doing our first works over again. 
 
 Physical habits are of two kinds, habits which modify 
 the sensibility alone, and habits which refer to action. Ex- 
 amples of the former class arc the acquired appetites, such 
 as the craving for rum, tobacco, etc. The sensibility hav- 
 ing been stimulated in any abnormal way soon comes to 
 crave for renewed indulgence. Such habits are the indirect 
 products of the will through indolence. What is needed 
 for their production is no strenuous self-assertion and guid- 
 ance, but only self-surrender. This is what has always 
 made them seem unworthy and degrading. These habits 
 result in inclination or desire for gratification. 
 
 The active physical habits arise only through a positive 
 action of the will. No one passively acquires any active 
 habit ; but the self-determining mind must set itself a task, 
 and laboriously dedicate itself to its realization. These 
 habits do not result in any pronounced desire for gratifica- 
 tion, such as attends the purely sensitive habits. 
 
 20 
 
306 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The active physical habits also may be distinguished into 
 two classes, those in which the mental element diminishes 
 as the physical element increases, and those in which it 
 does not. In walking, or riding, or writing, for example, 
 the action is almost purely automatic when it has once be- 
 come familiar ; and the mind is released from any but the 
 most general control. In many cases of acquired skill, on 
 the other hand, as in music or drawing, there is greatly 
 increased facility, but the need of attention is as great as 
 ever. The two classes, however, admit of no very sharp 
 distinction except at their extremes. 
 
 How much further the influence of the mind upon the 
 body may go, is a question not easy to answer. Some re- 
 gard even reflex action as originally due to the will ; so 
 that the soul, instead of finding a reflex mechanism ready 
 made as a condition of its later activity, really constructs 
 that mechanism for itself. This conclusion is reached, 
 however, by extending will to cover all the activities of 
 the soul, the unconscious and automatic as well as the 
 voluntary. 
 
 This view expressed with more regard to the conventions 
 of language would be as follows. The ground of form or 
 organic structure must be sought somewhere, either in the 
 soul, or in the elements composing the organism, or in a 
 third something distinct from either. But the last view is 
 operose, and multiplies existences needlessly. The second 
 would lead to various grotesque assumptions concerning 
 tlie nature of the elements, and finally to a mystical hylo- 
 zoism. Declining these two views, we are shut up to the 
 first. On this view, the soul is an agent whose activities 
 are partly conscious and partly unconscious. As uncon- 
 scious, it constructs the body, and maintains its functions ; 
 as conscious, it appears as tiie mental self. The entire sub- 
 ject is in the profoundcst obscurity ; and any hypothesis we 
 may frame must be based on speculative considerations. 
 
INTEUACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 307 
 
 The cerebral localization of mental functions has been 
 much discussed. This doctrine is intelligible only as a 
 claim that the nervous activity which accompanies mental 
 action is limited to particular parts of the brain, according 
 to the kind of mental action. There is a certain antece- 
 dent probability in such a view. The optic nerve condi- 
 tions vision ; the auditory nerve conditions hearing, etc. 
 It seems, then, quite possible that certain forms of sensa- 
 tion are limited to certain nervous tracts. The subject, 
 however, remains in entire uncertainty. 
 
 The phrenologists have made us familiar with brain 
 charts and distributions of the mental powers; but the 
 purely fanciful character both of their physiology and of 
 their psychology has long been recognized. Their utter- 
 ances in general have been highly oracular, as a necessary 
 consequence of the pecuniary relations of the "science"; 
 and wiienever they have been unambiguous they have been 
 guesses, or groundless. 
 
 In physiology the claim has often been made, and by 
 many received, that distinct sensory and motor areas exist 
 in the brain ; but the facts of vicarious action seem to show 
 that this, so far as true, is a kind of acquired division of 
 labor, rather than any absolute and original localization. 
 For a long while the organ of language was regarded as 
 certainly located ; but not even this fact can be regarded as 
 certainly established. Various attempts liave also been 
 made to estimate the mental value of the brain by its bulk 
 or weight, both absolute and relative ; but they have led to 
 nothing. A manifest short-coming of these attempts was 
 that they sought to measure only the quantity of brain, and 
 ignored its quality. 
 
 For the significance of our mental states, in both physi- 
 cal health and disease, various works on pathology may be 
 consulted. In general, the emotions have most influence 
 upon our physical well-being. 
 
308 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The facts of the previous paragraphs contain some ac- 
 count of the nervous waste which accompanies mental 
 action of whatever sort. In much of our mental work 
 there is a deal of physical labor directly involved, as in 
 reading or speaking. The organism must be adjusted to 
 the demands made upon it, and these are often great. 
 Again, in much of our mental activity there is a continuous 
 demand made upon some of the organs of sense. There is 
 nothing strange in the nervous waste arising from such 
 labor ; for the organism is distinctly brought iiito play. 
 But apart from these cases there is a waste attendant upon 
 thinking in general, without any reference to the senses 
 whatever. The abstract reflections of the philosopher and 
 the unpicturable thinking of the theologian involve nervous 
 waste, although the objects dealt with are entirely super- 
 sensible. Can we account for this in any way, or must we 
 simply accept it as a fact ? 
 
 Many have claimed, because of these facts, that our 
 thoughts are but the transformation of the nervous energy 
 consumed. This claim rests upon a total misunderstand- 
 ing of the general doctrine of energy in physics. The com- 
 mon fancy is that energy is an ethereal something, gliding 
 from one thing to another, and assuming various forms in 
 the passage. This is sheer mythology. Energy must al- 
 ways be the energy of something, and cannot exist in the 
 void without a subject. In the physical theory, the ele- 
 ments are the subjects of the physical energies. But these 
 are in such relations to one another that a given element, 
 a, may arouse energy in another element, 5, at the cost of 
 its own. This is the transference of energy ; and, as in 
 the case of the transference of motion, there is no proper 
 transference, but a propagation. 
 
 Again, in this propagation the new state produced may 
 be qualitatively unlike the antecedent. The antecedent, 
 electricity, may have for consequent heat, light, motor 
 
INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 3UU 
 
 power, etc. This qualitative change is the transformation 
 of energy, and consists simply in the qualitative unlike- 
 ness of antecedent and consequent. 
 
 If the antecedents and consequents be measured by some 
 dynamic standard, they arc found to be dynamically equiv- 
 alent in spite of their qualitative differences. This is the 
 conservation of energy. 
 
 How far this is from the rhetorical whim of a Protean 
 energy passing from thing to thing and from form to form 
 is evident. Except in a figurative sense, there is no trans- 
 ference and no transformation. If then the brain should 
 expend energy in arousing the mind to activity, there would 
 be no passage of physical energy into mental energy, but 
 an expenditure of the former in inciting the mind, to de- 
 velop the latter. Whether such expenditure occurs cannot, 
 of course, be known. It may be that thinking costs the 
 brain something ; and it may be that each nervous ante- 
 cedent is fully accounted for in its nervous consequent. A 
 decision can be reached only on speculative grounds, and 
 then can have only some slight measure of probability. 
 
 The share of the brain in thinking may be conceived as 
 follows. The interaction between mind and brain is mutual. 
 A given nervous state tends to produce a specific sensation, 
 and, conversely, the thought of that sensation tends to re- 
 produce the corresponding physical state. This is seen in 
 its most striking form in the sensations which arise from 
 expectation or belief. In such cases the nervous system is 
 so strongly affected that the sensation is really produced. 
 So also, in the remembrance of an odor, a color, or a 
 flavor, a nascent excitation of the appropriate nerves is 
 perceptible. A familiar example is the so-called water- 
 ing of the mouth at thought of some savory dish. In the 
 representation of form, also, something of the kind is prob- 
 able in the visual tract. Hallucinations, resulting in the 
 vision of unrealities, reveal such a tendency. The same 
 
310 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 fact in the case of language has already been referred to ; 
 and, as all thinking largely proceeds by means of words, 
 we see a measure of physical activity even in abstract 
 thought. Certain forms of memory seem even conditioned 
 by this physical participation ; for example, it appears im- 
 possible to recall a piece of music faster than we can hum 
 it. Finally, thought is very often attended by emotion ; 
 and this too has its physical effects, which in general are 
 more marked than any others. Thus we see that any men- 
 tal state whatever implies nervous action in one form or 
 another, and hence nervous waste. Indeed, this mutual 
 sympathy of soul and body is not even strange, if we assume 
 that the body itself is maintained only through the organ- 
 izing activity of the soul. 
 
 This subject is often confused by speaking of nervous 
 exhaustion, instead of nervous waste. The exhaustion felt 
 is our own, and whether it is due to tlie nervous waste or 
 to our own effort is not clear. From continued action, the 
 nervous system becomes less responsive to mental de- 
 mauds ; and it may be that this state of the nerves is the 
 ground of our feeling of exliaustion. But it is equally pos- 
 sible that pure mental functions are periodic, so that con- 
 tinued effort and attention must be followed by rest and 
 relaxation. And even allowing that the nerves are the 
 ground of our exhaustion, they may be such only indirectly ; 
 namely, by opposing increasing inertia to mental activity, 
 and thereby demanding intenser effort on our part, and also 
 by producing a great variety of uneasy feelings, which dis- 
 tract our attention and thus hinder mental progress. In 
 that case the exhaustion would still arise within the mind 
 itself from its relation to its own activities. It may be, 
 then, that the exhaustion arises entirely from the mental 
 effort ; and that this would arise from the same amount of 
 effort if the nerves showed no waste, or even if tlie body 
 were entirely away. 
 
INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 311 
 
 The significance of the body for the mental life admits 
 of no precise definition. For the materialist, of course, the 
 body is the only ground and source of the mental life. But 
 even for the spiritualist, the body must have such signifi- 
 cance as to suggest the question whether the mind is not 
 really dependent on the body in the performance of its own 
 functions, so that the disappearance of the body would 
 mean the cessation of the mental functions. As a matter 
 of fact, we do find mental disease, in its two great forms of 
 idiocy and insanity, connected with some abnormal physical 
 conditions. We find physical conditions also leading to a 
 general weakening of memory and of the rational power, 
 and often to utter unconsciousness. Here, then, is a great 
 body of facts which suggest that the mental life cannot go 
 on without the physical. Can any light be thrown on this 
 question ? 
 
 In dealing with the problem we must first look for some 
 undoubted facts, in the hope that from them we may find 
 our way to the understanding of the rest. Now, the first 
 fact of this sort is, that the body is the instrument whereby 
 the soul gets all its impressions of the outer world. It is 
 further clear, from what we have seen in treating of percep- 
 tion, that, to have an orderly mental life, these impressions 
 must constitute an orderly series or system of series. If 
 they are disorderly or incoherent, the soul has no manage- 
 able material to work upon ; and the rational nature fails 
 to develop. The result is idiocy, varying in depth with the 
 physical imperfection from which it springs. 
 
 Or we may suppose this disorder to begin after the ra- 
 tional life has been developed into coherent forms, and sen- 
 sations have become the signs of certain objects. If now 
 the disorder result in producing sensations without the 
 presence of their appropriate objects, there will be a series 
 of hallucinations. If these sensations be of a strange and 
 distressing nature, there will be a vision of correspondingly 
 
312 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 frightful objects. The known laws of association working 
 upon the sense data would not fail to present manifold un- 
 canny or terrific objects to the mind. These objects, again, 
 by the same laws and by the automatic connection of men- 
 tal states with the motor system, would not fail to call forth 
 corresponding action. The result would be delirium Or 
 insanity. In this case the mental action would be normal 
 or rational under the assumed circumstances. The fault 
 would be in the sense data, and to correct them would dis- 
 charge the insanity. 
 
 We know that a long-continued strain of mind often 
 malces it impossible for us to banish our objects. They 
 haunt us to weariness and because of weariness. Such a 
 fact is explained by an overwrought state of the nerves, 
 whereby they fail to return to their equilibrium of indiffer- 
 ence. If, now, parts of the nervous tract should become 
 permanently excited in this way, but to a still greater 
 degree, we should have a tendency of certain forms of 
 experience to take and maintain possession of conscious- 
 ness ; and these, working together with the past experience 
 of the individual, would produce " fixed ideas " of one kind 
 or another. Here an unmanageable experience is thrust 
 upon the mind from without, the limits of self-control are 
 transcended, and insanity of a certain type sets in. 
 
 A certain amount of fixity in the elements of experience 
 is necessary to rationality. Without it there can be no 
 discrimination, comparison, or judgment. Illustration is 
 found in the rapid passage of objects across the field of 
 vision. When the rapidity is too great, the mind fails to 
 identify or retain anything. The same thing is seen in the 
 wild fliglit of ideas in delirium. Nothing is fixed or stable 
 enough to allow the mind to grasp its objects in rational 
 comprehension. If, now, the nervous system should ac- 
 quire abnormal mobility of its parts, so that the pliysical 
 changes which are attended by mental states should sue- 
 
INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 313 
 
 ceed one another with great rajiidity, something of the 
 same kind must hai)pen. Rational reflection would be 
 impeded, if not imi»ossible ; aiid the tendency would be 
 toward obliteration of rationality altogether. 
 
 Mental work is greatly aided by i)hysical helps in many 
 ways. Compare, for example, the labor of solving a geo- 
 metrical problem, or of multiplying a long list of figures, 
 in the mind, with that of doing the same work when the 
 diagrams are drawn or the figures written down. The 
 physical symbol helps the mind to keep the problem stead- 
 ily before it, and leaves it free for purely rational effort. 
 Such facts prove that there are nervous states which can 
 greatly assist the mind in some of its operations. But the 
 facts of the two preceding paragraphs make it very proba- 
 ble that something of the same kind exists in all thinking, 
 because of the connection of thought with language and 
 with physical images. If this be so, then any disturbance 
 of the brain whereby it should affect the mind only in a 
 coarse and gross manner, or whereby it should become less 
 sensitive to mental states, would impede rational activity 
 as much as it would emljarrass a mathematician to take his 
 pencil and paper away from him. More than this, it would 
 tend to repress rational activity ; for so long as the mind 
 is subject to such an order of interaction with the body, a 
 disturbance in either member must reflect itself in the 
 other. If, in addition, this state of the nerves should be 
 the ground of various vague and disturbing states of con- 
 sciousness, which should liaunt the mind and distract atten- 
 tion, the higher forms of mental action must be profoundly 
 disturbed. "We have constant illustration of such disturb- 
 ance in the inability to think, to fix the attention, and to 
 store up facts for recollection, which attends tlie weariness 
 of every day and ends in unconsciousness every night. 
 
 The integrity of mental action is very much affected by 
 our general state of physical feeling. Great changes in 
 
314 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 this feeling, so that we are haunted or stormed upon by 
 queer and uninterpretable sensations, are sure to result in 
 mental hallucination, unless there is a well-knit scientific 
 habit of thought which prevents our giving way to the illu- 
 sions which would otherwise arise. It is out of such queer 
 and abnormal feelings that the delusions of the hypochon- 
 driac, etc. arise. 
 
 Again, the interaction of soul and body extends, in all 
 probability, far beyond consciousness. If we allow the 
 soul any formative influence upon the body, we admit an 
 organic interaction which is not conscious. Yet the inter- 
 action upon which consciousness depends can hardly be a 
 separate and unrelated one, but must rather be a particu- 
 lar phase of the other. In that case an abnormal state of 
 the organism must form an impediment to the normal ac- 
 tivity of the soul in its organic manifestation ; and because 
 of the unity of the soul, such disturbance of its activity in 
 one realm could hardly fail to have significance for its total 
 activity. 
 
 These considerations show that, while the soul is con- 
 nected with the body, the condition of the body must have 
 the profoundest significance for the mental life. We be- 
 lieve, also, that they explain in principle all the mental 
 disturbances and aberrations which arise from physical 
 conditions. We say " in principle," because there is no 
 theory which enables us to explain each fact in detail. 
 The most thorough-going materialism is as unable to ex- 
 plain the detailed facts of our mental dependence on physi- 
 cal conditions — for example, peculiar loss of memory — as 
 any other theory. But the same inability to follow our 
 principles into details meets us everywhere, even in the 
 laws of mechanics. We may be perfectly sure that the 
 simple laws of force and motion determine every move- 
 ment in the physical universe ; and yet we cannot trace 
 them except in the simplest instances. 
 
INTERACTION OF SOUL AND BODY. 315 
 
 We return now to the question with which we started. 
 Can the mental life go on apart from the body? Taken l)y 
 themselves, the facts admit of a threefold interpretation. 
 We may regard the body (1.) as producing mental func- 
 tions, (2.) as necessary to mental functions, and (3.) as 
 interfering with and repressing mental functions which it 
 does not produce, and to which it is not necessary. The 
 first interpretation is excluded by the untenability of ma- 
 terialism. Between the other two, we must observe that 
 the facts are all negative. They do not show us the body 
 as necessary to the performance of mental functions, but 
 as interfering with mental functions. We have also seen 
 that the existing connection between physical and mental 
 states is purely a factual one. Neither is seen to imply the 
 other; and, so far as we can see, they could exist equally 
 well apart. When once a mental life has begun, and a 
 store of ideas has been accumulated, it seems quite possible 
 that a self-enclosed thought life might continue thereafter 
 in entire independence of any organism. No necessity for 
 an organism appears, except for communication with the 
 outer world. Without it, the soul would be restricted to 
 itself, having no experience of the world beyond, and no 
 power to act upon or in that world. In fact, all that is 
 needed here is a system of interaction with externality, 
 whereby the soul may receive impulses from without, and 
 may produce effects beyond itself. On the idealistic theory, 
 that is all that even the present organism amounts to. 
 
 The abstract possibility of our existing apart from the 
 body admits of no disi)ute ; but this is far enough from 
 proving that we shall so exist. Yet the fact that the soul 
 cannot be identified with the body shows that the destruc- 
 tion of the body contains no assignable ground for the de- 
 struction of the soul. The indestructibility of substance, 
 also, upon which })hysics is based, would suggest that every 
 real thing must be assumed to continue in existence until 
 
316 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 its aimihilation has been proved. If, then, this subject is 
 to be argued upon the basis of our customary ideas, the 
 burden of proof would lie altogetlier upon the believer in 
 annihilation ; for the soul is real, and must be assumed to 
 exist until its destruction has been shown. Of course, such 
 a showing is impossible ; and hence the presumption must 
 remain in favor of continued existence.' 
 
 To this it is urged in objection, that such a claim would 
 imply the continued existence of brute souls ; and that this 
 would be absurd. In fact, the absurdity lies altogether in 
 the unfamiliarity of the notion. That many forms of ani- 
 mal life should exist at all is as great an absurdity as 
 could well be conceived. That they should continue to 
 exist would be no greater one. The question, Of what use 
 would they be hereafter ? is offset by the equally unanswer- 
 able one, Of what use are they here ? We need not reflect 
 long to see that our artificial and anthropomorphic notions 
 of the fit and the unfit cannot well be applied to cosmic 
 problems. 
 
 In fact, however, none of our customary ideas will help 
 us in this matter. Metaphysics convinces us that the entire 
 system of finite things has its ground of existence, not in 
 itself, but in one Infinite Being, who is the fundamental 
 reality in all existence. No finite thing, then, has any in- 
 alienable right to exist by virtue of it .5 title of substance, 
 or from any other metaphysical ground whatever. Every 
 finite thing, whether material or spiritual, begins to exist 
 because the nature or plan of the Infinite calls for it. If 
 that nature or that plan should no longer demand its exist- 
 ence, then that thing would cease to be. We can only lay 
 down, then, this formal principle : Those things that have 
 perennial significance for the universe will abide ; those 
 which have only temporary significance will pass away. 
 But this princii)lc admits of no specific conclusions on our 
 part. We cannot tell what the plan of the Infinite may 
 
INTKUACTION UF 8UUL AND BODY. '611 
 
 include and what it may exclude. It already includes so 
 much that we should have rejected, that we can hardly 
 help concluding that the data of the problem lie beyond our 
 grasp. The only thing to which we can attribute an abso^ 
 lute worth is moral goodness, or the moral personality ; 
 but this is a consideration drawn from the moral nature, 
 and not from metaphysical speculation. In short, if the 
 moral nature demands continued existence, or if any word 
 of revelation affirms it, there is no fact or argument against 
 it. On the other hand, apart from the moral nature and 
 revelation, i)ure speculation must occupy a somewhat agnos- 
 tic attitude upon this question. 
 
 It will be seen that viewing this question from the stand- 
 point of values, instead of metaphysics, removes the embar- 
 rassments involved in the immortality of brutes. Whoever 
 urges their immortality must show some absolute value in 
 their existence which demands it. The simple fact that all 
 have souls would by no means imply an essential likeness 
 of nature. Souls are souls, no doubt ; and so are metals 
 metals. And just as belonging to the one class of metals 
 does not exclude incommensurable differences among the 
 members of the class, so belonging to the general class of 
 souls would not exclude classes of souls which should be 
 on different planes and have impassable gulfs between 
 them. As the coefficient of elasticity is different with 
 different substances according to their specific nature, so 
 the coefficient of mentality may have different values for 
 different souls. 
 
 As a matter of fact, this coefficient varies greatly even 
 within the limits of the human species. There are many 
 differences of temperament, talent, taste, and disposition, 
 which are not due to training, but belong to the personal 
 constitution. In addition to being a specimen of humanity, 
 each one has his personal equation, whereby he is rendered 
 an irreducible individuality. Of the foundation of these 
 
318 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 differences nothing is known. Differences of temperament 
 are commonly referred to some physical ground ; but what 
 it is is a matter of surmise. The attempt to refer all men- 
 tal differences to a physical source, apart from the fact 
 that nothing is known of that source, rests upon the highly 
 improbable fancy that all souls are strictly alike. Why 
 the spiritual world should be one dead uniformity or mo- 
 notony, is not entirely apparent. In truth, we are misled 
 in such attempts by a mistaken ideal of explanation ; and 
 as a result, we go through the forms, or make the motions, 
 of explanation, and forget to inquire whether we are really 
 getting ahead. 
 
SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MENTAL PHENOMENA. 319 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MENTAL PHENOMENA. 
 
 If "we take the conscious activities of our normal wak- 
 ing moments as a standard of reference, experience shows 
 many departures therefrom. The most familiar of these 
 is normal sleep. 
 
 The causes of sleep are not fully understood. At first 
 sight, physical exhaustion seems to be the evident cause ; 
 but this is not the only factor ; for there can be great wea- 
 riness without sleep, and sleep can be produced without 
 ■weariness. Being too tired to sleep is a familiar experi- 
 ence ; and, on the other hand, sleep is often produced by an 
 easy physical position, a monotony of idea, or simple men- 
 tal emptiness. A case is recorded of a lad whose senses 
 were limited to a single eye and ear, and who could be put 
 to sleep simply by closing the eye and stopping the ear. 
 A variety of gentle manipulations, also, such as strok- 
 ing, combing the hair, and the like, have a marked sopo- 
 rific effect. The effect of ennui is well known. In various 
 forms of mesmeric experiments, also, the same fact is seen. 
 Certain rhythmic movements of the body, as rocking or 
 swinging, are also soporific. Finally, the action of anses- 
 thetics in producing sleep is noteworthy. None of these 
 cases can be brought under the head of exhaustion ; and 
 except in the last case none of them can be shown to 
 produce any chemical products to which sleep might be re- 
 ferred. Further, the suddenness with which in many cases 
 sleep may follow upon the most complete mental activity 
 forbids any thought of a gradual exhaustion of nervous 
 force. Many persons are at their best at night. In short, 
 
320 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 the immediate cause of sleep is not known. If w© refer it 
 to a periodicity of either physical or mental functions, we 
 merely construct a phrase ; and if we insist that it has 
 physical grounds, we cannot tell what they are, nor how 
 they are connected with the effect. 
 
 If we measure the depth of sleep by the amount of 
 stimulus needed to awaken the sleeper, we may say that 
 this depth is a varying quantity. In general, it is deepest 
 directly after going to sleep. The amplitude of the sleep- 
 curve reaches a maximum from which it soon declines, and 
 remains nearly constant until waking. The depth varies 
 greatly with different persons, some being light sleepers 
 and others sound sleepers. It also varies with the same 
 person according to his habit or state of mind. When 
 we have something on our mind, or when we are to rise 
 at an unusually early hour, sleep is often fitful and dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 The depth of sleep is variable in another respect, in that 
 stimuli of the sensory nerves may work upon the mind and 
 produce their appropriate sensations. The reaction of the 
 mind upon these may take the form of simple association 
 of the impressions, or of a rational interpretation of them. 
 Questions may be answered, and even various activities 
 originated in connection with them, yet without leaving 
 any abiding impression upon the memory of the sleeper. 
 
 Out of this fact comes the explanation of the fantastic 
 character of dreams. The power which is pre-eminently 
 in abeyance in sleep is that of rational attention and self- 
 control, upon which the higher forms of consciousness 
 depend. The result is that any disturbing sensation that 
 may arise has the mind to itself. It is not confronted by 
 the realities of visual experience ; it is not compared with 
 the system of waking experience ; it does not pass under 
 the scrutiny of the judgment ; and hence its nonsense or 
 absurdity remains unperceived. The laws of association 
 
SLEEP AND ABNUK.MAL MENIAL I'llEXOMEXA. 321 
 
 are left free to work it over by any hap-hazard coiuicction 
 of experience, or to give it any whimsical form whatever. 
 In our waking moments, when we allow the laws of asso- 
 ciation similar play, we have similar disconnected and wild 
 \ao:aries ; and if we took them for real as we do in dreams, 
 we should have essentially the dreaming state. In the lat- 
 ter, our objects are seldom compared with reality or with 
 past experience ; and all measures of time, of rationality, 
 and of possibility are lacking. Hence we are rarely sur- 
 prised at anything in dreams, but view the most extraordi- 
 nary event as a matter of course. This failure to estimate 
 the true significance of action and experience in dreams 
 often results in the greatest emotional indifference to the 
 most shocking deeds. But for this quiescence of the judg- 
 ment, sleep might become a perpetual nightmare. 
 
 The dream consciousness is often originated by actual 
 sensations, which are then worked over into some grotesque 
 but correspondent form. These sensations may be pe- 
 ripherally or centrally initiated. Many experiments have 
 been made to test the effect of special sensations in ini- 
 tiating or determining dreams, and the results are some- 
 times striking. Actual sensations, when not the source of 
 the dream consciousness, often modify it. Along with the 
 dream goes a vague consciousness of the body and its 
 actual condition, and this becomes a factor of the dream 
 itself. This is probably the reason why we sometimes 
 dream of being in undress in public. 
 
 The peculiar sense of failure in most dreams which re- 
 late to j)hysical activities seems due to the fact that the 
 appropriate senses fail to be deceived. Thus, it is pecu- 
 liarly difficult for many to persuade a gun to go off in a 
 dream. This apparently results from the unwillingness of 
 the ear to lend itself to the deception ; and the noise being 
 lacking, there is a sense of failure which explains itself as 
 a missing fire on the part of the gun. 
 
 21 
 
322 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Dream activity may sometimes rise to the height of sus- 
 tained rational effort, but very rarely. As a rule, we do 
 little that is worth while in dreams. Instances are re- 
 ported of a high order of mental action and insight in the 
 dreaming state ; and most persons have had experience of 
 something of the kind. This experience, however, is often 
 illusory. If we succeed in catching or recalling the pro- 
 found or witty saying, we generally find it shallow or flat 
 enough. The wit and insight turn out to be as illusory as 
 dreams in general. 
 
 The materials of dreams are all drawn from waking ex- 
 perience. There is no revelation of strange powers or 
 strange forms of mental action. The prophetic character 
 of dreams finds no support in experience, except very rarely 
 in cases of disease ; and here the dream is probably due to 
 the disease which has already, though secretly, begun. At 
 the same time, dreams seldom reproduce actual experience, 
 and never without modification. The things we deal with 
 during the day by no means always furnish the material of 
 our dreams. Indeed, it is rather the rule that the dream 
 withdraws us into a fictitious world, so that it is oftener 
 creative than reproductive. 
 
 No single explanation of dreams is possible, as dreams 
 do not fall into a single class. Dreams are often gro- 
 tesque and incoherent ; but sometimes they are rational 
 and coherent. Sometimes the most alarming situations 
 cause no fear, and sometimes they fill us Avitli terror. 
 Sometimes there is the utmost emotional and ethical indif- 
 ference to the most distressing circumstances; and some- 
 times there is extreme sorrow or remorse. The most 
 prominent form of mental activity in dreams is that of as- 
 sociation apart from any rational control; and this has led 
 to the claim that in dreams the will is asleep. But this 
 is by no means always the case. While the associative 
 activity is in general the leading one, the other forms 
 
SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MENTAL PHENOMENA. 323 
 
 of mental action, as will, rational thought, and creative 
 imagination also appear to a greater or less extent. 
 
 The most marked distinction between waking fancies 
 and dreams is the greater vividness and objectivity of the 
 latter. In dreams we appear, not to fancy, but to perceive. 
 In explanation, it is said that our sensations are always 
 projected outward in our waking moments, and that dreams 
 do but follow the same law. This would suppose, however, 
 either that dream objects are always founded on sensations, 
 or that the mind produces the sensations appropriate to 
 its conceptions and thus reaches a ground of objectivity. 
 Again, it is said that the reason for the greater objectivity 
 of objects in dreams over waking fancies is due to the fact 
 that the latter are constantly compared with the real world 
 of things, and are thus made to appear in their subjective 
 nature. In dreams our fancies are not thus compared, and 
 hence assume to be real objects. This explanation, how- 
 ever, cannot get on without assuming that the mind tends 
 to project its objects under the forms of thought. 
 
 Sometimes a dream may be acted out. This is the case 
 in somnambulism. Sometimes the dream adapts itself to 
 the external situation; and sometimes it assimilates objects 
 to itself. Sleep-walking illustrates the former ; the fon- 
 dling of inanimate objects, say the pillow, illustrates the 
 latter. Fortunately, sleep is generally accompanied by an 
 inhibition of motor activity : otherwise every dream in- 
 volving the representation of bodily movement would drive 
 the dreamer out of bed. 
 
 The question is often raised whether the mind is ever 
 completely inactive even in sleep. This involves the rela- 
 tion of dreams to sleep. Some hold that dreams indicate 
 imperfect sleep, and others claim that they are the general 
 form of mental activity during sleep. Apparently sleep 
 is often dreamless ; but the claim is made that this is due 
 to a failure to remember our dreams. This is not so vio- 
 
324 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 lent a supposition as appears ; for the leading character- 
 istic of dreams, as disconnected and irrational, makes them 
 especially difficult to remember. The bulk of the day's 
 experience is forgotten before night; it would not, then, 
 be strange if the bulk of the night's experience should 
 vanish before day. Hamilton sought to test the matter by 
 having himself frequently awakened. He claimed that he 
 always found himself dreaming. It is a common experi- 
 ence to find on waking that we have been busy with some- 
 thing ; though this quickly escapes us, unless we grasp it 
 at once. To this it is replied, that these dreams are only 
 the transition from sleeping to waking, the first stirrings 
 of reviving intelligence. On the other liand, we often find 
 persons giving all the signs of dreaming in their sleep, 
 yet without any memory of their dream on waking. The 
 somnambulist seldom, if ever, recalls his dream. Plainly 
 memory is no test of past mental activity ; for memory 
 does not retain the details of our waking life from one 
 hour to another, and often not from one minute to another. 
 The continuity of mental action is certainly not disproved ; 
 and a study of the facts serves to lessen its apriori incredi- 
 bility. Of course, it admits of no strict proof. In any case, 
 the mind may retain a certain power of discrimination, 
 even in sleep. A customary sensation is ignored ; but an 
 unusual one may lead to a speedy waking. The smell of 
 fire, the stopping of the train, the movement of the invalid, 
 any suspicious noise or circumstance, will often arouse us, 
 while a familiar or insignificant sensation has no effect. 
 
 If we take the rational activity of our self-conscious 
 waking moments as a standard, the dream activity must 
 appear as imperfect and abnoi-mal. On this account some 
 writers have affirmed a parallelism between dreams and in- 
 sanity amounting almost to an identification. This amounts 
 to no more than saying that a waking person whose men- 
 tal activity remained as grotesque and incoherent as most 
 
SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MENTAL PHENOMENA. 325 
 
 dreams would not be regarded as sane. It would hardly 
 tend to clearness, however, to say that every sleeping person 
 is insane. 
 
 Closely allied to sleep is the hypnotic or mesmeric con- 
 dition. We have seen that in dreams the senses are not en- 
 tirely inactive, and that we may to some extent direct the 
 dreamer's thought and action by external suggestions. The 
 marked feature of the hypnotic state, psychologically con- 
 sidered, is that the patient is especially sensitive to such 
 suggestions. They arc taken up with the same complete 
 lack of criticism with which we take up any fancy which 
 occurs in dreams. The result is the same failure to see 
 the absurdity of the situation which is so characteristic of 
 dreams. The reflective and critical activity is in abeyance, 
 and the laws of association and the operator are free to 
 sport with us. The state is further accompanied at times 
 by an extraordinary insensibility to pain. 
 
 This state is produced in various ways. Passes of the 
 hand before the eyes, stroking the face, staring at bright 
 objects, and in particular the expectation of the result, all 
 produce this condition. The last element is so effective 
 that Dr. Carpenter has founded his explanation of the facts 
 on the influence of expectation. That this does not meet 
 all cases is plain from the fact that the hypnotic condition 
 can be produced in animals, such as rabbits and pigeons ; 
 and it has been suggested that the so-called " playing 
 dead " of animals, as the opossum, is hypnotism produced 
 by fear. 
 
 The immediate causes of hypnotism, like those of sleep, 
 are not known. There is, however, universal agreement 
 among investigators that the notion of an animal mag- 
 netism, or of a direct influence of the will of tlie operator, 
 is sheer mistake when not fraud. The facts themselves 
 are very curious ; but the pecuniary exigencies of a pub- 
 lic and poi)ular exhibition are sucli that one is justified 
 
326 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 in not accepting all that is said, or that appears at such 
 shows, without several grains of salt. In general, there is a 
 great difference in persons as to their sensibility to the so- 
 called influence. For the best results an unstable nervous 
 system and a loosely knit intellect are indispensable. In all 
 cases the effect upon the nervous system is mischievous. 
 
 Insanity remains to be considered. If by sanity Ave un- 
 derstand the ideal working of all our faculties, we must 
 say that it nowhere exists. The narrowness of prejudice, 
 the mulishness of obstinacy, indifference to worthy things, 
 and overwhelming interest in trifles, are customary, but 
 abnormal, mental states. The term insanity, however, is 
 generally reserved for cases where there is some marked 
 delusion in perception, or some decided reversal of the 
 ordinary estimates of the common relations of daily life. 
 We consider only its mental aspect. 
 
 From the psychological side, the most prominent fea- 
 tures of insanity are the existence of various hallucinations 
 and sense illusions, profound changes in feeling and dis- 
 position, and the growing concentration of ideas within 
 an ever narrowing circle, at the centre of which is the 
 fixed idea. It is, however, pure superstition to fancy that 
 any new and strange mental poAvers are revealed, or that 
 any diabolical agency is at work. All the factors at work 
 in the insane mind are found in normal mental action. 
 The sweet bells are jangled out of tune ; but it is the 
 same set of bells. 
 
 If from any cause the sensory nerves become abnormally 
 sensitive, and tend to produce queer sensations, we have 
 all the conditions for the delusions of the hypochondriac, 
 etc. An abnormal physical state is produced ; and this 
 is interpreted by the person in accordance with various 
 notions, customary conce{)tions, or current superstitions. 
 If the visual tract is disturbed, then visions occur. If 
 there is not sufficient strength of mind and range of knowl- 
 
SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MKNTAL PHENOMENA. 327 
 
 edge to recognize these in their ilhisory character, they 
 furnish the occasion for bounillcss correspondent changes 
 in the course of thought and action. When the physical 
 disturbance is such as to hinder the higher forms of mental 
 activity, insanity soon passes into imbccihty. 
 
 Profound disturbances of feeling also arise, and modify 
 the mental life ; indeed, the claim is made that all insanity 
 begins in disturbance of feeling. Such feeling demands 
 interpretation, and the mind adjusts itself and its thoughts 
 to it. The specific notions arising depend upon the indi- 
 vidual experience. The person may think himself perse- 
 cuted or forsaken, saved or lost. The idea once suggested 
 will gather the whole mind to itself, and even force itself 
 upon external experience. The patient is surrounded by 
 angels or demons, friends or enemies, all alike imaginary. 
 The end of this state is to narrow consciousness down to a 
 fixed idea, in which all rationality is slowly extinguished. 
 The self-control which is necessary to a rational life is 
 lost ; and all the mentality that is left is simply the chaotic 
 movement of the associative mechanism, and the automatic 
 movements resulting therefrom. In short, from such a 
 connection of soul and body as has been described in the 
 previous chapter, from the known action of the laws of 
 association when freed from rational control, and from tlie 
 tendency of the mind to give a rational form to all its ex- 
 periences, the facts of insanity are easily explained in prin- 
 ciple as outcomes of familiar laws. 
 
 The ground of insanity is always assumed to be physical. 
 While we have no wisli to dispute this, it can hardly be 
 said to be made out. In many cases some pliysical ground 
 can be shown ; but in many others nothing can be discov- 
 ered which has not been found in tiie brains of sane per- 
 sons. Of course, we may say there may be " lesions " 
 below vision ; but while their non-appearance does not cer- 
 tainly disprove their reality, it can hardly be said to i»rove 
 
328 PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 it. Still, there is endless room for speaking of disturbances 
 of function, lowering of tone, variation of excitability, etc. ; 
 and withal, all use of medicine, it is said, must rest on the 
 assumption that the disease is phj'sical, and only seconda- 
 rily mental. The original cause of insanity is indeed very 
 often mental, — love, business, bereavement, religion, etc.; 
 but it is assumed in such cases that insanity does not be- 
 come established until the mental strain has wrought some 
 abnormal change in the brain. Apart from this, the mind 
 is supposed to have sufficient elasticity to recover its men- 
 tal state. Still, it does not appear why an overmastering 
 association, amounting to a fixed idea, might not be formed 
 in the mind itself ; and just as little does it appear why 
 one might not " minister to a mind diseased " through the 
 body, so long as the latter has influence upon the former. 
 In any case, mental treatment is quite as important as 
 physical, both for prevention and for cure. 
 
 The claim is often made that extraordinary powers and 
 processes sometimes manifest themselves. Clairvoyance, 
 direct relations with persons otherwise than through the 
 senses, mind-reading, various spiritualistic performances, 
 are illustrations. The apriori possibility of such things 
 cannot be denied ; but before any faith is put in them the 
 alleged facts should be subjected to the most rigid scrutiny. 
 Apparitions in general admit of easy pathological expla- 
 nation. In the other matters the amount of demonstrated 
 fraud is so great as to cast the strongest suspicion over the 
 whole. All the circumstances, too, are suspicious, such as 
 the need of working in the dark, or of being out of sight, 
 etc. Of course, we can say that the spirits cannot write 
 upon a slate in plain sight ; but most minds will find the 
 hypothesis of knavery quite as adequate to the facts, and 
 more in line with the continuity of experience. In general, 
 there is a very strong presumption against any alleged fact 
 which stands apart from the established order of life. 
 
SLEEP AND ABNORMAL MENTAL PHENOMENA. 329 
 
 Telepathy, too, cannot be proved impossible, and in itself 
 it would not be any more mysterious than the common facts 
 of perception ; but, for the reason just mentioned, the ut- 
 most care must be exercised in determining the facts before 
 placing any faith in them; and then a certain hikewarm- 
 ness is highly to be recommended. One would need to 
 know the character and mental habit of the person report- 
 ing such an experience, and also the nature of the appari- 
 tion or impression, and whether the later experience had 
 not given the impression a vividness and definiteness in 
 memory which it did not originally have. Consideration of 
 these and similar points will generally reduce the marvel to 
 very slight dimensions. Indeed, we have never known a 
 single case of these extraordinary powers, processes, and 
 events which on examination did not resolve itself either 
 into vulgar trickery or into a thoughtless magnifying of 
 the commonplace into the marvellous. 
 
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