4 
 
 L I B R AR Y OF THE 
 NEW YORK STATE COLLEGE 
 OF HOME ECONOMICS 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 ITHACA, NEW YORK 
 
 CUft of 
 LiTingston Varrand 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014098697 
 
MENTAL AND MORAL 
 SCIENCE. 
 
 COMPENDIUM 
 
 PSYOHOLOGIY AND ETHICS. 
 
 Bi" 
 
 ALEXANDER BAIN, M.A., 
 
 PaOFESSOB OF LOGIC IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ABEHDEEN. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1868. 
 
 (Tlie right of Tra/nslation is reserved.) 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The present treatise contains a Systematic Exposition of 
 Mind, a History of the leading Questions in Mental 
 Philosophy, and a copious Dissertation on Ethics. 
 
 The Exposition of Mind, occupying nearly half the 
 work, is, for the most part, an abridgement of my two 
 volumes on the subject. I have singled out, and put in 
 conspicuous type, the leading positions ; and have given a 
 suflScient number of examples to make them understood. 
 It is not to be expected that the full effect of the larger 
 exposition can be produced in the shorter ; still, there may 
 be an occasional advantage in the more succinct presenta- 
 tion of complicated doctrines. 
 
 As regards the Controverted Questions, I have entered 
 fully into the history of opinion, so as to exhibit the 
 different views, both formerly, and at present, entertained 
 on each. Nominalism and Eealism, the Origin of Know- 
 ledge in the mind. External Perception, Beauty, and Free- 
 will, are the chief subjects thus treated. 
 
 The Dissertation on Ethics is divided into two parts. 
 
 Part First — The Theory of Ethics — gives an account of 
 the questions or points brought into discussion ; and 
 handles at length the two of greatest prominence, the 
 Ethical Standard, and the Moral Faculty. 
 
 Part Second — The Ethical Systems — is a full detail of 
 all the systems, ancient and modern, by conjoined Abstract 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 and Summary. With few exceptions, an abstract is 
 made of each author's exposition of his own theory, the 
 fulness being measured by relative importance ; while, for 
 better comparing and remembering the several theories, 
 they are siimmarized at the end, on a uniform plan. 
 
 It is not solely with the view of furnishing a complete 
 manual of Mental and Moral Philosophy, that I have 
 included in the same volume, a System of Psychology, and 
 an exhaustive Dissertation on Ethics. The connexion of 
 the two subjects is of the most intimate kind ; all tlie 
 leading Ethical controversies involve a reference to the 
 mind, and can be settled only by a more thorough under- 
 standing of mental processes. 
 
 Abebdees', April, 1868. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 DEFINITION AND DIVISIONS OF MIND. 
 
 1. Human Knowledge falls under two departments ... ... i ' 
 
 2. The Object department marked by Extension ; the Subject, by 
 
 the absence of this property ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 3. Subject Experience — Mind proper — has three functions, Feelingj 
 
 Will, and Thought. Other classifications of Mind ... ... 2 
 
 4. Order of arrangement for exposition ... ,', ][[ 3 
 6. Concomitance of Mind and a Material Organism ... ,", 4 
 
 €HAP. n. 
 
 THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS. 
 
 1. The Brain is the principal organ of Mind. Proofs ... ... 6 
 
 2. The Nervous System consists of a Central mass, and ramifying 
 
 Nerves ... ... ... ... ... ... ,-j. 
 
 3. The nervous substance made up of white and of grey .matter. 
 
 The ^res and the corpuscles ... ... ... ... g 
 
 4. The Central nerves, or oerebro-spinal axis composed of parts. 1. 
 
 The Spinai, Coed.; the Keflex Movements. II. The Brain. 
 Parts of the Brain : (1) Medulla Oblongata, (2) Pons Varolii, 
 (3) Cerebral Hemispheres, (4) Cerebellum ; their several func- 
 tions ... ... ... ... ... ... 7 
 
 6. The nerves are divided into Cerebral and Spinal ... ... 11 
 
 6. The function of a nerve is to transmit influence ... ... id. 
 
 7. Incarrying and outcarrying nerves ... ... ... 12 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 MOVEMENT, SENSE, AND INSTINCT. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. 
 
 1. Muscular Feelings compared with Sensations. The muscular 
 
 system ... ... ... ... ... ... 13 
 
 2. Spontaneous Activity of the system. Proofs and illustrations 14 
 
n CONTENTS. 
 
 THE HTSCULAB PEELINGS. Fagk. 
 
 3. Three classes of feelings connected mth muscle ... ... 17 
 
 Feelings of Mmeular Exercise, 
 
 4. The dead strain, or action without movefnent. Systematic De- 
 
 scription : Physigal Side ; Mental Side. Plan of describing 
 
 the Peelings generally, iVo<e .. ... ... ... 18 
 
 6. Examples of the dead strain ... ... ,.. ... 22 
 
 6. Exertion with movement ... ... ... ... ... ii. 
 
 7. Slow movements ; allied to repose and passivity ••• ••• »*• 
 
 8. "Waxing and waning movements ... ... ... ... 23 
 
 9. Quick movements; their exciting character... ... ... ib. 
 
 10. Passive movements : the stimulus of riding ... ... 24 
 
 Diseriminatiae or Intellectual Sensibility of Muscle. 
 
 11. With every feeling, we have consciousness of degree ... ii. 
 
 12. Consciousness of Exertion, or Expended Force. The Mechanical 
 
 property of matter ,. ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 13. Co^sciousjuess of degrees of Continuance of exertion, either as 
 
 dead strain or as movement. Time. Space ... ... 25 
 
 14. Consciousness of the Telocity of Movement... ... ... 26 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 SENSATION. 
 
 1. Sensation defined ... ... ... ... ., 27 
 
 2. Sensations dassified. Defects of the enumeration of the Five 
 
 Senses. Omission of Organic Sensations \.. ... ib. 
 
 SENSATIONS OP ORGANIC LIPS. 
 
 Organic Muscular Feelings, 
 
 3. Fains of injury of muscle. Fatigue and Bepose ... ... 28 
 
 Organic Sensations of Nerve, 
 
 i. Acute Diseases of the nerves, nervous Fatigue, Healthy nerves. 
 
 Stimulants ... ... ... ... ... ... 30 
 
 Organic Feelings of the Circulation and Nutrition, 
 
 5. Thirst, Inanition, arrested circulation, good and ill health ... 31 
 
 Feelings of Respiration. 
 
 6. Suffocation, Closeness, Exhilaration of change to pure air ... 32 
 
 Feelings of Heat and Cold. 
 
 7. Pain of Chillness, Pleasure of transition to warmth ... ... 33 
 
 Sensations of the Alimentary Canal. 
 
 8. Classification of the kinds of Food ... 
 
 9. Feelings of Digestion : Belish and Bepletion, Hunger, Nausea, 
 
 Dyspepsia ... ... ... ... ... ... 34 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 SENBB OP TABTB. Page. 
 
 1. Objects of Taste : chiefly the materials of Food ... sfi 
 
 2. The Tongue ." ,j. 
 
 3. Sensations of Taste ... ... ,.. ... .'' 37 
 
 4. Tastes in Sympathy with the Stomach : Eelishes and Disgusts ii. 
 
 5. Tastes proper : Sweet and Bitter ... ... .. ... 38 
 
 6. Tastes involving Touch: Saline, Alkaline, Sour, Astringentj 
 
 Fiery, Acrid .. ... ... ... ... jj. 
 
 SENSE OF SMBLIi. 
 
 1. Smell related to the Lungs ... ... ... „. 39 
 
 2. Objects of Smell : gaseous or volatile bodies ... ... ib. 
 
 3. Development of odours, by heat, light, and moisture ... ib. 
 
 4. Difiusion of odours ... ... ... ... ... 40 
 
 5. The Nose ... ... ... ... ... ... j"j. 
 
 6. Mode of action of odours a process of oxidation ... ... ib. 
 
 T. Sensations of Smell : in sympathy with the limgs are Fresh and 
 
 Close odom:8 .. ... ... ... ... 41 
 
 8. Proper olfactory sensibility : Fragrant odours and the opposite ib. 
 
 9. Odours involving tactile sensibility : Pungency ,., ... 42 
 
 SENSE op TOTTCH. 
 
 1. Touch an intellectual Sense. The Objects, solid bodies ... 43 
 
 2. Sensitive surface the Skin, interior of the mouth, and nostrils... ib. 
 
 3. Action simple pressure ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 4. Sensations : (Emotional) Soft Touch, Pungent Touch, Tempera- 
 
 ture, Tickling and acute pains ... ... ... .., 44 
 
 5. Intellectual Sensations : Plurality of Points — Weber's experi- 
 
 ments, Pressure ... ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 6. Combinations of Touch with Muscular Feeling: Resistance, 
 
 Hardness and Softness, Eoughness and Smoothness, Exten- 
 sion or the Co-existing in Space ... ... ... 47 
 
 SENSE OF HEARING. 
 
 1. Objects of Hearing — material bodies in a state of tremor 51 
 
 2. The Ear ... ... ... ... ... ... j-j. 
 
 3. The mode of action in hearing ... ... ... .. 52 
 
 4. Sensations of Sound: General Emotional effects — Sweetness, 
 
 Intensity, Volume ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 5. Musical Sounds : Pitch, Waxing and Waning, Harmony and 
 
 Discord ... .. ... ... ... ... 54 
 
 6. Intellectual Sensations : Cleamoss, Timbre, Articulate sounds. 
 
 Distance and Direction ... ... ... ... 55 
 
 SENSE OF SIGHT. 
 
 1. Objects of Sight ... ... ... ... ... 56 
 
 2. The Eye ... ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 3. Mode of action, in the first place an optical effect ... ... 69 
 
 4. Binocular Vision. Seeing objects erect by an inverted image 60 
 6. Sensations of Sight (Optical) : Light, Colour, Lustre ... ib. 
 6. Sensations involving the Movements of the Bye : Visible Move- 
 ment, Visible Form, Apparent Size, Distance, Volume, Visible 
 Situation .. ... ... ... . ... 62 
 
VUl CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 THE APPETITES. 
 
 Pase. 
 The Appetites defined. Sleep, Exercise and Sepose, Thirst, 
 Hunger, Sex ... ... ... . . ... ... 67 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 Instinct defined. Instincts classified ... ... ... 68 
 
 THE PBIMITIVB COMBINED MOVEMENTS. 
 
 1. The Locomotive Rhythm ... ... ... ... 69 
 
 2. Its Analysis .. ... ... ... ... ... a, 
 
 3. Primitive Associated movements ... ... ... ... 70 
 
 4. Haxmony of Face in the movements ... ... ... ii. 
 
 THE INSTINCTIVE PLAY OF EBELINO. 
 
 1. Union of Mind and Body shown in the Expression of Peeling ib. 
 
 2. Physical Accompaniments of the Feelings : Movements of the 
 
 Face ... ... ... ... ... ... 71 
 
 3. Voice and Kespiratory Muscles ... ... ... ..72 
 
 4. Muscles of the Body generally ... ... ... ... 73 
 
 6. Organic Effects : Lachrymal Organs, Sexual Organs, Digestion, 
 
 Cutaneous changes, Heart, Lacteal Gland in Women ... H. 
 
 6. General principle connecting Pleasure and Pain with bodily 
 
 functions. Proofs of the Principle. Laughter and Sobbing 75 
 
 7. Operation of Stimulants ... ... ... ... yg 
 
 8. Law of Self-conservation ... ... ... .,, 79 
 
 THE INSTINCTIVE OEBMS OF THE WILL. 
 
 1. Voluntary power, a bundle of acquisitions ... ... ... ib. 
 
 % Primitive foundations of the Will. I Spontaneity ..'. »J. 
 
 3. II. — Law of Self-conservation ... ... ... ... gQ 
 
 4. Accident brings about coincidences between feelings and ap- 
 
 propriate movements ... ... .. ... ,'j 
 
 5. m. — The coincidences are confirmed by a process of association 81 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 THE INTELLECT. 
 
 1. The intellectual functions commonly expressed by Memory 
 
 Eeason, Imagination, &o. ... . . ... ..! 82 
 
 2. The primary attributes of InteUeot— X)i^ereM«e, Agreement 
 
 3. Applications of a Knowledge of the Intellectual Powers ".'.', 84 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 PiGE. 
 
 1. Retentiveness mostly comprehended under the Law of Conti- 
 
 guity ... ... ... ... ... ... 85 
 
 2. Statement of the Law ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 MOVEMENTS. 
 
 . 3. Spontaneous and Instinctive actions strengthened hy exercise 86 
 
 4. Conjoined or Aggregated Movements ... ... ... ib. 
 
 5. Successions of Movements ... ... ... ... 87 
 
 6. Intervention of Sensations in trains of Movement ... ... ib. 
 
 7. Conditions governing the rate of Acquisition generally ... ib. 
 
 8. Circumstances favouring the adhesion of Movements... .. 88 
 
 9. All acquirements suppose Physical Vigour ... ... ... 89 
 
 IDBAL FEELINGS OP MOVEMBNT. — THE SEAT OP IDEAS. 
 
 10. Association of Ideas of Movement ... ... .. ... ib. 
 
 11. The seat of Ideas the same as of Sensations or Actualities ... ib. 
 
 12. The tendency of Ideas to become Actualities a source of activity 
 
 distinct from the Will ... ... ... ... ... 90 
 
 13. The principle applied to explain Sympathy ... ... ... 91 
 
 14. Points common to the Idea and to the Actuality ... ... 92 
 
 15. Ideas of Movement may be associated ... .. ... ib. 
 
 16. The rate of adhesion follows the law of Actual Movement ... ib, 
 
 17. Movement is mentally known as expended energy in special 
 
 muscles ... ... ... .. ii. 
 
 SENSATIONS OE THE SAME SENSE. 
 
 18. In all the senses, different sensations are associated together ... 93 
 
 19. Separate ideas become self-sustaining by repetition ... . .. ib. 
 
 20. Association of Sensations of Touch ... .. ... ... 94 
 
 21. Law of the Kate of Acquirement in Touch ... ... ... »6. 
 
 22. The acquirements of Touch most numerous in the blind ... 95 
 
 23. Associations of Sounds ; Musical and Articulate Sounds ... ib. 
 
 24. Associations of Sights : Forms and Coloured surfaces ... 97 
 
 SENSATIONS OP DIFFEEENT SENSES. 
 
 25. Movements with Sensations. Muscular Ideas with Sensations ; 
 
 Architecture. Sensations with Sensations ... ... 98 
 
 26. Law of the Rate of such acquirements ... ... ... 100 
 
 27. Localization of the Bodily Feelings ... ... .. 101 
 
 28. Our body is an object fact with subject associations ... ... 102 
 
 29. Associations makes differences in sensations alike in quality ... ib. 
 
 ASSOCIATES ■WITH PLEASURE AND PATN. 
 
 30. Pleasure and Pain can persist and be reproduced ideally ... ib. 
 
 31. Law of the association ... ... ... ... .. 103 
 
 32. The Special Emotions converted into Affections ... ... 104 
 
 33. Association of emotions with indifferent objects : Ritual ... ib. 
 
 34. The interest of Ends transferred to the Means : Money, Formali- 
 
 tiss, Tijith ... ... ... ... ... ... 105 
 
 85. Influence of association in Fine Art. Alison's Theory ... 106 
 
X CONTENTa. 
 
 Page, 
 
 36. The Language of the Feelings has tote acquired ... '" ^^ 
 
 37. The Signs of Happiness are (Peering to behold ... — ~: 
 
 38. Memories of Pleasure and Pain ... ... ... ••• .^ 
 
 89. Association has a shai'e in the Moral Sentiment ... •• *"- 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS OP VOLITION. 
 
 40. Contiguous association of actions and states of feeling ••• 10" 
 
 NATCBAl OBJECTS. 
 
 41. Our ideas of external nature are associations of sensible qualities ib. 
 
 42. The Naturalist mind represents disinterested association ... 110 
 
 43. Inmindsgenerally, the feelings sway the recollections of nature to. 
 
 NATURAL AND HABITUAL OONJUNOTIOHS; 
 
 44. Association of things habitually conjoined in our view ... •'*• 
 
 45. Maps, Diagrams, and Pictorial Kepresentalions ... ... HI 
 
 SUCCESSIONS. 
 
 46. Successions of Cycle, Evolution, Cause and Effect ... ■■. <^- 
 
 HECHANICAL ACQVISIIIONS. 
 
 47. Summary of conditions of Mechanical Acquirement ... ... 114 
 
 48. Proper duration of exercises ... ... ... ... US 
 
 ACQUISITIONS OP LAN0UA6E. 
 
 49. Oral Language involves the Voice and the Ear ... ... 116 
 
 50. Language a case of heterogeneous adhesion ... .. ib. 
 
 51. Language includes fixed trains of words ... .. ... 117 
 
 52. Operatian of Special Interest in lingual acquisitions ... .. ib. 
 
 53. Elocution involves an Ear for Cadence ... ... ... 118 
 
 54. Written language appeals to the sense of Visible Form ... ib. 
 
 55. Short methods of acquiring language ... ... ... ib. 
 
 56. Verbal adhesiveness an aid to the memory of expressed Know- 
 
 ledge ... ... ... ... ... ... 119 
 
 REIENTIVENESS IN SCIENCE. 
 
 57. Knowledge, as Science, is clothed in artificial symbols ... ib. 
 
 58. The Object Sciences are Concrete or Abstract ... ... «8. 
 
 59. The Subject Sciences are grounded on self-consciousness ... 120 
 
 60. Circumstances favouring acquirements in mentij. Science ... ii. 
 
 61. Supposed faculty of Self-Consciousness ... ... .. 121 
 
 BUSINESS, OB PRACTICAL LIFE. 
 
 62. Acquirements in the higher branches of Industry ... ... 122 
 
 ACQUISITIONS IN THE ITNE ARTS. 
 
 63. Fine Art constructions give refined pleasure ... ... ib, 
 
 64. Conditions of Acquisition in Fine Art ... ... ... 123 
 
 HISTOKV AND NAREATIVE. 
 
 65. History the succession of events as narrated ... ... a, 
 
 66. Transactions witnessed impress themselves as Sensations and 
 
 Actions ... ... ... .. ... ... 124 
 
 67. Events narrated have the aid of the Verbal Memory ... ib. 
 
CONTENTS. xi 
 
 OVB PAST LIPS, Page. 
 
 68. The complex current of each one's existence ... ... 124 
 
 coNOLunraa obsbbvatioks on betentiyenebs. 
 
 69. Existence of a Betentive faculty for things generally. Superior 
 
 plasticity of early years ; Limitation of acquirements; Tempo- 
 rary adhesiveness ... ... ... ... ... 125 
 
 CHAP. n. 
 
 AGREEMENT— LAW OJF SIMILARITY. 
 
 1. Statement of the Law ... ... ... ... ...127 
 
 2. Similarity, in one mode, implied under Contiguity .. ... 128 
 
 3. Impediments to the revival of the past through similarity ... ib. 
 
 EEEBLENESS OF IMPRESSION. 
 
 i. Impediment of Feehleneas or Faintness. By what peculiarities 
 
 overcome. Conditions of reproduction by Similarity ... 129 
 
 RTM TT.AB TTV DT DIVERSITY — SENSATIONS. 
 
 5. Impediment of Diversity. Special condition for this case ... 130 
 
 6. Movements and Feelings of Movement identified ... ... 131 
 
 7. Sensations of Organic Life ... ... ... ... 132 
 
 8. Tastes. Identification ending in Classification ... ... 133 
 
 9. Touch. Efiects generalized and classified ... ... ... 134 
 
 10. Hearing. Articulate language identified under diversity of 
 
 utterance and cadence. Diversity of Meaning ... ... ii, 
 
 11. Sight. Colours, Forms, and their combinations ... ... 136 
 
 12. Effects common to the Senses generally ... ... ... 137 
 
 CONTIOCOTIS AGBBBQATES — CONJUNCTIONS. 
 
 13. Objects affecting a Plurality of Senses ... ,., ... 138 
 
 14. Aggregates of associated I^opertiea and Uses. The Steam En- 
 
 gine. Davy's discovery of the composition of the alkalies. 
 Botany and Zoology ... ... ... .„ ... ti. 
 
 PHENOMENA OP SUCCESSION. 
 
 15. Successions identified under diversitiea Cycle, Evolution, Cause 
 
 and Effect. Newton's discovery of gravitation ... ... 141 
 
 ESASdNINO AND SCIENCE IN OENEBAL. 
 
 16. Generalizing power of the mind gives birth to : I.— -Definition ; 
 
 II. — Induction ; III. — Deduction. Reasoning by Analogy 143 
 
 17. Scope of the Reasoning Faculty ... ... ... ... 146 
 
 BUSINESS AND PBACTICS. 
 
 18. Discoveries in Practice due, in part, to Similarity ... ... Ui. 
 
 ILLUSIEATIVB COMPARISONS AND UTEKABY AST. 
 
 19. Figures of Similitude aboimd in all great works of literaiy 
 
 genius. Bimyan, Shakespeare, Bacon, Milton ... ... 149 
 
XU CONTENTS. 
 
 THE UNB.AKTS IN GENEKAL. PiOB. 
 
 20. Similarity exemplified in certain of the Fine Arts ... ... 1*9 
 
 siMELAKriY nr AcacismoN and memoet. 
 
 21. Labour of Acquisition saved by the tracing of Bimilaiitics ... lo" 
 
 , CHAP. III. 
 COMPOTJND ASSOCIATION. 
 
 1. Associations may combine their force. Statement of the Law 151 
 
 COMPOSITION OJ' CONTIOCITIES. 
 
 2. CionjmictioBS : Local associations ; Persons ; Uses iind Proper- 
 
 ties. Successions: Language ... ... ... ... 152 
 
 COMPOSITION OF SIMIIARITIES. 
 
 3. This case sufficiently expressed under the Law of Similarity ... 1S4 
 
 MIXED coNTiauiry and smrLABirr. 
 
 4. Great discoveries of similarity remembered partly by contiguity 155 
 
 5. Aid to Similarity by ike proximiU/ of the things desired ... ib. 
 
 6. Mnemonic devices ... ... ... ... ... 156 
 
 THE ETiKMENT OE FEELINO. 
 
 7. Influence of the Feelings on the trains of thought ... ... 0. 
 
 IHFLXIENCE OP VOLITION. 
 
 8. The influence of the WiU indirect. Modes of its operation ... 157 
 
 OBSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 9. Exemplified in the conflict of the Artistic and the Scientific 
 
 points of view ... ... ... ... ... 159 
 
 ASSOCIATION OF CONTRAST. 
 
 10. Contrast may be analyzed into Relativity, Contiguity, Similarity, 
 
 and the influence of Emotion .. ... ... .,. 160 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 1. Processes of Original Creation ... ... „, .„ 161 
 
 MECHANICAL OONSTRXrOTIVENESS. 
 
 2. Movements combined into new groupings. Three conditions 
 
 of the Constructive Process generally ... ... ... 162 
 
 VERBAL CONSTEUC'i'iVJiNiaS. 
 
 3. Learning to Articulate ... ... .. ... ... igS 
 
 4. Construction of Sentences ... „. ... I64 
 
 5. Higher Combinations of language ... ... ... iS. 
 
CONTENTS. xiii 
 
 lEEmrOS OF MOTEMENT. Pask. 
 
 6. Conatmctmg new muscular ideas. Hitting a mark. Archi- 
 
 tectural fitness ... .. ... ... ... 166 
 
 CONSTRUOTlyENBSS Df THE SENSATIONS. 
 
 7. Organic Life ; unknown forms of pleasure and pain. The higher 
 
 senses. Visual construotiTeness ... ... ... 166 
 
 CONSTRUCTION OF NEW EMOTIONS. 
 
 8. The Simpler Emotions must be experienced. Change of degree. 
 
 Transfer to new objects ... ... ... ... 168 
 
 CONCBBTINa THE ABSTRACT. 
 
 9. Construction, from abstract elements, of images in the Concrete 169 
 
 REALIZING OF REPRESENTATION OR DESCRIPTION. 
 
 10. Verbal descriptions, or other Representations, realized ... ib. 
 
 CONSTRUCTIVENESS IN SCTENCB. 
 
 11. Definitions, Inductions, Pednctions, and Experimental dis- 
 
 coveries inTolve conatriictiveness ... ... ... 170 
 
 PEACTICAl CONSTRUCTIONS. 
 
 12. Mechanical Invention. Administrative contrivances. Judg- 
 
 ment; adapting one's views to others. Oratory ... ... If 1 
 
 CONSTRUCTIVBNBSS UNDER PEELINO. 
 
 13. Certain constructions satisiy some present emotion : — Emotional 
 
 character appears in literary composition. Bias. The Myth 172 
 
 14. Fine Art constructions adapted to Esthetic feelings ... ... 173 
 
 15. Imagination best exemplified under Pine Art constructiveness. 
 
 Its elements are, (1) Concreteness, (2) Originality, (3) the pre- 
 sence of Emotion. Fancy. Ideality ... ... ... 174 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 ABSTRACTION— THE ABSTEACT IDEA. 
 
 NOMINAUSM AND REALISU. 
 
 1. First stage of Abstraction to compare, identify, and daxsify ... 176 
 
 2. Abstraction means attending to points of agreement and neglect- 
 
 ing points of difference. Question how far this mental sepa- 
 ration is possible ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 3. In one view, to abstract is to refer to a class ... ... 177 
 
 4. Cases where we seem to form a pure abstraction : — (1) Material 
 
 separation ; (2) Lineal Diagrams ; (3) Verbal Definition . ] 78 
 
 5. The only generality, having separate existence, is the Name ... 179 
 
 6. Kealism and Conceptualism ... ... ... .. 180 
 
 7. Natural tendency to ^cribe separate existence to abstractions ib. 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 THE OEIGm OF KKOWLEDGB. 
 
 EXPEEIBNCE AST) INTUITION. FaGE. 
 
 1. Question as to the existence of Intuitive or Lonate truths .. 181 
 
 2. Imporbuice attached to the Intuitive origin of knowledge ... tS. 
 
 3. CJharaoters ascribed to Innate principles — ^Nbcbssitt and tJui- 
 
 VERSAIITT ... ... ... ... .•• .••• l*'^ 
 
 4. Objection to the doctrine of Intuition — it presumes on the finality 
 
 of some one Analysis of the mind ... ... ... H- 
 
 5. Innate ideas improbable ... ... ... ... — 184 
 
 6. Innate general ideas would require innate particulars _ ... ii. 
 
 7. The chara<jt^ of Necessity has nothing to do with Innate ori^ »i. 
 
 8. Concessions of the supporters of Innate principles ... ... 186 
 
 9. The controversy turns at present on the Axioms of HathemalicB 
 
 and the Law of Causation .. ... ... ... t^- 
 
 Criterion of the ' inconceivability of the opposites' ... ... *■ 
 
 CHAP. vn. 
 
 OF EXTEENAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 1. Two separate questions : — the Theory of Vision, and the Feroep* 
 
 tion of the External and Material World ... ... 188 
 
 THBORT OF VISION. 
 
 2. Two views of our Perception of Distance by sight ... .. ib. 
 
 3. The native sensibility of the eye includes (1) Light and Colour, 
 
 (2) Visible Eigure and Visible Magnitude ... ... 189 
 
 4 The visible signs of variation of Distance firom the eye ... H. 
 
 5. Theimportof Distance is something beyond the ocular sensations 190 
 
 6. Experience associates the visible signs of Distance with the 
 
 movements that give the meaning of Distance ... ... 191 
 
 7. Distance an inference. Experiments of Wheatstone ... ii. 
 S. The perception of Distance illustrated by the Stereoscope ... 192 
 9. Adnussion by Berkeley's opponents that the instinctive percep- 
 tion is itided by associations ... ... ... ... 193 
 
 10. Objection to the theory of Acquired Perception, that we are not 
 
 conscious of tactuEil or locomotive reminiscences ... ... 194 
 
 11. Farther objection that the early experience of children is insuffi- 
 
 cient to form the supposed associations ... ... ... ti. 
 
 12. Observations on persons bom blind and made to see ... ... 195 
 
 13. Instinctive Perceptions of the Lower Animals ... ... ii. 
 
 14. Observations on infemts ... ... ... ... ... 196 
 
 15. Hypothesis of hereditary ttoDsaaesKia of the perception ... 197 
 
 PERCEPTION OF A UATERIAI. WOBLD. 
 
 1. AH Perception or Knowledge implies mind .», ... ib. 
 
 2. ThePerceptionof Matter a distinct attitude of the conscionaness 198 
 
 3. The common view of material perception self-contradictory ... ib. 
 
CONTENTS. ^y 
 
 Pass. 
 198 
 
 4. Analysis of Perception: I.-The putting forth of Muscular 
 En^gy, as opposed to Passive Feeling ... '^^^r 
 
 eL^S"" connexion of Definite Feelings Wh Definite 
 
 8 ??;i7„ •'"'*T*^' ?°°""°'" ^ *" ; Subj^t-the special to eaei" 201 
 8. Gmng separate existence to the Object a species of EealL „. 202 
 
 THEORIES OF THE MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 ^^f^- 91f»fi<=aSon Of the objects of knowledge :-(!) 
 ^.7^f^°V^^ =«°=™; (2) Ideas of passions of ki 
 mmd; (3) Ideas of memory and imagination. Peculiarity 
 llnif/t^ f" Sensation. The first class exist in a mindTno 
 D^^nn^? ???'"■ T^ J^g" °Pi"on a oontradiot^on 
 ?,fT,^« H i f";^ ^^ Secondary QuaUties of no avail. 
 Supposed 8ubstratum-ma««-. The reaUty of things not 
 abohshed. fiiJmi.s something apart from iSeas ... ^ ,* 
 
 Hume. Summary of his phUosophical doctrines generally. The 
 populsx belief IS that the images on the senses Lthrextenial 
 objects. Philosophy teaches that nothing can be preseTto 
 tile mind but a perception. The dispute if one as to fact. By 
 
 fJ^P*'w''^?*?°l^T "^^^"^ conimuedoTdMnct exis- 
 tence. We attain these by the mind's tendency to go on 
 Th?™'^-»''^ objects fail. We have no idea of^substt 
 
 iij? P°° ^""5 *^^ ^ "'f"' ^^ abstract. Hindis a 
 bundle of conoepfaons ... >* " » 
 
 Eetd. KeclaimedagainBl Idealism' on the '^ound of' Common 
 bense. His statements confused and contradictory: some 
 point to «i*«f«te perception, others to immediate perception. 
 According to J S Mill, his leaning was to the first „ 207 
 
 Stewakt substantiaUy at one with Eeid. Bkown ons 
 
 "^^TZ- u^^^^f. ^^^ Theories of Perception."" His 0,;;; 
 caUed Natural Eealism, or Immediate Perception. Involves 
 a self-contradiction. His so-called ultimate analysis involves 
 complex notions ... ... "».oo 
 
 Ferries. His fundamental position. He iterates the essentia ' ' 
 unphcation of Object and Subject. Exposes the self-contra- 
 dictions of aie prevaiUng views. Eegards Peroeption as an 
 ultimate fact ... '^ 21 n 
 
 Mansel. Criticism of Berkeley. Analysis of Perception "211 
 iSt' I^erception a simple, indivisible, ultimate 
 
 J. S. Mjll. Advances a Psychological Theory of iheBeKef lii ^^^ 
 a Material World. Postulates (1) Expectation, and (2) the 
 ^ws of Association. Substance, Matter, or the Extranal 
 Worid, IS a :Pemu,nent PossibUity of sensation. Distinction 
 ot Primary and Secondary QuaUties. Application to the per- 
 manenoe of Mind ... ■• 
 
 ••' "• ... »o. 
 
XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 THE EMOTIONS. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 FEELING IN GENERAL. 
 
 Fade. 
 
 1. The Special Emotions axe secondary and derived, and involve 
 
 the InteUect 215 
 
 2. Eeeling in general defined ... ... ••• ••• ™- 
 
 3. Twofold aspect of Feeling— Physical and Mental ... ... 216 
 
 4. Physical aspect of Eelativity ... ... ... ••• '!*• 
 
 5. Law of DuTOsiON ... ... ... ••• ■•• '"• 
 
 CHARACTERS OP rEEUNO. 
 
 6. The Characters of Peeling fall nnder four classes ... ... 217 
 
 Emotional Characters of Feeling. 
 
 7. Every feeling has its characteristic Physical side ... ... »*• 
 
 8. Mental aide : Quality (Pleasure and Pain), Degree, Speciality ib. 
 
 Volitional eharactera of Feeling. 
 
 9. The voluntary actions a clue to the Feelings ... ... 218 
 
 InteUectttal characters of Feeling. 
 
 10. The Ideal persistence of feelings extends their sphere ... H- 
 
 Mixed characters of Feeling. 
 
 11. Will combined with Ideal persistence makes Forethought ... 219 
 
 12. Desire ... ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 13. It is the property of every feeling to occupy the mind ... ib. 
 
 14. The influence in Belief is a mixed character ... ... 220 
 
 THE IMTEBPBETATION AND ESTIMATE OF VEElXSa. 
 
 15. (1) The Expression indicates the feelings of others ... .. 221 
 
 16. (2) The Conduct pursued indicates pleasure and paiu ... ... ib. 
 
 17. (3) The Course of the Thoughts bears the impress of the Feelings 222 
 
 18. The influence of Belief a test of strength of feeling ... ... ib. 
 
 19. The several indications mutually check each other ... ... ib. 
 
 20. Each person may describe their own feelings : Some standard or 
 
 common measure must be agreed upon ... ... ... 223 
 
 21. The criteria of feeling applied to estimate happiness and misery ih. 
 
 THE DEVELOPMENT Or EBBLING. 
 
 22. An ontburat of feeling passes through a certain course ... 224 
 
 23. Alternation and periodicity of emotional states ... ... ib. 
 
 24. Ends to be served by the analysis of the Feelings ... ... 225 
 
CONTENTS. xvii 
 
 CHAP. II 
 
 THE EMOTIONS AND THEIR CLASSIFICATION. 
 
 Faoe. 
 
 1. The Emohons are secondary, derived, or compound feelings ... 226 
 
 2. Plurality of Sensations, in mutual harmony, or in mutual 
 
 conflict ... .. ... ... ... ... tj. 
 
 3. TRANsm;B of feelings to new cbjecta ... ... ... ib. 
 
 4. CoALESOENOE of Separate feelings into an aggregate or whole ib. 
 6. Principle of classifying the Emotions ... ... ... «6. 
 
 6. Detailed Classification ... ... ... ... ...227 
 
 CHAP. in. 
 
 EMOTIONS OF RELATIVITY : NOVELTY.— WONDER.— 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 1. Objects of NoTELTY. Physical circumstance ... ... 229 
 
 2. Mental characters ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 3. Pain of Monotony. Species of Novelty ... .. ... ij. 
 
 4. Vamety, a minor form of Novelty ... ... ... 230 
 
 6. SiTRPRiSB ; includes an element of Conflict ... ... ... ib. 
 
 6. Wonder. Its relation to the Sublime ... ... ... 231 
 
 7. Restraint and Liberty, referable to Conflict and Relativity ib. 
 
 8. Liberty the correlative of Restraint ., ... ... ii. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 EMOTION OF TERROR. 
 
 1. Tberor defined — The apprehension of coming evil ... ... 232 
 
 2. Physical side, a loss and a transfer of nervous energy ... ib. 
 
 3. Mentally, Terror is a form of massive pain ... ... 234 
 
 4. Species of Terror. (1) The case of the lower animals. (2) 
 
 Fear in children. (3) Slavish Terror. (4) Forebodings of 
 
 disaster generally. (5) Superstition. (6) Distrust of our 
 
 Faculties in new operations. (7) Fear of Death ... 236 
 
 .6. Counteractives of Terror : the sources of Courage ... ... 238 
 
 6. Re-action from Terror cheering and hilarious ... ... ib. 
 
 7. Uses of Terror, in Grovemment, and in Education ... ... ib. 
 
 8. The employment of Fear in Fine Art must be qualified ... ib. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 TENDER EMOTION. 
 
 1, Tenderness. Its Objects are sentient beings. The exciting 
 
 causes include Pleasures and Pains and local stimulants ... 239 
 
 2. The Physical side involves (1) Touch, (2) the Lachrymal Or- 
 
 gans, and (3) the movements of the Pharynx ... ... 240 
 
xvm ' CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 3. Iiink of sequence, physical and mental, between the stimiilants 
 
 and the manifestations ... ... ... ••• 241 
 
 4, Meittai. side : — Simple characters of the emotion ... ... 242 
 
 6. Mixed characters : i^esire; Control of the Thoughts .,. il>. 
 
 SPECIES OF THE TENDER EMOTIOlf. 
 
 6. Tenderness is Tented mainly on human beings ... ... 243 
 
 The JBamUy Group. 
 
 7. Mother and Of^ring. Paternal relationship ..., ... ii- 
 
 8. Relationship of the Sexes ; grounds of mutual affinity ' ... 244 
 
 The Benevolent Affections. 
 
 9. The main constituent of Benevolence is Sympathy ... .. ib. 
 
 10. The Pleasures of Benevolence analyzed ... .. ... ib. 
 
 11. Compassion, or Pity ... ... ... ... ... 245 
 
 12. Gratitude founded on Sympathy, and ruled by Justice ... ti. 
 18. Benevolence and Gratitude in the equal relationships ... 246 
 14. The spectacle of Generosity stimulates Tenderness ... ... ib. 
 
 16. The Lower Animals are fit subjects of tender feeling ... si. 
 
 16. Form of Tenderness in connexion with Inanimate tibings ... S>. 
 
 Sorrow, 
 
 17. Sorrow is pain from the loss of objects of affection; Tender- 
 
 ness a means of consolation ... ... .. ... 247 
 
 18. Social and Moral beatings of Tenderness ... ... ... ib. 
 
 Admiration and &teem. 
 
 19. Admiration is awakened by excellence ; and is allied to Love ... ib. 
 
 20. Esteem respects the performance of essential Duties „. 248 
 
 Veneration — the Religiom Sentiment. 
 
 21. The Religious Sentiment contains Wonder, Love and Awe. 
 
 Veneration, Eeverence ... ... ... ... ij. 
 
 CHAP VI. 
 EMOTIONS OF SELF. 
 
 1. Self intended to refer to two aUied groups of feelings ... 260 
 
 SELE-QRATULATION AlfD SELF-ESTEEM. 
 
 2. The feeling arising from excellent or amiable qualities beheld in 
 
 self ib. 
 
 3. Phtsioai, side ... ... ... ... ... ___ 251 
 
 4. Mbntal side : — A mode of Tender Feeling ... ... "| ,-j 
 
 5. Speoipio Foems : Self-complacency, Self-esteem and Seif-conoeit' 
 
 Self-respect and Pride, Self-pity, Emulation, Envy ' 252 
 
 6. Pains of the Emotion : Humility and Modesly, Humiliation and 
 
 Self-abaaement, Self-reproach ... ... ... _^_ 253 
 
 LOVE OF APPROBATION. 
 
 7. Involves, with self-gratulation, the workings of Sympathy ... 254 
 
coNTEirrs. xix 
 
 Paqe. 
 
 8. Species of the feeling: mere Approbatioii, Admiration and Fiaise, 
 
 Flattery and Adnlation, Glory, Bepatation or Fame, Honour; 
 the rules of FoUte society ... ... ... ... 255 
 
 9. Pains of Disapprobation : Remorse; Shame ... ... ib. 
 
 10. Self-complacency and the Love of Admiration as motives ... 256 
 
 CHAP. vn. 
 
 EMOTION OF POWEE. 
 
 1. Depends on a sense of superior might or energy, on comparison ib. 
 
 2. Phtsicai, side : an increase of Power ; Laughter ... ... 257 
 
 3. Mental side : an elating or intoxicating pleasure ... ,.. 2S8 
 
 4. Species: Making a Sensation; control of Large Operations; 
 
 Command or Authority ; Wealth ; Persuasion ; Spiritual 
 ascendancy; Knowledge; love of Influence; Criticism; Con- 
 tempt and Derision ; Ambition ... „. ... ... 259 
 
 5. Pains of Impotence. Jealousy of Power ... ,., ... 260 
 
 CHAP. vm. 
 
 lEASCTBLE EMOTION. 
 
 1. Arising in pain, and occasioning pleasure in inflicting pain ... ib. 
 
 2. The Objects are persons, the authors of pain or injury ... ib. 
 
 3. Physicai manifestations: (1) Excitement; (2) Activity; (3) 
 
 Organic effects; (4) Expression or Attitude; (5) Exultation 
 of Bevenge ... ... .. ... ... .. 261 
 
 4. MENTAi/Side: ibe pleasure of ?nalevolence ... ... ... ib. 
 
 5. Ingredients of Anger : (1) an effect sought to vent activity ; 
 
 (2) fascination in the sight of suffering; (3) pleasure of 
 power; (4) prevention of father pain is/ ««rft«»«y^ar ... 262 
 
 6. Species of Anger : manifestations in the Lower Animals ; forms 
 
 in Infancy and Childhood ; Sudden emger ; Deliberate Anger 
 — Revenge ; Hatred ; Antipathy ; Warfare ; grades of offence. 
 Pleasure of Malevolence called in question. Righteous Indig- 
 nation; NobleEage ... ... ... ... ... 263 
 
 7. Interest evoked by Sympathy with irascible feeling ... ... 266 
 
 8. Justice involves sympathetic Resentment ... ... ... ib. 
 
 9. Ponishment by law gratifies and mdderates resentful passion ... 267 
 
 CHAP. rx. 
 
 EMOTIONS OF ACTION— PURSUIT. 
 
 1. The attitude of Pdrsuit induced on voluntary activity ... tS. 
 
 2. Fktbicaii side : (1) intent occupation of the Senses ; (2) harmo- 
 
 nizing Muscular Activity ... ... ... ... 268 
 
 3. Mbntai. side; (1) interest of an end, heightened by its ap- 
 
 proach ; (2) engrossment in Object regards, remission of Sub- 
 ject regards ... ... .. ... ... ... a. 
 
XX CONTENTS. 
 
 FiBS. 
 
 i. Ohaace, or Uncertainty, contributes to the engrossment ... 269 
 
 5. The excitement of Pursuit is seen in the Lower AnimalB ... 270 
 
 6. Keld Sports ... ... .. ... ... ... ♦*• 
 
 7. Contests ... ... ... .. ... ... «6. 
 
 8. The occupations of Industry give scope for Plot-interest ... 271 
 
 9. The Sympathetic Relationships contam Pursuit ... ... «*. 
 
 10. The search after Knowledge ... ... ... ...272 
 
 11. The position of the Spectator contains the interest of Pursuit ... t^ 
 
 12. The Literature of Plot, or Story ... ... ... ... H. 
 
 13. Form of ^at'n, the prolongation of the suspense ... ... 273 
 
 14. Pains of actiTity generally ... ... ... ... »'*. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 EMOTIONS OP INTELLECT. 
 
 1. Pleasures and pains attending Intellectual operations ... ib. 
 
 2. Feelings in the working of Contiguity ... ... ... 274 
 
 3. Fain of Contradiction or Inconsistency ... ... ... ^■ 
 
 4. Pleasure of Similarity, an exhilarating surprise ; relief from an 
 
 intellectual burden ... ... ... ... ... ii. 
 
 5. New identities of Science increase the range of intellectual 
 
 comprehension ... ... ... ... ... 275 
 
 6. Discoveries of Practice gives the pleasure of increased power ... ib. 
 
 7. Illustrative Comparisons remit intellectual toil ... ... 276 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 1. Sympathy is entering into, and acting out, the feelings of others ii. 
 
 2. It supposes (1) our remembered experience, (2) a connexion 
 
 between the Expression of feeling and the Feelings themselves 277 
 
 3. Sympathy an assumption of the physical displays of feeling, 
 
 followed by the rise of the mental state ... ... ... ib. 
 
 i. Circumstances favouring Sympathy ... ,., ... 278 
 
 5. Completion of Sympathy — vicarious action ... ... 279 
 
 6. Sympathy with pleasure and pain ... ... ... 280 
 
 7. Sympathy supports men's feelings and opinions ... ... ib. 
 
 8. Moulding of men's sentiments and views ... ... ... ib. 
 
 9. Sympathy an indirect source of pleasure to the sympathizer ... 281 
 
 10. Sympathy cannot subsist upon extreme self-abnegation ... 282 
 
 11. Knowledge is indispensable to large sympathies ... ... ib. 
 
 12. Imitation closely allied to sympathy. The Lnitative aptitudes ib. 
 
 CHAP. xn. 
 
 IDEAL EMOTION. 
 
 1. The persistence of Feeling makes the life in the Ideal ... 283 
 
 2. Ideal Emotion is affected by Organic states ... ... 284 
 
 3. There may be a Temperament for Emotion ... ... ib. 
 
CONTENTS. XXi 
 
 Faos. 
 
 4. Some Constitutions are adapted for Special Emotions .. 28S 
 
 5. Mental Agencies: — (1) the presence of some Kindred emotion; 
 
 (2) Intellectual forces ... ... .. ... 286 
 
 6. Feelmg in the Actual often thwarted by the accompaniments 287 
 
 7. Application of the facts to account for the power of Ideal Emotion 288 
 
 8. Ideal Emotion is connected with Desire ... ... ... 289 
 
 CHAP. XIIL 
 
 .ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 1. These are the pleasures aimed at in the Fine Arts ... ... ii. 
 
 2. Distinguishing features of Fine Art pleasures : — (1) Pleasure 
 
 is their end ; (2) Disagreeables are excluded ; (3) the Enjoy- 
 ment is not monopolized ... ... .. ... 290 
 
 3. The Eye and the Ear are the aesthetic senses ... ... 291 
 
 4. Muscular and Sensual elements may be presented in ufea ... ii. 
 
 5. Beauty not one quality, but a Circle of Effects ... ... 292 
 
 6. Emotions of Art in detail: I. — The simple pleasurable sensa- 
 
 tions of the Ear and the Eye ... „ ... ... id. 
 
 7. II. — Co-operation4f the Intellect with the Senses ... ... 293 
 
 8. III. — The Special Emotions ... ... ... ... ii. 
 
 9. IV. — Harmony a preponderating Element in Art ... ... 294 
 
 10, The pleasures of Sound and their Hannonies : — Music ... ii. 
 H. Pleasurable Sensations of Sight, and their Harmonies : — Light 
 
 and Shade ; Colours ; Proportions ; Straight and Curved 
 Forms; Symmetry; Visible Movements ... ... 296 
 
 12. Complex Harmonies ... ... ... ... ... 298 
 
 13. Fitness as a source of Beauty : Support; Order ... ... 299 
 
 14. TJNrrT in Diversity .. ... ... ... ... 300 
 
 15. It is a principle in Art, to leave something to Desire ... H. 
 
 16. The Feelmg of Beauty has great latitude ... ... ... ii. 
 
 17. The Sublime : — its definition ; Human energy ; Inanimate 
 
 tilings; Support; Natural agencies; Space; Time. Con- 
 nexion with Terror ... ... ... ... ... 301 
 
 18. Beauty and Sublimity of Natural Objects ; Human Beauty ... 302 
 
 THEORIES OP THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 SoKRATES. Holds the Beautiful and the useful to be the same 304 
 Plato. Discusses opposing theories; connects Beauty with 
 
 tbe theory of Tde^s ... ... ... ... ... ii.. 
 
 Aristotle. Notices orderly arrangement and a certain size ... 305 
 AuGOSTiir. Unity in a comprehensive design ... ... ii. 
 
 Shapteseurt. The Beautiful and the Good both perceived by 
 
 the same internal sense ... ... ... ... ii. 
 
 Addison. Hdtcheson. Diderot ... ... ... ii. 
 
 PJee BuPFiER. Beauty is the iype of each species ... ... ii. 
 
 Sir Joshua Betnolds. Agrees in the main with Buffier ...306 
 EooABTH. Fitness, Variety, Uniformity, Simplicity, Intricacy, 
 
 Magnitude. The line of Beauty and of G-race ... ... ii. 
 
 BuBKE. Beauty causes an agreeable relaxation of the fibres. 
 
 Smoothness ... ... ... ... ... ■ • 307 
 
 £ 
 
xxii CONTENTS. 
 
 Faqi. 
 
 AiBOK. BeAnty is (1) the prtdaclaon of some Simple Etnotion ; 
 (2) a peculiar exercise of the Imagination. The sensible 
 qualities are not heautiful of themselves, but as the ugnB 6f 
 associated emotions or affections ... ... •■• 308 
 
 Jbitbet. Adopts substantially the theory of Alison ... 312 
 
 DuQALu Stewaet. Asserts, against Alison and Jeffi:ey, the 
 intrinsic pleasures of Colour. Explains the Sublime by Height 
 and its associations ... ... ••• — ••• 313 
 
 KuSKiN. Attributes of Infinity, Unity, Bepose, Symmetry, 
 Moderation. His asceticism ... ... ... •• 314 
 
 THE LUDICBOBS. 
 
 1. The causes of Laughter ... ... ... •■■ ••• 316 
 
 2. Incongruity not always ludicrous ... ... ... ... •*■ 
 
 3. The Ludicrous caused by the Degradation of some person or 
 
 interest. Theories of Laughter : Aristotle, Quintilian, Hobbes, 
 Campbell, Kant ... ... ... — _ ..- **• 
 
 i. The pleasure of degradation referable (1) to the sentiment of 
 
 Power, or (2) to the release from Consteaint ... ... 317 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 THE -WILL. 
 
 CHAP. 1. 
 PRIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION. 
 
 1. The Primitive Elements — Spontaneity and Self-conServation ... 318 
 
 SPONTAITEITY OP MOVEMENT. 
 
 2. Spontaneity illustrated ... ... ... ... ... ti. 
 
 3. Muscular groups or Begions ... ... .. ... 319 
 
 4. The members commanded separately by the will should have at 
 
 the outset an Isolated spontaneity ... ... ... ii. 
 
 5. Circumstances accounting for the hi^er degrees of the spon- 
 
 taneous discharge ... ... .. ... ... 320 
 
 LDTK. OF FEELING OF ACTION — SELF-0(fe[SERTATION. 
 
 6. A link has to be formed between actions and feelings ... 322 
 
 7. Self-conservation has two branches. First, Emotional Expression ii. 
 
 8. Secondly, \he concurrence of Activity with Pleasure, and the 
 
 obverse ... ... ... ... ... ... 323 
 
 CHAP. IL 
 GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER. 
 1. Conversion of the primitive elements into the mature volition ... 325 
 
COMTENTS. XXiii 
 
 Faox. 
 
 2. FrocesB of acquirement stated. The coincidence of a movement 
 
 with a pleasure, at first accidental, is maintained by the link 
 of Self-conservation, and finally associated by Contiguity. 
 Exemplified in detail, in the Muscular Feelings and the Sen- 
 sations ... ... .. ... „. ... 325 
 
 3. Second stage, the uniting of movements with Intermediate Ends 332 
 
 4. Movements transferred from one connexion to another ... 333 
 
 5. Yolilion made general. The Word of Command .. ... ii. 
 
 6. Imitation ... ... ... ... ... ... 334 
 
 7. Acting on the Wish to move ... ... ... ... 336 
 
 8. Association of movements with the idea of the Effect to be pro- 
 
 duced ... ... ... ... ... ... 337 
 
 CHAP. m. 
 
 CONTROL OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS. 
 
 1. All voluntary control is through the muscles ... ... 338 
 
 COiniLOL OP THE FSBLINQB. 
 
 2. The power of the Will confined to the muscular accompaniments 339 
 
 3. The voluntary command of the muscles is adequate to suppress 
 
 the movements under emotion ... ... ... ... 340 
 
 COMMAKD OF THB THOUSBTS. 
 
 4. The medium is the control of Attention ... ... ... 341 
 
 5. The will has power over muscular movements in a<fea ... 342 
 
 6. Command of the thoughts may be acquired ... ... ii. 
 
 7. Enters into Constructive Association ... ... ... 343 
 
 8. Command of the Thoughts a means of controlling the Feelings 344 
 
 9. Power of the Feelings to influence the Thoughts ... ... 345 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 MOTIVES, OR ENDS. 
 
 1. Actual pleasures and pains, as Motives .. ».. _ ... 346 
 
 2. Prospectivepleasuresand pains. Circumstances of idealpersistence 347 
 
 3. The Means of pleasure and pain: — ^Money, Sodiiy Strength, 
 
 Knowledge, Formalities, Yirtues ... ... ... 349 
 
 4. The Will biased by Kxed Ideas 35X 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 THE CONFLICT OF MOTIVES. 
 
 1. Conflict of concurring pleasures and pains ... ... ... 3&4 
 
 2. Spontaneity may oppose the motives to the Will ... .. f6. 
 
 3. Exhaustion a bar to the influence of Motives ... ... 355 
 
 4. Opposition of two Motives in the Actual ... ... ... Hl 
 
 5. Conflict between the Actual and the Ideal ... ... ... 3&7 
 
 6. Intermediate Ends in conflict ; Prison Discipline ... ... 858 
 
 7. The Persistence of Ideas makes the In^asaiojied Ends ... 359 
 
XXIV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 BELIBERATION. — EBSOLUTION. —EFFORT. 
 
 Fase. 
 
 1. Delibbration a voluntary suspense, prompted by the evils of 
 
 hasty action ... .... ■•. — ••• . — 360 
 
 2. The Deliberative process conforms to the theory of the Will ... 362 
 
 3. Eesolotion is postponed action ... ... ... ••• 363 
 
 4. A strong motive, with insufBciency in the active organs, makes 
 
 lie state called Effort ... ... ... ••■ 365 
 
 5. Deliberation, Eesolution, and Effort, are accidents, and not 
 
 essentials of the will. Herschel on the sense of Effort, note ♦*. 
 
 CHAP. VIL 
 DESIRE, 
 
 1. Desire is a motive to act — without the ability ,^ — . 366 
 
 2. In Desire, there is a state of conflict .. ... ... ii. 
 
 3. Modes of escape from the unrest of Desire ■.—Forced quiescence ... 367 
 
 4. Ideal or maginary action ... ... ... ... ... 368 
 
 5. Provocatives of Desire : — (1) the wants of the system ; (2) the 
 
 «zperience of pleasure ... ... ... ... ...839 
 
 6. Feelings named from the state of Desire : — Avarice, Ambition, 
 
 Curiosity ... ... ... ... ... ... 370 
 
 7. In Desire, there may be the disturbance of the Fixed Idea ... ii. 
 
 8. Desire not a necessary prelude to volition ... ... ...371 
 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 BELIEF. 
 
 1. Belief, while involving the InteUeot and the Feelings, is essen- 
 
 tially related to acimVy, or the Will ... ... ... a. 
 
 2. We are said to believe what we act upon. Apparent exceptions : 
 
 — (1) action against our beliefs ; (2) believing where there is 
 no occasion to act ; (3) .belief determined by feeling ; (4) belief 
 apparently an intellectual process ... ... ... 372 
 
 3. Belief attaches to the pursuit of »«<er)McAoi!« ends ... ... 375 
 
 4. The intellectual element is an Association of Means and Ends ... 376 
 6. Mental foundations of Belief : — (I) our Activity — Spontaneous 
 
 and Voluntary ; we believe whatever is uncontradicted ... ii. 
 
 6. (2) Intelleotual Association is an aid to Belief ... ... 380 
 
 7. (3) Operation of the Feelings in Belief ... ... ... if,. 
 
 8. Belief in the order of the World varies with the three elements 382 
 
 9. Belief is opposed, not by Disbelief, but by DoDBT ... ... 384 
 
 10. Hope and Despondency are phases of Belief .., ... u. 
 
CONTKNTS. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 THE MORAL HABITS. 
 
 XXV 
 
 Paok. 
 
 1. The Moral Habits are related to Feelings and Volitions ,„ 386 
 
 2. The Moral Acquirements follow the laws of Eetentiveness ... a. 
 
 3. Special conditions :— (1) an Initiative, and (2) a Graduated Ex- 
 
 posure in cases of conflict ... .. ... ...386 
 
 i. Habits in the control of Sense and AK)etite : — Temperance. 
 Command of Attention ... ... ... ... ti. 
 
 5. Habits under the Special Emotions: — (1) Emotioniil suscepti- 
 
 bility on the whole ; (2) the Emotions singly ... ... 387 
 
 6. Habits modifying the Activity, or the Will :— Invigoration, and 
 
 power of Endurance ... „ ... ... ... 390 
 
 7. Control of the Intellectual trains made habitual ... „. 391 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 PEUDENCE.— DUTY.— MOftAL INABILITY. 
 
 1. Influences on the side of Prudence ... ... .„ 392 
 
 2. Influences on the side of Duty ; — Sympathy, coupled with Pru- 
 
 dential motives ... ... ... ... ... 393 
 
 3. Strengthening adjuncts common to Prudence and to Duty ... 395 
 
 4. MosAi. Inability is the insuificiency of ordinary motives; but 
 
 not of all motives ... ... ... ... a. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY, 
 
 1. The esposition of the Will has proceeded upon uniformity of 
 
 sequence between motive and action. This uniformity denied 
 on various grounds : Sokrates ... ... ... ... 396 
 
 2. The perplexity of the question is owing to the inaptness of the 
 
 words — Freedom and Necessity ..■ ... ... 398 
 
 3. Meanings of Choice, Deliberation, Self-determination, Moral 
 
 Agency, Responsibility. Responsibility for Belief Is a man 
 the author of his character ? ... ... ,.. ... 400 
 
 history of the free-will contkovbrsy. 
 
 Plato. Aristotle. The Stoicsi The Epicureans. ... 406 
 
 Neo-Platonists : — Plotinus. Justin Martyr. Tertullian. 407 
 AuGcsTiN. Doctrine of Predestination. Free-will with him 
 does not mean independence of motives ... ... 408 
 
 AauiNAs. Follows Augustin in the doctrines of original sin, 
 irresistible grace and predestination. Modes of meeting the 
 dif&culties ... ... ... ... ... ... 409 
 
 Calvin. Accepted, in their rigour, the views of Augustin ...410 
 Pelaoics and Arminius ... ... ... ... ii. 
 
 HoBBES. Voluntary action follows the last Appetite. Deliber- 
 ation. Intention or Inclination. Liberty is freedom of com- 
 pulsion from within. Nothing begins with itself ... 411 
 
XXvi COKTENTS, 
 
 Pagb. 
 Descastbs. We are conscious of Freedom. Liberty is not 
 indifference, God's perfection requires pre-determination ... ■412 
 
 Locks. - Liberty opposed, not to necessity, but to coercion. A 
 man is free if his actions follow mental antecedents — pleasures 
 and pains. All motives are resolved into uneasiness ... 413 
 
 Spinoza. fVee-will inconsistent with the nature of God. Ques- 
 tion of evil ... .. ... _•.. ••• — *1* 
 
 Collins. Defends the Necessitarian doctrine ... _ ... »»• 
 
 LxiENiTZ. Necessity is hypothetical or absolute. Hypothetical 
 necessity does not derogate from liberty. Different kinds of 
 Fatalism. Motives are dispositions ... ... ...415 
 
 Sahubl CtABES. Asserts that the mind has a self-moving 
 faculty ... ... ... ... ... . — *16 
 
 JoNATHAi)^ Bdwaeds. Vindicates Philosophical Necessity. 
 The will is determined by the strongest motiva Self-deter- 
 mination is inconsistent and inconceivable. Liberty of 
 Indifference untenable. Every event must have a cause; 
 this is contradicted by free-vrill. Fore-knowledge supposes 
 infallible sequence. Morality does not require liberty. 
 Necessity does not involve bad consequences ... ... 417 
 
 Pbicb. Took up Clarke's view of self-motion ... ... 420 
 
 Peiestlbt. Controverted Price. Denied that consciousness is 
 in .favour of freedom. Eeconciled necessity with accounta- 
 bility. Permission of evil means appointing it. Actions 
 must be ultimately traced to the Deity. Materialism leads to 
 necossity ... ... ... ... ... ... 421 
 
 Reid. Liberty defined. Arguments in support of Free-wilL 
 Befutation of Necessity .. ... ... ... 422 
 
 Hamilton. Defends Free-will on his Law of the Conditioned. 
 Jiiberty and Necessity are both inconceivable. Freedom is a 
 datum of consciousness, and is involved in duty .. ■•■ 425 
 
 J. S. Mill. Law of Cause and Effect established by Experience. 
 The testimony of Consciousness. Accoimtability. Necessity 
 is not Fatalism. Influence of Motives ... ... ... 426 
 
 ETHICS. 
 
 PAUT I. 
 
 THE THEOET OF ETHICS. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 PRELIMINAET VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS. 
 
 I. — ^The Ethicai, Standard. Summary of views ... ...429 
 
 .II.— rPsTCHOLOGlCAL questions. 1. The Moral Faculty. 2. The 
 Freedom of the WiU ; the sources of Disinterested conduct , . . 43 1 
 
CONTBaSTS. xxvii 
 
 Pagx. 
 III. — ^ThB BoNUM, SuMMUM BoNUU, Or Happiness ... ... 432 
 
 IV. — The Classipication of Duties, and the Moral Code ... 433 
 
 v. — Relationship of Ethics to Politics ... ... ... ib. 
 
 VI. — Belation to Theology .. ... ... ... ib. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 THE ETHICAL STANDAED. 
 
 1. Ethics, as a department of Practice, is defined by its End ... 434 
 
 2. The Ethical End is the welfare of society, realized through rules 
 
 of conduct duly enforced ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 3. The Hules of Ethics, are of two kinds. The first are imposed 
 
 under a Penalty. These are Laws proper, or Obligatory 
 MoraUty ... ... ... ... ... ... ib. 
 
 4. The second are supported by Eewards ; constituting Optional 
 
 Morality, Merit, Virtue, or Nobleness ... ... ,.. 435 
 
 5. The Ethical End, or MoraUty, as it has been, is founded partly in 
 
 Utility, and partly in Sentiment ... ... ... 437 
 
 6. The Ethical End is Umited, according to the view taken of Moral 
 
 GoYemraent, or Authority : — Distinction between Security 
 and Improvement ... ... ... .. ... 438 
 
 7. Morality, in its essential parts, is ' Eternal and Immutable ;' 
 
 in other parts, it varies with custom ... ... ... 440 
 
 8. Enquiry as to the kind of proof that an Ethical Standard is 
 
 susceptible of. The ultimate end of action must be referred 
 to individual judgment .. ... ... ... ib, 
 
 9. The judgment of Mankind is, with some qualifications, in favour 
 
 of Happiness as the supreme end of conduct ... ... 441 
 
 10. T^e Ethiral end that society is tending to, is Happiness, or 
 
 Utility ... ... 442 
 
 11. Objections against Utility. L — Happiness is not the sole aim 
 
 of human pursuit ... ... ... ... ... 444 
 
 12. n. — The consequences of actions are beyond calculation ... 445 
 
 13. III. — The principle of Utility contains no motives to seek the 
 
 happiness of others .. ... ... ... ... 446 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 THE MORAL FACULTY. 
 
 1. Question whether the Moral Faculty be simple or complex ... 448 
 
 2. Arguments in favour of its being simple and intuitive : — First, 
 
 Our moral judgments are immediate and instantaneous ib. 
 
 3. Secondly, It is a faculty common to eill mankind ... ... li. 
 
 4. Thirdly, It is different from any other mental phenomenon ... 449 
 fi. Replies to these Arguments, and Counter-arguments : — First; 
 
 Immediateness of operation is no proof of an innate origin ... ib. 
 
 6. Secondly, Theallegedsimilarity of men's moral judgments holds 
 
 only in a limited degree. AjQSwers given by the advocates of 
 an Innate sentiment, to the discrepancies ... ... ib. 
 
 7. Thirdly, Moral right and wrong is not an indivisible property, 
 
 but an extensive Code of regulations ... ... ...451 
 
 8. Fourthly, Intuition is not sufficient to settle debated questions 452 
 
XXViii CONTENTS. 
 
 Via*. 
 
 9. Fifthly, It is possible to analyze the Moral Faculty :— Estimate 
 of the operation of (1) Prudence, (2) Sympathy, and (3) the 
 Emotions generally ... ... .•■ ••■. . "j ° 
 
 10. The peculiar attribute of Eightness arises from the mstitution of 
 
 Government or Auttiority ... — _ •••. ••• *"" 
 
 11. The speciality of Conscience, or the Moral Sentiment, is identi- 
 
 fied with our education under Government, or Authority ... 456 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 
 
 SOERATES. His subjects were Men and Society. His Ethical Stand- 
 aid indistinctly expressed. Resolved Virtue into Knowledge. 
 Ideal of pursuit — Well-doing. Inculcated self-denying Precepts. 
 Political Theory. Connexion of Ethics with Theology slender ... 460 
 
 Plato. Eeview of the Dialogues containing portions of Ethical 
 Theory : — Alkibiades I. discusses Just and Unjust. AVcibiades II. 
 the &iowledge of Good or Keasou. Hippias Minor identifies 
 Virtue with Knowledge. Mino> (on Law) refers everything to the 
 decision of an Ideal Wise man. Laches resolves Courage, and 
 Charmides Temperance, into Intelligence or the supreme science of 
 good and eviL Lysis (on Friendship) gives the Idea of the good 
 as the supreme object of affection. Menon enquires, Is virtue teach- 
 aile ? and iterates the science of good and evil. Protagoras makes 
 Pleasure the only good, and Pain the only evil, and defines the 
 science of good and evil as the comparison of pleasures and pains. 
 Qorgias contradicts Protagoras, and sets up Order or Discipline 
 as a final end. FoUtikns (on Government) repeats the Sokratic 
 ideal of the One Wise man. Fhilebus makes Good a compound of 
 Pleasure with Intelligence, the last predominating. The Sepublie 
 assimilates Society to an Individual man, and defines Justice as 
 the balance of the constituent parts of each. IHnueus repeats the 
 doctrine that wickedness is disease, and not voluntary. The Zaun 
 place all conduct under the prescription of the civil magistrate. 
 Summary of Plato's views ... ... ... ... .. 463 
 
 The Ctnics and the Cykenaics. Cynic succession. The proper 
 description of the tenets of both schools comes imder the Summum 
 Bonum. The Cynic Ideal was the minimum of wants, and their 
 self-denial was compensated by exemption from fear, and by pride 
 of superiority. TheCyrenaicABisTrpprs : — Was the first to main- 
 tain that the summum bonum is Pleasure and the absence of Pain. 
 Future Pleasures and Fains taken into the account. His Psych- 
 ology of Pleasure and pain ... ... ... ... ... 470 
 
 Aristotle. Abstract of the Nicomachean Ethics : — ... ...477 
 
 Book First. The Chief Good, or Highest End of human endeavours. 
 Great diflerences of opinion as to the nature of Happiness. The 
 Platonic Idea of the Good criticised. The Highest End an end- 
 in-itself. Virtue referable to the special work of man ; growing 
 out of his mental capacity. External conditions necessary to 
 virtue and happiness. The Soul subdivided into parts, each 
 having its characteristic virtue or excellence ... ... «'}. 
 
CONTENTS. Xxix 
 
 Book Second. !t)efinition and claBsifioation of the Moral virtnes. 
 Virtne the result of Habit. Doctrine bf the Mean. The test of 
 ■virtue to feel no pain. Virtue ieSned fsrentaj an acquirement or 
 a State, (differentia) a Mean between extremes. Bules for hitting 
 theMean ... ... ... ... ... ,__ 431 
 
 Book Third. The Voluntary and Involuntary. Deliberate Prefe- 
 rence. Virtue and Vice are voluntary. The virtues in detail : 
 
 Courage [Self-sacrifice implied in C!ourage]. Temperance ... 485 
 
 Book Fourth. Liberality. Magnificence. Magnanimity. Mild- 
 ness. Good-breeding. Modesty ... .. ... ... 490 
 
 Book Fifth. Justice : — Universal Justice includes all virtue. Par- 
 ticular Justice is of two kinds, Distributive and Corrective ... 493 
 
 Book Sixth. Intellectual Excellences, or Virtues of the Intellect. 
 The Bational part of the Soul embraces the Scientific and the De- 
 liberative functions. Science deals with the necessary. Prudence 
 or thePractical Reason ; its aims and requisites. In virtue, good 
 dispositions must be accompanied with Prudence ... ... 495 
 
 Book Seventh. Gradations of moral strength and moral weakness. 
 Continence and Incontinence .. ... ... ... 50O 
 
 Book8_ Eighth and Ninth. Friendship:— Grounds of Friendship. 
 Varieties of Friendship, corresponding to different objects of 
 liking. Friendship between the virtuous is alone perfect. A 
 settled habit, not a mere passion. Equality in friendship. Poli- 
 tical friendships. Explanation of the family affections. Rule of 
 reciprocity of services. Conflicting obligations. Cessation of friend- 
 ships. Goodwill. Love felt by benefactors. Self-love. Does 
 the happy man need firiends P ... ... ... ... 502 
 
 Book Tenth. Pleasure : — Theories of Pleasure — ^Eudoxns, Spea- 
 sippus, Plato. Pleasure is not The Good. Pleasure defined. The 
 pleasures of Intellect. Nature of the Good or Happiness resumed. 
 Perfect happiness found only in the philosophical life ; second to 
 which is the active social life of the good citizen. Happiness of 
 the gods. Transition from Ethics to Politics ... ... 506 
 
 The Stoics. The succession of Stoical philosophers. Theological 
 Doctrines of the Stoics : — The Divine Gfovemment ; buman beings 
 must rise to the comprehension of Universal Law ; the soul at death 
 absorbed into the divine essence ; argument from Design. Psycho- 
 logy : — Theory of Pleasure and Pain ; theory of the Will. Doc- 
 trine of Happiness or the Good : — Pain no evil ; discipline of 
 endurance — Apathy. Theory of Virtue : — Subordination of self 
 to the larger interests; their view of active Beneficence; the 
 Stoical paradoxes ; the idea of Duty ; consciousness of Self-im- 
 provement ... ... ... ... ... ... 613 
 
 Epicurus. Life and writings. His successors; Virtue and vice 
 referred by him to Pleasures and Pains calculated by Reason. 
 Freedom from pain the primary object. Regulation of desires. 
 Pleasure good if not leading to pain. Bodily feeling the founda- 
 tion of sensibility. Mental feelings contain memory and hope. 
 The greatest miseries are from the delusions of hope, and from tiie 
 torments of fear. Fear of Death and Fear of the Gods. Relations 
 with others ; Justice and Friendship — both based on reciprocity. 
 Virtue and Happiness inseparable. Epicureanism the type of lUl 
 systems grounded on enlightened self-interest ... ... S25 
 
XXX CONTENTS. 
 
 FJlSI. 
 
 The Neo-Platonists. The Hoial End to be attained tltrongli an 
 intellectual regimen. The soul being debased by its connexion 
 with matter, the aim of human action is to regain the ^iritual life. 
 The first step is the practice of the cardinal virtues : the next the 
 pniifying virtues. Happiness is the undisturbed life of contempla- 
 tion. Correspondence of the Ethical, with the Metaphysical, 
 scheme „ ,„ ... ... •■• ... ... 535 
 
 Scholastic Ethics. .&.baelaiu> : — Lays great stress on the sub/, 
 jective element in morality ; highest human good, love to God ; 
 actions judged by intention, and intention by conscience. St. 
 Bernard : — ^Two degrees of virtue. Humanity and Love. John 
 of Salisbuhy : — Combines philosophy and theology ; doctrine of 
 Happiness ; the lower and higher desires. Alexandeb of Hales. 
 BoNAVENTrraA. Albeetos Maowds. Aquikas; — Aristotelian 
 mode of enquiry as to the end ; God the highest good ; true happi- 
 ness lies in the self-sufficing theoretic intdUgence ; virtue ; divi- 
 sion of the virtaes ... ... ... ... ... 537 
 
 EoBBES. (Abstract of the Ethical part of Leviathan). Constitu- 
 ents of man's nature. The Good. Pleasure. The simple pas- 
 sions. Theory of the Will. Good and Evil. Conscience. 
 Virtue. Position of Ethics in the Sciences. Power, Worth, 
 Dignity. Happiness a perpetual progress ; consequences of the 
 restlessness of desire. Natural state of mankind ; a state of emnity 
 and war. Kecessity of articles of peace, called I^aws of Nature. 
 Law defined. Bights ; Renunciation of rights ; Contract ; Merit. 
 Justice. Laws of Gratitude, Complaisance, Pardon upon repent- 
 ance. Laws against Cruelty, Contumely, Pride, Airogance. 
 Laws of Nature, how &r binding. Summary ... .„ 543 
 
 CUMBEBLANV. Standard of Morsd Good summed np in Benevolence. 
 The moral faculty is the Beaeon, apprehending the Nature of 
 Things. Innate Ideas an insufficient foundation. WUl. Dis- 
 interested action. Happiness. Moral Code, the common good 
 of all rational beings. Obligations in respect of giving and 
 of receiving. Politics. Eeligion ... ... ... ... 556 
 
 CuDWOETH. Moral Good and Evil cannot be arbitrary. The mind 
 has a power of Intellection, above Sense, for aiming at the eternal 
 and immutable verities ... ... ... ... ,., 660 
 
 Clabke. The eternal Fitness and Unfitness of Things deitennine 
 JuB<ace, Equity, Goodness and Trutb, and lay corresponding 
 obligations upon reasonable creatures. The sanction of Rewards 
 and Punishments secondary and additional. Oar Duties ... 562 
 
 Wollaston. Resolves good and evil into Truth and Falsehood ... 666 
 
 LocEE. Argnments against Innate Practical Piincii^ee. Freedom 
 of the Will. Moral Rules grounded in Law ... ... ... ib, 
 
 Bdtleb. Characteristics of our Moral Perceptions. Disinterested 
 Benevolence a fact of our constitutions. Our passions and affec- 
 tions do not aim at self as their immediate end. The Supremacy 
 of Conscience established &om our moral nature. Meanings of 
 Nature. Benevolence not ultimately at variance wi& Self-Love 573 
 
 EuTCHESON. Primary feelings of the mind. Finer perceptions — 
 Beauty, Sympathy, the Moral Sense, Social feelings ; the benevo* 
 lent order of the world suggesting Natural Religion. Order or 
 subordination of the feelings as Motives ; position of Benevolence. 
 The Moral Faculty distinct and independent. Confirmation of the 
 
CONTENTS. XXXi 
 
 doctrine from the Sense of Honour. Happiness. Kie tempers and 
 characters hearing on happiness. Duties to God. Circumstances 
 affecting the moral good or evil of actions. Rights and Laws ... 580 
 
 Mandeville. Virtue supported solely by self interest. Compassion 
 resolvable into self. Pride an important source of moral virtue. 
 Private vioe^ public benefits. Origin of society ... ...593 
 
 Hums. Question whether Season or Sentiment he the foundation 
 of morals. _ The esteem for Benevolence shovrs that Utility 
 enters into virtue. Proofs that Justice is founded solely on Utility, 
 Political Society has utility for its end. The Lavrs. Why Utilify 
 pleases. Qualities useful to ourselves. Qualities agreeable (1) to 
 ouTSelTes, and (2) to others. Obligation. The respective share of 
 Season and of Sentiment in moral approbation. Benevolence not 
 resolrable into Self-Love .. ... ... ... ... 598 
 
 Price. The distinctions of Right and Wrong tire perceived by the 
 Understanding. The Beauty and Deformity of Actions. The 
 feelings have some part in our moral discrimination. Self-Love 
 and Benevolence. Good and ill Desert. Obh'gation. Divisions of 
 Virtue. Intention as an elonent in virtuous action. Estimate of 
 degreesof Virtue and Vice... ... ... ... ...610 
 
 Adam Smith. Illustration of the workings of Sympathy. Mutual 
 sympathy. The Amiable and the Respectahle Virtues, flow 
 far Oie several passions are consistent vrith Propriety. Influences 
 of X)Tosperity and adversity on moral judgments. The Sense of 
 Merit and Demerit. Self-approbation. Love of Praise and of 
 Praise-worthiness. Influence and authority of Conscience. Self- 
 partiality ; corrected by the use of General Rules. Connexion of 
 Utility with Moral Approbation. Influence of Custom on the 
 Moral Sentiments. Character of Virtue, Self-command. Opinion 
 regarding the theory of the Moral Sense .. ... ...619 
 
 Hartlet. Account of Disinterestedness. The Moral Sense a pro- 
 duct of Association ... ... ... ... ... 633 
 
 FERGtJSON. (Note) ... ... ... ... ... 635 
 
 Reis. Duty not to be resolved into Interest. Conscience an origi- 
 nal power of the mind. Axiomatic first principles of Morals. Ob- 
 jections to the theory of UtiUty ... ... ... ... ii. 
 
 Stowaht. The Moral Faculty an original power. Criticism of 
 opposing views. Morsil Obligation: connezian with Religion. 
 Duties. Happiness : classification of pleasures ... ... 639 
 
 Brown. Moral approbation a simple emotion of the mind. Univer- 
 sality of moral distinctions. Ohjections to the theory of Utility, 
 Disinterested sentiment ... ... ... ... ... 646 
 
 Pai,et. The Moral Sense not intuitive. Happiness. Virtue : its 
 definition. Moral Obligation resolved into the command of God. 
 Utility a criterion of the Divine Wai. Utility requires us to 
 consider ;$nera2 consequences. Rights. Duties ... ... 651 
 
 Bentham. Utility the sole foundation of Morals. Principles ad- 
 verse to Utility. The Four Sanctions of Right. Comparative 
 estimate of Pleasures and Pains. Classification of Pleasures and 
 Funs. Merit and Demerit. Pleasures and pains viewed as 
 Mcttives ; some motives are Social or tutelary, others Dissocial or 
 Self-regarding. Dispositions. The consequences of a mischievous 
 act. Piuaishment. Private Ethics (Prudence) and Legislation 
 distinguished i their respective spheres ... ... ... 659 
 
XXXU CONTENTS. 
 
 Mackintosh. Universality of Moral Distinctions. _ Antithesis of 
 Beason and Passion. It is not virtnons acts but virtuous ditposi- 
 tions that outweigh the pains of self-sacrifice. The moral senti- 
 ments have for their objects Dispositions. Utility. Development 
 of Conscience through Association ; the constituents are Gratitude, 
 Sympathy, Eesentment and Shame, together with Education. 
 Eeligion must presuppose Morality. Objections to Utility criti- 
 cised. Duties to ourselves, an improper expression. Reference of 
 moral sentiments to the WiU ... ... ... •• ^'^ 
 
 James Mill. Primary constituents of the Moral Faculty — 
 pleasurable and painful sensations. The Causes of these sensa- 
 tions. The Ideas of them, and of their causes. Hope, Fear ; 
 Love, Joy ; Hatred, Aversion. Remote causes of pleasures and 
 pains — Wealth, Power, Dignity, and their opposites. Afifections 
 towards our fellow-creatures— Friendship, Kindness, &c. Motives. 
 Dispositions. Applications to the virtue of Prudence. Justice — 
 by what motives supported. Beneficence. Importance, in moral 
 training, of Praise and Blame, and their associations ; the Moral 
 Sanction. Derivation of Disinterested Feelings ... ... 679 
 
 Austin. Laws defined and classified. The Divine Laws ; how are 
 we to know the Divine Will P Utility the sole criterion. Objec- 
 tions to Utility. Criticism of the theory of a Moral Sense. Pre- 
 vailing misconceptions as to Utility. Nature of Law resumed and 
 illustrated. Impropriety of the teim ' law' as applied to the opera- 
 tions of Nature ... ... ... ... ... ... 685 
 
 Whewell. Opposing schemes of Morality. Proposal to reconcile 
 them. There are some actions Universally approved. A Supreme 
 Rule of Right to be arrived at by combining partial mles : these 
 are obtained from the nature of our faculties. The rule of Speech 
 is Truth; Property supposes Justice; the Affections indicate 
 Humanity. It is a self-evident maxim that the Lower parts of our 
 nature are governed by the Higher. Classification of Springs of 
 Action. Disinterestedness. Classification of Moral Rules, Divi- 
 sion of Rights ... ... ... ... ... 692 
 
 Ferrier. Question of the Moral Sense: errors on both sides. 
 Sympathy passes beycnd feeling, and takes in Thought or self- 
 consciousness. Happiness has two ends — the maintenance of 
 man's Rational nature, and Pleasure ... ... ,.. 698 
 
 Mansel. The conceptions of Right and Wrong are tui gaurit. 
 The moral law can have no authority unless emanating from a 
 lawgiver. The Standard is the moral nature, and not the arbitrary 
 will, of God ... ... ... ... ... ... 700 
 
 John Stuakt Mill. Explanation of what Utilitarianism consists 
 in. Reply to objections against setting up Happiness as the 
 Ethical end. Ultimate Sanction of the principle of Utility : the 
 External and Internal sanctions ; Conscience how made up. The 
 sort of Proof that Utility is susceptible of : — the evidence that 
 happiness is desirable, is that men desire it ; it is consistent with 
 Utifity that virtue should be desired for itself. Connexion be- 
 tween Justice and Utility : — ^meanings of Justice ; essentially 
 grounded in Law ; the sentiments that support Justice, are Self- 
 defence, and Sympathy ; Justice owes its psusmount character to 
 the essential of Security; there are no immutable TnnTima of 
 Justice ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 702 
 
CONTENTS. XXxiil 
 
 Bailet. Facts of the human constitution that give origin to moral 
 phenomena : — susceptibility to pleasure and pain, and to the causes 
 of them ; reciprocation of these ; our expecting reciprocation from 
 others ; sympathy. Consideration of our feelings in regard to 
 actions done to us by others. Our feelings as spectators of actions 
 done to others by others. Actions done to ourselves by others. 
 The different cases combine to modify each other. Explanation 
 of the discrepancies of the moral sentiment in different communi- 
 ties. The consequences of actions the only criterion for rectifying 
 the diversities. Objections to the happiness-test. The term 
 Utility unsuitable. JDisputes as to the origin of moral sentiment 
 in Reason or in a Moral Sense. ... ... ... ... 711 
 
 Spencer. Happiness the ultimate, but not the proximate, end. 
 Moral Science a deduction firom the laws of Ufe and the conditions 
 of existence. There have been, and still are, developing in the 
 race, certain fundamental Moral Intuitions. The Expediency- 
 Morality is transitional. Beference to the general theory of Evo- 
 lution ... — „. ... ... ... ... 721 
 
 Kant. Distinguishes between the empirical and the rational mode 
 of treating Ethics. Nothing properly good, except Will. Sub- 
 jection of Will to Beason. An action done &om natural incli- 
 nation is worthless morally. Duty is respect for Law ; con- 
 formity to Law is the one principle of volition. Moral Law 
 not ascertainable empirically, it must originate a priori in pure 
 (practical) Reason. The Hypothetical and Categorical Impera- 
 tives. Imperative of Prudence. Imperative of Morality. The 
 formula of Moreility. The ends of Morality. The Bational nature 
 of man is an end-in-itself. The Will the source of its own laws 
 — ^the Autonomy of the WiU. The Bealm of Ends. Morality 
 alone has intrinsic Worth or Dignity, Principles founded on the 
 Heteronomy of the Will — Happiness, Perfection. Duty legiti- 
 mized by the conception of the Freedom of the Will, properly 
 understood. Postulates of the pure Practical Beason — Freedom, 
 Immortality, God. Summary ... .... ... ... 725 
 
 Cousin. Analysis of the sentiments aroused in us by human 
 actions. The Moral Sentiment made up of a variety of moral 
 judgments — Qood and Evil, Obligation, Liberty, Merit and De- 
 merit. Virtue brings Happiness. Moral Satisfaction and Be- 
 morse. The Law of Duty is conformity to Reason. The charac- 
 teristic of Beason is Universality. Classitication of Duties : — 
 Duties to Self i to Others — Truth, Justice, Charity. Application 
 to Politics ... .„ ... ... ... ... 740 
 
 Joi'FFBOY. Each creature has a special nature, and a special end. 
 Man has certain primary passions to be satisfied. Secondary 
 passions — the Useful, the Good, Happiness. All the faculties con- 
 trolled by the Reason. The End of Interest. End of Universal 
 Order. Morality the expression of divine thought; identified 
 with the beautiful and the true; The moral law and self-interest 
 coincide. Boundaries of the three states — Passion, Egoism, Moral 
 determinatioa ... ... ... ... ... 746 
 
XXxiv COSTBHTS. 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 A. — Bistory of Nominalism and Jtealitm. Fash. 
 
 The controversy on UniverBals first obtained its place through _So- 
 krates and Plato. Earliest germs in the doctrines of Parmenides 
 and of Heracleitus ... ... ■•• •■• — ^ 
 
 SoKRATES. His manner of life, and method. Search for the mean- 
 ings of universal terms ... .■■ ..■ .— . . ••• * 
 
 Plato. Theory of Ideas (in KratylmJ. TimcBUs; Distinetion of 
 the Transient and the Permanent, the one perceived by Sense, the 
 other by Intelligence ; the intelligent or cogitable element — ^the 
 Ideas, prior in time and in order. Phadrus : Pre-existence_ of the 
 Ideas. Pkcedon : Sense erroneous and can give only Opinion ; it 
 is only the Cogitant mind, disengaging itself from the body, that 
 attains the contemplation of Universals, the only eternal realities. 
 Republio : iteration of the contrast between Sensible Particulars 
 and Cogitable Universals ; Idea of the Gtood. Themtetut .• the 
 Particn&rs, although distinct from, yet participate in, the Univer- 
 sals, and thus become partially existent and cognizable. _ In these 
 views is given the first statement of Realism. In the dialogues — 
 SophisUs and Farmenides — Plato, in his usual dialectical manner, 
 sets forth the objections to the theory of Ideas : these objections 
 are no where answered by him ... ... ... — 4 
 
 Abistotle. Enters his protest against separating Universals from 
 Particulars. Advances a series cf objections against the Platonic 
 Ideas. The Sensible Particular alone has full reality. The Uni- 
 versals exist as predicates, or concomitants, of the Particulars. 
 The Categories ... ... ... ... ... ... 13 
 
 The Stoics. Their alteration of the Categories ... ... 21 
 
 PLOTDfUS. Falls back upon Platonism. The Cogitables are the 
 only realities. The Idea of the Good the highest of all ... 22 
 
 P0BPH7£Y. Vindication of the Categories. Bis doubts as to the 
 separate existence of Genera and Species ... ... ... »6. 
 
 ScOTus EmaENA. A Christian Platonist with Aristotelian ideas. 
 Maintained that reality exists only in the Cogitable or Incorporeal 
 Universal. The first start of Scholastic Realism ... ... 23 
 
 Anselm and Roscellin. Debated the question as bearing on the 
 Trinity. Rise of designations Nominalist and Realist. Abaelard. 
 AaniNAS. Supports the Aristotelian doctrine, with a qualification 
 as to the ideas in the Divine Mind. Duns Scotds ... ... 24 
 
 OcKHAM. Associated with the down&U of Scholasticism. Univer- 
 sals have no existence hut in the mind. Nominalism from his 
 time in the ascendant. After Descartes, the question fell into a 
 second rank ... ... ... ... ... ,„ 2,>j 
 
 HoBBES. The most outspoken representative of extreme Nominalism 2 6 
 
 Locej:. General terms the signs of general ideas ... ... 27 
 
 Berkeley. Denies the power of conceiving any property in the ab- 
 stract ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 28 
 
 HuHK. Abstract ideas are in themselves individual ... ... ii. 
 
 Reid. General names must imply general conceptions. We 
 may disjoin, in our conception, attributes inseparable in nature 29 
 
 SiEWABT. Abstraction as exemplified in Geometry and Algebra ib. 
 
CONTENTS. XXXV 
 
 Faoe. 
 BsowN. A general word designates certaiii paitiouIarSj together 
 
 xritb, the fa^ of their Tesemblance ... ... ... ... SO 
 
 Hamtltok. Gonsiders both parties misled by the ambignity of the 
 
 terms. Expresses NominaUsm with ezaotness, but admits a form 
 
 of Oonceptualism... ... ... ... ... ... 31 
 
 James Mill. A genend term is associated with a multitude of 
 
 particulars ; the idea complex and indistinct, but not unintelligible ii. 
 Bailey. The mental conceptions the same for proper names and for 
 
 general names ... ... ... ... ... ... 32 
 
 B. — The Origin of Knowledge — Experience and Intuition. 
 
 Plato. The doctrine of iSfntnuivnt^ ... ... ... ... 83 
 
 Abistotle. Did not regard the notions of Cause, Substance, &o. as 
 Intuitions. Common Sense belongs to the region of Opinion, 
 and not to Science or Cognition ; and includes the provinces of 
 Ehetorio and Dialectic — the matters generally received among men. 
 The Topica. The principles of Science : some special to the seve- 
 ral sciences ; others common to all sciences— the First Philosophy 
 or Ontology. Demonstration must end in principles that are. in- 
 demonstrable. These higbest principles are not intuitive ; they 
 are the growth of the higher human faculties ; their truth is as- 
 certained by Induction. Eelation to Intellect or Nous. Prin- 
 ciples of the First Philosophy — the Maxim of Contradiction, and 
 the Maxim of Excluded Middle. His vindication of those maxims 
 consists in an appeal to Induction ... .. . . ... iJ. 
 
 The ScHOOLMEiif. Opposing views were held. The question be- 
 came prominent at Uie close of the scholastic period. ... ... 49 
 
 Descabtes. First position — Thought implies Existence. The idea 
 of Perfection involves a perfect Deity. The veracity of God war- 
 rants the Existence of Matter. Mind a thinking substance. Body 
 an extended substance. His Deductive system founded on self- 
 evident truths. Examples of Intuitions ... ... ... ii. 
 
 Arnacld. Distinguishes between Image and Idea. There are 
 simple ideas not arising &om Sense ... ... ... 61 
 
 CcDWOETH. Sense £ind Cognition. Ideas of Cognition ... 62 
 
 Herbert of Cherbhry. What is accepted by all men must be 
 true. The Common Notions are Instinctive. Their characters ib. 
 
 Locke. His replies to the arguments for Iimate Idesis : — Argument 
 from Universality. That the propositions, as soon as heard, are as- 
 sented to. Opposing considerations : — The maxims are not known 
 to children ; tiiey appear least in savages, and in the illiterate. 
 Examination of some alleged innate ideas ... ... ... 53 
 
 liElBNiTZ. Charges Locke with overlooking the distinction between 
 truths of fact and neceasary truths. The Intellect itself is innate. 
 Examples of necessary principles. Particular experiences cannot 
 impart universality. Themod^ofpre-existence of the innate ideas 66 
 
 Kant. His position as between the opposing schools. Maintained 
 the existence of a priori or Innate Principles. Examples from 
 Mathematics. The native elements are ibrmt, experience sup- 
 plying the Matter. I.^Forms of Intuition — Space and Time. 
 II. — Categories of the TTnderstauding — Unity, Plurality, Univer- 
 sality, Beality, Negation, Limitation, Substantiality, Causality, 
 Beciprocal action. Possibility, Existence, Necessity, III. — Ideas 
 OftheBeasoa— the Soul, the World, Ood ... ... ... 68 
 
XXXVl CONTEajTS. 
 
 Fags. 
 
 BuFEiEB. His anticipation of Beid. Defines Common Sense. 
 Enumeration of First Truths ... ... ... .•• 62 
 
 Beid. Common Sense is the judgment of sound minds generally. 
 Principles of Contingent Truth. The Principles of Necessary 
 Truth :— Grammar, Logic, Mathematics, Taste, Morals, Meta- 
 physics, &c. ... ... ... ... ... ... 63 
 
 SixwAKT. Theory of Axioms, Definitions, and Mathematical De- 
 monstration ... ... ... ... ... ... 65 
 
 EAmLTON. Common Sense another name for the final appeal to 
 Consciousness. Criteria of the principles of Common Sense. 
 Meanings of Necessity. Law of the Conditioned, Applied to 
 CausaUty and to Substance ... ... ... ... 67 
 
 J. S. MiLii. The nature of the certainty of mathematical truths. 
 Beply to the arguments in favour of the & priori foundation of the 
 mathematical axioms. Discussion of the test of inconceivableness 
 of the opposites. Logical basis of Arithmetic and Algebra. Ex- 
 amination of Mr. Spencer's theory of the axioms ... ... 69 
 
 ManSel. Different kinds of Necessity : — ^Mathematical necessity : 
 the axioms of Geometry ; Arithmetic. Metaphysical Necessif^. 
 Substance; Causality. Logical Necessity. Moral Necessity ... 73 
 
 C. — On Soppiness. 
 
 Enumeration of primary Pleasures and Fains. Important distinc- 
 tions among pleasures and pains. Happiness as affected by the 
 gnnciple of Relativity. Health. Acnvirr, or Occupation. 
 Knowledge. Education. Individualitt. Wealth. Vibtub, 
 or Duty. Keliqion. Formation of a Plan of life, or Method 78 
 
 D. — Classifications of the Mind. 
 
 The Intellectital Powers. Aquinas. Beid. Stewart. Brown. 
 
 Hamilton, Bailey ... ... ... ... .,, 88 
 
 The Emotions. Beid. Stewart. Brown. Hamilton, Spencer, 
 
 Kant. Herbart. Schleidler ... ... ... ... 89 
 
 The Laws oe Association. Aristotle. Lndovicos Vives. 
 
 Hobbes. Locke. Hume. Gerard. Beattie. Hartley. James 
 
 Mill. Stewart. Brown. Hamilton ... ... ... 91 
 
 E, — Meanings of Certain Terms. 
 
 Consciousness. — As mental life on the whole. As the snbjectiTe 
 life more especially. View that Consciousness, as a whole, ia 
 based on knowing ... ... ... .., „. 93 
 
 Sensation. Expresses various contrasting phenomena ... 94 
 
 Peesentation and Representation ... ... ... 95 
 
 Personal Identity. Identity in living beings involves unbroken 
 continuity. Two views of Personal Identity : (1) a Persistent 
 Substance underlying consciousness ; (2) the Sequence of con- 
 scious states. Nature of our belief in Memory ... ... 96 
 
 Sdbstancb. Every property of a thing may be called an Attribute, 
 and the question arises what is the Substance ? Two alter- 
 natives : — (1) an unknowable substratum ; (2) the reservation of 
 the fundamental or essential property, as the Substance. Substance 
 of Matter : of Mind. The total of any concrete may be held as 
 the subject of the various individual attoibutes. The questions of 
 Substance and Personal Identity in great part the same ... 93 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 DEFINITION AND DIVISIONS OF MIND. 
 
 1. Human Knowledge, Experience, or Consciousness, 
 falls under two great departments ; popularly, they are 
 called Matter and Mind; philosophers, farther, employ the 
 terms External World and Internal World, Not-Self or 
 Non-Ego and Self or Ego ; hut the names Ohject and Sub- 
 ject are to be preferred. 
 
 The experience or conscionsness of a tree, a river, a con- 
 stellation, illustrates what is meant by Object. The expe- 
 rience of a pleasure, a pain, a volition, a thought, comes under 
 the head of Subject. 
 
 There is nothing that we can know, or conceive of, but is 
 included under one or other of these two great departments. 
 They comprehend the entire universe as ascertainable by us. 
 
 2. The department of the Object, or Object-World, is 
 exactly circumscribed by one property. Extension. The 
 world of Subject — experience is devoid of this property. 
 
 A tree or a river .is said to possess extended magnitude. 
 A pleasure has no length, breadth, or thickness ; it is in no 
 respect an extended thing. A thought or idea may refer to ex- 
 tended magnitudes, but it cannot be said to have extension in 
 itself. ])T^either can we say that an act of the will, a desire, a 
 belief, occupy, dimensions in space. Hence all that comes within, 
 the .sphere of the Subject is spc^en of as the Unextended. 
 
 3. Thus, if Mind, as commonly happens, is put for the 
 
2 DEFINITION AND DIVISIONS OF MIND. 
 
 sum total of Subject-experiences, we may define it nega- 
 tively by a single fact — ^the absence of Extension. Bat, as 
 Object-experience is also in a sense mental, the only ac- 
 count of Mind strictly admissible in scientific Psychology 
 consists in specifying three properties or functions — Feel- 
 ing, WUl or Volition, and Thought or Intellect — ^through 
 which all our experience, as well Objective as Subjective, 
 is built up. This positive enumeration is what must stand 
 for a definition. 
 
 Feelisg includes all our pleasures and pains, and certain 
 modes of excitement, or of consciousness simply, that are 
 neutral or indifferent as regards pleasure and pain. The 
 pleasures of warmth, food, music ; the pains of fatigue, 
 poverty, remorse ; the excitement of hurry and surprise, the 
 supporting of a, light weight, the tonch of a table, the sound of 
 a dog harking in the distance — are Feelings. The two lead- 
 ing divisions of the feelings are commonly given as Sensations 
 and Emotions. 
 
 Will or VoLmoN comprises all the actions of human beings 
 in so far as impelled or guided by Feelings. Eating, walking, 
 building, sowing, speaJaiag — are actions performed with some 
 end in view ; and ends are comprised in the gaining of plea- 
 sure or the avoiding of pain. Actions not prompted by feel- 
 ings are not voluntary. Such are the powers of nature — ^wind, 
 gravity, electricity, &o. ; so also the organic ftmctions of breath- 
 ing, circulation, and the movements of the intestines. 
 
 Thought, Intellect, Intelhgence or Cognition includes the 
 powers known as Perception, Memory, Conception, Abstrac- 
 tion, Beason, Judgment, and Imagination. It is analyzed, as 
 will be seen, into three functions, called Discrimination or 
 Consciousness of Difference, Similarity or Consciousness of 
 Agreement, and Betentiveness or Memory. 
 
 The mind can seldom operate exclusively in any one of 
 these three modes. A Feeling is apt to be accompanied more 
 or less by "Will and by Thought. When we are pleased, 
 our will is moved for continuance or increase of the pleasure 
 (WiU) ; we at the same time discriminate and identify the 
 pleasure, and have it impressed on the memory (Thought). 
 (Hamilton's Lectures on Metaphysics, vol. i. p. 188.) 
 
 Thus the Definition is also a Division of the Mind ; that 
 is, a classification of its leading or fundamental attributes. 
 
 We may advert to some of the previous modes of defining and 
 
CLASSIFICATIONS OF MIND. 3 
 
 dividing the Mind. Eeid says, ' By the mind of a man, we under- 
 stand that in him which thinks, remembers, reasons, wills:' a 
 definition by means of a division at once defective and redundant ; 
 the defect lies in the absence of Feeling; the redundancy in the 
 addition of ' remember' and ' reason' to the comprehensive word 
 'think.' 
 
 Keid's formal classification in expounding the mind is into 
 Inielledual Pcwera and Active Powers. The submerged depart- 
 ment of Feeling will be found partly mixed up with the Intellectual 
 Powers, wherein are included the Senses and the Emotions of 
 Taste, and partly treated of among the Active Powers, which com- 
 piisethe exposition of the benevolent and the malevolent affections. 
 
 Dr. Thom'as Brown, displeased with the mode of applying the 
 term 'Active' in the above division, went into the other extreme, 
 and brought forward a classification where Feeling seems entirely 
 to overlie the region of Volition. He divides mental states into 
 external affections and internal affections. By external affections he 
 means the feelings we have by the Senses, in other words Sensa- 
 tion. The internal affections he subdivides into intellectual states 
 of mind and emotions. TTi's division, therefore, is tantamount to 
 Sensation, Emotion, and Intellect. All the phenomena commonly 
 recognized eis of an active or volitional character he classes as a 
 part of Emotion. 
 
 Sir "William Hamilton, in remarking on the arrangement 
 followed in the writings of Professor Dugald Stewart, states his 
 own view as follows : — ' If we take the Mental to the exclusion of 
 Material phoenomena, that is, the phoenomena manifested through 
 the medium of Self-consciousness or Reflection, they naturally 
 divide themselves into three categories or primary genera ; — the 
 phoenomena of Knowledge or Cognition, — ^the phoenomena of Feeling 
 or of Pleasure and Pain, — and the phoenomena of Conation or of 
 Wm and Desire.' InteUigence, Feeling, and "WOl are thus distinc- 
 tively set forth. 
 
 4. It is not practicable to discuss the powers of the 
 mind in the exact order of the three leading attributes. 
 
 reeling and Volition each involve certain primary ele- 
 ments, and also certain secondary or complex elements due to 
 the operation of the Intellect upon the primary. For example. 
 Sensation is a primary department of feeling, and always 
 precedes the Intellect; while the Emotions, which are se- 
 condary and derived, follow the exposition of the Intellectnal 
 powers. The WiU is to a great extent the prodnct of the Reten- 
 tive function of Intelligence ; it is also dependent throughont 
 on the Eeelings ; hence it is placed last in the course of the 
 exposition; only, at an early stage, some notice is taken of its 
 primary constituents. 
 
4 DEFINITION AND DIVISIONS OF MIND. 
 
 The arrangement is as follows : — 
 
 First, Feeling and Volition in the germ, together with, the 
 foil detail of Sensation, which contains a department of Feel- 
 ing, and exemplifies one of the InteUeotnal ftmotions;— Dis- 
 crimination. The convenient title is Motement, Sense and 
 Instinct. 
 
 Secondly, The Inteli,ect. 
 
 Thirdly, The Emotions, completing the department of 
 FeeUng. 
 
 Fourthly, The Will. 
 
 5. Although Subject and Object (Mind and Matter) are 
 the most widely opposed facts of our experience, yet there 
 is, in nature, a concomitance or connexion between Mind 
 and a definite Material organism for every individual. 
 
 The nature and extent of this connexion will appear as 
 we proceed ; and, afterwards, the phraseology of ihs proposi- 
 tion will be rendered more exact. Each mind is known, by 
 direct or immediate knowledge, only to itself. Other minds 
 are known to ns solely through the material organism. 
 
 The physical organs related to the mental processes are : — 
 I. The Brain and Nerves ; II. The Organs of Movement, or 
 the Muscles; III. The Organs of Sense; IV. The Viscera, 
 including the Alimentary Canal, the Lungs, the Heart, &c. 
 The greatest intimacy of relationship is with the Brain and 
 Nerves. 
 
 It has always been a matter of difficulty to express the nature 
 of this concouiitaitce, and hence a certain mystery has attached to 
 the union of mind and body. The difficulty is owing to the fact 
 that we are apt to insist on some kind of local or space relationship 
 between the Extended and the Unextended. "When we think of 
 connexion, it is almost always of connexion in space ; as in sup- 
 posing one thing placed in the interior of another. This last 
 figure is often applied to the present case. Mind is said to be tn- 
 ternal to, or within, the body. Descartes localized mind in the 
 pineal gland ; the schoolmen debated whether the mind is all in 
 the whole body, or all in every part. Such expressions are un- 
 suitable to the case. The connexiQii is one of d^^fidence, but not 
 properly of local union. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS. 
 
 (Summary ofBesults.) 
 
 1. The Brain is the principal, although not the sole, 
 organ of mind ; and its leading functions are mental. 
 
 The proofs of this position are these : — 
 
 (1) The physical pain of excessive mental excitement is 
 localized in the head. In extreme muscular fatigue, pain is 
 felt in the muscles ; irritation of the lungs is referred to the 
 chest, indigestion to the stomach; and when mental exercise 
 brings on acute irritation, the local seat is the head. 
 
 (2) Injury or disease of the brain affects the mental 
 powers. A blow on the head destroys consciousness ; physical 
 alterations of the nervous substance (as seen after death) are 
 connected with loss of speech, loss of memory, insanity, or 
 some other mental deprivation or derangement. 
 
 (3) The products of nervous waste are more abundant 
 after mental excitement. These products, eliminated mainly 
 by the kidneys, are the alkahne phosphates, combined in the 
 triple phosphate of ammonia and magnesia. Phosphorus is 
 a characteristic ingredient of the nervous substance. 
 
 (4) There is a general connexion between size of brain 
 and mental energy. In the animal series, intelligence increases 
 with the development of the brain. The human brain greatly 
 exceeds the animal brain; and the most advanced races of 
 men have the largest brains. Men distinguished for mental 
 force have, as a general rule, brains of an unusaal size. The 
 average weight of the brain is 48 oz. ; the brain of Cnvier 
 weighed 64 oz. Idiots commonly have small brains. 
 
 (5) By specific experiments on the brain and nerves, it is 
 shown that they are indispensable to the mental ftmctions. 
 
 2. The Nervous System, as a whole, is composed of 
 a central mass, or lump, and a system of branching or 
 ramifying threads, designated the nerves. 
 
6 THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS. 
 
 The central mass, or lump, is called the cerebro-spinal 
 axis, or centre, because contained in the head and backbone, 
 being a large roundish lump (in the head), united to a slender 
 column or rod (in the spine). _ 
 
 The nerves are the silvery threads proceeding, from the 
 central lump, and ramifying to all parts of the body. As 
 there is a circle of action between the brain and the bodUy 
 organs, one-half of the nerves carry influence outwards, tha 
 other half inwards. 
 
 3. The nervous substance is composed of two elements, 
 described as the white matter and the grey matter. 
 
 The white matter is made up of minute /6res. The 
 grey matter contains fibres, together with small bodies, 
 termed cells, or corpuscles. 
 
 By slicing through a brain, we may observe the two kinds 
 of substance. The interior mass is a pale, waxy white ; the 
 circumference shows an irregular cake of ashy grey colour. 
 
 Microscopically viewed, the two elements of the nerve sub- 
 stance are (1) fibres, and (2) little bodies called ceUs or 
 corpuscles. The white matter is made up of fibres ; the grey 
 matter contains cells intermingled with fibres. 
 
 One remarkable peculiarity of the nerve fibres is their ex- 
 ceeding minuteness. Their thickness ranges from the 
 
 T^^th, the ^if^-^ih, ■^s.^mi^'O; ^Tr.W*^' *° *^^ nytJ^iyTnyt^ of 
 an inch. In a rod of nervous matter, an inch thick, there 
 might be, from ten to one hundred millions of fibres. Such 
 minuteness and corresponding multiplication of fibres must 
 be viewed with reference to the variety and complicacy of the 
 mental functions. 
 
 A second fact is their position. This is always a completed 
 connexion between the extremities of the body and the cells 
 of the grey matter, or else between one ceU and another of the 
 central lump ; there are no loose ends. The fibres are thus a 
 connecting or conducting material. 
 
 The cdls or corpuscles are rounded, pear shaped, or irregular 
 little bodies, and give origin each to two or more fibres. They 
 are on a corresponding scale of minuteness. They range as high 
 as the -j-Jfjth of an inch, and as low as the ■j-j.-Jy^nj*^- -^ litSe 
 cube of grey matter, a quarter of an inch in the side, might 
 contain one hundred thousand cells. 
 
 These corpuscles are richly supplied with blood (so are the 
 nerve fibres), and are supposed to be Centres of nervous 
 energy or influence, or, at all events, parts where the nervous 
 
FUNCTIONS OP THE SPINAL COED. 7 
 
 energy is re-inforced. Hence ibe masses of grey matter are 
 spoken of as constituting the Nerve Centres. 
 
 A second function attaching to the corpuscles supplies a key 
 to the plan of the brain. They are Grand Junctions or Crossings, 
 where the fibres extend and multiply their connexions. The 
 fibres coming from all parts of the body, enter sooner or later 
 into the corpuscles of the grey substance, and, through these, 
 estabUah forward and lateral communications with other 
 fibres, which communications are required for grouping and 
 co-ordinating sensations and moyements in the exercise of our 
 mental functions. 
 
 4. The Central nervous mass, or Cerebro-Spinal Axis, 
 is composed of parts, which may be separately viewed, and 
 to which, belong separate functions. 
 
 I. The Spinal Cord is the rod or column of nervous sub- 
 stance enclosed in the back-bone. It is chiefly made up of 
 white matter, but contains a core of grey substance. 
 
 The Spinal Cord is supposed to terminate at the edge of 
 the hole in the skull where the column enters to join the brain. 
 At this point, it is expanded both in width and in depth, and 
 receives additions of grey matter. The expanded portion, 
 about 1^ inch in length, is called the medulla oblongata, and 
 is a body of great importance, being the centre of important 
 nerves. 
 
 The functions of the Spinal Cord are known to be these — 
 
 First, It is the main Trunk of all the nerves distributed to 
 the body generally (the head excepted). Its destruction or 
 severance at any part puts an end to all communication with 
 the members supplied with nerves below the point of sever- 
 ance ; whence follow paralysis and loss of feeling. 
 
 Secondly, It has the functions of a Centre ; in other words, 
 it completes a circle of nervous action, so that certain move- 
 ments, in answer to stimulants, can be kept up by means of it 
 alone. This property is allied with the inside core of grey 
 matter. A decapitated frog will draw up and throw out its 
 limbs when the skin is pinched or irritated. 
 
 Taking together the Spinal Cord and the Medulla Oblongata, 
 we find that by their means a certain class of living actions 
 are maintained, called automatio, and also reflex actions. These 
 are involuntary actions ; they are maintained without any 
 feeling, intention, or volition, on our part. They are enu- 
 merated as follows : — 
 
 (1) Movements connected with the process of Digestion. 
 
8 THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS. 
 
 The first operation- upon the food in the mouth — ^the chewing 
 or masticating— is voluntapy, and requires the co-operation of 
 the brain. When the morsel passes from the tongue into the 
 bag of the throat, it is forced down the gullet by a series of 
 contractions and movements which are involuntary; we have 
 no feeling of them, and no control over them. The contact of 
 the food with the surface of the alimentary tabe impresses 
 certain, nerves distributed there ; influence is conveyed to a 
 nervous centre (in some part below the brain, probably the 
 medulla oblongata, together with the sympathetic ganglia), 
 and the response is manifested in the contracting of the mus- 
 cular fibres of the alimentary tube. 
 
 (2) The movements connected with Bespiration. The 
 breathing action is sustained by a power withdrawn from our 
 will, although voluntary muscles are made use of. In taking 
 in breathj the lungs are expanded by the muscles of the chest ; 
 in expiration, the chest is compressed, and the air forced 
 out, by the abdominal muscles. The medulla oblongata Is the 
 centre for sustaining this process. 
 
 The acts of ocmgkmg and sneezing are reflex acts, operated 
 through the lnngs< The irritation of the very sensitive sur- 
 faces of the throat and bronchial tubes, and of the lining 
 membrane of the nose, originates, through the medulla ob- 
 longata, a powerful discharge of nervous force to the expira- 
 tory muscles, and the air is forced out with explosive violence. 
 SueJdng in infants is a purely reflex act. 
 
 (3) Certain reflex movements are connected with the 
 EyeSi _ The act of winking is stimulated by the contact of the 
 eye with the inner surface of the upper eyelid, and serves to 
 distribute the tears, or eye-wash, and clean the ball. There is 
 also a reflex action of the light in opening and closing the 
 pupil of the eye. 
 
 (4) There is a tendency, of a purely reflex nature, to 
 move the muscles of any part, by a stimulus specially applied 
 to that part. In the decapitated frog, the pinching of a foot 
 leads to the retractation of that foot An object placed in the 
 open hand of any one asleep, stimulates the closure of the hand. 
 Touching the cheek of a child makes it laugh. In tasting any. 
 tiling) the sensation, while awakening a general expression of 
 feeling, more especially excites the muscles of the mouth. The 
 same applies to smell ; a bad odour produces a contortion of 
 the nose. In.these effects of the more special senses, the in- 
 ftuenee may not be limited to the spinal cord, but it illustrates 
 the kind of reflax action referred to, an action •which the cord 
 
FUNCTIONS OF THE CEREBRUM. 9 
 
 is capable of sustaining. This whole class has sometimes been 
 called sensori-motor actions. 
 
 (5) The effect denominated the tension, tone, or tonicity 
 oi the muscles. It is a fact, that in the profonndest slumber 
 there is still a certain degree of contraction in the muscles ; 
 only after death are they wholly relaxed. Now, experi- 
 ments seem to show that this remaining contraction is 
 maintained through the agency of the spinal cord ; it disap- 
 pears with the destruction of the cord. 
 
 n. The Brain, or Encephalon, is the rounded or oval lump 
 of nervous matter fiUing the cavity of the skuU. It is a com- 
 plex mass, but there are certain recognized divisions, with 
 probable (Kfference of function. 
 
 Commencing from below, and continuous with the Spinal 
 cord, is the Medulla Oilongata, which has been already noticed. 
 
 Next is the Pons Va/rolii, or ring-like protuberance, so 
 called because it embraces like a ring the main stem of the 
 brain, continued upwards from the medulla oblongata. It 
 contains white, or fibrous matter, running partly up and down, 
 and partly in a transverse direction, with dLQused grey mat- 
 ter. As regards the white portion, it serves as a track of 
 communication from below upwards, and from one half of the 
 cerebellum (which adjoins it) to the other half. As regards 
 the grey matter, it must perform some of the fanctions of a 
 centre, in reflecting and multiplying nervous communications. 
 No moi-e special explanation can be given of its functions. 
 
 The Cerebral Hemispheres, sometimes called the brain pro- 
 per, constitute the highest and by far the largest part of the 
 human brain. This mass is egg-shaped, but with a flattened 
 base ; the big end of the egg being behind. There is a com- 
 plete division into two halves, right and left, by a deep fissure 
 all round, leaving only a connecting band of white matter. 
 The surface is not plain, but moulded into numerous smooth 
 and tortuous eminences, called convolutions, which are sepa- 
 rated by furrows of considerable, though variable depth. The 
 convoluted surface consists of a cake of grey matter, some- 
 what less than half an inch thick, and very much extended by 
 the convoluted arrangement. Inside of this cake, the hemi- 
 spheres are made up of white matter, with the exception of 
 certain small enclosed masses, which contain considerable por- 
 tions of grey matter. 
 
 These last-named bodies, called the lesser grey centres of the 
 brain, are regarded as the medium of connexion between the 
 hemispheres above, and the great stem below. Probably in 
 
10 THE NERVOUS SYSTEM aND ITS FUNCTIONS. 
 
 them occurs that nmltipHcation of fibres, necessary to the 
 enormous expansion of the white matter of the hemispheres. 
 Two of these bodies are usually named together, the corpora 
 striata and thalatrd optid, as being closely conjoined in the 
 heart of the white substance of the hemispheres ; through 
 them most of the ascending fibres of the main stem spread out 
 into the hemispheres. They contain a large amount of grey 
 matter. A third mass, the corpora qtiadrigemma, or quadruple 
 bodies, is more detached, and lies behind, between the cere- 
 brum and the cerebellum. This centre is closely connected 
 with the optic nerve, and has important functions relating to 
 vision. In the lower vertebrata (as fishes), it assumes very 
 large proportions as compared with the rest of the brain. 
 Besting on the middle cleft of the four eminences, is a small 
 conical body, called the pineal gZa/nd, curious as being sup- 
 posed, by Descartes, to be the seat of the soul. 
 
 The fanctions of the Hemispheres of the Brain, including 
 the enclosed Ganglia, comprehend all, or nearly all, that is 
 comprised in mind. When they are destroyed, or seriously 
 injured, sensation, emotion, volition, and intelligence are sus- 
 pended. Movements are still possible, but there is no evidence 
 that they are accompanied with consciousness, in other words, 
 with feeling and intelligence ; they are without purpose, or 
 volition. 
 
 It would be interesting, if we could assign distinct mental 
 functions to difierent parts of this large and complicated organ; 
 if we could find certain convolutions related to specific feelings, 
 or to specific intellectual gifts and acquirements. This Phren- 
 ology attempted, but with doubtful success. Yet, it is most 
 reasonable to suppose that, the brain being constituted on a 
 uniform plan, the same parts serve the same fiinctions in 
 difierent individuals. 
 
 The Cerebellum, Utile hram, or after-brain, lies behind and 
 beneath the convoluted hemispheres. It is a nearly wedge- 
 shaped body, divided into two halves, with connecting white 
 matter. lake the hemispheres, its outer surface is a thin cake 
 of grey matter, extended, not by the convoluted arrangement, 
 but by being folded into plates or lanunee. The connexions 
 of the cerebeUum are, beneathj with a detached branch of the 
 great stem, and above with the hemispheres, through the 
 corpora quadrigemina ; the two halves ai-e united laterally by 
 the pons vai'olii. 
 
 The functions of the Cerebellum are still under discussion. 
 Certain experiments, made by Flourens, were interpreted as 
 
FUNCTIONS OF THE CEREBELLUM. 11 
 
 showing that it is the centre of rhythmical and combined 
 movements, such aa the locomotive movements — walking, 
 flying, swimming, &c. Its destruction in pigeons took away 
 the power of standing, flying, walking, leaping, without 
 seeming to destroy the cardinal fanctions of the mind, the 
 powers of sensation and volition. The inference has been 
 denied by Brown- Slquard, who affirms that the same inability 
 of guiding and combining the movements follows the destruc- 
 tion or irritation of other parts of the base of the brain. The 
 two sets of observations are not inconsistent ; for, as the ner- 
 vous action has to traverse a certain course or ciromt, it may 
 be suspended by destroying any part of the line. What seems 
 to be established by the observations is, that there is a separate 
 locality concerned in joining movements into harmonious or 
 combined groups for executing the voluntary determinations. 
 
 THE NEKVES. 
 
 5. The nerves are the branching or ramifying cords, pro- 
 ceeding from the centres, and distributed to all parts of the 
 body. 
 
 They have been locally divided into spinal and cerebral, 
 according as they emerge from the Spinal Cord, or directly 
 from the Brain. This is chiefly a matter of local convenience ; 
 those nerves supplying the head and face, emerge at once 
 from the brain, through openings in the skull ; the rest de- 
 scend in the spinal cord, and are given off, at openings be- 
 tween the vertebrae, higher or lower, according to their ulti- 
 mate destination. 
 
 The mode of emergence from the spinal cord is peculiar. 
 At the interstices of the vertebrae, a couple of branches 
 emerge, for lie two sides of the body. Each member of the 
 couple is composed of two portions, or roots, an anterior and 
 a posterior root, which at a little distance unite in a common 
 stem. It is observed, however, that the posterior root has a 
 little swelling or ganglion, containing grey substance, there 
 being nothing to correspond in the anterior root. 
 
 6. The general function of the nerves is to transmit 
 influence from one part of the system to another. 
 
 The nerves are supposed to originate nothing ; they are 
 exclusively employed in carrying or conveying energy of 
 
12 THE NEEVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS. 
 
 their own kind. In the final resnlt, this energy stimulates 
 mnscles into action, and withont it no muscle ever operates. 
 But in the circles of thought, a great many nerve currents go 
 their rounds, without stimulating muscles. 
 
 7. The circuit of nervous action supposes two classes 
 of nerves, the incarrying and the outcarrying. These are 
 usually combined in the same trunk nerve. They appear 
 in separation, in the double roots of the spinal nerves. 
 
 The nervous influence does not proceed indiscriminately to 
 and fro, in the same fibres ; one class is employed for convey- 
 ing influence inwards, iu sensation, and the other class for con- 
 veying influence outwards, in volition. At the emergence of 
 the spinal nerves, the classes are distinct. It was the dis- 
 covery of Bell, that the posterior roots, distinguished by the 
 little ganglionic swellings, are nerves purely of sensation ; the 
 anterior roots, nerves purely of movement. It would be a 
 point of great interest, if these pure nerves could be traced 
 upwards into the nerve centres, so as to show which centres 
 received sensory fibres, and which motory ; this would be the 
 first clue to a genuine Phrenology. 
 
 The Cerebral Nerves are nearly all pure nerves. They 
 were formerly divided into nine pairs, but there are, in reality, 
 twelve pairs. 
 
 The ,/5re* pair is the olfactory, ornerve of Smell. The second 
 is the optic, or nerve of Sight. The third, fowrth, and sixth pairs 
 are distributed to the musd.es of the eye, and therefore determine 
 its movements. The ffth pair is double, containing a motor 
 branch to the muscles of the jaws, and a sensory branch connected 
 with the sensibility of the face, and containing the nerve of Taste. 
 The seventh pair is motor, and supplies the muscles of the face. 
 The eighth is the nerve of Hearing. The ninth supplies sensory 
 fibres to the tongue and throat (being a second nerve of Taste), 
 and motor fibres to the muscles of the throat or pharynx. The 
 tenth, called pnmmo-gastric, supplies the larynx, the lungs, the 
 liver, and the stomach, and is the medium of a large amount of 
 sensibility. The elevesnth, called spindl accessory, is motor. The 
 twelfth pair (hypo-glossal) is the motor nerve of the tongue. 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 MOVEMENT, SENSE, AND INSTINCT. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 MOVEMENT, AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. 
 
 1. The Muscular Feelings agree witli tlie sensations of 
 the senses in being primary sources of feeling and of 
 knowledge, localized in a peculiar set of organs ; their 
 characteristic difference is summed up in the consciousness 
 of active energy. 
 
 The most fandamental contrast existing among the feelings 
 of the hnman mind, is the contrast of Active and Passive. 
 The exercise of rowing a boat gives a feeling of activity or 
 energy ; in a warm ba&, the conseionsness is of the passive 
 kind. The contrast would appear to be embodied in the 
 nervous system ; the outcarrying nerves, together with the 
 nerve centres whence they immediately proceed, being asso- 
 ciated with the feelings of activity ; the incarryiug nerves and 
 their aUied centres with sensation or passivity. 
 
 Not only should the musonlar feelings form a class apart 
 from the sensations, on the ground now stated, but it is farther 
 believed that their consideration should precede the account 
 of the senses. The reasons are — that movement precedes sen- 
 sation, and is at the outset independent of any stimulus from 
 without ; and that action is a more intimate and inseparable 
 property of our constitution than any of our sensations, and in 
 fact enters as a component part into every one of the senses, 
 giving them the character of compounds, while itself is a simple 
 and elementary property. 
 
 Of the Muscular System. — The movements of the body are per- 
 iormed by means of the substance caJled muscle, or fledi : a sub- 
 
14 MOVEMENT AKD THE MUSCULAK FEELINGS. 
 
 stance composed of very fine fibres, ooUeeted into separate masses, 
 of great variety of form, each mass being a muscle. Tbe peculiar 
 property of the muscular substance is amtradility, or the forcible 
 shrmking of the fibres under a stimulus, whereby the muscle is 
 shortened, and the attached bones drawn together in consequence. 
 As an example, we may mention the muscle of the calf of the leg, 
 a broad round mass of flesh, ending above and below in the strong 
 white fibrous substance, known as tendon, by which it is connected 
 with the bones ; the upper tendon with the bone of the leg, the 
 lower with the heel ; its contraction draws the heel towards the 
 leg, straightening the line of leg and foot, and thus compe lling 
 the body to rise. 
 
 The ultimate fibres of the muscles, the fibrils or fibriUse (less 
 than the ten-thousandth of an inch in diameter), are found to 
 consist of rows of rectangular particles ; in the contraction of the 
 muscle, these particles become shorter and thicker. The fibrils are 
 made into bundles, about jfe of an inch in thickness, called 
 fibres ; and the fibres are made up into larger bundles, or threads, 
 which are visible to the eye, as the strings composing flesh. 
 
 The contraction of the muscle requires the agency of the nerves, 
 distributed copiously to the fibres. A farther condition of contrac- 
 tile power is a supply of arterial blood. The oxidation of the sub- 
 stances found in the blood is the ultimate source of muscular power; 
 the oxygen, taken into the lungs, and the food, taken into the 
 stomacb, are the raw material of all the forces of the system. 
 
 2. For the most part, our movements are stimulated 
 through our senses, as when a flash of light or a loud sound 
 makes us start ; hut it is a fact of great importance, that 
 movements arise without the stimulation of sensible 
 objects, through some energy of the nerve centres them- 
 selves, or some stimulus purely internal. This may be 
 called the Spontaneous Activity of the system. 
 
 Spontaneous Activity is the explanation of many appear- 
 ances, and is an essential element of the will, on the theory 
 maintained in this work. The following facts are adduced as 
 both proving and illustrating the doctrine : — 
 
 (1) The muscles never undergo an entire relaxation dur- 
 ing life. Even in profound slumber, they possess a certain 
 degree of tension, or rigidity.. This state is called their 
 'tomcity,' or tonic contraction. It is excited through the 
 medium of , the nerves. The cutting of the nerves, or the de- 
 stmction of the nerve centres, renders the muscles flaccid. 
 The inference is, that at all times a stream of nervous energy 
 flows to the muscles, irrespective of stimulation from without. 
 
 (2) The permanent closure of the muscles called sphinc- 
 
PEOOFS OF SPONTANEOUS ACTIVITT. 15 
 
 ters, is an effect of the same nature. The lower extremity of 
 the alimentary canal is kept close by a seK-acting muscle ; 
 if the connexion with the nerve centres is destroyed, this 
 muscle is relaxed. 
 
 (3) The operation of the involuntary muscles, as in 
 breathing, the heart, and the movements of the intestine, 
 shows that there is a pi'ovision for keeping up movements, in- 
 dependent of the stimulus of the senses. These muscles never 
 cease to ply. The only stimulation that could be assigned in 
 their case is the contact of the materials propelled — the air 
 in the lungs, the blood in the blood-vessels, the food in the 
 stomach and bowels ; but even these contacts would fail to 
 account for the first beginning of the movements. By what 
 influence do we draw our first breath ? Still, what is cour 
 tended for is, not the absence of internal organic influences, 
 but the absence of agents operating on the external senses. 
 
 (4) In wakening from sleep, movement often precedes 
 sensation. Most commonly the first symptom of awakening 
 is a general commotion of the frame, a number of spontaneous 
 movements— the stretching of the limbs, the opening of the 
 eyes, the expansion of the features — to which succeeds the 
 revived sensibility to outward things. No decided facts have 
 ever been adduced to show that a stimulation of the senses 
 invariably precedes the wakening movements. We are there- 
 fore led to believe that the re-animation of the system consists 
 in a rush of nervous power to the moving organs, at the same 
 time that the susceptibility of the senses is renewed. 
 
 (5) The movements of infancy, of young animals gene- 
 rally, and of animals distinguished for activity, are strongly 
 in point. The mobility of infants is very great, and the same 
 feature characterizes childhood and youth. We may attribute 
 it in part to the acute sensations and emotions of early years. 
 But this is not the whole explanation. When the senses are 
 in no ways solicited, the youthful mobility is strongly mani- 
 fested ; it seems chiefly to foUow the physical circumstances 
 of rest and nutrition, and is, as might be expected, most 
 vehement after confinement or restraint. 
 
 The activity of young animals in general, and of animals 
 specially active (as the insect tribe), are most adequately re- 
 presented on the present hypothesis. When the kitten plays 
 with a worsted ball, we always attribute the overflowing ful- 
 ness of moving energy to the creature's own inward stimulus, 
 to which the ball merely serves for a pretext. So an active 
 young hound, refreshed by sleep, or kept in confinement, 
 
16 MOVEMENT AND THE MITSCULAE FEELINGS. 
 
 pants for feeing let loose, not because of anything that attracts 
 his view or kindles mp his ear, but because a rush of activity 
 courses through Ms members, rendering him uneasy till the 
 confined energy has found vent in a chase or a run. We are 
 at no loss to distinguish this kind of activity from that awak- 
 ened by sensation or emotion, and the distinction is accord- 
 ingly recognized in tie modes of interpreting the movements 
 and feelings of animals. When a rider speaks of his horse as 
 ' fresh,' he implies that the natural activity is undischarged, 
 and pressing for vent ; the excitement caused by mixing in a 
 chase or in a battle, is a totally different thing from the spon- 
 taneous vehemence of a faU-fed and under-worked animal. 
 
 (6) The activity of morbid excitement may next be 
 quoted. Under a peculiar state of the nervous system, move- 
 ments arise without any stimulation, or in undue proportion 
 to the stimulants applied. This shows incontestably, thait the 
 condition of the nerve centres may be such as to ori^nate 
 activity, without amy concurrence of sensible agencies ; now 
 if there be an unhealthy spontaneity, there may also be a 
 healthy mode, as in the freshness of the young and vigorous 
 animal. There are occasions when it is impossible to be still ; 
 the internal fires are generating force, which we cannot re- 
 press. Certain drugs, as strychnine, induce this excessive 
 spontaneity, in the shape of strong convulsive erectioqsi and 
 movements of the body. 
 
 (7) Activity and Sensibility are not developed in equal pro- 
 portions in individual character; more frequently they stand in 
 an inverse proportion to each other. The strong, active, rest- 
 less temperament is usually the least sensitive, the least open 
 to the varying solicitations of the senses. This energetic tem- 
 perament is manifestly the result- of a constitutional, self- 
 prompting force. There is, in many individuals, a love of 
 activity for its own sake, a search after occasions for putting 
 forth energy ; we may instance, the restless adventurer, the 
 indefatigable traveller, the devotee of business, the lover of 
 political bustle. The activity of the more susceptible natures 
 is prompted by the feelings, and ceases when they are grati- 
 fied ; as when a man like Wilberforce is stimulated to redress 
 some fiagrant ■wrong, and otherwise leads aSi inactive career. 
 
 The Spontaneity of the system is shown in all tiie regions 
 of muscular activi'ty. Foremost of our muscular groupings is 
 the lioeomoiwe Appa/rakiis, which includes the limbs, together 
 with the trunk ; in energetic promptings, these organs are the 
 readiest means of disclmrgLng the surplus activity; the ex- 
 
REGIONS OF SPONTANEOUS MOVEMENTS. 17 
 
 cited animal walks, runs, flies, or gesticulates. The organs of 
 Mastication form a second grouping. The Vocal Organs are an 
 isolated group of great interest. The utterance of the voice 
 is, on many occasions, plainly due to mere freshness of the 
 organs. The morning song of the bird hursts out spontane- 
 ously, although also liable to the influence of infection, and 
 other external causes. Among the smaller organs, we may 
 mention the Tongue, so remarkable for flexibility ; its spon- 
 taneous movements occur in the play of infancy, and are of 
 importance in the beginnings of articulation. 
 
 We might illustrate the spontaneous, as contrasted with 
 the stimulated discharge, in the special aptitudes of animals. 
 As the battery of the torpedo becomes charged by the mere 
 course of nutrition, and requires to be periodically relieved by 
 being poured upon some object or other, so we may suppose 
 that the jaws of the tiger^ the fangs of the serpent, the spin- 
 ning apparatus of the spider, require at intervals to have some 
 objects to spend themselves upon. It is said that the con- 
 structiveness of the bee and the beaver incontinently mani- 
 fests itself, even where there is no end to be gained. 
 
 The spontaneous activity necessarily rises and falls with the 
 vigour and state of nutrition of the system ; being abundant 
 in states of good health, and deficient during fatigue, hunger, 
 and sickness. 
 
 THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. 
 
 3. There are three classes of these : — 
 
 First, FeeliDgs connected with the organic condition of 
 the muscles, as those arising from hurts, wounds, diseases, 
 fatigue, rest, nutriment. 
 
 Most of these affections the muscles have in common with 
 the other tissues of the body ; and the appropriate place for 
 expounding them wUl be under a subsequent head. It is 
 our purpose, at this stage, to exhibit prominently the aeUve 
 side of our nature, in its contrast to the passive or receptive 
 side. 
 
 Secondly, Feelings connected with muscular action, 
 includhig all the pleasures and pains of eaxrcise. These 
 are states peculiar to muscular activity. 
 
 9 
 
18 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAB FEELINGS. 
 
 Thirdly, The discriminative sensibility of muscle, or the 
 consciousness that arises during the varyinj; tension of the 
 moving organs. 
 
 These are mental states of a neutral kind as regards 
 pleasure and pain, but all-important as the basis of Intellect. 
 The muscular feelings, like the sensations, have two charac- 
 ters ; one in the region of Feeling strictly so called, and der 
 cisively shown in pleasure and pain ; the other in the region 
 of Intellect, and manifested in discrimination, or the con- 
 sciousness of difference. The two aspects may be illustrated, 
 in the sense of sight, by comparing the rainbow or a bonfire 
 with a man's name or an arithmetical number. 
 
 I. Of the Feelings of Muscular Exercise.* 
 
 4. These are feelings proper and peculiar to the 
 muscular system ; they cannot be produced in any other 
 connexion. 
 
 The first and simplest case is the dead strain, or exer- 
 tion without movement. 
 
 Physical Side. — The physical circumstances of muscular 
 
 * There are many things to be said with reference to Feeling in 
 general ; hut I consider it inexpedient to introduce the whole of the 
 generalities before giving a certain number of examples in the concrete. 
 Accordingly, I prefer to proceed at once with the Muscular Feelings and 
 Sensations in the detail, and to expound the general laws and properties 
 of Feeling in a chapter introductory to file Emotions. AU that is 
 necessary, in the meantime, is to understand the plan followed in the 
 description of the feelings ; and, with this view, a few explanatory obser- 
 vations are here offered. 
 
 All feelings have a Physical Side, or relation to our bodily organs ; 
 the sensations, for example, arise on the stimulation of a special organ 
 of sense ; and both sensations and emotions have a characteristic outward 
 display, or expression, which indicates their existence to a spectator. I 
 include in the description of each feeling whatever is known of its physi- 
 cal accompaniments. 
 
 The feeling proper, or the Msntal Sidb, has its relationships exhausted 
 under the three fundamental attributes of Mind — Feeling, Volition, and 
 Intellect. As Peeling, it is pleasurable, painful, or neutral — its Qualitv ; 
 it has Degree, as regards Intensity, or as regards Quantity ; and it may 
 have Special characteristics besides. Farther, aU feelings that are either 
 pleasurable or painful are motives to the Will ; this is their Volitional 
 property. Lastly, when we look to the susceptibUity of being discri- 
 minated, compared, and remembered, we are dealing with Intellectual 
 properties, in which feelings are not necessarily identical, because agree- 
 ing in other things. 
 
MU3CULA.E EXERCISE. — PHYSICAL SIDE. 19 
 
 tension, so far as known, are these. There is a shrinking or 
 contracting of the length of the muscle, throngh the shortening 
 and widening of the nltimate particles that m^e np each fibril. 
 To indnce the contraction, there is required a nerve current 
 from the brain, by the outgoing or motor nerves. Equally 
 essential is the presence of blood : in which oxidation is going 
 on, in proportion to the muscular energy produced. 
 
 There are numerous indirect and remote consequences of 
 muscular exertion. The increased consumption of oxygen 
 and the production of carbonic acid give more work to the 
 lungs, augmenting the breathing action. Prom the same 
 causes, there is a quickening also of the heart and circulation; 
 to which follows a rise of animal heat throughout the body. 
 Partly from the accumulation of waste products, and partly 
 from the augmented flow of blood, and the increased tempera- 
 ture, there is an augmentation in the eliminating function of 
 
 The plan in ita completeneas may be represented thos:^- 
 Physical Side. 
 
 Bodily Origin, (Tor Senaations chiefly). 
 Bodily Diffixsion, expression, or embodiment. 
 Mental Side. 
 
 Characters as Feelirig. 
 
 Quality, i. «., Pleasuie, Paia, Indifference. 
 Degree. 
 
 As regards Intensity or acnteness. 
 As regards Quantity^ mass, or volume. 
 Special characteiisticB. 
 Volitional characters. 
 
 Mode of influencing the Will, or Motives to A<!tion. 
 Intellectual characters. 
 
 Susceptibility to Discrimination and to Agreement. 
 Degree of Betainability, that is Ideal Persistence and 
 Eecoverability. 
 It is to be remarked that, as a general rule, pleasures agree in their 
 physical expression, or embodiment, and also in their mode of operating 
 on the win, namely, for their continuance, increase, or renewal. In like 
 manner, pains have a common expression, and a common influence in 
 promoting action for their removal, abatement, or avoidance. Henoe the 
 tact, that a state is pleasurable or painful, carries with it these two other 
 facts as a matter of course. 
 
 Again, as regards the Intellect ; Discrimination, Agreement, and Ee- 
 tainability are to a certain extent proportional to the degree of the feeling, 
 or the strength of the impression. This being the case, the statement 
 of the degree involves the probable nature of the properties connected 
 with the Intellect. Hence, in most cases, it is unnecessary to carry the 
 delineation through all the psuticulars of the table. It is only when a 
 feeling possesses any peculiarities rendering it an exception to the general 
 laws of coincidence now mentioned, that Uie full description is called for. 
 Two or three examples of the complete detail will be givei^. 
 
20 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. 
 
 the skin. Moreover, • the great demand for blood in the 
 muscles causes it to be withdrawn from other organs, such as 
 the brain and the stomach ; thus diminishing mental excite- 
 ment, and interrupting for the time the digestive processes. 
 Provided sufficient food is supplied, the entire effect of exer- 
 cise is favourable to the animal processes ; the increased func- 
 tions of the lungs, heart, and skin are good for the system 
 generally ; the temporary withdrawal of blood from the 
 brain, and from the stomach, prepares the way for its going 
 back with renewed efficiency. Mankind have always known 
 that muscular exercise, in proper time and quantity, improves 
 health.* 
 
 The Expression or outward embodiment ©f museolar exei-- 
 tion is determined by the muscles engaged, and by the ten- 
 dency of the rest to chime in with them, through a general 
 law of the system. In so far as not completely pre-oecupied 
 in this way, the features and other organs of expression are 
 afFected according as the mental state is pleasurable -er the re- 
 verse. 
 
 Mental Side. — Of Feeling proper, the first point is Quality. 
 Observation shows that this is pleasurable, indifferent, or 
 painful, according to the condition of the system. The 
 first outburst of muscular vigour in a healthy frame, after 
 rest and nourishment, is highly pleasurable. The intensity 
 of the pleasure gradually subsides into indifference ; and, if 
 the exercise is prolonged beyond a certain time, pain ensues. 
 In ordinary manual labour there may be, at commencing in 
 the morning and after meals, a certain amount of pleasure 
 caused by the exercise ; but it is probable that during the 
 greater part of a workman's day, the feeling of exertion is in 
 most cases indifferent. K we confine ourselves to the dis- 
 charge of surplus energy in muscular exertion, there can be 
 no doubt that this is a consideiablo source of pleasure in the 
 average of human beings, and doubtless also in the animal 
 tribes. The fact is shown in the love of exercise for its own 
 sake, or apart from the ends of productive industry, and the 
 
 * The muscles receive principally motor, or outcarrying nerres ; they 
 are not, howevei, destitnte of sensory or incarrying fibres. It is an 
 inference supported by many facta, and accepted by the generality of 
 physiologists, that the feeling of exertion aceompanies the outgoing nerve 
 current, and does not arise, as a sensation, by the sensory fibres. The 
 other feelings of muscle being of a more passive kind, they are allied 
 to sensation, and seem to be connected 'with the ingoing currents by 
 the sensitive fibres. See the whole question argued at length, ' Senset 
 and Intellect,' p. 92, 2nd edit. 
 
MUSCULAR EXEKCISE. — MENTAL SIDE. 21 
 
 preservation of health. In the case of active sports and 
 amusements, there are additional sources of pleasurable ex- 
 citement, but the delight in the mei-e bodily exertion would 
 still be reckoned one ingredient in the- mixture. 
 
 As to the Degree of this pleasure, it is massive rather than 
 acute. The sensibility of muscle under the dead strain is not 
 y^ry great, and becomes considerable only by multiplication 
 or extent, as when a number of large muscles are powerfully 
 engaged.. 
 
 We estimate pleasures directly, by comparing them in our 
 consciousness, as when we decide which of two apples, is the 
 sweetest, and prefer one picture to another. We estimate 
 them indirectly, by the amount of pain that they can subdue, 
 as in restoring cheerfulness under- a shock of suffering. 
 Bodily exercise has a great soothing power, but not exclu- 
 sively from its being a source of pleasure. It has the physical 
 effect of deriving blood from the brain,, so as to. calm, excite- 
 ment, and a farther effect to be next noticed. 
 
 The third point in the description of a mental state, con- 
 sidered as Feeling, is its Speciality, apart from quality and 
 degree. Now, we have already remarked that there is a gene- 
 ric difference of nature between muscular feeling proper and 
 sensation proper. This radical distinction in kind is familiar 
 to each person's experience, and is designated by such phrases 
 as ' the sense of power,' ' the feeling of energy put forth,' ' the 
 sense of resistance,' &c. It has the peculiarity of determining 
 an attitude of mind hostile to passive feeling, and to self-con- 
 sciousness in every form ; in proportion as it is manifested 
 we are indifferent as regards pleasure and pain ; pleasure may 
 be stimulated, but will not be felt. This attitude of indifference, 
 coupled with the consciousness of energy, is the ultimate mean- 
 ing of what is called the Object, as opposed to the Subject, — 
 the not-me, as opposed to the me. Even the pleasure of exercise 
 and the pain of fatigue during exercise are not steady, but 
 fitful and transitory feelings. It is only at intervals that we 
 remit the putting forth of effort, and subjectively attend to 
 the resulting pleasure or pain. 
 
 There are thus two modes of mental indifference, or mental 
 life with the absence of pleasure or pain. The one is the state of 
 neutral emotion, as in mere surprise, and may be called subjective 
 indifference. The other is the objective attitude, imder which aU 
 emotion is for the moment submerged. 
 
 The Volitional property of the pleasure, or the pain, of pius- 
 cnlar exercise falls under the general law of the wUl. As 
 
22 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. 
 
 pleasure, and in proportion to the degree, it works for its own 
 continuance or increase. Owing to the existence of the spon- 
 taneous discharge, the stimulus of pleasure is not necessary to 
 begin activity, but is a co-operating cause for maintaining it 
 when once begun. 
 
 In the Intellectual poiat of view, a feeling is considered as 
 to Discrimination (together with Agreement) and as to Retain- 
 ability in the memory. These properties are so important as 
 to constitute a distinct branch of the subject. I shall merely 
 allude here to one small part of the case, namely, our recol- 
 lection of states of muscular exercise regarded as pleasure, 
 so as to render them an object of desire and pursuit when 
 they are not actually present. This is a truly intellectual 
 property of feeling. In so far as active amusements and 
 sports, and occupations largely involving muscular exercise, 
 are a fixed object of passionate pursuit, to that extent 
 they abide in thought, or stand high in one of their intel- 
 lectual aspects. 
 
 5. As examples of the dead strain, we may mention the 
 supporting of a weight, the holding on as a drag, the exer- 
 tion of force, or the encounter of resistance in pressing, 
 squeezing, wrestling, Ac. A certain amount of accompanying 
 movement does not alter the character of the situation ; as, 
 for example, in slowly dragging a heavy vehicle. 
 
 6. Exertion vrith movement. 
 
 Movement developes a new mode of sensibility, which is 
 more apparent as the force expended is small ; a circumstance 
 rendering it likely that the special effect is associated with the 
 passive sensibility of muscle. 
 
 Phtsigallt, all that we know of the fact of movement is 
 the perpetual change of the muscular tension ; there is a con- 
 stantly varying and alternately remitted strain, instead of the 
 pourmg forth of energy in a fixed attitude. 
 
 Mentally, the characters differ according as the move- 
 ments are slow or quich. 
 
 7. And first of slow movements. 
 
 Under a loitering, sauntering walk, drawling tones of 
 speech, solemn gestures, and dawdling occupation, there is a 
 volummous pleasurable feeling, with little energy expended 
 The two facta are mutually implicated. The sense of expended 
 energy is wanting, and the attention is disengao-ed for the 
 passive sensibility of the muscles ; so that, in fact, with the 
 
FEELINGS OF MOVEMENT. 23 
 
 show of activity there is the substance of passivity. The state 
 is closely allied to muscular repose, or the reaction from great 
 muscular expenditure, and to the approach of sleep. Slow 
 movements are of a soothing tendency ; they quiet the 
 irritated nerves, and prepare the way for complete repose. 
 They have a close alliance with the emotions of awe, solemnity, 
 ajid veneration ; hence the funeral pace, the slow enunciation 
 of devotional exercises, the long-drawn tones of organ music, 
 are appropriated to religious worship. 
 
 8. Movements gradually increomng or diminisTiing give 
 rise to a still greater degree of pleasurable feeling. The 
 gradual dying away of a motion is pleasurable and graceful 
 in every sort of activity — in gesture, in the dance, in speech, 
 and in visible movements. It is this peculiarity that seems 
 to constitute the beauty of curved lines and rounded forms. 
 We may explain it on the great law of the mind that connects 
 all sensibility with change of impression ; in these rising and 
 falling movements, there is unceasing variation of effect. 
 
 9. Next as to quick movements. 
 
 Movements of great rapidity, whether the energy expended 
 be great or little, have a tendency to excite the nervous 
 system ; they are in that respect a kind of stimulant, like a 
 loud noise, or the glare of light. All the mental functions are 
 quickened in consequence. It depends on circumstances, 
 whether this effect is pleasurable or the opposite. If the nerv- 
 ous system is fresh and vigorous, the stimulation is agreeable, 
 and may end in a kind of intoxication ; in a jaded condition 
 of the nerves, the effect is apt to be acutely painful and dis- 
 tressing. Under excitement, there may be a third situation, 
 wherein fatigue passes off in favour of a delirious pleasure, for 
 which the system has afterwards to pay the cost by a pro- 
 tracted depression. The ecstatic worship of antiquity, which 
 consisted in wild and furious dances in honour of Bacchus and 
 of Demeter, brought on a peculiar frenzy of intense enjoy- 
 ment ; and something of the same kind still happens among 
 the Orientals, and in a less degree with the lovers of dancing 
 everywhere. The physical circumstance may be presumed to 
 be a great excess of blood to the brain, the result of the pro- 
 tracted stimulation. 
 
 It appears thus, that movement, in the extreme phases of 
 slowness and quickness, and not involving much exertion, 
 does not represent the main fact of the consciousness of mus- 
 cular energy, but certain incidental peculiarities allied more 
 
24 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. 
 
 to the passive, than to the active, side of our mental constitu- 
 tion. If great energy is to be put forth under these modes of 
 movement, their incidental character wiU be subordinated to 
 the proper conseiousness of expended muscular force. 
 
 10. A third situation connected with muscular exercise 
 is improperly expressed by passive movements. 
 
 Biding in a vehicle is the commonest instance ; carriage 
 exercise is both pleasurable and wholesome. There is a gentle 
 muscular stimulus, such as accompanies slow and varying 
 movements, which results in voluminous passive sensibility. 
 To this Dr. Amott adds the circumstance, that the shaking of 
 the body propels the blood; and, as it can move only one way, 
 the circulation is quickened. The iresh air also counts in the 
 effect. Another mental influence is derived from the shifting 
 scene ; the eye is regaled with novelty, without the labour of 
 moving to obtain it. 
 
 For the sensuous luxury of motion, the Americans have 
 devised the rocking chair, an extension of the children's 
 hobby-horse and swing. 
 
 n. Of the J)iscrim.ma,twe or Intellectual Sensibility of Muscle. 
 
 11. Along with every feeling, we have a consciousness 
 of degree. 
 
 To be affected more or less, is a consequence of being 
 affected at all. Even our pleasures and pains are discriminated 
 according to their intensity. To regard any feeling as differ- 
 ing from another in quantity, or otherwise, is the first condition 
 of iateUigence, or thought ; it is the feature of distinctness, 
 character, or individuality, as opposed to blank sameness or 
 monotony. Not to distinguish one colour from another is a 
 form of blindness ; to be more than ordinarily discriminative is 
 to have a high intellectual endowment. The discriminations 
 in the muscular feeling are of great moment. 
 
 12. First, with respect to the degree of Exertion, or 
 Expended Eorce, movement being left out of the account. 
 
 We here go back upon the feeling of muscular exercise, 
 considered not as giving pleasure or pain, which are subjective 
 states, but as making up our object attitude, under which our 
 consciousness is merely of the degree of expended energy. 
 This state is the sense or feeling of Resistance, and is our con- 
 ception of Body, and our measure of 5'orce, Momentum, 
 
DISCEIMINATION OP EXPENDED FORCE. 25 
 
 Inertia, or the Mechanical property of matter. No feeling of 
 the human mind is more fundamental, more constant, or more 
 worked up into complex products, than this. When a weight 
 is put into the hand, we are aware of an expenditure of force ; 
 when the amount is increased, we are conscious of increased 
 expenditure. The delicacy of our discrimination is the small- 
 ness of the addition or the subtraction that will alter our con- 
 sciousness. An ordinary person can discriminate between 
 39 and 40 ounces. 
 
 The feeling of graduated resistance is brought out in en- 
 countering or checking a body in motion, as in stopping a 
 carriage or in obstructing another person's progress. It is 
 also manifested in putting forth power to move resisting 
 bodies, as in rowing a boat, digging the ground, or other 
 manual exertion ; likewise in bearing burdens. We have it 
 present to us, in supporting our own body. Our varying 
 experience in all these forms, consists of a varying muscular 
 consciousness, a series of modes of expended energy, which 
 the memory can retain, and which we can associate with 
 other mental states, as with the sensations of colour, of sound, 
 of contact, &c. We connect one degree of resistance with a 
 small, and another with a large, optical impression, as in com- 
 paring a pebble with a paving stone. 
 
 The delicate discrimination of degrees of muscular expen- 
 diture serves us in many manual operations ; for example, in 
 graduating a blow, in throwing a missile to a mark, and in 
 forming plastic substances to a certain consistency. 
 
 We have a consciousness of distinctness, remarkable in its 
 kind, between exertions made by different muscles ; for ex- 
 ample, in the two hands. It is not the same to us that a 
 pound weight is put into either hand ; if it were so, we should 
 be in the proverbial situation of not knowing, the right hand 
 from the left. 
 
 13. Secondly, a muscular exertion may vary in con- 
 tinuance; and this variation is felt by us as different from 
 variation in the intensity of the effect. 
 
 A dead strain of unvarying amount being supposed, we 
 are differently affected according to its duration. If we mal* 
 a push lasting a quarter of a minute, and, after an interval, 
 renew it for half a minute, there is a difference in the con- 
 sciousness of the two efforts. The endurance implies an in- 
 creased expenditure of power in a certain mode, and we are dis- 
 tinctly aware of such an increase. We know also that it is 
 
26 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAK FEELINGS. 
 
 not the same as an increase in the intensity of the strain. The 
 two modes of increase are not only discriminated as regards 
 degree, they are also felt to be different modes. The one is 
 our feeling and measure of Resistance or Force, the other 
 stands for a measure of Time. AU impressions made on the 
 mind, whether those of muscular energy, or those of the 
 ordinary senses, are felt differently according as they endure 
 for a longer or a shorter time. 
 
 The estimate of continuance thus attaches to dead resist- 
 ance, but not to that alone. "When we put forth power to 
 move, as in pulling an oar, or in lifting a weight, we are aware 
 of different degrees of continuance of the movement. More- 
 over, we do not confound movement with dead strain ; wo are 
 distinctively affected by the two modes of exercising force ; 
 supposing the total amount of power expended the same, the 
 consciousness of each is characteristic. 
 
 Now Continuance of Movement expresses a different fact 
 from continuance of dead strain. It is the sweep of the organ 
 through space, and is, therefore, the measure of space or ex- 
 tension. It is the first step, the elementary sensibility, in our 
 knowledge of space. Other experiences must be combined in 
 this great fundamental notion, but here we have the primary 
 ingredient. 
 
 The simplest form of muscular continuance is the sweep 
 of a limb ia one direction, nearly corresponding with linear 
 extension (the spontaneous sweep of the arm is not a straight 
 line), A greater complication of movement is involved in 
 superficial extension ; and a greater still, in cubical extension. 
 But in the last resort, linear, superficial, and solid extension 
 are to us nothing but the consciousness of continued and com- 
 plicated movements, which we can associate in different groups, 
 and remember among our intellectual acquisitions. A square 
 foot of surface is embodied in one muscular grouping, a circle 
 of three feet in diameter in another, a nine inch cube in a 
 third ; these muscular groupings may be tactual, visoaJ, or 
 locomotive, one or all, as will be afterwards seen. 
 
 14. Thirdly, as regards movements, the speetZ may vary ; 
 and we are characteristically conscious of the variation. 
 
 It is probable that the peculiar difference of character 
 above adverted to, between slow and quick movements, is an 
 element in our discrimination of change of speed. When we 
 increase the rate of movement of the arm, we are aware not 
 merely that more virtue has gone out of us, but also that the 
 
DISCRIMINATION OF VELOCITY OF MOVEMENT. 27 
 
 mode is not the same as an increased strain or an increased 
 continnance. This is a valuable addition to our means of 
 muscular discrimination. It enables us, in the first place, to 
 be directly cognizant of the important attribute of speed or 
 velocity of movement, whether in ourselves or in bodies with- 
 out us. It supplies, in the next place, a farther means of 
 measuring extension, checking and supplemsnting that derived 
 from the continuance of a uniform movement. A greater 
 velocity, under one amount of continuance, is eqaivalent to a 
 less velocity with a greater continuance. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SENSATION. 
 
 1. A SENSATION is defined as the mental impression, 
 feeling, or conscious state, resulting from the action of 
 external things on some part of the body, called on that 
 account sensitive. 
 
 Such are the feelings caused by tastes, smells, sounds, or 
 sights. They are distinguished from the feelings of energy 
 expended from within (the muscular), and from the emotions, 
 as fear and anger, which do not arise immediately from the 
 stimulus of a sensitive surface. 
 
 2. The Sensations are classified according to their 
 bodily Organs ; hence the division into Five Senses. 
 
 Distinctness of organ is accompanied with distinctness of 
 agent, and of feeling, or consciousness. Light, as an agency, 
 is distinct from sound, and the consciousness under each is 
 characteristic ; we should never confound a sight with a sound. 
 
 The common enumeration of the Five Senses is de- 
 fective. 
 
 When the senses are regarded principally as sources of 
 knowledge, or the basis of intellect, the five commonly given 
 are tolerably comprehensive ; but when we advert to sensation, 
 in the aspect of pleasure and pain, there are serious omissions. 
 Hunger, thirst, repletion, suffocation, warmth, and the variety 
 
28 SENSATIONS OF OEGANIC LIFE. 
 
 of states designated by physical comfort and discomfort, are 
 left t)Tit ; yet these possess the characteristics of sensation as 
 above defined, having a local organ or seat, a definite agency, 
 and a characteristic mode of consciousness. 
 
 The omission is best supplied by constituting a group 
 of Organic Sensations, or Sensations of Organic Life. 
 
 In the Senses as thus made up, it is useful to remark a 
 division into two classes, according to their importance in the 
 operations of the Intellect. If we examine the Sensations of 
 Organic Life, Taste, and SmeU, we shall find that as regards 
 pleasure and pain, or in the point of view of Feeling, they are 
 of great consequence, but that they contribute little of the 
 permanent forms and imagery employed in our Intellectual 
 processes. This last function is mainly served by Touch, 
 Hearing, and Sight, which may therefore be called the Intel- 
 lectual Senses by pre-eminence. They are not, however, 
 thereby prevented from serving the other function also, or 
 from entering into the pleasures and pains of our emotional 
 life, 
 
 SENSATIONS OP OEGANIC LIPJB. 
 
 Like the senses generally, these will be classified ac- 
 cording to Locality or Seat. 
 
 Organic Muscular Feelings. 
 
 3. The passive feelings, or sensations proper, connected 
 with Muscle, are chiefly the pains of injurj^, and the pains 
 and pleasures of fatigue and repose. 
 
 When a muscle is cut, lacerated, or otherwise injured, or 
 when seized with spasm, there is a feeling of acute pain. We 
 shall describe this state in full, as typifying, once for all the 
 class of acute physical pains. 
 
 Physical Side.— The Bodily Origin is some destruction or 
 injury of the muscular fibres, such as to irritate violently the 
 imbedded nerves. 
 
 The Bodily Diffusion, or Expression, is various and in- 
 teresting to study. The features are violently contorted, and 
 assume certain characteristic appearances ; the voice is excited 
 to sharp utterances; the whole body is agitated. In short 
 mcwements are stimulated, intense according to the pain! 
 
ACUTE PHYSICAL PAINS TYPIFIED. 29 
 
 The accompaniment of sobbing shows that the involuntary 
 m.uscles and the glands may also be affected ; which is con- 
 firmed by closely observing the changes in the heart and the 
 lungs, the effects on digestion, on the skin, &c. ; all which 
 changes are of the nature of depression and derangement. 
 
 Mental Side. — As Feelings, these states are indicated by 
 the name. In Quality, they are painful; in Degree, acute or 
 intense. As respects Specialities of character, we find a cer- 
 tain number of discriminative names ; pains are racking, 
 burning, shooting, pricking, smarting, aching, stunning ; dis- 
 tinctions of importance in pathology. 
 
 Violent pains are apt to rouse certain of the special emo- 
 tions, as grief, terror, rage ; the selection depending less upon 
 the nature of the pain than on the temper and circumstances 
 of the individual. 
 
 The Volitional character of an acute pain would be, accord- 
 ing to the law of the Will, to stimulate efforts for relief and 
 avoidance. Such is the fact, but with an important qualifica- 
 tion. The operation of the will demands a certain remaining 
 vigour in the active organs ; now, pain soon exhausts the 
 strength ; hence the will is paralyzed by long continuance of 
 the irritation. A temporary smart quickens the energies, a 
 continued agony crushes them. 
 
 Part of the expression of a sufferer is made up of postures 
 and efforts of a voluntary kind, prompted with a view to 
 relief ; these vary with the locality and the nature of the attack. 
 
 The Intellectual quality of acute physical pains is compli- 
 cated. Intensity of excitement is favourable to impressive- 
 ness ; while in extreme degrees, the intellectual functions are 
 paralyzed. These two considerations allowed for, the dis- 
 crimination and the persistence of organic states are at the 
 bottom of the scale of feelings. They are very inadequately 
 remembered. 
 
 People differ greatly in their effective recollection of pains, 
 no less than in the memory for language or for scenery ; and 
 the consequences are notable. First, the recollection of pain is 
 the essential feature of preventive or precautionary volition, 
 that is, Prudence. Secondly, it constitutes the basis of fellow- 
 feeling, or sympathy. The Socratic doctrine that knowledge 
 is virtue, might be transmuted into a profound and important 
 truth, if knowledge were interpreted as the effective recollec- 
 tion of good and evil. Virtue has its sources in the retentive 
 property of the Intellect ; but the subject matter of the recol- 
 lection is not knowledge, but feelings. 
 
30 SENSATIONS OF OEGANIC LIFE. 
 
 The special muscular pain of cramp, or spasm, may be 
 separately noticed. Physically, it is the violent contraction of 
 some portion of a muscle, through an irritation of the motor 
 nerves. The best mode of relief is to give way to the contrac- 
 tion, by relaxing the muscle to the utmost. Menta.Uy, this is 
 the species of pain named racking ; it arises from viplejit mus- 
 cular distension. The pains of the uterus in childbirth are 
 of this nature. Distressing spasms occur in the muscular 
 fibres of the stomach and intestine. 
 
 The pains of excessive fatigue are among the acute pains of 
 muscle. Like spasm, they have a peculiar character, connect- 
 ing them with the muscle, and not with any other tissue. 
 
 The state of vniiscular repose after ordinary fatigue is one 
 of our pleasurable feelings. There is a complication of physi- 
 cal circumstances attending it. The blood previously accu- 
 mulated in the muscular tissue, is now returning to the other 
 important organs, the brain, the stomach, &c. ; while the 
 muscles are remitted from farther action. Both causes con- 
 cur to yield pleasure, not acute, but massive. The other or- 
 ganic accompaniments cannot disguise the muscle's own sen- 
 sibility to the condition of repose ; the feeling is one that has 
 a certain reflexion of energy : — 
 
 Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires. 
 
 There is, in rest after exercise, a close kinship to sleep ; as if 
 a part of the fact were already realized. These pleasures are 
 the reward of bodily toil and hard exercise. 
 
 We may include under the present head what little is to 
 be said on the Bones and Ligaments, whose sensibility is ex- 
 clusively manifested in the shape of pain from injury or 
 disease. The diseases and lacerations of the periosteum are 
 intensely painful ; a blow on the shiu is acute and prostrating. 
 The ligaments are painful when wrenched, although not when 
 cut. The tendonous part of the muscles seems to share in the 
 pain of over-fatigue. The joints are the seat of painful dis- 
 eases, as gout, if not also rheumatism. 
 
 Organic Sensations of Nerve. 
 
 4. Besides being the medium of all sensibility, the 
 nerves are the seat of a special class of feelings related to 
 the Organic condition of the Nervous tissue. In this class 
 we may include acute affectipns of the nerves ; the de- 
 
ArFECTIONS OF THE KEBVOUS SUBSTANCE, 31 
 
 pression arising from nervous fatigue and exhaustion , and 
 the exhilaration of freshness and of stimulants. 
 
 ■ (1) Diseases and injv/ties of the nerves are productive of 
 intense suffering, as in tio-doleureux and the other neuralgio 
 affections. It is enough to class these among acute pains. 
 Their specific character, as feelings, is somewhat different 
 from the acute pains of muscle, or of the other tissues, but 
 language hardly suffices to mark the difference. 
 
 (2) Nervous fatigue or exhaustion, caused by over- 
 exertion of mind, and even of body, by deficiency of rest or 
 nutriment, and by intense or prolonged suffering, may induce 
 neuralgio affections, but more commonly ends in general 
 depression. This state is known to every one. Technically, 
 we may designate it as pain, not acute, but massive; the 
 amount is known by comparison, and by the pleasure swal- 
 lowed up in neutraUzing it. Weakness, ennui, heaviness, 
 insupportable dullness, the sense as of an atmosphere of lead, 
 the blackness of darkness, — are names for this general condi- 
 tion. An accumulation of pains and privations will produce 
 the misery of depression, while the nerves are fresh and 
 healthy, as in the punishment of the young offender ; and, on 
 the other hand, a morbid change in the nerve substance will 
 cause the state in any one surrounded with delights, and 
 shielded from hardship. 
 
 (3) It is implied in what is now said, that the healthy con- 
 dition of the nerves is of itself a cause of exhilaration. This is 
 the unspeakable blessing of perfect health, the result of a good 
 constitution well preserved by the circumstances of a happy lot. 
 
 This mental condition is, for a short time, equalled, and 
 even surpassed, by the perilous help of stimulating drugs, 
 whose nature it is to operate directly on the substance of the 
 nerves. 
 
 Organic Feelings of the Circulation and Nutrition. 
 
 5. Although it is difficult to isolate the separate or- 
 ganic influences, in their agency on the mind, we are 
 entitled to presume that feelings of exhilaration and of 
 depression are connected with the Circulation of the Blood 
 and the Nourishment of the Tissues. 
 
 The formidable states, thirst and inanition, arise from 
 deficiency in the blood in the first instance ; but a derange- 
 
32 SENSATIONS OF OEGANIO LIFE. 
 
 ment of the organs generally must be assamed to account for 
 their virulence. 
 
 Thirst is not purely localized in the stomach ; and Inani- 
 tion is different from Hunger. Both conditions, mentally 
 viewed, are modes of suffering, not so acute as acute pains 
 proper, but yet much more so than mere dejection, and at the 
 same time large in mass or volume. There is present the de- 
 pressing state of exhaustion, coupled with the acute irritation 
 of deranged organs. 
 
 A feeUng purely connected with the Circnlation is what 
 arises from long confinement to one posture, sitting or l3ring. 
 The circulation in the skin being arrested, an uneasy feeling 
 results, which prompts to changes of posture ; it causes great 
 discomfort to the bed-ridden patient, as well as being a source 
 of new disease ; an efficient remedy for both has been found in 
 Dr. Arnott's water bed. 
 
 Part of the consciousness of good or ill health must depend 
 on the contact of the blood with the nerve tissue ; it being 
 hardly possible to assign the proportions severally due to the 
 nerve's own condition, and to that nutritive contact, although 
 the facts have to be distinguished in the analysis of the mind. 
 The sleek, fat, full-blooded temperament has its peculiar mental 
 tone, attributable to the circulation and nutrition rather than 
 to the quality of the nerves. 
 
 Feelings of Uespiration. 
 
 6. The interchange of oxygen with carbonic acid takes 
 place at the surface of the lungs, and any variation in the 
 rate of this interchange is accompanied with sensibility. 
 The extreme form of pain is Suffocation; the opposite 
 state is a grateful Freshness or exhilaration. 
 
 Oxygen is our aerial food ; our vital forces are measured 
 by the amount of it consumed in oxidizing our food proper. 
 The first requisite in the process is that the oxygen be abun- 
 dantly inhaled by the lungs. The hindrance of the inhalation 
 is painful, the furtherance pleasurable. A settled pace is 
 neutral 
 
 The characteristic sensibility of the lungs is manifested in 
 mffocaiion. Its causes are the want of air, as from drowning, 
 from certain irritating gases, such as chlorine or sulphurous' 
 acid, from asthma and other diseases. The insupportable sen- 
 sation ensuing on want of breath hardly resembles any other 
 
SENSATION OF PURE AIR, 33 
 
 feeling. It has a certain element of the racking pain, as of 
 mnscles drawn opposite ways ; but it is something more than 
 muscular, and must be set down at present as a unique result, 
 of a unique process. 
 
 Short of suffocation, there may be a temporary lowering 
 of the respiratory vigour, the effect of which is mere depres- 
 sion of tone, without characteristic accompaniment. On enter- 
 ing a crowded room, the depression is instantly felt ; it may 
 approach, or amount to, fainting. 
 
 The transition to a purer atmosphere gives the exhilaration, 
 described as buoyancy and freshness ; but we can scarcely de- 
 termine how much of this is due to the better oxidation of the 
 blood throughout the system, and Low much to a stimulation 
 of the surface of the lungs. The extreme case of suffocation 
 must be held as proving a special lung-sensibility ; whence 
 we are to presume that part of the sensation of changes in the 
 air is localized in the lungs. 
 
 Neither the continuation of the same state of the air, nor a 
 very gradual change, is accompanied with sensation, a fact 
 exemplifying the most universal condition of the production 
 of consciousness, namely, change of impression from one state 
 to another. 
 
 Feelings of Heat and Gold. 
 
 7. Changes of Temperature give rise to feeling, in all 
 parts of the body, although the greatest sensitiveness is in 
 the skia 
 
 The operation of cold and heat is on the organic fanctions. 
 The capillary circulation is first affected ; the vessels being 
 contracted by cold, and expanded by heat. The contraction 
 of the vessels stops the supply of blood, and diminishes the 
 nutrition of the parts, causing organic depression and discom- 
 fort. At the same time, however, a reflex stimulus to the lungs 
 quickens the breathing action, and additional oxygen is taken 
 in ; so that, indirectly, the vital forces are increased, and the 
 temporary and local depression may be more than atoned for. 
 We may thus account for the bracing effects of cold applied 
 within certain limits. Heat is in every respect the obverse. 
 
 The sensation of Cold is, as a rule, painful, and may be 
 either acute or massive ; nowhere is this distinction in the two 
 modes of Degree so clearly marked. An acute cold acts like 
 a cut or a bruise, and is sufficiently characterized among acute 
 physical pains ; the destruction of the tissue and the irritation 
 3 
 
34 SENSATIONS OF OKGANIC LIFE. 
 
 of the nerve is the same as in a scald. The massive feeling of 
 cold, expressed by chiUiiess, may amount to extreme wretched- 
 ness. 
 
 The sensation of "Warmth, on emerging from cold, is one 
 of the greatest of physical enjoyments. It may be aonte, as in 
 drinking warm liquid, or massive, as in the bath, or other warm 
 surrounding. Of passive physical pleasure, it is perhaps the 
 typical form ; the other modes may be, and constantly are, 
 illustrated by comparison with it ; as are also the genial pas- 
 sive emotions — love, beauty, &c. 
 
 The principle above alluded to, — namely, change of im- 
 pression as a condition of consciousness, is also prominently 
 exemplified in heat and cold ; an even temperature gives no 
 sensation. 
 
 Sensations of the Alimentary Canal, 
 
 8. These sensations, althougli closely allied to Taste, 
 are not to be confounded with it. 
 
 The oly'ects of the sense are the matra-ials taken into 
 the body as food and drink. 
 
 Food is variously classified. Water is the liquid basis, or 
 vehicle. The solids are divided into Saccharine substances, 
 including starch and sugar ; Oily substances, as the various 
 fats and oils,, including alcohol ; Albuminous substances (which 
 contain nitrogen), as albumen, the fibre of meat, caseine (from 
 cheese), gelatine, &c. These last are requisite in renewing 
 the tissues, which nearly all coniain nitrogen ; while the 
 others serve the more exclusive function of producing force, 
 (as muscular power, nervous power, and animal heat,) by 
 slow combustion or oxidation, which is also the destination of 
 the largest part of the albuminous food. 
 
 9. Omitting the physiology of Digestion, we may 
 enumerate, as follows, the chief feelings due to Ali- 
 mentary states — Eelish and Eepletion, Hunger, Nausea, 
 and the Pains of Deranged Digestion. 
 
 Relish and Repletion are the pleasurable states of eating. 
 Varying with the digestive power of the system, and with 
 the quality of the food, these feelings are, in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, an important part of human pleasure. The first 
 stage is represented by Eelish, a pleasurable sensation, both 
 acute and of considerable amount. The volitional energy 
 inspired by it, in all animals, is the most remarkable testimony 
 
PLEASURES AND PAINS OF DIGESTION. 35 
 
 to its intensity as pleasure. The acute stage of relish is suo 
 ceeded by the more volumiaous pleasure of Repletion, whose 
 seat is in the surface of the stomach, the part engaged in the 
 digestion of the food ; a massive exhilaration, closely allied to 
 agreeable warmth, and to the elation of stimulants. 
 
 The physical concomitants of Hunger are a collapsed con- 
 dition of the stomach, and a deficiency of nutritive material in 
 the system. Of the feeling itself, the first stages are mere 
 depression or uneasiness ; next come on gnawing pains re- 
 ferred to the region of the stomach, and in part muscular ; 
 these are followed by sensations of a more massive character, 
 derived fi:om the system at large, and indicating the stage of 
 inanition or starvation. 
 
 Nausea and Disgust express a mode of powerful feeling 
 characteristic of digestion, as suffocation is of the lungs. The 
 feeling is associated with the act of vomiting ; the wretched- 
 ness of it in extreme cases, as sea-sickness, is insufferable. 
 The sensation is unique. The healthy routine of comfortable 
 digestion is exchanged for a depression great in mass, and 
 aggravated by acute nervous suffering. The memory of this 
 ste/te is an active recoil from whatever causes it ; hence disgust 
 is a term for the most intense repugnance and loathing. 
 
 The pains of Deranged Digestion are numerous. Some are 
 extremely acute, as spasm in any part of the intestine. Many 
 forms of indigestion are known simply as inducing a depressed 
 tone, or interfering with the exhilaration of healthy meals. 
 Sluggishness of the bowels is attended with massive depres- 
 sion ; the re-action brings a corresponding buoyancy. , 
 
 Under the present head may be classed the feelings con- 
 nected with the sexual organs, the mammary glands in 
 women, and the lachrymal gland and sac. These are the 
 result of organic processes in the first instance ; but thej 
 enter into complicated alliances, to be afterwards noticed, with 
 our special emotions. 
 
 There still remain the important organic functions of the 
 Skin, which are attended with pleasurable and painful sensi- 
 bilities. They wiU be noticed under the sense of Touch. 
 
 In the Muscular Peelings, together with the Organic Sen- 
 sations now enumerated, arises that large body of our sensi- 
 bility denominated physical Comfort and Discomfort. 
 
36 SENSE OF TASTE. 
 
 SENSE OF TASTE. 
 
 1. The sense of Taste, attached to the entrance of the 
 alimentary canal, is a source of pleasure and pain, and a 
 means of discrimination, in taking food. 
 
 The Ohjects of Taste are chiefly the materials of food. 
 
 Of mineral bodies, water is without taste. But most 
 liquid substances, and most solids that can be liquified or dis- 
 solved, have taste ; vinegar, common salt, alum, are familiar 
 instances. 
 
 Nearly all vegetable and animal products, in like manner,are 
 characterized by taste. A few substances are insipid, as white 
 of egg, starch, gum ; but the greater part exhibit well marked 
 tastes ; sweet, as sugar ; bitter, as quinine, morphine, strych- 
 nine, gentian, quassia, soot, &c. ; sour, as acids generally ; 
 pungent, as mustard, pepper, peppermint ; fiery, as alcohol. 
 
 2. The Organ of Taste is the tongue, and the seat of 
 sensibility is its upper surface. 
 
 The upper surface of the tongue is seen to be covered with 
 little projections called papillae. They are of three kinds, dis- 
 tinguished by size and form. The smallest and most numer- 
 ous are conical or tapering, and cover the greatest part of the 
 tongue, disappearing towards the base. The middle-sized are 
 little rounded eminences scattered over the middle and fore 
 part of the tongue, being most numerous towards the point. 
 The large-sized are eight to fifteen in number, situated on the 
 back of the tongue, and arranged in two rows at an angle like 
 the letter V. The papilte contain capillary blood vessels 
 and filaments of nerve, and are the seat of the sensibility of the 
 tongue. 
 
 Two different nerves supply the tongue ; branches of the 
 nerve called glosso-pharyngeal (tongue and throat nerve) are 
 distributed to the back part ; twigs of the fifth pair (nerve of 
 touch of the face) go to the fore-part. The effect, as will be 
 seen, is a two-fold sensibility ; taste proper attaches to the 
 first named nerve, the glosso-pharyngeal ; bitter is tasted 
 chiefly at the back of the tongue. Taken as a whole, the sen- 
 sibility of the tongue is distributed over the whole upper side, 
 but less in the middle part and most in the base, sides, and 
 tip. The reUsh of food increases from the tip to the back, 
 
TASTE IN SYMPATHY WITH DIGESTION. 37 
 
 which is an inducement to keep the morsel moving backwards 
 till it is finally swallowed. 
 
 The indispensable condition of taste is solubility. Also 
 the tongne must not be in a dry or parched condition. The 
 sensibility is increased by a moderate pressure ; and is dead- 
 ened by cold. 
 
 No explanation has yet been given of the mode of action 
 on the nerves during taste. It is probably of a chemical 
 nature, resulting from the combination of the dissolved food 
 with a secretion from the blood-vessels of the papillae. 
 
 3. The Serisations of Taste fall under a three-fold 
 division : (1) those in direct sympathy with the Stomach, 
 as Kelish ; (2) Taste proper, and (3) Touch. 
 
 As to the first, there is an obvious continuity of structure 
 in the Tongue and Alimentary canal, a common character of 
 surface as regards mucous membrane, glands, and papillae. 
 Moreover, apart from taste proper, the feeling in the tongua 
 indicates at once whether a substance wiU agree or disagree 
 with the stomach ; the tongue is in fact the stomach begun. 
 And farther, what we call relish is distinct from taste ; butter 
 and cooked flesh are relishes ; salt and quinine are tastes ; the 
 one varies with the condition of the stomach, being in some 
 states converted into nausea, as in sea-sickness ; the other re- 
 mains under all variations of the digestive power. 
 
 4. The Tastes in sympathy with the Stomach are 
 Relishes and Disgusts. 
 
 Relishes, as already explained, are the agreeable feelings 
 arising from the kinds of food called savoury, as animal 
 food, and the richer kinds of vegetables. Sugar is both 
 a relish and a taste. As a feeling of pleasure, a relish is more 
 acute and less massive than the digestive sensations, but less 
 acute and more massive than mere sweetness of taste. The 
 speciality of the feeling is the aUiance with digestion. What 
 possesses relish may be hard to digest, but will not be nau- 
 seous in the stomach. The strength of this feeling is farther 
 measured by its volitional urgency, or spur to the act of eat- 
 ing. The intellectual persistence is not high. 
 
 Relishes imply their opposite, disgusts, in which the sto- 
 machic sympathy is equally apparent, and which may be 
 similarly characterized with reference to the corresponding 
 digestive sensation. 
 
38 SENSE OF TASTE. 
 
 5. Taste proper comprehends Sweet and Bitter tastes. 
 
 Sweetness is typified in the taste of sugar, to whose pre- 
 sence is owing the sweetness of fruits and articles of food 
 generally. This sensation may be called the proper pleasure 
 of taste, or the enjoyment derivable through a favourable 
 stimulus of the gustatory nerves. In Degree it is acute ; in 
 Speciality we recognize it as possessing a character, inde- 
 scribable in language, but not confounded with the pleasure 
 of any other sense. Its volitional character accords with its 
 nature as pleasure. It is more intellectual than Organic sen- 
 sations generally, or than Behsh ; we can discriminate its de- 
 grees better, and remember it better. Taste may be the lowest 
 of the five senses, as regards intellectual properties, but it is 
 above the highest of the organic group. 
 
 Bitter tastes are exemplified in quinine, gentian, bitter 
 aloes, and soot. This, and not sourness, is the opposite of 
 sweet ; it is the proper pain of taste, the state arising by irri- 
 tating, or unfavourably stimulating, the gustatory nerve. The 
 characteristics are the same, with obverse allowance, as for 
 sweetness. 
 
 6. In the third class of tastes, there is present an 
 element arising through the nerves of Touch. Pungency 
 is their prevailing character. They include the saline, 
 alkaline, sour or acid, astringent, fiery, acrid. 
 
 The saline taste is typified in common salt. It is neither 
 sweet nor bitter, but simply pungent or biting; and, in all 
 probability, the sensation is felt through the nerves of the fifth 
 pair. In some salts, the pungency is combined with taste pro- 
 per; Epsom salts would be termed partly saline, and still 
 more decidedly bitter. 
 
 The alkaline taste, as in soda, potash, or ammonia, is a 
 more energetic pungency, or more violent irritation of the 
 nerves ; the pungency amounting to acute pain, as the action 
 becomes destructive of the tissue. 
 
 The sour or add taste is the most familiar form of pungency, 
 as in vinegar. The pain of an acid resembles a scald rather 
 than a bitter taste. The pleasure derivable from it is such 
 as belongs to pungency, and must observe the same limits. 
 
 The astringent is a mild form of pungency ; it is exemplified 
 by alum. The action in this case has manifestly departed from 
 pure taste, and become a mere mechanical irritation of the 
 nerves of touch. Astringent substances cause a kind of shrink- 
 
OBJECTS OF SMELL. 39 
 
 ing or contraction of the snrface; an effect imitated by the 
 drying up of a solution of salt on the skin. What is called a 
 ' rough' taste, as tannin, is a form of astringency. 
 
 The fiery taste of mustard, alcohol, camphor, and volatile oils, 
 is of the same generic character, although more or less mixed 
 with taste proper. The acrid combines the fiery with the bitter. 
 
 SENSE OF SMELL. 
 
 1. The Sense of Smell, placed at the entrance of the 
 lungs, is a source of pleasure and pain, and a means of 
 discrimination as regards the air taken into the lungs. 
 
 This sense is also in close proximity to the organ of Taste, 
 with which smell frequently co-operates. 
 
 2. The Objects of smell are gaseous or volatile bodies, 
 the greater number of such being odorous. 
 
 The chief inodorous gases are the elements of the atmo- 
 sphere, that is, nitrogen, oxygen, vapour of water, and carbonic 
 acid (in the small amount contained in the air). Carbonic 
 oxide, sulphurous acid, chlorine, iodine, the nitrons gases, 
 ammonia, sulphuretted and phosphuretted hydrogen, and the 
 vapour of acids generally, are odorous. The newly discovered 
 ozone, is named from the odour it gives. Some minerals give 
 forth odorous effluvia, as the garlic odour of arsenic, and the 
 odour of a piece of quartz when broken. The vegetable king- 
 dom is rich in odours ; many plants are distinguished by this 
 single property. Animal odours are also numerous. 
 
 The pleasant odours, chemically considered, are hydro- 
 carbons ; they are composed chiefly of hydrogen and carbon. 
 Such are alcohol and the ethers, eau de Cologne, attar of roses, 
 and the perfumes generally. Of the repulsive and disagreeable 
 odours, one class contain sulphur, as sulphuretted hydrogen. 
 The worst- smelling substances yet discovered have arsenic for 
 their base. Such are the hdkodyle series of compounds dis- 
 covered by Bunsen, from the study of a substance long known 
 as ' liquor of Cadet.' The pungent odours aie typified by 
 ammonia ; nicotine, the element of the snufis, is an analogous 
 compound. 
 
 3. The development of odours is favoured by Heat, and 
 by Light. The action of Moisture is not uniform. 
 
40 SENSE OF SMELL. 
 
 Heat operates by its volatilizing power, and by promoting 
 decomposition. Light is a chemical influence. Moisture may 
 dissolve solid m.atters and prepare the way for their being 
 volatilized. 
 
 4. The gaseous property, called diffusion, detennines 
 peculiar manifestations in odours. 
 
 Some odours are light, and therefore diffuse rapidly, and 
 rise high ; as sulphuretted hydrogen. The aromatic and 
 spice odours, by their intensity and diffusibility combined, are 
 smelt at great distances ; the Spice Islands of the Indian 
 Archipelago are recognized far out at sea. The animal 
 efiBuvia are mostly dense gases ; they are slowly diffused and 
 do not rise high in the air. In scenting, a pointer dog keeps 
 his nose close to the ground. Unwholesome efiBuvia, very 
 strong on the ground, are unperceived at the height of a few 
 feetk In tropical swamps, safety is obtained by sleeping at a 
 height above the ground. 
 
 5. The Organ of Smell is the nose, and the place of sen- 
 sibility is the membrane that lines the interior and the 
 complicated cavities branching out from it. 
 
 The nose is lined throughout with a mucous membrane ; 
 and the complicated bones adjoining it, give extension of sur- 
 face to that membrane, whereby the sensibility is magnified. 
 It is also an important fact, in the Anatomy of the organ, that 
 the proper nerve of smell, called olfactory, is most copiously 
 distributed in the interior recesses, and not at all near the 
 entrance of the nostrils ; to which part, twigs of the fifth pair 
 are distributed, conferring upon it a tactile sensibility. 
 
 6. The mode of action of odours appears to be a process 
 of oxidation. 
 
 The facts in favour of that view were pointed out bv 
 Graham. Odorous substances in general are snch as oxygen can 
 readily act upon ; for example, sulphurous hydrogen, and the 
 perfumes. Again, gases that have no smell are not acted on by 
 oxygen at common temperatures ; the pure marsh gas car- 
 buretted hydrogen, which has no smeU, has been obtained'from 
 deep mmes, where it has been in contact with oxygen for 
 geological ages. It is farther determined that unless a stream 
 of oxygen passes through the nose, there is no smell. 
 
TRESH ODOURS. — FRAGRANT ODOURS. 41 
 
 7. The Sensations of Smell are, first, those in sympathy 
 with the Lungs ; secondly, those of Smell proper ; thirdly, 
 those involving excitation of nerves of Touch. 
 
 Those in sympathy -with the Lungs may he described 
 by the contrasting terms — fresh and close odours. 
 
 Fresh odours are the feelings of exhilaration from the 
 quickened action of the lungs. Certain odorous substances 
 have that quickening ef&cacy, as eau de Cologne, lavender, pep- 
 permint, aud many, but not all, perfumes ; the spirit used in 
 dissolving the essences being not unfrequently the source of 
 the stimulus. These are the substances used for reviving the 
 system depressed by the atmosphere of a crowd, rreshness 
 may, or may not, be joined with fragrance ; the odour of a 
 tanyard is stimulating to the lungs ; the smeU of a cow is fresh 
 and sweet. Musk is probably stimulating. 
 
 Close or suffocating odours arise from a depressed action 
 of the lungs. The effluvia of crowds, and of vegetable and 
 animal decay, the deficiency of oxygen, and the accumulation 
 of carbonic acid, however caused, lower the powers of life, and 
 are accompanied with a depressing sensation, which should 
 properly be called a sensation of the lungs, but which we con- 
 nect also with smell. The smell of a pastry-cook's kitchen is 
 close and yet sweet. 
 
 Certain odours, as sulphuretted hydrogen, are nauseous or 
 disgusting, which implies a sympathy with the stomach, 
 although in what mode, or through what nerves, is not clear. 
 
 8. Connected with proper olfactory sensibility are 
 fragrant odours and their opposites. 
 
 For sweet or fragrant odours we refer to the rose, the violet, 
 the orange, the jasmine, &c. In them we have the proper plea- 
 sure of the organ of smeU ; the enjoyment derivable through 
 the olfactory nerves. It is acute or massive, according to the 
 concentration or diffnsion of the material ; compare an 
 essence, as lavender, or rosemary, with a bed of mignonette 
 or a field of clover. A certain degree of what is termed re- 
 finement attaches to the pleasures of pure smell ; the stimulus 
 is so gentle that it can be endured for a length c^ time without 
 palling. 
 
 The opposite of sweetness is given in the expressive name 
 sUnk ; a milder substitute is malodour. The smell of assafoe- 
 tida is an example ; some of our repulsive odours are in part 
 disgusting, and do not represent pure olfactory pain. Ya^- 
 
42 SENSE OF SMELL. 
 
 lerian, rag-wort, and the scnm of stagnant mareli (squeezed 
 in the fingers) give forth malodours. Whenever the olfactory 
 nerves are painfully irritated, this is the character of the pain. 
 Amid many distinguishable varieties of bad smell, there is a 
 common type of sensation. 
 
 9. Tlirough excitation of the nerves of toucli we derive 
 the pmigent odours. 
 
 Ammonia (as in smelling salts), nicotine, mustard, acetic 
 acid, give rise to a sharp stinging sensation, for which the best 
 name is pungency. It is most probably a mechanical irritation 
 of the nerves of the fifth pair ; habitual snufi'-takers lose the 
 pure olfactory sensibility. The general effect, named pungency, 
 is a mode of nervous and mental excitement ; within limits, it 
 gives pleasure. A loud sound, a flash of light, a hurried pace, 
 have a rousing effect, pleasurable, if the nerves are fresh and 
 ■unoccupied, painfal otherwise. 
 
 The ethereal odours, as alcohol and the aroma of wines, are 
 partly fresh and sweet, and partly pungent. 
 
 There are odours that we may call aorid, combining pun- 
 gency with ill smell, as the odour of coal-gas works. 
 
 The sensual appetites are, in many cases, fired by odours. 
 The smell of flesh excites the carnivorous appetite ; which may 
 • be due partly to association, and partly to that sympathy of 
 smell with digestion, shown in the nauseous odours. Sexual 
 excitement, in some animals, is induced by smell, as by many 
 other sensations. There is here a general law, that one great 
 pleasure fires the other pleasurable sensibilities. (See Tbndee 
 Emotion.) 
 
 Some sapid bodies are also odorous. In the act of expira- 
 tion accompanying mastication, especially the instant after 
 swallowing, the odorous particles are carried into the cavities 
 of the nose, and affect the sense of smell. This is flavour. 
 Cinnamon has no taste, but only a fiavour ; that is, an odour 
 brought out during mastication. 
 
 Viewing Smell in the Intellectual point of view, once for 
 all, we find it considerably in advance of Organic Sensibility, 
 if not of Taste also. The power of discrimination exercised 
 by smeU is very great; we derive much instruction and 
 guidance by means of it. Yet higher in this respect is its 
 development in many animals, as the ruminants, certain of 
 the pachydermatous animals, and, above all, the carnivorous 
 quadrupeds. The scent of the dog seems miraculous. 
 
 The power of recollection is usually in proportion to the 
 
THE SKIN. 43 
 
 aptitude for discrimination ; and in regard to smells, the 
 power of recollecting is considerable. "We can, by an effort, 
 restore to mind the sweetness of a rose, the pungency of 
 smelling salts, or the bouquet of an essence. 
 
 SENSE OF TOUCH. 
 
 1. As an intellectual, or knowledge-giving sense. Touch 
 ranks decidedly above Taste and Smell. 
 
 The Objects of Touch are principally solid substances. 
 
 GUses do not affect the touch, unless blown with great 
 violence. Liquids give little or no feeling, except heat or 
 cold. A certain firmness of surface is necessary, such as con- 
 stitutes solidity. 
 
 2. The sensitive Organ is the skin, or common integu- 
 ment of the body, together with the interior of the mouth, 
 the tongue, and the nostrils. 
 
 The parts of the skin are its two layers — cuticle and true 
 skin ; the papillae ; the hairs and the nails ; the two species of 
 glands — the one yielding sweat, the other an oily secretion ; 
 with blood vessels and nerves. 
 
 The cuticle is the protective covering of the skin, being 
 itself insensible ; it varies in thickness from the -^-^ to the -jV 
 of an inch ; being thickest on the soles of the feet, and on the 
 palms of the hands. The true skin lying nnderneath, and 
 containing the papillee, nerves, and blood-vessels, is the sen- 
 tient structure. It is marked in various places by furrows, 
 also affecting the cuticle, as may be seen in the skin of the 
 hand. The jpwpiLlae are small conical projections, besetting 
 the whole surface of the skin, but largest and closest on the 
 palm of the hand and fingers, and on the sole of the foot. 
 Their height on the hand is from ^^^ to j^^ of an inch. Into 
 them blood-vessels enter, and also nerves ; and they are the 
 medium of the tactile sensibility of the skin. The two sets of 
 glands concern the skin as a great purifying organ. Very 
 small muscula/r fibres have been discovered in the skin ; they 
 are easily affected by cold, and their contraction makes the 
 shivering of the skin. 
 
 3. The action in Touch is simple pressure. 
 
 The contact of a firm body compresses the skin, and, 
 through it, the nerve filaments embedded in the papillae. 
 
■44 SENSE OF TOUCH. 
 
 4. The Sensations of Touch may be arranged under the 
 following heads :— the Emotional, and the Intellectual 
 sensations of Touch proper ; and the sensations combining 
 Touch and Muscularity. 
 
 The iirst class includes soft Touches, pungent smarts, 
 temperature, and some others. 
 
 * 
 
 Soft Touches. In these we suppose the gentle contact of 
 Bouje extended surface with the skin, as the under clothing, 
 or the bed clothes. Prom such contact, results a pleasurable 
 sensation, of little acuteness, but of considerable mass, when 
 a large surface is affected. In most instances of pleasurable 
 contact, there is warmth combined with touch, as in the em- 
 brace of two creatures of the warm blooded species, or in the 
 contact of one part of the body with another. We become 
 insensible to the habitual contact of our clothing, on the 
 general principle of Relativity ; but the transition to, or from, 
 the naked state makes us aware of our sensibility to touch. 
 
 The mixed sensation of contact and warmth is strongly 
 manifested in the clinging of the young to the mother, both 
 in the human species and in the inferior tribes. The warm 
 contact is maintained with great energy of will. It also de- 
 termines many of the peculiar modes of expression iu human 
 beings ; as the putting of the finger or the hand to the 
 mouth and face, either as mere sensuous luxury, or as a 
 solace in pain. In luxurious repose, a soft warm contact is 
 desiderated for the hands. 
 
 Pungent amd •painful sensations of Touch. A sharp, intense, 
 smarting contact with the skin, produces, up to a certain point, 
 an agreeable pungency or excitement ; beyond that, an acute 
 pain of the physical class. This is precisely analogous to the 
 effects of pungency spoken of under the foregoing Senses. 
 Mere sensation, as such, is pleasurable within limits, when 
 the nerves are fresh. Excitement is joyful to the unexpended 
 nervous vigour ; and this is gained by pungency. 
 
 The acute pains of the skin are illustrated in the discipline 
 of the whip ; a form of pain supposed to have both volitional 
 efficiency at the moment, and intellectual persistency for the 
 future. 
 
 Sensations of Temperature. We included the feelings of 
 heat and cold among organic sensations. They are, in the 
 vast majority of instances, connected with the skin, of whose 
 sensibUity they are a large and important item. The effect of 
 changes of temperature on the nerves may still be mechanical 
 
INTELLECTUAL SENSATIONS OF TOUCH. 45 
 
 seeing that the direct inflxience of such changes is to expand 
 or contract the tissue. Some have supposed special nerves of 
 heat and cold, but without good evidence. The pleasures and 
 pains from this source have been sufficiently characterized. 
 
 The intellectual aspect of the sense of Temperature deserves 
 mention. The power of discrimination has been estimated by 
 Weber, and is found the same at high and at low tempera- 
 tures ; we can distinguish 14° from 14°.4 Eieaumur, as well as 
 30° from 30°.4 ; this amounts to discerning a difference of about 
 1° Fahrenheit. The order of sensitiveness of the parts is as 
 follows ; — tip of the tongue, eyelids, lips, neck, trunk : this is 
 nearly, but not exactly, the order of sensitiveness to tactile 
 sensation. 
 
 Other painful sensations of the shin. The organic sensi- 
 bility of the skin gives rise to a variation of sensations ; its 
 healthy condition is an element in our physical comfort, and 
 obversely. Long compression of the same part, by checking the 
 circulation and affecting the nerves, occasions a massive un- 
 easiness. Fi-etting, chafing, pulling the hairs, tearing open the 
 nails, bring on acute pains. 
 
 Another peculiar sensation of the skin is Tickling. On this, 
 Weber remarks, that the lips, the walls of the nasal openings, and 
 the face generally, when touched with a feather, give the peciiliar 
 sensation of tickUng, which continues till the part is rubbed by the 
 hand. In the nose, the irritation leads at last to sneezing. The 
 excitation extends to the ducts of the glands, which pour out their 
 contents, and increase the irritation. The violent sensation pro- 
 duced by bodies in contact with the eye, is of the nature of tick- 
 ling accompanied by flow from the glands, and readily passing into 
 pain. Why some places are liable to this sensation and others not, 
 it is difficult to explain. The possession of delicate tactual dis- 
 crimination is not necessary to the effect. 
 
 5. The Intellectual sensations of Touch proper are 
 Plurality of points and Pressure. 
 
 Plurality 'of points. One great feature in the intellectual 
 Buperiority of Touch, is the separateness of the sensations on 
 different parts of the skin. The points of a two-pronged fork 
 resting on the hand are noted as giving a double sensation ; 
 whereas in smell, there is no sense of plurality ; there may be 
 a sense of increase or diminution of degrees, but the whole 
 effect is one and continuous. 
 
 Very remarkable inequalities in the degree of this dis- 
 crimination are observable on comparing different parts of the 
 body. The experiments for determining these (first instituted 
 
46- SENSE OF TOUCH, 
 
 by Weber) consists in placing the two points of a pair of com- 
 passes, blunted with sealing wax, at different distances 
 asunder, and in various directions, upon different parts of the 
 body. It is then found that the smallest distance, for giving 
 the sense of double contact, varies from the thirty-sixth of an 
 inch to three inches. In Weber's observations the range was 
 the twenty-fourth of an inch to two and a half inches. The 
 part most sensitive is the tip of the tongue ; according to 
 Weber, the smallest interval of doubleness is -^ o{ an inch. 
 
 The interval of plurality varies according to the following <ai- 
 cumstances. (1) It is greater across than along any of the limbs ; 
 across the middle of the arm or fore-arm it is two inches, along 
 the arm, three. (2) It is greater when the surfaces vary in struc- 
 ture, as the inner and outer surface of the lips. (3) If one of the 
 points is pressed forcibly, the other ceases to be distinguished. 
 (4) Two points, at a great distance apart, on a surface of greater 
 sensibility, are judged to be more widely apart. This will be 
 shown by drawing compasses over the different parts ; they wfll 
 seem to widen in the most sensitive organs. The tongue exag- 
 gerates holes in the teeth. (&) By moving the points, instead of 
 keeping them still, the sensitiveness is greater ; an interval felt 
 single at rest, may feel double under motion. In the tactile dis- 
 crimination of a surface, we usually move the hand. 
 , Whenever two points produx!e a double sensation, we may 
 imagine that one point lies on the area supplied by one distinct 
 nerve, while the other point lies on the area of a second nerve. 
 There is a certain stage of subdivision or branching of the nerves 
 of touch, beyond which the impressions are fused into one on 
 reaching the cerebrum. How many ultimate nerve fibres are con- 
 tained in each unit nerve, we cannot pretend to guess ; but on the 
 skin of the back, the middle of the thigh, and the middle of the 
 fore-arm, an area of three inches diameter, or between sLs and 
 seven square inches, is supplied by the filaments of a single unit. 
 On the point of the finger, the Tinits are so multiplied, that each 
 supplies no more than a space whose diameter is the tenth of an 
 inch. Such units correspond to the entire body of the olfactory 
 or gustatory nerve ; for these nerves give but one undivided im- 
 pression for the whole affected. If we had two different organs 
 of smell, and two distinct olfactory nerves, we should then pro- 
 bably have a feeling of doubleness or repetition of smells, like the 
 sense of two points on the skin. 
 
 Sensation of Pressure. When a contact amounts to a 
 certain energy of compression, we have a sensation passing 
 beyond mere touch. Muscular resistance apart, there is 
 a feeling induced by the compression of the deep-seated 
 parts together with the skin. It is a neutral feeling, 
 unless carried to the pitch of acute pain ; but as we ai-e 
 
TOUCH COMBINED WITH MUSCULAEITT. 47 
 
 intellectually conscious of its various degrees, it is a help to 
 onr perception of mechanical forces. 
 
 The discrimination of pressure is obtained free from the 
 muscular discrimination, by supporting the hand on a table, 
 and putting weights upon it. In this way, Weber found that 
 the tips of the fingers could discriminate between 20 oz. and. 
 19"2 oz.; aud the forearm 20 oz. from 18'7 oz. This discrimi- 
 nation does not increase in proportion to the abundance of the 
 nervous filaments supplied to the part. 
 
 6. The third class of Sensations of Touch are those 
 combining touch with muscular feeling. They include 
 resistance, weight, and pressure; hardness and softness; 
 roughness and smoothness; and the various modes of Ex- 
 tension. 
 
 Resistance, Weight, and Pressure. These, as already shown, 
 are primarily connected with muscular energy ; a greater 
 weight induces a greater muscular expenditure. We have 
 just seen, however, that the compression of the skin and sub- 
 jacent parts is also a clue to the same property. But the 
 m.uscular discrimination surpasses the tactile at least in a 
 threefold degree : and what is of more consequence, the 
 muscular or active consciousness is what constitutes to us 
 the property of weight, pressure, or force. The feeling of 
 compression of the hand or Hmb is of itself a subjective sen- 
 sation, and might be confounded with mere subjective pains, 
 as in hurts. The feeling of expended energy is unambiguous 
 and decisive ; it means to us the objective fact of mechanical 
 force, the fundamental consciousness that we call matter. 
 
 Hardness and Softness. We appreciate these qualities also 
 by the combined sensibility to pressure. The degree of resis- 
 tance to change of form is the degree of hardness. The nice 
 discrimination of this property enters into various manual pro- 
 cesses, as the art of the pastry-cook, the builder, the sculptor, 
 &c. We must still consider it as mainly residing in the mus- 
 cular tissue, which, according to its nervous endowments, may 
 be unequally developed among individuals, in respect of 
 discrimination. ElasUeity is a mere variety of hardness and 
 softness ; it means the varying resistance, together with the 
 rebound of the body compressed. 
 
 Roughness and Smooihness are referable, in the first in- 
 stance, to the sense of plurality of points. The finger resting 
 on the face of a brush gives the feeling of a plurality of pricks, 
 
48 SENSE OF TOUCH, 
 
 and we can judge whether these are few and scattered, 
 or whether they are numerous and close, up to the poiut 
 where they become too close for the sensibility of the 
 part We eau thus discriminate between a coarse pile and 
 finer one. But by moving the finger, according to a principle 
 already laid down, we increase the power of discrimination. 
 A third means is the organic sensibility to chafing, which is 
 greater as a surface is rougher ; this brings in the pecu- 
 liarity of sharpness or bluntness of the asperities ; it applies 
 accurately to the operation of polishing, where the purpose is 
 to do away with all asperities. In discerning the qualities of 
 woven textures, softness and smoothness are taken together ; 
 and there are great individual difiierences of tactual delicacy, 
 natural or acquired, in that discernment. The fineness of a 
 powder, and the beat of a pulse, are judged of almost exclu- 
 sively by skin sensibility. 
 
 These tactile sensations, whose importance consists in the 
 intellectual property of discrimination, have also a corres- 
 ponding retentiveness. We can recall and compare ideas of 
 touch, we can imagine or construct new ones, although with 
 less facility and vividness than in the case of sights. With 
 the blind, whose external world is a world of touch, this 
 memory attains a much higher compass. 
 
 Extension, Form, &c. — ^It has been already laid down that 
 Extension, the most general property of the object world, is 
 based on our consciousness of muscular energy, and not on any 
 mode of passive sensation. Still, our two senses — Touch and 
 sight, play an important part in tie development of the notion, 
 which is highly complex, and not a simple or elementary 
 feeling, like mere resistance. 
 
 The purely muscular part of the feeling or idea of Exten- 
 sion is unresisted movement, as in the sweep of the arm, or 
 the forward movement of the body, in free ^pace. It has been 
 seen that we have a discrimination of the duration and the 
 pace of these unobstructed movements. But the power ol 
 measuring degrees and of making comparisons is aided by 
 touch (and by sight), and that in various ways. (1) In the 
 first place, Touch (or the mixed sensation of touch and resist- 
 ance) supplies definite marks to indicate the beginning and 
 the end of the sweep, as in estimating the width of a door- 
 way by the hand, or the dimensions of a room by walking 
 across it. Extension is the antithesis of resistance or ob- 
 structed movement, and is felt by the presence of its contrast, 
 and this involves contact or touch. The only real notion that 
 
THE CO-EXISTING IN SPACE. 49 
 
 we can ever form of extension, as empty space, is a sweep 
 between two resistances; infinite space, where the points, 
 or termini, of resistance are done away with, is therefore an 
 incompetent, irrelevant, impossible conception; it does not 
 comply with the conditions indispensable to the notion. (2) 
 In the second place, when the hand is moved over a surface, 
 the feelLiig of continaance of movement is accompanied with 
 a continuance of tactUe sensation, and the estimate of the 
 two jointly is more exact than of one singly. A feeling of 
 the subject (touch proper) is superadded to a feeling of the 
 object (expended energy, as movement) and deepens the im- 
 press of that sensibility without constituting itself the objective 
 basis. (3) In the third place, movement in vacuo is unable 
 to indicate the vital difference between succession and co- 
 existence — time and space. Now, co-existence in space is 
 implied in our matured idea of extension. But this co- 
 existence is the result of a peculiar experience, and to 
 that experience the senses must contribute. When we move 
 the hand over a fixed surface, we have, together with feelings 
 of movement, a succession of feelings of touch ; if the surface is 
 a variable one, as when a blind man reads with the hand, the 
 sensations are constantly changiag, and are recognized as a 
 definite series. Repeat the movement, and the series is re- 
 peated ; invert the movement, and the series appears in an 
 inverted order. Now this continuance of a fixed serial order 
 marks something different fi^om mere continuing movement 
 by itself, which gives no element of fixity or persistence. A 
 person looking on while a procession passes by, is differently 
 affected from another person walking up and down by the 
 side of the same body standing still. Such is the difference 
 between time and space, as appreciated by combined move- 
 ment and sensation. Time or succession is the simpler fact ; 
 co-existence, or extension in space, is a eom-plex fact ; and the 
 serial fixedness of sensations is one element of the complication. 
 Extension is recognized by us as linear, superficial, or 
 solid; the difference being one of complexity. Linear ex- 
 tension nearly corresponds to a simple sweep of the arm ; the 
 straight direction, however, demands & muscular adjustment. 
 Superficial extension, as in a pane of glass, involves cross 
 movements in addition. Cubical extension is merely a higher 
 stage of complication. We are capable not only of the mus- 
 cular groupings requisite for these three grades of extension, 
 but of discriminating one grouping from another ; a short line 
 from a longer, an oblong from a square, and so on ; and we 
 4 
 
50 SENSE OF TOUCH. 
 
 are farther capable of retaining or laying tip abiding impres- 
 sions corresponding to each. "We can retain, and recall, the 
 mnscolar movements, groupings, and adjustments, deter- 
 mined in our tactual examination of a one foot cube ; such a 
 cube means to us (sight apart) a series of touches imbedded 
 in a series of muscular feelings. 
 
 Our having two hands, and five fingers in each, gives us 
 another, and shorter, clue to surface and solidity. The out- 
 spread hand with its plurality of touches is a means of dis- 
 tinguishing surface, snhanced by the use of both hands. In 
 like maimer, solidity can be perceived by the clench of one hand 
 on two surfaces, or still better, by combining both hands. 
 The sense of solidity gained by combining the hands is 
 parallel to the solid efiect in vision fi:om the two eyes. 
 
 Size, Distance, Direction, Situation, and Form, are merely 
 modes of Extension ; they are all muscular experiences 
 aided by sense. Size or magnitude is' merely another name 
 for extension. Distance is extension between two points. 
 Direction, mathematically taken, is measurement of distance 
 from some standard of reference. The primitive reference is to 
 our own body ; and direction consists in the specific move- 
 ments of the different members— the putting forth of the right 
 arm or the left, the throwing the hand or body forwards or 
 backwards, up or down. Situation is distance and direction 
 combined. Form is the successive positions of the outline ; 
 we acquire definite movements corresponding to the different 
 fonns — a straight line, a circle, an ovaJ, a sphere, a cube, 
 and embody our recollection of these in ideal movements or 
 muscular feelings, with tactile accompaniments. 
 
 Thus, in the knowledge of Extension, and its modes, 
 through touch and locoiJiotion, there is already a vast and 
 compEcated mass of acquirements, involving a large number 
 of muscles and an immense apparatus of connecting nerves. 
 
 The observations made on persons bom blind have furnished 
 a means of judging how far touch can substitute sight, both in 
 mechanical and in intellectual operations. These observations 
 have shown, that there is nothing essential to the highest intel- 
 lectual processes of science and thought, that may not be attained 
 in the absence of sight. The integrity of the moving apparatus 
 of the frame renders it possible to acquire the fundamental 
 notions of space, magnitude, figure, force, and movement, and 
 ■through these to oomprehend'the great lea^ng facts of creation, 
 as taught in mathematical, mechanical, or physical science. 
 
PAETS OF THE EAE. 51 
 
 SENSE OF HEARING. 
 
 1. The Objects of hearing are material bodies in a state 
 of tremour or vibration, from being struck ; which tremour 
 affects the air, and thence the ear. 
 
 Hard and elastic textures are the most sonorons. The 
 metals rank first ; next, are woods, stones, and earthy bodies. 
 Liquids and gases sound feebly, unless impinged by solids. 
 The howling and the rustling of the wind are its play upon the 
 earth's surface, like the .^olian harp. In the cataract, water 
 impinges water ; and, in the thunder, air is struck by air. 
 
 2. The Ear, the Organ of hearing, is divisible into (1) 
 the External ear, (2) the Tympanum or Middle ear, and (3) 
 the Labyrinth, or Internal ear. 
 
 The two first divisions are appendages or accessories of 
 the third, which contains the sentient surface. 
 
 The Outer ear includes the wing of the ear — augmenting 
 the sound by reflexion, and the passage of the ear, which is 
 closed at the inner end by the membrane of the tympanum. 
 
 The Middle ear, or Tympanum, is a narrow irregular 
 cavity, extending to the labyrinth, and communicating with 
 the throat, through the Eustachian tube. It contains a chain 
 of small bones, stretching from the inner side of the membrane 
 of the tympanum, to an opening in the labyrinth ; there are 
 also certain very minute muscles attached to these bones. The 
 inner wall of the tympanum, which is the outer wall of the 
 labyrinth, is an even surface of bone, but chiefly noted for two 
 openings — the oval and the round — ^both closed with mem- 
 brane. It is to the oval opening that the inner end of the 
 chain of bones, the stirrup bone, is applied. Of the muscles, 
 the largest is attached to the outer bone of the chain (the 
 malleus), and is called tensor tympani, because its action is to 
 draw inwards, and tighten, the tympanum. Two or three 
 other muscles are named, but their action is doubtful. 
 
 The Internal ear, or Labyrinth, contained in the petrous or 
 hard portion of the temporal bone, is made up of two struc- 
 tures, the bony and the membranous labyrinth. The bony 
 labyrinth presents externally a spiral shell called the cochlea, 
 and three projecting rings called the semicircular canals. The 
 interior is hoUow, and fiUed witii a clear liquid secreted fi-om 
 a thin lining membrane. It contains a membranous structure. 
 
52 SENSE OF HEARING. 
 
 corresponding in shape to the tortuosities of the hony laby- 
 rinth, hence called the membranons labyrinth ; this stmcture 
 encloses a liqnid secretion, and supports the ramifications of 
 the auditory nerve. • 
 
 3. The mode of action, in hearing, is the ultimate com- 
 pression of the filaments of the nerve of hearing, by the 
 compression of the liquid contents of the labyrinth. The 
 ear is thus a very delicate organ of touch. 
 
 The waves of sound, entering the outer ear, strike the 
 membrane of the tympanum, and make it vibrate. These 
 vibrations are communicated to the chain of bones; and the 
 last of the chain — the stirrup bone, gives a corresponding series 
 of beats to the tight m^embrane of the oval opening, the result 
 of which is a series of condensations of the liquid contents^ 
 and compressions of the auditory nerve ; these compressions 
 propagated to the brain are connected with the sensation of 
 sound. An experimental imitation of , the mechanism has 
 shown that the arrangement answers well for delicate hearing; 
 the surface best adapted for receiving aerial beats is a stretched 
 membrane ; which membrane imparts these most advantage- 
 ously to a solid rod ; and between a solid rod and the auditory 
 nerve the most suitable medium is a liquid. The intensity 
 and the rapidity of the nerve compressions are exactly in ac- 
 cordance with the aerial waves. Our greatest difficulty is to 
 understand how a single rod can be the medium of a large 
 volume or plurality of sounds ; we must suppose them taken 
 in succession by an extraordinary rapidity of the vibrating 
 action. Attempts have been made to allocate the difierent 
 degrees of pitch to difierent parts of the labyrinth, and thence 
 to distinct nervous filaments. 
 
 It has not been completely ascertained on what occasions, and 
 with what effect, the tensor tympani muscle is brought into play. 
 It was observed by WoUaston, that when the membrane is stretched 
 the ear is less affected by grave sounds, as thunder or cannon, and 
 more sensitive to shrill sounds, as the rattling o£ carriages or 
 the creaking of paper. Hence the action of the tensor tympani 
 'muscle would be protective against painfully grave sounds, and 
 obversdy. 
 
 4. The Sensations of Sound may be divided into three 
 heads : — (1) The General Emotional eflFeets of sound ; (2) 
 Musical sounds ; and (3) the Intellectual sensations. 
 
 The Greneral effects of sound may be considered under 
 
EMOTIONAL SENSATIONS OF SOUND. 53 
 
 Quality (pleasant and painful)^ Irdensity^ and Volume or 
 Quantity. 
 
 The terms sweety ricb, mellow, silvery, are 
 applied to the pleasing sensations of sound, pure and simple. 
 Certain materials, instmments, and voices, by their mere 
 tone, please and charm the ear ; while some are indifferent, 
 and others have a grating, harsh effect. The stroctural 
 peculiarities connected with these differences are still a matter 
 of conjecture. From the analogy of touch, we may suppose 
 that a gentle stimulation of the nerves of hearing is plea- 
 snrable,,and the admixture of violent impulses painful. Another 
 circumstance is assigned by Helmholtz — namely, harmony of 
 tones, instead of discordant variety. 
 
 The character of sweet sounds generally is acute pleasure, 
 as we might expect from an organ small and sensitive. While 
 the emotional and volitional peculiarities are sufB.ciently im- 
 plied in this designation, a remark must be made on the intel- 
 lectual property of the pleasures of sound.. We are lujw ap- 
 proaching, if we have not reached, the top of the scale in this 
 respect ; the pleasures of hearing, taken as a whole, are more 
 endurable, more persistent, and more easily revived in idea, 
 than any other sensible pleasures, except sights. 
 
 Intensity, Loudness. Any sound, not too loud, may be 
 agreeable solely as stimulus, without giving the acute pleasure 
 above described. A certain pitch of loudness amounts to 
 pungency of sensation, mere excitement, which is gratefol 
 under the circumstances already noticed, namely, unexhausted 
 nervous irritability. A certain coarse pleasure is given to 
 robust natures and to children by loud noise, as by any other 
 kind of exciting stimulus. Beyond these limits, loudness of 
 sound passes into acute pain, and is a cause of nervous ex- 
 haustion ; as in the screeching of a parrot-menagerie, the 
 shrill barking of dogs, the screaming of infants, the railway 
 whistle. The mental discomposure is greater when they are 
 sudden and unexpected. 
 
 Volume or Quantity. Acute as is the general character of 
 hearing as a sense, we may have effects that are by compari- 
 son voluminous. This happens when the sound comes from 
 a sounding mass of large surface or extent ; for example, the 
 shout of a great multitude, the waves of the many-sounding 
 sea, the thunder, or the wind. The multiplication of sound 
 is more agreeable than the augmented intensity ; the stimulus 
 is increased without adding to the nervous fatigue. Apart 
 
54 SENSE OF HEAEING. 
 
 from intrinsic sweetness and music, the greatest pleasures of 
 sound are derived from voluminous effects. 
 
 5. Musical Sounds involve tlie properties of PUch, 
 Waxing and Waning, Harmony and Discord. 
 
 Pitch, or Tone. This is the fandamental property of musical 
 sounds. 
 
 By pitch is meant the acuteness or graveness of the sound, as 
 determined by the ear; and this is found to depend on the rapidity 
 of vibration of the sounding body, or the niunber of vibrations 
 performed in a given time. Most ears can mark a difference be- 
 tween two sounds differing in acuteness or pitch ; those that 
 cannot do so, to a minute degree, are incapable of music. The 
 gravest sound audible to the human ear is stated, by the generality 
 of experimenters, at 20 vibrations per second ; the limit of acute- 
 ness is various for different individuals, the highest estimate is 
 73,000 vibrations in the second. The cry of a bat is so acute as to 
 pass out of the hearing of many persons. The extreme audible 
 range would -amount to between nine and ten octaves, 
 
 A musical note is sweeter than an unmusical sound ema- 
 nating from the same source. The explanation may be partly 
 its purity, and partly its containing already an element of 
 harmony, in the equal timing of the beats. 
 
 Waxing and Wamng of sound. The charm of this pe- 
 culiar effect, resembling the waxing and waaing of move- 
 ments (p. 23), is well known. ■'That music hath a dying 
 fall.' The moaning of the wind exemplifies it The skilful 
 singer knows how to turn it to account. In soma kinds of 
 pathetic oratory, it degenerates into the whine or sing-song. 
 
 Harmony and Discord. When a plurality of sounds concur, 
 there may be harmony, discord, or mere indifference. 
 
 Harmony is known to arise from the proportions of the rates of 
 vibration of musical sounds ; 1 to 2 (octave), 2 to 3 (fifth), 3 to 4 
 (fourth), and so on, up to a certain point, when the harmony fades 
 away into discord. The harmonious adjustment of sounds in 
 succession (melody), and in concurrence (harmony proper), is 
 musical composition, to which are added other effects of Time, 
 Emphasis, &c. The pleasures of harmony are well known, but 
 they somewhat transcend the simple sensations, and trench upon 
 the sphere of the higher emotions, under which some farther notice 
 will be taken of them. 
 
 6. The more Intellectual sensations of sound are prin- 
 cipally those connected with perceiving Articulatenets, 
 
INTELLECTUAL SENSATIONS OF SOUND. 55 
 
 Distance, and Direction. Eeference may also be made to 
 Clearness and Timbre. 
 
 Clearness. This is another name for purity, and implies that 
 a sound should stand out distinct, instead of being choked 
 and encumbered with confasing ingredients. Both the plea- 
 sure of m.usic, and the perception of meaning, are involved in 
 the clearness of the sounds. We have already surmised that 
 the primitive sweetness of sounds may be involved with their 
 purity, and so with their clearness ; silver and glass are re- 
 markable for both the sweetness and the purity of their tones. 
 
 Timbre, Oonvplesdon, or Quality. Different materials, in- 
 struments, and voices, although uttering the same note, with 
 the same intensity, yet affect thp ear differently, so as to be 
 recognized as distinct. This is called the timbre or speciality 
 of the instrument. Certain experiments made by Helmholtz 
 profess to explain this difference, and, along with it, the differ- 
 ence of vowel quality in articulate sounds. 
 
 Articulate sounds. The discrimination of these is the 
 foundation of speech. 
 
 The consonants in general are distinguished through the 
 characteristic shock given by them severally to the ear. The 
 hissing sound of s, the burring of r, the hum of m, are weU marked 
 modes of producing variety of effect. We can understand how 
 each should impart a different kind of shook to the nerve of hear- 
 ing. So we can see a reason for distinguishing the abrupt sounds 
 p, t, h, from the continuous or vocal sounds h, d, and g, and from 
 the same sounds with the nasal accompaniment m, n, ng. It is 
 not qtiite so easy to explain the distinction of shook hetween the 
 labials, dentals, and gutturals ; still, if we compare p (labial), 
 with k (guttural), we can suppose that the stroke that gives the 
 A; is in some way harder than the other. 
 
 Much greater diffictdty attaches to the vowel sounds, which 
 differ only in the mode of opening the mouth while the sound is 
 emitted. Helmholtz lays it down, as the result of numerous ex- 
 periments, that vowel sounds contain, besides the ground-tone, a 
 number of upper-tones, or by- tones, with double, triple, &c., the 
 number of vibrations of the ground-tone ; and are distinguished, 
 or have their peculiar character, according to the nature of the 
 accompaniments in each case. Willis and Cagniard-Latour con- 
 trived modes of producing vowel sounds artificially ; and Helm- 
 holtz, by making specific combinations of various simple tones, 
 imitated all the vowel articulations. 
 
 When the ground-tone is heard alone, the sound has the 
 character of u (fuU). The o has, along with the ground-tone, the 
 next octave audibly combined. The a (ah) is characterized by the 
 marked presence of the very high octaves. 
 
56 SESSB OF HEAIUNa. 
 
 Distance. Tiiis is judged of entirely by intensity, and is 
 ascertainable only for known sounds. The same sound is 
 feebler as it is remote, and we infer accordingly. Wbere we 
 have no opportunities of comparing a sound at different known 
 distances, our judgment is at fault, as with the thunder, and 
 with the roar of cannon. It being an effect of distance to 
 make sounds fade away iuto a feeble hum, if we encounter 
 a sound whose natural quality is feeble, as the humming of the 
 bee, we are ready to imagine it more distant than it is. 
 
 Direction. We have no primitive sense of direction ; it is 
 an acquired perception, based on our discrimination of the in- 
 tensity and the clearness of sounds. In certain positions of the 
 head, the same sound is stronger than in others ; the direction 
 most favourable being no doubt the straightest, or tjje line of 
 the passage of the outer ear. 
 
 Let us consider first the case of listening with a single 
 ear. When the turning of the head makes a sound less loud 
 and distinctj we conclude that it has passed out of the direct 
 line of the ear, or a direction at right angles to that side of 
 the head. When another movement brings it into greater 
 distinctness, we conclude that it was at first away from that 
 direction. 
 
 The combined action of the two ears materially aids the 
 perception. The concurrence of the greatest possible effect 
 on the right ear with the least on the left ear, is a token that 
 the sound is on our right hand ; an equal effect on both ears 
 shows it to be before or behind. At best, the sense of direc- 
 tion of sounds is not delicate. We cannot easily find out a 
 skylark in the air from its note ; nor can we tell the precise 
 spot of a noise in a large apartment. 
 
 SENSE OF SIGHT. 
 
 1. The Objects of Sight are nearly all material bodies. 
 
 Bodies at a certain high temperature are self-luminous • 
 as flame, red-hot iron, &c. ; the celestial lights being supposed 
 analagous. Other bodies, as the greater number of terrestrial 
 surfeceg, the moon and the planets, are visible only by re- 
 flexion from such as are self-luminous. 
 
 2. The Organ of Sight, the Eye, is" a compound optical 
 lense in communication with a sensitive surface. 
 
COATS OF THE EYE-BALL. 57 
 
 Besides the stmctnres composing the globe of the eye, there 
 are various important accessory parts. The eye-brows are thick 
 arched ridges, surmounting the orbit, and acted on by muscles, so 
 as to constitute part of the expression of the face. The eye-lids 
 are the two thin moveable folds that screen the eye ; the upper is 
 the larger and more moveable, having a muscle for the purpose. 
 The length of the opening varies in different persons, and gives 
 the appearance of a large or a small eye. The lids are close to the 
 ball at the outer angle ; but a small red body (lachrjTnal caruncle) 
 intervenes at the inner angle ; and near this body the lachrymal 
 ducts pierce both eye-lida. The lachrymal apparatus consists of (1) 
 the gland for secreting the tears at the upper comer of the outer 
 side of the orbit ; (2) the two canals for receiving the fluid in the 
 inner side of the orbit; and (3) the sac, with the duct continued 
 from it, through which the tears pass to the nose. The tears are 
 secreted by the lachrymal gland, and poured out from the eye-lids 
 upon the eye-ball; the washings afterwards running into the lach- 
 rymal sac, and thence away by the nose. 
 
 The globe or ball of the §ye is placed in the fore-part of the 
 cavity of the orbit; it is fixed there by the optic nerve behind, 
 and by the muscles with the eye-lids in front, but with freedom 
 to change its position. The form of the ball is round but irregular, 
 as if a small piece were cut off from a larger ball, and a segment 
 of a smaller laid on ; the smaller segment is the projecting trans- 
 parent part seen in front. Except under certain influences, the 
 two eyes look nearly in the same direction; otherwise expressed 
 by saying, their axes are nearly parallel. 
 
 The eye-baU consists of three investing membranes, making up 
 the shell, and of three transparent masses, called its humours, 
 which constitute it an optic lense. External to it in front, is a thin 
 transparent membrane called the conjunctiva, a mere appendage 
 arising out of the continuation of the lining mucous membrane 
 of the eye-lids. The red streaks in the white of the eye are its 
 blood-vessels. 
 
 The outer investing membrane or tunic is called the sclerotic, 
 and is a strong, opaque, unyielding fibrous structure ; on it depend 
 the shape and the firmness of the ball. It extends over the whole 
 of the larger sphere to the junction of the smaller in front. Its con- 
 tinuation, or substitute, in the clear bulging part of the eye is the 
 cornea, which is equally firm, but transparent. The sclerotic is 
 about four-fifths of the shell ; the cornea, one-fifth. 
 
 Next the sclerotic is the choroid coat, a membrane of a black or 
 deep brown colour, hning the chamber of the eye up to the union 
 of the sclerotic and cornea. It is composed of various layers. 
 Outside are two layers of capillary blood-vessels, veins and arteries. 
 Inside is the layer containing the black pigment, which it is the 
 object of the numerous blood-vessels to supply._ The pigment is 
 enclosed in cells, about the thousandth of an inch in mameter, 
 and closely packed together. 
 
58 SENSE OF SIGHT. 
 
 The retina, or the nervous coat, lies upon the choroid, but does 
 not extend so far forward. It is transparent, with a reddish 
 colour, owing to its blood-vessels. In its centre is a small, oval, 
 yellow spot, tV inch long, -^g inob wide; the centre of this is a 
 thinner portion of the retina called the central hole. The retina 
 consists of various layers. Beginning at the fore part, in contact 
 with the back lense of the eye, we find a transparent membrane 
 called the Umiting membrane, not more than ^r.ffSo inch in thick- 
 ness. Next are the ramiflcations of the optic nerve, fine meshes of 
 nerve fibres, exceedingly minute ; the average diameter not more 
 than ao.iou inch, while some are less than ttjoWf iuch. Behind 
 this is a layer of nerue cells, resembling the cells of the grey matter 
 of the brain. Next is a gram,ular layer, of fine grains or nuclei, 
 with exceedingly minute filaments perpendictdar to the retina. 
 Lastly, comes the bacillar layer, made up of closely-packed per- 
 pendicular rods, transparent and colourless, about i^p inch long, 
 and snTioo- thick. Interspersed with these are larger rods called 
 cones, 2^ of an inch in diameter. By these larger and smaller 
 rods, is effected the junction of the retina with the choroid ; six or 
 eight of the cones, and a large number of the smaller rods grouped 
 round them, enter each pigment cell. The rods are themselves in. 
 connexion with the nerve fibres and nerve cells of the retina, 
 through the fine perpendicular filaments. All the elements of the 
 retina are most abundant and close in the yellow spot or its 
 vicinity, where vision is most distinct. 
 
 To complete the account of the investing membranes of the 
 eye, we must allude to certain structures continuous with the 
 choroid coat, at the junction of the sclerotic with the cornea. 
 Three distinct bands are found here; a series of dark radiated 
 folds, called the ciliary processes ; a band or ligament connecting 
 the choroid with the iris, called the dUary ligament; and, behind 
 the oUiary ligament, and covering the outside of the ciliary pro- 
 cesses, the ciliary muscle, a muscle of great importance. Mie iris 
 is the round curtain in front of the eye, with a central hole the 
 pupil, for the admission of Ught. It is attached all round at the 
 junction of the sclerotic and cornea, and may be considered a 
 modified prolongation of the choroid. The anterior surface is 
 coloured and marked by lines, indicating a fibrous structure. The 
 fibres are muscular, and of two classes, circular and radiating; 
 their contraction diminishes or widens the pupil of the eye, accord- 
 ing to the intensity of the Ught. 
 
 Next as to the Humours, or lenses of the eye. The aqueom 
 humour, in front, is a clear watery liquid lying imder the cornea, 
 and bounded by the next humour, the crystalline lens, and its 
 attachments to the ciliary process. The vitreous humour, behind, 
 occupies the whole posterior chamber of the eye, about two-thirds 
 of the whole. It is a clear thin fluid enclosed in membrane, 
 which radiates into the interior like the partitions of an orange, 
 without reaching the central line where the rays of light traverse 
 
MUSCLES OF THE EYE. "" ' 59 
 
 the eye. In shape, it has the convexity of the eye behind ; while 
 there is a deep cup-shaped depression for receiving the crystalline 
 lens in front. Tie crystalline lens is a transparent solid lens, in 
 form double convex, but more rounded behind than before. It is 
 suspended between the two other humours by the membrane of 
 the vitreous humour, attaching it to the ciliary processes. 
 
 The eye is moved by six muscles, four recti, or straight, and 
 two called oblique. The four recti muscles arise from the bony 
 socket in which the eye is placed, around the opening where the 
 optic nerve enters from the brain ; and are all inserted in the ante- 
 rior external surface of the eyeball, their attachments being 
 respectively on the upper, vmder, outer, and inner edges of the 
 sderotio. The superior oblique, or trochlear, muscle arises close by 
 the origin of the superior straight muscle, and passes forward to 
 a loop of cartilage ; its tendon passes through the loop, and is 
 reflected back, and inserted on the upper posterior surface of the 
 eyeball. The inferior oblique muscle arises from the internal 
 inferior angle of the fore part of the orbit, and is inserted into the 
 external inferior surface of the eyeball, behind the middle of the 
 baU. 
 
 The sweep of the eye in all directions arises from the movements 
 of these muscles singly, or in combination. Most, if not all, the 
 movements might be caused by the four straight muscles, but the 
 others come into play, whenever they are able to facilitate any 
 desired movement. 
 
 3. The mode of action of the eye involves, ia the first 
 place, an optical effect. 
 
 When the eye is directed to any object, as a tree, the rays 
 of light, entering the pupil, are so refracted by the combined 
 operation of the humours, as to form an inverted image on 
 the back of the eye, where the transparent retina adjoins the 
 choroid coat. The precise mode of stimulating the nervous 
 filaments of the retina is not -nnderstood ; but we must presume 
 that the pigment cells of the choroid play an important part, 
 being themselves acted on by the light. 
 
 The image must be formed, by the due convergence of the 
 rays, exactly on the retina, and not before or behind. When 
 an object is looked at too near, the convergence of the rays is 
 behind the retina, and not upon it. The limits of distance, 
 for very distinct vision, may be stated at from five to ten 
 inches for the majority of persons. 
 
 There is a natural barrier to the power of minute vision ; 
 we can distinguish very minute lines and points, but there is 
 a degree of minuteness that cannot be discerned. This limit 
 is the limit of the fineness of the meshes of the retina about 
 the yellow spot. It would seem necessary that every separate 
 
60 SENSE OF SIGHT, 
 
 nerve, filament, and nerve cell should take a distinct impres- 
 sion. 
 
 There is a certain power of adjustment of the eye-hall to 
 render vision distinct at varying distances. If an ohject 
 is seen clearly at six inches ofi", all objects nearer and farther 
 will seem indistinct ; the convergence of their rays will be 
 behind or before the retina. But, by a change in the eye-ball, 
 more distant objects will become distinct, the near becoming 
 indistinct. The ciliary muscle is the means of effecting this 
 change ; for near vision it contracts, and, in contracting, com- 
 presses the vitreous humour, and pushes forward the crystal- 
 line lens, pressing more upon the edges than on the middle, 
 and thus increasing its curvature ; the optical result is a more 
 rapid convergence of the rays of light, whereby the image is 
 advanced from behind the retina to an exact coincidence with 
 the retina. For distant vision, the muscle relaxes, and the 
 elasticity of the parts restores the shape of the lens. This 
 adjustment suits a range of from four inches to three feet. 
 
 4. The two eyes, instead of presenting two perfectly 
 distinct pictures of the same thing, conspire to render the 
 single picture more complete. TMs is Binocular vision. 
 
 When both eyes are fixed on a near object, as a cubical 
 box, held within a few inches of the face, each sees a different 
 aspect of it ; the dissimilarity is greater the nearer it is, and 
 becomes less as it is more remote, there being a certain dis- 
 tance where the two pictures seem identical. Such explanation 
 as can be given of tlus fact belongs to a later stage ; but it is 
 here mentioned as involving a farther adjustment to distance, 
 namely, the convergence of the two eyes for near distances, 
 their parallelism for great distances. 
 
 From misapprehending the process of vision, a difficulty has 
 been started as to our seeing objects erect by means of an inverted 
 image in the retina. The solution is found in the remark that the 
 estimate of up and down is not optical but muscular ; up is what 
 we raise the eyes or the head to see. 
 
 5. The Sensations of Sight are partly Optical, the effect 
 of light on the retina ; and partly Muscular, from the 
 action of the six muscles. "We can scarcely have a sen- 
 sation without both kinds. 
 
 The Optical sensations are Light, Colour, and Lustre. 
 
 IdgJd. The effect of mere light, without colour, may be 
 exemplified in the diffused solar radiance. This is a Pleasure, 
 
SENSATION OF LIGHT. 61 
 
 acnte, or volmninons, according as the source is a dazzling 
 point, or a moderate and wide-spread illumination. The Spe- 
 ciality of the pleasure is the endurahility without fatigue, in 
 which respect, sight ranks highest of all the senses, and the 
 same cause renders it the most intellectual. The influence, 
 although powerful for pleasure, is yet so gentle, that it can be 
 sustained in presence and recalled in absence to a distinguish- 
 ing degree. Whence, as a procuring cause of human and 
 animal pleasure, light occupies a high position ; there being 
 a corresponding misery in privation. 
 
 The intense pleasure of the first exposure after confine- 
 ment can last only a short time ; but the influence, in a 
 modified degree, remains much longer. After excess, a 
 peculiar depression is felt, accompanied with morbid wakeful- 
 ness and craving for shade. One of the cruellest of tortures 
 was the barbarian device of cutting off the eye-lids, and 
 exposing the eyes to the glare of the sun. 
 
 As regards Volition, the pleasures of light observe the 
 general rule of prompting us to act for their continuance and 
 increase. But this does not express the whole fact. There 
 is a well-known fascination in the glare of light, a power to 
 detain the gaze of the eye even after the point of pleasure has 
 been passed. We have here a disturbance of the proper 
 fiinction of the wiU, of which there are other examples, to 
 be afterwards pointed out. 
 
 The lutellectual property of the sensations of sight has 
 been already adduced as their speciality. They admit of being 
 discriminated and remembered to a degree beyond any other 
 sense, being approached only by hearing. It is possible that 
 a well-endowed ear may be more discriminative and tenacious 
 of sounds, than a feebly-endowed eye of sights, but, by the 
 general consent, sight is placed above hearing in regard to 
 intellectual attributes. 
 
 By the Law of Eelativity, the pleasures of light demand 
 remission and alternation ; hence the art of distributing Ught 
 and shade. The quantity received, on the whole, may be too 
 much, as in sunny climates, or too little, as in the regions of 
 prevailing fogs. 
 
 Colour. This is an additional efiect of light, serving to 
 extend the optical pleasures, as well as the knowledge, of 
 mankind. The pure white ray is decomposable into certain 
 primary colours, and the presentation of these separately and 
 successively, in the proportions that constitute the solar beam, 
 imparts a new pleasurable excitement, having all the attri- 
 
62 SENSE OF SIGHT. 
 
 hutes of the pleasure of mere light. There is no absolute 
 beauty in any single colour ; -when we give a preference 
 to red, or blue, or yellow, it is owing to a deficiency as 
 regards that colour, in the general scene. As a rule, the 
 balance of colour, in our experience, is usually in favour of 
 the blue end of the spectrum, and hence red, and its com- 
 pounds, are a re&eshing alternation. 
 
 Lustre. Some surfaces are said to have lustre, glitter, or 
 brilliancy. This is a complex effect of light. A colour seen 
 through a transparent covering is lustrous, as the pebbles in 
 a clear rivulet. There is also a lustrous effect in a jet black 
 surface, if it reflects the light. This luminous reflection, 
 superadded to the proper visibility of the surface, is the cause 
 of lustre. Transparent surfaces reflect light, like a mirror, as 
 well as transmit the colour beneath ; and this multiplication 
 of luminous effects adds to the pleasure. The many-sided 
 sparkle of the cut crystal, or gem, is a favourite mode of 
 giving brilliancy ; the broken glitter is more agreeable than 
 a continuous sheet of illumination. 
 
 The highest beauty of visible objects is obtained by lustre. 
 The precious gems are recommended by it. The finer woods yield 
 it by polish and varnish. The painter's colours are naturally dead, 
 and he superadds the transparent film. This property redeems 
 the privation of colour, as in. the lustrous black. The green leaf 
 is often adorned by it, through the addition of moisture. Possibly 
 much of the refreshing influence of greenness in vegetation is due 
 to lustrous greeimess. Animal tissues present the effect in a high 
 degree. Ivory, mother of pearl, bone, siUr, and wool, are of the 
 class of brilliant or glittering substances. The human skin is a 
 combination of richness of colouring with lustre. The hair is 
 beautiful in a great measure from its brilliancy. The finest 
 example is the eye ; the deep black of the choroid, and the 
 colours of the iris, are hquified by the transparency of the 
 humours. 
 
 6. The sensations involving the Muscular Movements 
 of the eye are visible movement, visible form, apparent 
 size, distance, volume, and situation. 
 
 Visible Movement. The least complicated example of the 
 muscular feelings of sight is the following a moving object, 
 as a light carried across a room. The eye rotates, as the light 
 moves, and the mental effect is a complex sensation of light and 
 movement. If the flame moves to the right, the right muscles 
 contract ; if to the left, the left muscles ; and so on ; there 
 being different muscles, or combinations of muscles, engaged 
 
VISIBLE MOVEMENT. 63 
 
 for every different direcHon. Instead of following a straight 
 course, the light may change its direction to a bend or a 
 curve. This varies the muscular combinations, and their 
 relative pace of contraction ; whence results a distinguishable 
 mode of consciousness. 
 
 Thus it is, that one and the same optical effect, as a candle- 
 flame or a spark, may be imbedded in a great variety of mus- 
 cular effects, every one of which is distinguished from the rest, 
 and characteristically remembered. The embodiment must be 
 contained in the numerous nerve centres and nerve communi- 
 cations related to the muscles of the eye. 
 
 As with the muscles generally, we can distinguish, by the 
 muscles of the eye, longer or shonter continuance of movement. 
 We can thus estimate, in the first place, duration ; and, in the 
 second (under certain conditions), visual or apparent exten- 
 sion. In like manner, we are conscious of degrees of speed or 
 velocity of movement, which also serves as an indirect measure 
 of visible extension. The kind of muscular sensibility that, 
 from the nature of the case, cannot belong to the eye, is the 
 feeling of Besistance or dead strain, there being nothing to 
 constitute a resisting obstacle to the rotation of the ball, 
 except its own very small inertia. Hence the eye, with all its 
 wide-ranging and close-searching capabilities, cannot be said 
 to contribute to the fandamental consciousness of the object 
 universe, the feeling of resistance. 
 
 The various pleasures of movement, formerly recited, ap- 
 pertain to moving spectacle. The massive, languid feeling of 
 slow movements, the excitement of a rapid pace, the pleasures 
 of waxing and waning movements (the beauty of the curve), 
 can be realized through vision. 
 
 Among the permanent imagery of the intellect,' recalled, 
 combined, and finally dwelt upon, we are to include visible 
 movements. The familiar motions of natural objects — ^running 
 streams, waving boughs, &c. ; the characteristic movements of 
 animals, the movements and gestures of human beings, the 
 moving machinery and processes of industry — are distinguished 
 and remembered by ns, and form part of our intellectual 
 furniture. 
 
 Visible Form. This supposes objects in stillness, surveyed 
 in outline by the eye, and introduces us to co-existence in 
 Space, as contrasted with succession in Time. With regard 
 to the mere fact of muscular movement, it is the same thing 
 for the eye to trace the outUne of the rainbow, as to follow 
 the flight of a bird, or a rocket. But, as in the case of Touch, 
 
64 SENSE OF SIGHT. 
 
 already considered, the accessary circnmetances make a 
 radical difference, and amount to the contrast of succession 
 •with co-existence. The points of distinction are these : — (1) 
 In following the outline of the rainbow, we are not con- 
 strained to any one pace of movement, as with a bird, or a 
 projectile. (2) The optical impression is not one, bnt a 
 series, which may be a repetition of the same, as the rainbow, 
 or different as the landscape. (3) We may repeat the move- 
 ment, and find the same series, in the same order. _ (4) 
 We can, by an inverted movement, obtain the series in an 
 inverted order. These two experiences — repetition and in- 
 Version — stamp a peculiar character of fixity of expectation, 
 which belongs to our ideaf of the extended and co-existing 
 in space, as opposed to passing movement. (5) As regards 
 sight in particular when compared with touch, the power of 
 the eye to embrace at one glance a wide prospect, although 
 minutely perceiving only a small portion, confirms the same 
 broad distinction, between the starry sky and the transitory 
 flight of a meteor. When a series of sensations can be simul- 
 taneously grasped, although with unequal distinctness, this 
 gives, in a peculiar manner, the notion of plurality of existence, 
 as opposed to continued single existence. 
 
 The course moved over by the eye in scanning an outline, 
 leaves a characteristic muscular trace, corresponding to the 
 visible form. Thus we have Linear forms — straight, crooked, 
 curved, in all varieties of curvature ; Superficial forms and 
 outlines — round, square, oval, &c. The visible objects of the 
 world are thus distinguished, identified and retained in the 
 mind as experiences of optical sensation embedded in ocular 
 movements ; and we have a class of related feelings, pleasure- 
 able and otherwise, the same as with visible movements. Our 
 intellectual stores comprise a great multitude of visible forms. 
 
 Apparent Size. The apparent size or visible magnitude 
 embraces two facts, an optical and a muscular. The optical 
 fact is the extent of the retina covered by the image, called by 
 Wheatstone the retinal magnitade ; the muscular fact is the 
 muscular sweep of the eye requisite to compass it. These two 
 estimates coincide ; they are both reducible to angular extent, 
 or the proportion of the surface to an entire sphere. The 
 apparent diameter of the sun, and of the ftill moon, is half a 
 degree, or ^1^ of the circumference' of the circle of the sky. 
 This combined estimate, by means of two very sensitive 
 organs — the retina and the ocular muscles, renders our esti- 
 mate of apparent size remarkably delicate ; being, in fact, the 
 
VISIBLE MAGNITUDE. — DISTANCE. 65 
 
 tmiversal basis of all accurate estimate of quantity. In 
 
 measuring other properties of bodies, as real magnitude, 
 
 . , weight, heat, &c., we reduce each case to a comparison of two 
 
 1 I visible magnitudes ; such are the tests of a three-foot rule, a 
 
 ■ ■ balance, a thermometer. 
 
 '; I The fluctuations of apparent size in the same thing — a 
 remote building for example — are appreciated with corres- 
 ponding delicacy; and when we come to know that these 
 fluctuations are caused by change of real distance, we use 
 them as our most delicate indication of degrees of remoteness. 
 The celestial bodies are conceived by us solely under their 
 apparent or visible size. Terrestrial objects aU vary in visible 
 size, and are pictured by the miud under a more or less per- 
 fect estimate of real size. 
 
 ■ ■ Distance, or varying remoteness. We have as yet supposed 
 
 visible movement and form in only two dimensions, or as ex- 
 tending horizontally and vertically. The circumstance of vary- 
 ing remoteness, necessary to volume, or three dimensions, de- 
 mands a separate handling. We mnst leave out, at this stage, 
 the ksiowledge of real distance, as well as real magnitude. 
 
 There are two adaptations, or adjustments, of the eyes for 
 distance ; a change in the ball for near distances, and a con- 
 vergence or divergence of the two eyes for a wider range. 
 
 ' ' Both changes are mnscular; they are accompanied with a 
 consciousness of activity, or the contraction of muscles. The 
 change made, in each eye-ball, for a nearer distance is a con- 
 scious change ; the return from that is also conscious. The 
 gradual convergence or divergence of the two eyes is accom- 
 
 ' ' panied with a discriminative muscular consciousness. We can 
 thus, by muscularity, discriminate (although not as yet know- 
 ing the whole meaning of) bodies moving away from the eye, 
 or approaching nearer it. An object moving across the field 
 of view is distinguished from the same object retreating or 
 advancing ; distinct muscles being brought into play. We 
 may, likewise, have the emotional effects of slow, quick, or 
 waning movements, by change of distance from the eye. As 
 a general rule, there is a relief in passing from a near view to 
 a distant. 
 ., ., We have seen, under the previous head, that variation of 
 
 optical size accompanies variation of distance, and is the most 
 delicate test of aU. To this we have to add the hinoeular 
 dissimilarity, which is at the maximum for near distances, and 
 is nothing for great remoteness. There are thus four separate 
 circumstances engaged in making us aware of any alteration 
 5 
 
66 SENSE OF SIGHT. 
 
 of the distance of objects from the eye. A fifth will be stated 
 afterwards. The importance of this jJowerfal combination 
 will appear at a farther stage, when the visual perceptions of 
 real distance and real size are under consideration. 
 
 Visible Movements and Visible Forms in three dimensions: 
 Vohme. Applying the discrimination of Distance to visible 
 movements and visible forms, we can take cognizance of 
 these in all the three dimensions of space. A ship, instead of 
 simply crossing the field of view, partly crosses and partly 
 moves ofi"; in which case, we combine the lateral movements 
 of the eye with the various adjustments and efiects of distance ; 
 we distinguish the appearance of movement without altera^ 
 tion of distance, from alteration of distance without lateral 
 movement, and from other combinations of the two. 
 
 So with visible forms in three dimensions, as the vista of 
 a street. In examining this object, we move the eyes and the 
 head right and left, up and down ; and also make conscious 
 adjustments for distance, finding that these are the remedy 
 for the picture's being confused in certain parts. The feeling 
 of the picture is thus a compound of lateral movements, ad- 
 justments, and changes of optical magnitude in the things 
 observed. 
 
 In every solid form, as a book, a table, a house, this altera- 
 tion of adjustment enters into the movements of the eye in 
 tracing out the form. Visible soKdHy, or volume, is thus a 
 highly complex perception, involving optical impressions, with 
 a series of muscular movements, lateral and adjusting. Each 
 difierent solid combines these in a characteristic way ; cube, 
 oblong, sphere, cylinder, human figure — are all distinguished 
 and remembered as distinct. 
 
 Visible Situation. Visible situation is made up of the 
 elements now described. It is the visible interval between 
 one thing and some other thing or things, measured either 
 laterally, or in visible remoteness. The situation of a human 
 figure, with reference to a pillar, is right or left, up or down, 
 near or far, and at definite visible intervals. 
 
THE APPETITES. 67 
 
 CHAPTEE IIL 
 THE APPETITES. 
 
 The Appetites are a select class of Sensations; they 
 may be defined as the uneasy feelings 'produced hy the recur- 
 ring wants or necessities of the organic system. 
 
 Appetite involves voHtion or action ; now volition demands 
 a motive or stimnlns ; and the stimulus of Appetite is some 
 sensation. AU sensations, however, that operate on the will 
 are not appetites. The commonly recognized appetites grow 
 out of the periodic or recurring wants of the organic system ; 
 they are Slee/p, Exercise, Bepose, Thirst, Hunger, Sex. 
 
 Sleerp. The two conditions, namely, periodic recurrence, 
 and organic necessity, are well exemplified in sleep. The 
 natural course of the system brings on sleep, without our 
 willing it ; and its character as an appetite, or craving, 
 appears when it is resisted. A massive form of uneasiness 
 is then felt ; the will is urged to remove this uneasiness, and 
 to obtain the corresponding voluminous pleasure of falling 
 asleep ; which volitional urgency is the appetite. 
 
 Exercise and Bepose. Within the waking state, there is an 
 alternation of exercise and repose, essential to a sound organic 
 condition ; and this is accompanied with cravings. After rest, 
 the refreshed organs start into exercise ; the withholding of 
 this causes physical discomfort, which is the motive to burst 
 forth into activity. Mere spontaneity sets us on ; any ob- 
 struction urges the wiU to take steps for its removal ; tiiis is 
 the working of appetite. Similar observations apply to 
 Eepose. 
 
 The alternation of exercise with repose is sought through- 
 out all our activities, bodily and mental. In the use of our 
 difierent organs, whether muscles or senses, in the employ- 
 ment of the brain for intellectual fiinctions, there is a point 
 where the tendency to repose sets in, and where resistance 
 occasions appetite. 
 
 Thirst, Inanition, Hunger. The cravings under these 
 states show the twofold operation of Appetite — ^the massive 
 uneasiness of privation, and the equally massive pleasure 
 of gratification, whose combined motive power makes the 
 
68 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 strength of the volition or appetite. Besides these general 
 cravings growing up under deficiency of nourishment, we are 
 said to have artificial cravings, for special foods, condiments, 
 and stimulants, that we have found agreeable, and have 
 become accustomed to : for example, sweets, alcoholic drinks, 
 tea, tobacco, &o. 
 
 The craving iov pure air, after closeness and confinement, 
 strictly conforms to the general definition of appetite. 
 
 Sex. The appetite that brings the sexes together is founded 
 on peculiar secretions, periodically arising in the system after 
 puberty, and creating an uneasiness until discharged or ab- 
 sorbed. The organic necessity here is of a less imperious 
 kind, and the motive power Hes most in the delight of 
 gratification. 
 
 The habitual routine of life, if in any way crossed, is a 
 species of appetite. Uneasiness is caused by any thwarting 
 circumstance, while the compliance may be, of itself either 
 pleasurable or indifierent. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 The account now given of the sensations is a sufficient 
 preparation for entering on the Intellect. Nevertheless, it 
 is convenient to comprise, in the present book, a view of 
 the instinctive arrangements related both to Feeling and 
 to Volition; for upon these also are based many intel- 
 lectual growths. 
 
 Instinct is defined as untaught ability. It is the name 
 given to what can be done prior to experience or education; 
 as sucking in the child, walking on aU fours by the newly- 
 dropped calf, pecking by the bird just emerged Irom its shell, 
 the maternal attentions of animals generally. 
 
 In all the three regions of mind — reeling. Volition, and 
 Intellect — there is of necessity a certain primordial structure 
 the foundation of all our powers. There are also certain 
 arrangements, not usually included in mind, that yet are in 
 close alliance and continuity with mental actions as for 
 
LOCOMOTIVE EHYTHM. 69 
 
 example, swallowing the food. The following subjects are 
 exhaustive of the department : — 
 
 1. The Reflex Actions. 
 
 .2. The Combined and Hcxrmonious Movements. 
 
 3. The Primitive Manifestations of Feeling. 
 
 4. The Oerms of Volition. 
 
 The Reflex Actions have already been described under the 
 functions of the Spinal Cord and Medulla Oblongata. 
 
 THE PRIMITIVE COMBINED MOVEMENTS. 
 
 1. Of the primitive arrangements for Combining Move- 
 ments in Aggregation, or in Succession, the most Promi- 
 nent example is the locomotive rhythm. 
 
 In the inferior quadrupeds, this is manifestly instinctive. 
 The calf, the foal, the lamb, can walk the day they are 
 dropped. Although human beings are unable to walk for 
 many months after birth, there are reasons for the fact, in the 
 unconsolidated state of the bones, in the immature condition 
 of the human infant generally, and in the special difficulty of 
 maintaining the erect posture. It is stm probable that man 
 has an instinctive tendency to alternate the movements of the 
 lower limbs. The analogy of the quadrupeds is in favour of 
 this view, and it is a matter of observation that infants in the 
 arms are disposed to throw out their limbs in alternation. 
 
 2. The Locomotive Ehythm may be analyzed into three 
 distinct combinations. 
 
 First, it involves the reciprocation of each limb separately ■; 
 or the tendency to vibrate to and fro, by the alternate sti- 
 mulus of the two opposing sets of muscles. In walking, the 
 flexor and the extensor muscles have to be contracted by 
 turns ; the pendulous m.ovement being also partly aided by 
 gravity. It may easily be supposed that the nervous con- 
 nexion of these opposing sets of muscles is made on a general 
 plan throughout the body ; as no continuous exertion is pos- 
 sible without replacing each member in the position that it 
 starts from. On this assumption, the swing of all the organs 
 would be the result of a primitive arrangement. 
 
 Secondly. There must be an alternate movement of corre- 
 sponding limbs. The right and left members must move, not 
 together, but by turns. Pur this, too, there is needed a pri- 
 mitive nervous arrangement availing itself of the commissural 
 
VO THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 nervous connexions of the two sides of the body. The eflfect 
 is not exclusively confined to the limbs ; the arms and the 
 entire trunk join in the alternation. We shall see presently 
 that there are important exceptions. 
 
 Thirdly. The locomotion of quadrupeds involves a farther 
 arrangement for alternating the fore and hind limbs. In. rep- 
 tiles, worms, &c., there is a progressive contraction from one 
 end of the body to the other. The successive segments of the 
 body are united in their action by an appropriate nervous 
 connexion. It is hardly to be expected that any trace of this 
 should appear in man, so rare are the occasions for it. Still, 
 we may remark the great readiness to alternate arms and 
 legs, in climbing, and in rowing a boat. 
 
 3. We find in the human system examples of primitive 
 associated movements. 
 
 The chief example is ftimished by the two eyes. We cannot, 
 if we would, prevent them from moving together. The only 
 interference with this tendency is the act of converging 
 them, in the adjustment for distance. 
 
 There is also in the eyes an associated action between the 
 iris and the inward movement of the eyeball for near vision. 
 In near vision, the iris is always contracted. 
 
 The association of the two sides of the body, in common 
 movements, extends to the eyelids and the features, although 
 there is a possibility of disassociating these, or of distorting 
 the face. We find also a considerable proneness to move the 
 arms together, as may be seen plainly in children. 
 
 4 The different moving members tend to harmony of 
 pace. 
 
 Any one organ quickly moved imparts quickness to the rest 
 of the movements ; rapid speech induces rapid gesticulation ; 
 the spectacle of hurried action has an exciting effect. So, by 
 inducing a slow pace on any member, we impart a quieting 
 influence throughout : slow speech is accompanied with 
 languid gestures. This principle indicates a medium whereby 
 our actions are brought under control. 
 
 THE INSTINCTIVE PLAT OF FEELING. 
 
 1. The union of mind and body is specially shown in 
 the Instinctive play or Expression of the Feelings. 
 
 It is one of the oldest and most familiar experiences of 
 the human race, that the several feelings have characteristic 
 
EXPRESSION OF THE FACE. 71 
 
 bodily accompaniments. Joy, sorrow, fear, anger, pride, have 
 each their distinct manifestations, sometimes called their 
 natural language, the same in all ages and in all peoples. 
 This points to certain primitive or instinctive connexions be- 
 tween the mental and the bodily processes. 
 
 2. The bodily accompaniments of the Feelings are of 
 two classes — Movements, and Organic effects. The Face 
 and features are most susceptible to movement under 
 feeling ; hence the face is by pre-eminence the index to 
 the mind. 
 
 The movements of the Face have been analyzed by Sir 
 Charles Bell. 
 
 The muscles of the face, by means of which its expression is 
 governed, are arranged round the three centres, — the mouth, the 
 nose, the eyes. 
 
 The expression of the Etes is due chiefly to the movements of 
 the eyebrow, under the action of two muscles. The one foccipUo- 
 frrnitcdisj is the broad thin muscle of the scalp, and extends down 
 the forehead to the eyebrows ; its action being to raise them in 
 cheerful expression. The other muscle Ccorrugator of the eye- 
 hrowsj passes across from one eyebrow to the other, and, when in 
 action, knits the brows as in frowning; indirectly it lowers them, 
 in opposition to the scalp muscle. 
 
 Expression in a smaller degree attaches to the movements 
 of the eyelids. The lids are closed by the orbicular muscle, 
 or sphincter of the eyes. They are opened by the elevating 
 muscle of the upper eyelid (levator palpebrosj; the rapid action 
 of which under strong emotion gives the effect of a flash of the 
 eye. 
 
 The Nose is moved by three small muscles and one large. The 
 pyramidal is a small muscle lying on the nasal bone, or upper half 
 of the nose, and appears to be a continuation of the scalp muscle ; 
 it wrinkles the skin at the root of the nose. The compressor of the 
 nose is a thin small muscle running transverse, on the lower part 
 of the nose, but, instead of compressing the nose as the name indi- 
 cates, it expands the nostril, by raising the cartilages. The 
 depressor of tiie wing of the nose is a small flat muscle lying deep 
 in the upper lip ; according to its name it would be opposed to the 
 preceding. 
 
 No very conspicuous manifestation is due to any one of these 
 three muscles ; the expansion of the nostril by the second is per- 
 haps the most marked effect. The most notable expression 
 attaches to the common elevator of the lip and nose. This muscle 
 lies along the side and wing of the nose, extending from the orbit 
 of the eye to the upper Kp, It raises the wing of the nose and 
 the upper lip together; it is thoroughly under the command of 
 
72 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 the •will, and produces a very mailed contortion of feature, 
 ■wiiniling the nose and raising the upper lip. In expressing dis- 
 gust at a bad smell, it is readily brought into play, and is thence 
 used in expressing repugnance generally. 
 
 The MOUTH is moved by one orbicular muscle, and by eight 
 pairs radiating from it roimd the face. The orbicular forhicuuuns 
 oris J is composed of concentric fibres surrounding the opening of 
 the mouth, but not continued from one lip to another. 
 
 The eight radiating pairs may be enumerated in order from 
 above, round to beneath, as follows : — 
 
 (1) The proper elevator of the vpper Up extends from the lower 
 border of the orbit of the eye to the upper lip, lying close to the 
 border of the common elevator of lip and nose. "When the lip is 
 raised without raising the nose, which is not a very easy act, this 
 muscle is the instrument. (2) The elevator o/the angle of the mouth 
 lies beneath the preceding, and partly concealed by it. (3, 4) 
 The zygomatics are two narrow bands of muscular fibres, extending 
 obKquely from the cheek bone to the angle of the mouth, one 
 being larger and longer than the other. In combination with the 
 elevator of the angle of the mouth, they serve to retract the mouth, 
 and curve it upwards in smiling. (5) The hucci/nator (or cheek 
 muscle) is a thin, flat, broad muscle, occupying the interval be- 
 tween the jaws. It is used in masticating the food ; it would also 
 conspire with the zygomatics in drawing out the mouth in the 
 pleasing expression. Proceeding to the lower region of the face, 
 we have (6) the depressor of the angle of the mouth, extending from 
 the angle of the mouth to the lower jaw, and acting according to 
 its name. (7) The depressor of the lower Up is a small square 
 muscle, lying partly underneath, and partly inside, the preceding. 
 (8) The de/Botor of the lower lip arises from a slight pit below the 
 teeth sockets of the lower jaw, and thence descends to the lower 
 part of the integument of the chin, so as to r^e the lower lip. 
 The combined action of this muscle and the depressor of the angle 
 (6) is to curve the mouth downward, and pout the lower lip, a 
 Very marked expression of pain and displeasure. 
 
 , 3. The Voice and tlie Eespiratory muscles concur with 
 the face in the expression of feeling. 
 
 The proper organ, of voice is the Larynx, with its vocal 
 cords. Certain muscles operate in tightening, relaxing, and 
 approximating the cords ; to produce sound, they must be 
 tightened and drawn together. But the exertion of the 
 Laryngeal muscles is only a part of the case. The chest must 
 act in a manner different from ordinary breathing, and force 
 air more quickly through the air passages ; while, in articu- 
 late utterance, the tongue and month have to co-operate. All 
 these parts are actuated under feeling. Li joy or ernlta- 
 tion, and in anger, energetic shouts are emitted ; in fear, 
 
ORGANIC ACCOMPANIMENTS OF FEELING. 73 
 
 the voice trembles ; in acute pain, it gives forth, sharp cries ; 
 in sorrow, there is a languid drawling note. 
 
 Irrespective of the play of the voice, the respiratory muscles 
 are affected under emotion. In laughter, the diaphragm is 
 convulsed ; in depressing emotion, the sigh shows that it is 
 partially paralyzed. 
 
 4 The muscles of the Body generally may be stimu- 
 lated under strong feeling. 
 
 Any great mental excitement is accompanied with agitation 
 of the whole body ; the concurring nervous wave requires the 
 larger organs to discharge itself upon. 
 
 5. States of feeling have also Organic accompaniments, 
 or influences on the viscera and the processes of secretion, 
 excretion, &c. 
 
 Probably no organ is exempted from participating in the 
 embodiment of the feelings. 
 
 (1) The Lachrymal Oland and Sac. The effusion of tears from 
 the gland is steady and constant during waking hours. States 
 of emotion, — ^tenderness, grief, excessive joy — cause the liquid to 
 be secreted and poured out in large quantities, so as to moisten 
 the eye, and overflow upon the cheek. By such outpouring, a re- 
 lief is often experienced under oppressive pain, the physical cir- 
 cumstance being apparently the discharging of the congested 
 vessels of the brain. A strong sensibility undoubtedly lodges in 
 the lachrymal organ, the proof of a high cerebral connexion. The 
 ordinary and healthy flow of this secretion, when conscious, is 
 connected with a comfortable and genial feeling ; in the convul- 
 sive sob, not only is the quantity profuse, but the quality would 
 appear to be changed to a strong brine. 
 
 (2) The Sexiud Organs. These organs are both sources of feel- 
 ing when direotiy acted on, and the recipients of influence from 
 the brain under many states of feeling otherwise arising. They 
 are a striking illustration of the fact that our emotions are not go- 
 verned by the brain alone, but by that in conjunction with the 
 other organs of the body. No cerebral change is known to arise 
 with puberty ; nevertheless, a grand extension of the emotional 
 susceptibilities takes place at that season. Although the sexual 
 organs may not receive their appropriate stimulation from without, 
 the mere circumstance of their full development, as an additional 
 echo to the nervous waves diffused from the cerebrum, alters the 
 whole tone of the feelings of the mind, like the addition of a new 
 range of pipes to a wind instrument. It is the contribution of a 
 resonant as well as a sensitive part. 
 
 (3) The Digestive Organs. These have beenaheady fully described ; 
 and their influence upon the mind has also been dwelt upon. 
 
74 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 In the present connexion, we have to advert more particularly to 
 the reciprocal influence of the mind upon them. It may be 
 doubted if any considerable emotion passes over us without telling 
 upon the processes of digestion, either to quicken or to depress 
 them. All the depressing and perturbing passions are known to 
 take away appetite, to arrest the healthy action of the stomach, 
 liver, bowels, &c. A hilarious excitement within limits, stimu- 
 lates those functions ; although joy may be so intense as to pro- 
 duce the perturbing effect ; in which case, however, it may be 
 noted that the genuine charm or fascination is apt to give place to 
 mere tumultuous passion. 
 
 The influence of the feelings in Digestion is seen in a most 
 palpable form in the process of salivation. In Fear, the mouth is 
 parched by the suppression of the flow of the saliva : a precise 
 analogy to what takes place with the gastric juice in the stomach. 
 
 An equally signal example in the same connexion is the chok- 
 ing sensation in the throat during a paroxysm of grief. The 
 muscles of the pharynx, which are, as it were, the beginning of 
 the muscular coat of the alimentary canal, are spasm.odically con- 
 tracted, instead of alternating in their due rhythm. The remaik- 
 able sensibility of this part during various emotions, is to be con- 
 sidered as oidy a higher degree of the sensibility of the intestine 
 generally, llie sum of the whole effect is considerable in mass, 
 although wanting in acuteness. In pleasurable emotion even, a 
 titillation of the throat is sometimes perceptible. 
 
 (4) The BMn. The cutaneous perspiration is liable to be acted 
 on during strong feelings. The cold sweat from fear or depress- 
 ing passion, is a sudden discharge from the sudorific glands of the 
 sUn. We know, from the altered odour of the insensible or 
 gaseous perspiration during strong excitement, how amenable the 
 functions of the skin are to this cause. It may be presumed, on 
 the other hand, that pleasurable elation exerts a genial influence 
 on all those functions. 
 
 A precisely similar Hne of remarks would apply to the Kidneys. 
 
 (5) The Seart. The propulsive power of the heart's action 
 varies with mental states as well with physical health and vigour. 
 Some feelings are stimulants, and add to the power, while great 
 pains, fright, and depression may reduce the action to any extent. 
 MiiUer remarks, that the disturbance of the heart is a proof 
 o£ the great range of an emotional wave ; or its extending beyond 
 the sphere of the cerebral nerves to parts affected by the sympa- 
 thetic nerve. 
 
 (6) The Lacteal Gland in women. Besides the five organs now 
 enumerated as common to the two sexes, we must reckon the 
 speciality of women, namely, the Secretion of the MUk. As in sdl 
 the others, this secretion is genial, comfortable, and healthy, during 
 some states of mind, while depressing passions check and poison 
 it. Being an additional seat of sensibility, and an additional reson- 
 ance to the diffused wave of feeling, this organ might be expected 
 to render the female temperament a degree more emotional than 
 
PLEASUEE CONCOMITAITT WITH INCREASED VITALITY. 75 
 
 the male, especially after child-bearing has brought if into full 
 play. 
 
 6. The connexion of feelings with physical states may 
 be summed up, for one large class of the facts, in the fol- 
 lowing principle : — States of pleasure are concomitant with 
 an increase, and states of pain with an abatement, of some, 
 or all, of the vital functions. 
 
 The proofs of this principle turn upon the considera- 
 tion, first, of the Agents, and secondly, of the Manifesta- 
 tions of feeling. 
 
 (1) Taking the simple feelings, as already described, and 
 beginning with the muscular, we remark that muscular exer- 
 cise, when pleasurable, is the outpouring of exuberant energy. 
 Muscular fatigue is the result of exhaustion. The pleasure 
 of repose after fatigue is probably connected with the reflux 
 of the blood from the muscles to other organs, as the brain, 
 the stomach, &c. Muscular activity subsides, and organic 
 activity takes its place ; and there are other reasons for believ- 
 ing, that our pleasurable tone is more dependent upon the 
 organic than upon the muscular vigour. 
 
 The extensive and important gi'oup of feelings denomi- 
 nated Sensations of Organic Life, attest with singular explicit- 
 ness the truth of the principle. The organic pleasures — from 
 Respiration, Digestion, &c. — are associated with the vitalizing 
 agencies ; the organic pains, which include the catalogue of 
 diseases and physical injuries, point to the reverse. The 
 apparent exceptions are an interesting study. Thus, Cold may 
 be both painfdl and wholesome. The explanation seems to be 
 that cold for the time depresses the ftmctions of the skin, and 
 is thus a medium of pain, while it invigorates the muscles, the 
 nerves, and the lungs, and through these eventually the di- 
 gestion. And the instance illustrates the superior sensitive- 
 ness of the skin, as compared with these other organs ; whence 
 we see that though our pleasures are connected with high 
 vitality, they are not equally connected with aU the vital 
 functions. This remark may enable us to dispose of the other 
 exception, namely, the concurrence of bodily diseaseswith paia- 
 lessness, and even with comfort and elation of mind. In such 
 cases, the disease may attach to insensitive organs and func- 
 tions. Mere muscular weakness is not in itself uncomfortable; 
 the heart may be radically deranged without pain ; and there 
 may be forms of disease of the lungs, liver, kidneys, &c., that 
 do not affect the sensitive nerves. But skin disease, insufficient 
 
76 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 warmth, indigestion, and certain other forms of derangement, 
 together with wounds and sores, are attended with unfailing 
 pain and misery. 
 
 Thus, as regards the muscular feelings, and the sensations 
 of the organic group, the induction may be held as proved, 
 with the qualification now stated. When, however, we pro- 
 ceed to the five senses, we are not struck with the same con- 
 currence. In the pleasures of Taste, Smell, Touch, Hearing, 
 Sight, there may be, and undoubtedly is, a certain increase of 
 vital power, as in the influence of light, or ' the cheerful day,' 
 yet the increase of general vitality is not in the same rate as 
 the pleasure. In short, the induction fails at this point; 
 and some other principle is needed to complete the desired 
 explanation. 
 
 (2) liei -as •new the man/if estaUons under the opposing states 
 of pleasure and pain. This wiU comprehend the theory of 
 Expression, of which we have seen the particulars. 
 
 Here the general fact is, that under pleasure all the mani- 
 festations are lively, vigorous, and abundant, showing that 
 our energies are somehow raised for the time. Under pain, 
 on the contrary, there is a quiescence, collapse, and paralysis 
 of the energies ; hurt and disease prostrate the patient ; the 
 sick-bed is the place of inactivity. 
 
 To quote Bell's analysis of the pleasing and the painful 
 expression of the face: — la joy, the eye-brows are raised, and 
 the mouth dilated, the result being to open and expand the 
 countenance. In painful emotions, the eye-brows axe knit 
 by the cormgator muscle, the mouth is drawn together and 
 perhaps depressed at the angles. Now, in the joyful expres- 
 sion, there is obviously a considerable amount of muscular 
 energy put forth ; a number of large muscles are contracted 
 through their whole range. So far the principle holds good. 
 Again, in pain the same muscles are relaxed, but then other 
 muscles are in operation ; so that the difference would seem to 
 be, not difference of energy, but a different direction to the 
 energy. This fact has the air of a paradox, and has been 
 felt as a puzzle. Pleasure and pain are states totally opposed, 
 like plus and miaus, credit and debt ; and their physicEd con- 
 ditions ought to disclose a like opposition. Perhaps we may 
 i-econcUe the appearances in the manner following. It is 
 true, that in pain certain muscles operate, but they are 
 muscles of small size ; and, by their contraction, they more 
 thoroughly relax much larger muscles, thus on the whole re- 
 leasing nervous energy and blood to go to other parts of the 
 
CONVULSIVE OUTBURSTS OF FEELING. 77 
 
 system. The sliglit exertion of the corragator of the eye- 
 brows completes the relaxation of the far more powerful 
 muscle that elevates them ; the contraction of the mouth 
 releases the larger muscles of retractation. Still more ap- 
 parent is the operation of the flexor muscles of the body ; 
 the great preponderance of muscular strength is in the muscles 
 of erection ; now, in the crouching and collapsed attitude, 
 these are relaxed more completely through a small exertion 
 of the flexor muscles. Hence the putting forth of power may 
 set &ee power on the whole ; the forced sadness of the coun- 
 tenance making the heart better. 
 
 Another exceptional manifestation is the energetic display 
 under acute pain. This, however, is only the operation of 
 another law of the constitution. Any sudden and intense 
 shock is a stimulus to the nerves, and produces a general ex- 
 citement in consequence. It is well known that, in the case 
 of pain, such excitement is fdlly paid for by the after-prostra- 
 tion, and that the effect, on the whole, is in accordance with 
 the main principle. 
 
 The two great convulsive outbursts — Laughter and Sobbing — 
 supply additional examples. 
 
 liaughter is a joyful expression; and, in all its parts, it indi- 
 cates exalted energy. The great muscle of expiration, the dia- 
 phragm, is convulsed ; in other words, is made to undergo a series 
 of rapid and violent contractions, showing the presence of a for- 
 cible stimiilus. The voice concurs in active manifestations; the 
 features are expanded to the full limit of the cheerful expression. 
 Tet, with all this expenditure, there is no subsequent depression, 
 as in acute pains ; on the contrary, the organic functions are 
 popularly believed to share in the general exaltation. 
 
 In the convulsive outburst of Grief nearly everything is reversed. 
 The expiration is rendered slow-^that is, the diaphragm and the 
 other expiratory muscles fail in their office for want of nervous 
 power. The voice acts feebly, and sends out a long-drawn melan- 
 choly note. The pharynx, or bag of the throat, is partially para- 
 lyzed, and swallowing impeded. The features are relaxed ; the 
 whole body droops. (When a robust child cries for a trifling rea- 
 son, there may be few signs of weakened vitality; but then there 
 is no real g^rief.) FinaUy, the lachrymal effusion is supposed to 
 have a relation to the congested state of the blood vessels of the 
 brain, which it partially relieves. 
 
 The proofs of the principle in question, derived from the 
 stady of the separate manifestations under pleasure and under 
 pain, apply both to sensations and to emotions. They show 
 that, alt^ougli there may be forms of pleasure, with no such ap- 
 
78 THE INSTINCTS. 
 
 parent addition to the physical resoarces, as in the diges- 
 tive and respiratory processes, yet the existing resources are 
 drawn upon to augment some of the active functions. 
 
 This last consideration appears to meet the case of the plea- 
 sures of the five senses. Sights and sounds add nothing to 
 the material resources of the body, like food and air, but they 
 render them available for the evolution of nerve force. We 
 are thus conducted to the enunciation of another principle, 
 qualifying and completing the one that we started with. 
 
 7. The concomitaiice of pleasure and increased vitality 
 (with the obverse) is qualified, but not contradicted, by the 
 operation of Stimulants. 
 
 Stimulants are of two classes : . (1) the ordinary agents 
 of the senses (tastes, odours, touches, &c.) and the emotions 
 (wonder, love, &c.) ; and (2) the stimiilating drugs. 
 
 (1) As regards three of the senses, Touch, Hearing, and 
 Sight, their natural stimulation by the appropriate agents, is 
 pleasurable within certain limits of intensity, determined by 
 the vigour and freshness of the nervous system. It is plea- 
 sant for the ear to be 'assailed with sound, and the eyes with 
 lights until such time as the organs are fatigued, and the 
 nervous irritability exhausted. In these senses, pain is due 
 mainly to excess of stimulus. With reference to Taste and 
 Smell, the case is different ; there are agents specifically plea- 
 surable, and agents specifically painful, in all degrees j the 
 sweet and bitter in taste, the fragrant and malodorous in smell, 
 are not grounded on m.ere difference of intensity. We must 
 suppose that certain agents are, in all degrees, favourable to 
 nervous stimulation, and certain other agents unfavourable. 
 
 The higher Emotions present no difficulty. Those that 
 are pleasurable, as Wonder, Love, Power, Complacency, 
 Approbation, Knowledge, Harmony, are favourable to vitality, 
 or give healthful stimulus ; the painful emotions, as Fear, 
 Hatred, Impotence, Shame, Discord, are depressing physically 
 as well as mentally. 
 
 (2) The stimulating drugs, as alcohol, tea, tobacco, opium, 
 hemp, betel-nut, do but little to enhance vital action, and, in 
 all but their moderate application, greatly waste it. They are 
 therefore the extreme form of stimulation proper ; they draw 
 upon the nervous power, without contributing to it : thereby 
 proving in a still more obtrusive form, that we do not realize 
 all the pleasuriable excitement that the physical forces of the 
 
STIMULATION, 79 
 
 system can. a£Pord, unless we employ agents to irritate or pro- 
 voke nervous assimilation and activity. 
 
 8. The principle of the concomitance of pleasure and 
 vitalizing influences (with the obverse) may be designated 
 the Law of Self-conservation. 
 
 If the case were otherwise, the human and animal system 
 would be framed for its own ruin. If pleasure were uniformly 
 connected with lowered vitality, and pain with the opposite, 
 who would care to keep themselves alive ? On the other 
 hand, the dangerous licence of the quahfying priuciple of 
 Stimulation, is the limitation to the principle, and the open 
 door for abuse. We cannot have pleasure without at least 
 one element of activity — nervous assimilation ; it is possible, 
 however, that other interests may be suffering without affect- 
 ing the tone at the moment, although they will fulfil the 
 inexorable law on some fature day. 
 
 We shall presently have to appeal to the priuciple of Con- 
 servation, in looking out a basis for the will. 
 
 THE INSTINCTIVE GEEMS OP THE WILL. 
 
 1. Our voluntary power, as appearing in mature life, 
 is a bundle of acquisitions. 
 
 The hungry man, seeing food before him, puts 'forth his 
 hand, hfts a morsel to his mouth, chews, masticates, and 
 swallows it. The infant can do nothing of all that ; there is 
 no link of connexion established in its mind between the state 
 of hunger and the movements for gratifying it. A fly lights 
 upon the face of a child, producuig a tickling irritation ; but 
 the movement for brushing it away is not withia the infant's 
 powers. It is by a course of acquirement, that the local feeling 
 of irritation in any part is associated with the movement of 
 the hand towards that part. Such associations are neces- 
 sarily very numerous ; the will is a machinery of detaU. 
 
 The acquirement must rest on certain primitive founda- 
 tions ; these alone are to be considered at the present stage. 
 
 2. I. — One of the foundations of voluntary power is 
 given in the spontaneity of muscular action. 
 
 We have already adduced the evidence for the spontaneity 
 of the muscular discharge. In it, we have a source of 
 movements of aU the active organs ; each member is disposed 
 to pass into action merely through the stimulus of the central 
 energy. The locomotion, the voice, the features, the, jaws. 
 
80 THE INSTINCTS, 
 
 and tongae are all exerted by tarns, when their nervous 
 centres are in a fresh and nourished condition. 
 
 Still spontaneity does not amount to will. Its impulses 
 are random and purposeless ; the movements of the will are 
 select and pointed to an end ; spontaneity fails, when the will 
 is most wanted — that is, when the system is exhausted and 
 needs refreshment. 
 
 3. II.— Another foundation of voluntary power is to be 
 sought for in the great law of Self-conservation. 
 
 In the fact that pleasure is accompanied with heightened 
 energy, and pain with lowered energy, there is a beginning 
 of voluntary control, although only a beginning. Under cer- 
 taia circumstances, this concurrence does what the will is 
 expected to do, namely, secures pleasure and alleviates pain. 
 Should a present movement coincide with a present pleasure, 
 the pleasure, through its accompaniment of increased energvi 
 would tend to maintain and increase the movement ; as when 
 already the sucking infant experiences the relish and nutritive 
 stimulus of the mother's milk ; ■ or when mastication already 
 begun is yielding the pleasurable relish of the food. The 
 process is a roundabout one ; for, by the law of conservation, all 
 that is gained at first is increase of vital energy in the organs 
 generally — organic functions and muscles alike : the special 
 movement in question merely participating in the general rise 
 of power. 
 
 Again, to illustrate from the side of pain. If a present 
 movement coincides viith a present pain (not a stimulating 
 smart), the concomitant of the pain is lowered vital energy, 
 which lowering extends to the movement supposed, and 
 arrests it ; as when an animal moving up to a fire encounters 
 the scalding heat, with its depressing influence, and there- 
 upon has its locomotion suspended. 
 
 In the cases now supposed, the influence of self-conserva- 
 tion is tantamount to the action of the wiU at any stage : the 
 deficiency is, that mere conservation will not, any more than 
 spontaneity, determine the right movement to arise from the 
 dormant condttion. To get at this is the real difficulty of the 
 problem. 
 
 4 The coincidence of a pleasure with the movements 
 proper to maintain or increase it, must be at first acci- 
 dental. 
 
 Nothing but chance can be assigned as the means of first 
 
FOUNDATIONS OF THE WILL. 81 
 
 bringing togethei* pleasure and movement. Spontaneity in- 
 duces a variety of movements : should any one of these coin- 
 cide with a moment of pleasurable feeling, it would be ren- 
 dered more energetic by the accompanying outburst of energy. 
 The newly-dropped animal, on touching the warm body of the 
 mother, is physically elated through the pleasure of the con- 
 tact, and increases the movement that keeps it up. When 
 after an hour's fumbling, it gets the teat into its mouth, there 
 is a new burst of pleasure and concomitant vitality. The 
 stimulus of the sucking (itself an untaught or reflex process) 
 still farther inspires the energies to continue the movement 
 once begun. But previous to the accidents that brought on 
 these encounters, the animal could not of its own accord hit 
 upon the appropriate actions. The human infant cannot find 
 its way to the breast ; it can only suck when placed there. 
 
 5. III. — When the same movement coincides more 
 than once with a state of pleasure, the Retentive power of 
 the mind begins an association between the two. 
 
 After a few returns of the favourable accident that first 
 brought together the movement and the pleasure (or relief 
 from pain), the two are connected by an associating Hnk, and 
 the rise of the pleasure is then apt to be attended with the 
 movement for retaining and increasing it. After a number 
 of concurrences of the relish of food with the masticating 
 process, the morsel of food in the 'mouth directly prompts the 
 jaws to operate. 
 
 This part of our education will be again touched on, under 
 the Intellect, and more fully in the detailed explanation of 
 the growth of the Will. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 THE INTELLECT. 
 
 1. The functions of Intellect, Intelligence, or Thought, 
 are known by such names as Memory, Judgment, Ab- 
 straction, Eeason, Imagination. 
 
 These last designations were adopted by Reid, Stewart, and 
 others, as providing a division of the powers of the Intellect. 
 But, strictly looked at, the division is bad ; the parts do not 
 mutnally exclude each other. The real subdivision of the 
 inteUectoal functions is that formerly given, and now repeated., 
 
 2. The primary attributes of InteUeet are (1) Con- 
 sciousness of Difference, (2) Consciousness of Agreement, 
 and (3) Retentiveness. Every properly intellectual func- 
 tion involves one or more of these attributes and nothing 
 else. 
 
 (1) Discrimination or Peeling of Difference is an essential 
 of intelligence. If we were not distinctively affected by dif- 
 ferent things, as by heat and cold, red and blue, we ^onld 
 not be affected at all. The beginning of knowledge, or ideas, 
 is the discrimination of one thing from another. Where we 
 are most discriminative, as in our higher senses, we are most 
 intellectual. Even with reference to our pleasures and pains, 
 we perform an intellectual operation when we recognize them 
 as differing in degree. 
 
 This function of the Intellect has been already apparent in 
 the Peelings of Movement and the Sensations. The very 
 fswjt of distinguishing the Senses, and their Sensations, sup- 
 poses the exercise of discrimination. No separate chapter is 
 required for the farther elucidation of this fact. There are 
 
DISCfilMIBATION. — AGEEEMENT. — RETENTIVENESS. 83 
 
 higher cases of discriminatioii, as when a banker detects a 
 forged bank note, or a lawyer sees a flaw in a deed, but these 
 are involved in the intellectual acquisitions, or the Retentive 
 power of the mind. 
 
 The fundamental property of Discrimination is also ex- 
 pressed as the Law of Eelativity, more than once already 
 alluded to. As we can neither feel, nor know^ without a 
 transitionor change of state, — everyfeeling, and every cognition, 
 must be viewed as in relation to some other feeling, or cog- 
 nition. The sensation of heat has no absolute character; 
 there is in it a transition from a previous state of cold, and the 
 sensation is wholly relative to that state. It is known, with 
 regard to the feelings generally, that they subsist upon com- 
 parison ; the pleasure of good health is relative to iU health ; 
 wealth supposes comparative indigence. Also, as regards 
 knowledge, everything known, is known in contrast to some- 
 thing else; 'up' implies 'down;' 'black' presumes 'white,' 
 or other colours. There cannot be a single or absolute cog- 
 nition. 
 
 (2) The conscious state arising from Agre&ment in the 
 midst of difierence, is equally marked and equally fandamen- 
 tal. Supposing us to experience, for the first time, a certain 
 sensation, as redness ; and afber being engaged with other sen- 
 sations, to encounter redness again ; we are struck with the 
 feeHng of identity or recognition ; the old state is recalled at 
 the instance of the new, by the fact of agreement, and we have 
 the sensation of red, together with a new and peculiar con- 
 sciousness, the consciousness of agreement in diversity. As 
 the diversity is greater, the shock of agreement is more lively. 
 
 All knowledge finally resolves itself into Difierences and 
 Agreements. To define anything, as a circle, is to state its 
 agreements with some things (genus) and its difference from 
 other things (differentia). 
 
 The identifying process ■ implied under Agreem.ent, is a 
 great means of mental resuscitation or Reproduction, and 
 hence is spoken of as the Associating, or Reproductive prin- 
 ciple of Similarity. A considerable space will be devoted to 
 the exposition of the principle in this view. 
 
 (3) The attribute named Beteniiveness has. two aspects or 
 degrees. 
 
 First. The persistence or eontinnance of the mental agita- 
 tion, after the agent is withdrawn. When the ear is struck 
 by the sound of a bell, there is a mental awakening, termed 
 the sensation of sound ; and the silencing of the bell does not 
 
84 THE INTELLECT. 
 
 silence the mental excitement ; there is a contintiing, thcragli 
 feebler consciousness, which is the memory or idea of the 
 sound. 
 
 Secondly, There is a further and higher power,— the re- 
 covering, -nnder the form of ideas, past and dormant impres- 
 sions, -without the ori^nals, and by mere mental agenoies. It 
 is possible, at an after time, to be put in mind of sounds for- 
 merly heard, -without a repetition of the sensible effect. This 
 is true memory, and is a power unknown except in connexion 
 with the animal organism. The pre-dously-named property is 
 paralleled by the wares of a pool struck by a stone, or by any 
 other example of the law of mechanical persistence. But the 
 distiact recovery of effects that have been obliterated from the 
 actual view, and the accumulation, in one organism, of thou- 
 sands of these recoverable effects, may be aflSrmed to be the 
 unique fonction of creatures endowed -with a brain and nervous 
 system. 
 
 As the principal medium of this recovery is the presence 
 of some fact or circumstance formerly co-existing -with, or in 
 any wa,j contiguous to, the effect remembered, — as when we 
 recall a thing by first kno-wing its name, — the Retentive pro- 
 perty has been designated Contiguous Association. 
 
 It is not meant that the three attribu-tes now specified can work 
 in separation, or covild exist in separation. On the contrary, they 
 are implicated to such a degree that the suspension of one would 
 destroy the others. Discrimination could not exist -without Beten- 
 tiveness ; there would be nothing to retain -without Discrimina- 
 ■tion ; and no progress in retention -without Agreement. Yet, not- 
 -withsiemdidg this mutual imphoation in their working, the three 
 processes are logically distinct; each means something quite apart 
 from the others. 'It is as in the combination of extension and 
 colour in material bodies ; the properties are inseparable and yet 
 distinct. 
 
 The exhaustive discussion of the Intellectual powers -turns 
 chiefly upon the two last-named attributes. Agreement and 
 Retentiveness ; but, as the most interesting applications of 
 Agreement lie among remembered or acquired products, it is 
 better to commence -with the Retentive or plastic property. 
 Next will be given the exposition of Agreement or Similarity. 
 A third chapter -will be devoted to the cases of OompKcated 
 mental reproduction. And lastly, some account -will be taken 
 of the process of forming original constructions, or what is 
 termed the Creative or Inventive faculty of the mind. 
 
 3. Certain important uses are served by an accurate, 
 or scientific, knowledge of the Intellectual Powere. 
 
USES OF THE STUDY OF THE INTELLECT. 85 
 
 First, There is a natural ciiriosity to discover tlie Laws 
 that govern the stream of onr Thoughts. All the workings of 
 nature are interesting, and not least so should be the workings 
 of onr own minds. 
 
 Secondly, The statement aud the explanation of the differ- 
 ences of Intellectual Character must proceed upon a know- 
 ledge of the attributes and laws of onr intelligence. 
 
 Thirdly, The art of Education is grounded on a precise 
 knowledge of the retentive or plastic power of the mind. The 
 arts of Reasoning and Invention, if snch there be,' naturally 
 connect themselves with the laws of the faculties involved. 
 
 Fom^ihly, Many important disputes turn upon the deter- 
 mination of what parts of our intelligence are primitive, and 
 what acquired. Such is the subject of Innate Ideas generally ; 
 also the questions raised by Berkeley — namely, the Theory of 
 Vision, and the doctrine of External Perception. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 1. WiTHfew exceptions, the facts of Eetentiveness may 
 be comprehended under the principle called the Law of 
 Contiguity, or Contiguous Adhesion. 
 
 Eetentiveness is the comprehensive name for Memory, 
 Habit, and the Acquired powers in general. The principle of 
 Contiguity has been descsribed under various names, as Hamil- 
 ton's law of ' Redintegration; ' the 'Association of Ideas,' iu- 
 cluding Order in Time, Order in Place, Cause and Effect. 
 The principle may be stated thus : — 
 
 2. Actions, Sensations, and States of Feeling, occurring 
 together, or in close succession, tend to grow together, or 
 cohere, in such a way that when any of them is afterwards 
 presented to the miad, the others are apt to be brought up 
 in idea. 
 
 The detail of examples will bring out the various circum- 
 stances regulating the rate of growth of the cohesive link. 
 Grenerally, as is well known, a certain continuance, or repeti- 
 tion, is necessary to make a firm connexion. 
 
86 EETBNTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIG0ITT. 
 
 MOVEMENTS. 
 
 We commence with the association of movements and 
 states of muscular activity. Our acquisitions are known to 
 comprehend a great many aggregates and sequences of move- 
 ments, united with unfailing certainty. We shall see, how- 
 ever, that ihe chief aggregates of this kind include sensations 
 also, and that the case of pure association of movement is not 
 frequent, although both possible and occasionally realized. 
 
 3. It is likely that our Spontaneous and Instinctive 
 actions are invigorated by exercise. 
 
 The various actions occurring in the round of Spontaneous 
 discharges, are likely to become more vigorous, and more 
 ready, after they have arisen a number of times ; while In- 
 stinctive actions, as walking on aU-fours, or sucking, &c., are 
 also improved by repetition. 
 
 In the growth of the Will, which involves spontaneous actions, 
 something is gained by the greater facility of beginning any 
 movement after a certain frequency of occurrence. The hands, 
 the voice, the tongue, the m.outh, exercise their powers at 
 first in mere aimless expenditure of force ; by which they are 
 prepared for starting forth to be linked with special feelings 
 and occasions. 
 
 4. Movements, frequently Conjoined, become asso- 
 ciated, or grouped, so as to arise in the aggregate, at one 
 bidding. 
 
 Suppose the power of walking attained, and also the power 
 of rotating the limbs. One may then be taught to combine 
 the walking pace with the tnming of the toes outward. Two 
 voHtions are at first requisite for this act ; but, after a time, 
 the rotation of the limb is combined with the act of walking, 
 and tmless we wish to dissociate the two, they go together as 
 a matter of course ; the one resolution brings on the combined 
 movement. 
 
 Children attempting to walk, must learn to keep their 
 balance. This depends on properly aggregated movements ; 
 the lifting of the right foot has to be associated with the move- 
 ments for making the whole body incline to the left, and 
 obversely. The art of walking includes other aggregates ; the 
 liflihg of one foot is accompanied with a rising upon the other, 
 and with a bending forward of the whole body. The educa- 
 tion in walking consists in making these aggregates so secure. 
 
ACQXHSITIONS OF MOVEMENTS. 87 
 
 that tlie one movement shall not fail to cany with it the 
 collateTals. 
 
 Articulate speech largely exemplifies the aggregation of 
 muscular movements and positions. A concurrence of the 
 chest, larynx, tongue, and mouth, in a definite group of exer- 
 tions, is requisite for each alphabetic letter. These groupings, 
 at first impossible, are, after a time, cemented with all the fimi- 
 ness of the strongest instinct. 
 
 5. We acquire also Successions of Movements. 
 
 In all manual operations, there occur successions of move- 
 ments so firmly associated, that when we will to do the first, 
 the rest follow mechanically and unconsciously. In eating, 
 the act of opening the mouth mechanically follows the raising 
 of the morsel. In loading a gun, the sportsman does not need 
 to put forth a distinct volition to each movement of the hands. 
 
 6. It is rare to find an association of movements as 
 such, or without the intervention of sensations. 
 
 In most mechanical trains, the sense of the efiect of one 
 movement usually precedes the next, and makes a link in the 
 association. Thus, in loading a gun, the feeling that the car- 
 tridge is sent home, precedes, as an essential link, the with- 
 drawing of the ramrod. There is, in such instances, a complex 
 train of feelings and movements. 
 
 A deaf person speaking would appear to illustrate the se- 
 quence of pure movement ; but, even in that case, there is a 
 feeUng of muscxdar expenditure. Such a feeling can never be 
 absent until the very last stage of habit is reached, the stage 
 when the mind is entirely unconscious of the movements gone 
 through. A great practical importance attaches to this final 
 consummation. It is the point where actions take place, with 
 the least efibrt or expenditure of the forces of the brain. The 
 class of actions so performed have been named secondary 
 automatic, as resembling the automatic or reflex actions — 
 breathing, &c. 
 
 Although the learning of successions of movements nearly 
 always involves the medium of sensation, in the first instance, 
 yet we m.ust assume that there is a power, in the system, for 
 associating together movements as such, and that special cir- 
 cumstances favour this acquisition. 
 
 7. There are certain conditions that govern the pace of 
 acquisition generally. These are (1) Eepetition or Con- 
 
88 KETENTIVENESS — ^LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 tinuance, (2) Concentration of Mind, and (3) the Natural 
 Adhesiveness of the individual constitution. 
 
 (1) In order to every acquisitioii, a certain Oontiniiance, 
 re/petition, or practice is needed, varying according to circum- 
 stances. By repetition, -we make up for natural weakness or 
 other defects, as in the extra driU of the awkward squad. 
 
 (2) Mental concentration wiU make a great difference m 
 the pace of acquisition. When the whole of the attention is 
 given to the work in hand, the cohesive growth is compara- 
 tively rapid. Distraction, diversion, remission are hostile to 
 progress. 
 
 Concentration, as a voluntary act, depends on the motives. 
 K the work is pleasant in act or in prospect, and if no other 
 pleasure interferes, the whole mind is gained. This is con- 
 centration from the side of Pleasure. "Whatever we have a 
 strong liking for, we learn with ease. Our Tastes are thus a 
 leading element in our acquisitions. 
 
 But concentration may be determined by Pain. The work 
 itself being distasteful in comparison of Bom.ething else, the 
 mind revolts from it, until some strong pain is set up in the 
 path ; the lesson may not be Hked, but the consequences of 
 engaging the mind elsewhere may be sufficiently painful to 
 neutralize the pleasure. 
 
 Another influence of pain is as mere Excitement, which 
 intensifies the mental processes, and impresses on the memory 
 whatever objects are present to the mind, giving to things 
 disagreeable a persistence in opposition to tiie wiU." 
 
 (3) All the facts show that constitutions differ as to power 
 of Adhesiveness, under exactly the same circumstances. In 
 every class of learners, on every subject, there are the greatest 
 inequalities. This Natural Adhesiveness usually shows itself 
 in special departments — aptitude for languages, for science, 
 for uiusic, &o. ; but it also shows itself in a more general form, 
 or as appUed to things generally. Hence part of it may be 
 attributed to an endowment of the system, as a whole ; while 
 part depends on local endowments, as, for example, the musi- 
 cal ear. 
 
 8. The circumstances favouring the adhesion of Move- 
 ments in particular may be supposed to be (1) Muscular 
 vigour, (2) The Active Temperament, and (3) Muscular 
 Delicacy. 
 
 (1) Mere mMscvlar vigour, by favouring the performance 
 
CONDITIONS OF KETENTIVENESS. 89 
 
 of mechanical exercises, or the energy and persistence o£ mns- 
 cnlar practice, cannot hut contrihute to progress in the me- 
 chajdcal arts. 
 
 (2) Of equal, if not of greater importance is the nervous 
 peciiliaTity that prompts to muscular activity, determiniag a 
 profuse and various spontcmeity of the bodily movements. 
 
 (3) In the muscular system, as in the special senses, there 
 may be degrees of delicacy, shown in nicety of muscular dis- 
 crimination. This may be hypothetically connected with a 
 higher organization of the ganglia of the active side of the 
 brain — the motor centres whence the motor nerves immediately 
 emanate. Whenever the test of discrimination shows superior 
 muscular endowment, we are entitled to presume a greater 
 degree of muscxdar retentiveness. The analogy of the senses is 
 strong on this point, and will be referred to afterwards ; the 
 best case being the ear for music. 
 
 9. Acquirement in every form demands a certain 
 Physical Vigour. 
 
 The freshness and vigour of the general system may be 
 looked upon as essential to the plastic operation. Fatigue, 
 exhaustion, indifferent nourishment, derogate from the powers 
 of the learner. The greater physical vigour of early years is 
 one, among other reasons, why youth is the season of im- 
 provement. 
 
 The mental concentration, or exercise of the Attention, 
 necessary to new acquirements, is costly and exhausting. 
 
 IDEAL FEELINGS OF MOVEMENT. — THE SEAT OF IDEAS. 
 
 10. The Ideas of Movement may be associated together. 
 
 We may have ideas, or recollections and imaginations, 
 of our various activities. We may rehearse, in the thoughts, 
 the movements of a dance, or the manipulation of a sailing 
 boat. 
 
 11. In regard to Ideas generally, it is probable, if not 
 certain, that the renewed feeling, or idea, occupies the 
 same parts, and in the same manner, as the original or 
 actual feeling. 
 
 It was vaguely surmised, in former times, that the memory 
 of things consisted in storing up images in a certain part of 
 the brain, distinct from the places originally affected ; tiiat, in 
 actually seeing a building, one portion of the brain is exercised, 
 
90 BETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 and, in remembering it, a different portion. The fects are op- 
 posed to sncli a conclusion. 
 
 In very lively recollection, we find a tendency to repeat the 
 actual movements. Thus, in mentally recaJling a verbal train, 
 we seem to repeat, on the tongue, the very words ; the recol- 
 lection consists of a suppressed articulation. A mere addition 
 to the force or vehemence of the idea, or the withdrawal of the 
 restraint of the will, would make us speak out what we speak 
 inwardly. Now, the tendency of the idea of an action to be- 
 come the action, shows that the idea is already the fact in a 
 weaker form. But if so, it must be performing the same 
 nervous rounds, or occupying the same circles of the brain, in 
 both states. 
 
 The same doctrine must equally apply to the Sensations of 
 the Senses, and will derive illustration from them. The mere 
 idea of a nauseous taste can excite the reality even to the pro- 
 duction of vomiting. The sight of a person about to pass a 
 sharp instrument over glass excites the weU-known sensation 
 in the teeth. The sight of food makes the saliva begin to flow. 
 In the mesmeric experiments, this effect is carried still farther ; 
 the patient, through the suggested idea of intoxication, simu- 
 lates the reality. Persons of weak nerves have been made ill 
 actually, by being falsely told that they looked ill. 
 
 So it is with the special Emotions and passions. The 
 thought or recollection of anger brings on the same expres- 
 sion of countenance, the same gestures, as the real passion. 
 The memory of a fright is the fright re-induced, in a weaker 
 shape. 
 
 To this doctrine it may be objected, that the loss of eye- 
 sight would be the loss of memory of visible things ; that MU- 
 ton's imagination must have been destroyed when he became 
 blind. The answer is, that the inner circles of the brain must 
 ever be the chief part of the agency both in sensations and in 
 ideas. The destruction of the organ of sense, while rendering 
 sensation impossible, can be but a small check upon the inward 
 activity ; it cuts off na.erely the extremity of the course de- 
 scribed by the nerve currents. Moreover, the decay of the 
 optic sensibility does not impair the activiiy of the muscles of 
 the eye, wherein are embodied the perceptions of visible 
 motion, form, extension, &c., which are one half, and not the 
 least important half, of the picture. 
 
 12. The tendency in all Ideas to become Actualities, 
 according to their intensity, is a source of active impulses 
 distinct from the ordinary motives of the "Will. 
 
TENDENCIES OF IDEAS TO BECOME ACTUALITIES. 91 
 
 The Will is xinder the two influences — pleasure and pain ; 
 being urged to the one and from the other. But an. idea 
 strongly possessed may induce us to act out that idea, even 
 although it leads to pain rather than to pleasure. The mes- 
 meric sleep shows the extreme instance ; in ordinary sleep, 
 also, we are withdrawn from the correcting influence of actu- 
 alities, and follow out whatever fancy crosses the view. In 
 the waking state, we do not, as a role, act out our ideas ; they 
 are seldom strong enough to neutralize the operation of the 
 will. Still the power exists, and is, on occasions, fully m.ani- 
 fested. 
 
 As an unequivocal instance of the power of an idea to 
 generate its actuality, we may quote the infection of special 
 forms of Clime, and even of self-destruction. The impression 
 made on susceptible minds by some notorious example is often 
 carried out to the foil, in spite of the deterring action of the 
 usual motives of the will 
 
 The fascination of a precipice is also in point. The specta- 
 tor, seeing himself near precipitation, has the act of falling 
 so forcibly suggested, that he has to put forth an efibrt of will 
 to resist tiie suggestion. 
 
 Temptation to do something forbidden often comes of 
 merely suggesting the idea, which is then a power to act itself 
 out. lu this way, ambition is inflamed, so as to master the 
 sober calculation of future happiness. 
 
 The operation of an idea strongly possessed is especially 
 prominent in the outgoings of Fear. It is the peculiarity of 
 this passion to impress the mind unduly with its object, to 
 magmiy evil possibilities, and so to exaggerate the idea of 
 escape, that one cannot be restrained from acting it out. 
 
 13. In the workings of Sympathy, there seems to be 
 the carrying out of an Idea, apart from the usual opera- 
 tion of the wiU. 
 
 If the wiU be defined the pursuit of pleasure and the 
 abstinence from pain, then disinterested conduct, involving 
 frequently self-sacrifice, must spring from some other part of 
 our nature. Now, as we are able, by means of our own expe- 
 rience, to form ideas of other men's pains and pleasures, we 
 are disposed, according to the principle in question, to act 
 these out, even although we forfeit a certain amount of plea- 
 Btire, or incur a certain amount of pain. We conceive the 
 pain of another man's hunger, and act out the idea by procur- 
 ing for hiTn food, even at some cost to ourselves. 
 
92 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIG0ITT. 
 
 14. It is a consequence of the doctrine as to the seat 
 of revived feelings, that the Idea and the Actuality must 
 have a great deal in common. 
 
 Memory and Imagination may be described in the lan- 
 guage used for sensation, with certain allowances. A person 
 vividly recollecting a former transaction, exclaims, 'I now 
 see before me.' Next, the delicacy of the senses is likely to 
 be reproduced in the recollection and ia the imagination. 
 Also, for the purposes of the will, in pursuit or in avoidance, 
 the idea operates like the actuality. Farther, the same ex- 
 haustion of brain, and ia the same parts, follows prolonged 
 exercise in sensation and in thought. 
 
 15. Feelings of Movement may be associated together. 
 Since we can repeat mentally the steps of any compUcated 
 
 action, as a dance, we may, in consequence of this mental re- 
 petition, strengthen the cohesion of the train of movements. 
 Practically, the process is seen at work iu our vocal acquire- 
 ments. We can acquire trains of language, without repeating 
 aloud, although perhaps not quite so weU. Childreii have 
 often to learn their lessons by conning them in a whisper, 
 which is the next stage to a mere idea. So, in meditating a 
 discourse, and fixing it in the memory, without writing, as 
 was the practice of Robert HaU, an adhesion takes place be- 
 tween ideal movements of articulation. 
 
 16. TheGrowth of Associations amongldeal movements 
 must be supposed to follow the law of associations among 
 the corresponding Actual movements. 
 
 The centres where the connexions are formed being the 
 same, the only difference will be the feebler impetus of nerve 
 action in the case of the ideal movements. Under great ex- 
 citement, this difference will not exist, and the adhesion may 
 be equally good in both. 
 
 Hence in any part of the system, where the adhesiveness 
 of actual m.ovements is good, that of ideal movements will be 
 good also ; and all the circumstances and endowments favour- 
 ing one will favour both. 
 
 17. A movement, whether real or ideal, is Mentally 
 known as a definite Expenditure of Energy in some Special 
 muscle or muscles. 
 
 We must first discriminate degrees of expenditure, and 
 next associate the different modes or degrees into grouped 
 
INDIVIDUAL IDEAS BECOME SELF-SUSTAINING. 93 
 
 situations. A deKcate discriminatioii is thus the condition of 
 all retentiveness, as it marks out clearly the distinctive features 
 of what is to be retained. To this we must add, as above 
 remarked, that nice discrimination is to be regarded as indi- 
 cating a superior organization in the centres of muscular 
 activity — a higher multiplication of the nervous elements, 
 whence arises a corresponding superiority in the plastic power, 
 or Retentiveness. 
 
 SENSATIONS OF THE SAME SENSE. 
 
 18. Througliout all the Senses, the associating process 
 connects sensations that happen frequently together. 
 
 In the inferior senses, the examples are neither numerous 
 nor interesting. We m.ay have a series of Organic pains, 
 representing the course of anattackofiUness, and remembered 
 by the patient. We might also have a train of iieas of Taste, 
 the first recalling to the mind all the rest ; but there are few 
 occasions for acquiring such trains. As regards Smell, there 
 might be a succession of odours, regularly encountered in 
 going in a particular track, through gardens, &c. ; and if such 
 an experience were often repeated, there would be foimd in the 
 memory a cohering train of ideas of smell ; the occurrence of 
 one to the mind would suggest the others. 
 
 19. In the same operation that fixes, in the mind, a 
 train of ideas, formed from sensations, the individual 
 ideas become Self-sustaining. 
 
 In order that the first member of an often repeated train of 
 tastes or odours should recall the next, each must be so far 
 impressed or engraiued that it can subsist of itself, without 
 the original, to a greater or less degree of vividness. Before 
 the taste of bread recalls the taste and relish of butter, usually 
 conjoined, we must have tasted butter often enough to be able 
 to retain some idea, more or less adequate, of that particular 
 taste. This is equally a consequence of the retentive process 
 of the mind, and follows all the laws govemiug the rate of ad- 
 hesive growth. 
 
 The simplest sensation that we can have is a complex fact, 
 as far as concerns being retained. A coherence must be 
 effected in the mechanism of the brain, to enable a touch, or 
 sound, or an idea of light, to possess a mental persistence ; 
 and the greater the degree of this coherence, in consequence 
 of repetition and the other means of retentiveness, the better 
 will be the mental conception. 
 
94 EETENTIVEMSS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 20. The cohesive grouping of Sensations of the same 
 sense appears largely in Touch. 
 
 In Tonch, we have great variety of sensations ; the pnrely 
 emotional, — as soft touches and pungent touches ; and those 
 entering into inteUectnal perceptions, — as the feelings of 
 roughness, weight, size, form, &o. Associations are formed 
 among the different modes of these sensations ; resulting in 
 our tactual notions of familiar things. The child accustomed 
 to handle a muff, forms an association hetween its softness, 
 its elasticity, and its warmth to the touch ; to these are 
 added the muscular elements of size and form. If this aggre- 
 gate has been definitely coimected in one group, by femiliarity 
 with the same thing, the experience of one of the qualities 
 would recall the whole aggregate. The soft touch would 
 make the mind expect everything else. So it is that we 
 acquire distinctive notions of aU the ohjects we are accustomed 
 to handle ; the lady knows her fan in the dark, the workman 
 knows the tool he wants by the first contact ; we each know 
 whether we touch the poker or the hearth brush, a cinder or 
 an ivory ball, a pen or a piece of string, a hook or the cat, the 
 table or the mantel-shelf. Every one of these familiar things 
 is a definite grouping by plastic association between different 
 modes of touch, some purely tactile, and others muscular. 
 
 Of course, one defiiite touch will not recall the whole of 
 the tactile qualities of a specific object, unless there has been 
 an exclusive association. When the cold touch of polished 
 marble has been associated with many different forms, it wfll 
 not recall any one in particular. The hand placed on a wooden 
 surface tells nothing, because so many known things have the 
 same touch ; either a plurality of different objects will be re- 
 called, or some one will be singled out by other b'nVg of asso- 
 ciation, or there will be no revival at all. 
 
 21. In considering the Kate of Acquirement among 
 associations of Touch we must take into account, besides 
 the general conditions of acquirement, the special character 
 of the sense. 
 
 Touch being a two-fold sense, we must refer to the con- 
 stituents in separation. 
 
 The purely tactile sensibiKty, the passive element of touch, 
 is, in the scale of intellect, superior to Taste and Smell, inferior, 
 to Hearing and Sight. This comparative superiority and in- 
 feriority must he supposed to attach equally to the disorimi- 
 
ASSOCIATIONS OF TOUCH. 95 
 
 native power, and to the retentiveness (we have assumed 
 these two properties to rise and fall together). 
 
 The ottier element of Touch is Muscnlarity ; the weight, 
 hardness, size, and form of things, are tested and remembered 
 principally by the mxiscles of the hand and the arm. 
 
 The intellectual character of the muscular feelings is pro- 
 bably not the same for all muscles ; hence each set would have 
 to be independently judged. We know that the muscles of 
 the eye excel in delicacy of discrimination and retentiveness ; 
 they would not otherwise be on a par with the optical sensi- 
 bility. Probably the muscles of the voice and articulation come 
 next, and, after these, the hand and the arm ; the difierence 
 being no doubt related to the comparative supply of nerves, 
 and the expansion of the corresponding centres. 
 
 There may be great individual differences of character in 
 ■ respect of tactual endowment. These are principally indicated 
 by degrees of delicacy in the manual arts. 
 
 Both in the tactual and in the muscular element, any su- 
 perior deUcaoy will teU upon the worker in plastic material. 
 The muscular precis,ion of the hand and the arm is a guarantee 
 for nicety of execution in every species of manipulation — with 
 the surgeon and the artist, no less than the common artizan. 
 
 22. It is only in the Blind, that we can appreciate the 
 natural delicacy, or intellectual susceptibility, of the sense 
 of Toucli. .» 
 
 None but the bHnd are accustomed to think of outward 
 objects as ideas of Touch ; in the minds of others, the visible 
 ideas preponderate, and constitute the chief material of recol- 
 lection. A blind workman remembers and discriminates his 
 tools by their tactile ideas. The trains of associations that 
 determine the order and array of surrounding things are, to 
 the blind, trains of ideas of touch. 
 
 23. The associations among Sounds include, besides 
 many casual connexions, the two great departments of 
 Musical and Articulate Sounds. 
 
 Any two sounds heard together, or in close succession, for 
 a number of times, would mutually reproduce each other in 
 idea. When a sound is inade in front of an echoing wall, we 
 anticipate the echo. 
 
 Tn Musical training, the individual notes are rendered self- 
 sustaining, and are at the same associated in musical suc- 
 cessions. One note sounded brings on the idea of another 
 
96 EETENTIVBNESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 that has usually foUo-wed it. Wten a sufficient imniber are 
 given to determine an air, the remaining notes rise to the 
 miad. The education of an accomplished m.usician is com- 
 posed of many hundreds of these successions. 
 
 Besides tiie general conditions of acquirement, we must 
 refer, in. this case, to the quality termed the musical ear. 
 Although the ear is improvable by cultivation, the basis of 
 all great musical skill is a primitive endowment. There must 
 be, from the beginning, a comparatively nice discrimination of 
 musical tones, for which we may assume the physical basis of 
 extensive auditory centres. A bad ear will not distinguish 
 one note from the next above it or below it on the scale. A 
 good ear will discriminate the minute fraction of a note. 
 
 It must be taken for granted, until the contrary is shown, 
 that the deKcate feeling of Agreement foUows Discrimination; 
 and that Bietentiveness will follow both. Once for all, there- 
 fore, we may assume that delicacy of Discrimination is to be 
 accepted as the criterion of all the three intellectual properties. 
 Hence, when a sense has an unusual degree of discriminative 
 power, there will also be an unusual retentiveness for its 
 sensations. Not in music alone, therefore, but in everything, 
 good memory will accompany acute feeling of difference. 
 
 Articulate sounds are made coherent on the same principle 
 as musical sounds. We are familiarized with each distinct 
 articulation, and are, at the same time, occupied with com- 
 bining them iato groups in the complex sounds of words and 
 trains of words. In tiie minds of the uneducated, these con- 
 nexions exist by hundreds ; in a cultivated miad, they count 
 by thousands. 
 
 The good articulate ear may be, to some extent, a modifi- 
 cation of the musical ear. In so far as the letters are distin- 
 guished by being, combinations of musical tones, the two 
 sensibilities must be the same. But this applies only to the 
 vowels ; the consonants are discriminated by other kiads of 
 effect. It would not be in accordance with fact to say, that a 
 good musical ear infers a good articulate ear. 
 
 The successions of sounds, both musical and articulate, 
 possess the quality termed Cadence or Accent. The ear re- 
 members the cadences familiar to it, and reproduces them in 
 vocal imitation. The brogue or accent of a province is im- 
 pressed on the young ear; a large variety of cadences enters 
 iato the more elaborate training of the elocutionist. The ear 
 for cadence may be somewhat different from, although con- 
 taining points in common with, the musical and articulate ears. 
 
ASSOCIATIONS OP SIGHT. 97 
 
 24, Cohering aggregates and trains of Sight are, by 
 pre-eminence, the material of thought, memory, and ima- 
 gination. 
 
 Sensations of sight are composed of visual spectra and muB- 
 ctdar feelings — passive feehngs mixed vyith active. 
 
 While the separate colours and shades are acquiring ideal 
 persistence, they are becoming associated together in aggre- 
 gates and trains. We cannot produce cases of association of 
 colours alone, or without muscular elements, but there are 
 many iustances where colour is the predominatiug fact. The 
 splendours of sTmrise and sunset, the succession of tints of 
 the sky, exemphfy the preponderance of colour. The varie- 
 gated landscape is an aggregate of coloured masses, which 
 may be associated in great part optically. The aspect of 
 a city, with its streets, houses, shops, is many-coloured, 
 and must be remembered chiefly by the help of associated 
 colours. 
 
 On the other hand, in objects with httle colour, and with 
 sharp outUnes, the muscular element predominates, as in a 
 building or an interior, in machinery, and, most of all, in the 
 forms and diagrams of Geometry, Architecture, Engineering, &c. 
 
 We shall illustrate the adhesiveness, first, in Forms; 
 secondly, in Oohured Surfaces. 
 
 When the eye foUows a circular form, as a ring, the effect 
 is principally muscular. The adhesion resides in the active 
 centres connected with the muscles of the eye. By these, we 
 hold the figures of Gteometiy, the symbols of the sciences 
 generally, outline plans of mechanical structures, the charac- 
 teristic forms of afi. special objects. In the Fine Arts of Sculp- 
 ture and Architecture, form is predominant. 
 
 There is probably a special endowment for the retention of 
 visible forms, whose natural locality would be the active centres 
 of vision. It would show itself in the rapid and extensive 
 acqxurement of unmeaidng symbols, written characters, and 
 skeleton outhnes, as ia maps and diagrams. The Chinese 
 language is probably the extreme instance of the acquisition 
 of forms. The . memory for maps is also a trying instance. 
 These cases require the strongest disinterested adhesion. 
 
 In the case of Scientific forms, there may enter the 
 scientific interest, determining special concentration of mind. 
 Such forms are comparatively few in number, but intensely 
 important. 
 
 In regard to Artistic forms, the Artistic interest is a 
 7 
 
98 EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY, 
 
 prompting to mental concentration ; only snct as enter into 
 Art would be BpeciaUy retained. Onrves, for their beauty,- 
 and certain geometric forms, for their symmetry, would be laid 
 hold of; those that Lave no interest except as symbols would 
 be disregarded. 
 
 In Coloured Swrfacee, we suppose the colour to be the chief 
 fact; for, although Form can never be absent, the optical 
 adhesiveness is the essential consideration. Such are, in addi- 
 tion to natural scenes -andprospects, highly decorated interiors, 
 pictures, assemblies of people, the human face and figure, 
 animaJs, plants, and minerars. 
 
 The endowment for discriminating and remembering 
 Colour may well be supposed to be special and distinct. 
 Phrenology is justified in supposing a special organ of colour. 
 The centres in relation with the optic nerve are probaJ)ly &r 
 more expanded and richer in nervous elements, in some consti- 
 tutions than in others. A special retentiveness for colour is a 
 great determining fact of cl^racter. It not only constitutes a 
 facility in remembering scenes, pictores, and coloured objects, 
 thus entering into the faculty of the painter and the poet : it 
 also promotes a liking for the concrete surface of the world 
 with all its emotions and interests, and a disliking or revulsion 
 from the bare and naked symbols, forms, and abstractions of 
 science. 
 
 SEKBATIONS OF DIFFERENT SENSES. 
 
 25. Our education involves various connexions among 
 Movements, Feelings of Movement, and the Sensations of 
 the different senses. 
 
 In the complieation of actual things, the same object may 
 operate upon several senses at once. A bell is ideally retained 
 as a combination of touch, sound, and sight. An orange can 
 affect all the senses. 
 
 Movements with Sensations. Our movements are extensively 
 associated with sensations. Ourvarious actions are instigatedby 
 sensible signs, as names or other signals ; the child's early educa- 
 tion comprises the obedience to direction or command. Ani- 
 mals also can take on the same acquisition. The notes of 
 the bugle, and the signals at sea, are associated with definite 
 movements. 
 
 Our locomotive and other movements are incessantly 
 attended with changes of our visible environment, and become 
 associated with these changes accordingly. Every step for- 
 ward alters the visual magnitude of all objects before the eyes ; 
 
AKCHITECTUBAL ASSOCIATIONS. 99 
 
 and of Buch as are near, in a very palpable degree. This is a 
 principal part of our acquired perceptions of distance. (See 
 Ckap-VII.) 
 
 It was already remarked, nnder Associations of Movement, 
 that there are few associations of mere movement ; the sense 
 of the effect generally intervenes and accompanies the exertion. 
 A man digging does not mechanically put in the spade and 
 turn it up ; he, at the same time, sees and feels the results ; 
 the sight and the feeling co-operate in directing and guiding 
 each movement, and in introducing the one that follows. 
 
 Mtiscular Ideas vdih Sensations. We may associate with 
 Sensations Ideas of Force and Movement, resulting from mus- 
 cular expenditure. There are some interesting examples in 
 point. We connect the weight and inertia of diSerent kinds 
 of material, with the visible appearance, and other sensible 
 properties. On looking at a block of stone, at an iron bar, 
 or a log of wood, we form a certain ideal estimate of the com- 
 parative weights, or of the muscular expenditure requisite to 
 move, or support the several masses. This association is gained 
 partly by our direct experience, and partly by seeing the mus- 
 cular exertions of other persons ; it becomes at last one of the 
 powerful associations that enter into our ideas of external 
 things. It is at the basis of our Architectural tastes and de- 
 mands. When we see a mass of stone supported on a pedes- 
 tal, we form at once an estimate of the sufficiency or insuffi- 
 ciency of the support, and are affected pleasantly or unplea- 
 santly according to the estimate. By a rapid process of asso- 
 ciation, almost like an instinct, we imagine the pressure of a 
 block of any given size ; an idea of its gravitating energy is 
 constructed out of our own experiences ; and a similar idea 
 is formed of the strength of the rope that is to hoist it up, 
 and the waggon that is to transport it. The same feeling 
 determines our sense of Architectural proportions ; these 
 being very different in the case of wood, of stone, and of 
 iron ; and would be modified into another shape still, if gold 
 were the material employed. From want of familiarity with 
 gold in masses, we should be greatly at fault in connecting 
 the visible appearance of a block with its weight and inertia. 
 
 Sensations with Sensations. We may have as many groups 
 of combinations as there are possible unions among our senses. 
 Organic sensations may be associated with Tastes, Smells, 
 Touches, Sounds, Sights ; Tastes with Smells, &c. ; Smells 
 with Touches, and so on. The more interesting cases occur 
 under the three higher senses. 
 
100 KETENHVENESS — LAW OS CONTIGUITY. 
 
 Touches are associated with. Sounds, when the ring of a 
 substance suggests its surface to the touch, and vice versd, as 
 in discriminating stone, wood, glass, pottery, cloth, &c. 
 
 Touches are associated with Sights, on a very great scale. 
 We connect with the visible appearance of every substance 
 that we may have frequently handled, its feeling to the touch, 
 as soft, hard, rough, smooth, as well as the tactile form and 
 tactile magnitude. 
 
 This is the association that Berkeley principally founded 
 upon, in explaining the acquired perceptions of Bight (see 
 Chap. Vn.). The fact itself is not to be disputed ; we do ac- 
 qoire associations of singular firmness between visible surfiaces 
 and their tactile sensations ; the cold, hard smoothness of 
 polished marble, the roughness of the fracture of a piece of 
 cast iron or steel, the clamminess of a lump of cl^, are sug- 
 gested rapidly and vividly ui the case of all familiar things. 
 And if such be the case with the strictly tactile properties 
 (where no one contends for an instinctive conjunction), we 
 need not wonder at the rapid and vivid suggestion of tangible 
 resistance and magnitude. Still, as wiU be seen, there are 
 othra- experiences required to constitute our associations of 
 real distance with its visible signs. 
 
 Sounds are associated with Sights, on a still greater scale. 
 Every characteristits sound emanating from an object of cha- 
 racteristic visible appearance, is firmly associated with that 
 appearance. We associate the sound not merely with the 
 sounding object, but with the distance and position of the 
 object. (See Hearing, p. 56.) So that we may be said to 
 hear distance as well as to see it ; by both senses, we are made 
 aware of the locomotive effort that would be required to tra- 
 verse the interval between one distance and another. 
 
 We connect every object with its sound when struck; 
 every instrument with its note ; every animal with its cries ; 
 every human being with their voice, and even with their cough 
 or sneeze. 
 
 Our mother tongue is, in great part, a series of associations 
 between sounds (as names) and visible objects. The exten- 
 sion to written language embraces the further associations be- 
 tween the audible sounds and the printed characters. 
 
 26. In the association of different senses, it is to be 
 presumed that the rapidity of the adhesive growth will 
 vary with the adhesive quality of each of the senses. 
 
 In the absence of anything to the contrary, we must sup- 
 
LOCALIZATION OF BODILY FEELINGS. 101 
 
 pose that when sights and sounds are associated, the progress 
 ■will depend npon the adhesiveness in sight by itself, and in 
 sound by itself. The mother tongue mil be learned with 
 more rapidity, according as the articulate ear is good, and 
 according as the visible associations within themselves are 
 good. No other consideration can be assigned from our pre- 
 sent knowledge. It does not seem that any barrier is pre- 
 sented to the union of sensations of different senses ; the pro- 
 cess is as easy and rapid between two, as in the sphere of one. 
 
 27. The Localization of our Bodily Feelings is an 
 acquired perception. 
 
 Previous to experience, we do not know the locality of any 
 bodily sensation — for example, a pressure on the shoulder or 
 the toe. But our own body is to us an object of sense ; we 
 can see it, and move the hand over it. It is also a seat of 
 subjective sensibilities; it undergoes changes attended with 
 pleasure, and with pain. When we see the hand touching a 
 part, we couple the objective or pictorial aspect with a spe- 
 cial tactile feeling; if the hand is transferred to another 
 part, the altered pictorial aspect is connected with the new 
 contact. This is the beginning of our local associations with 
 the parts of the body, and is the means of enabling us to 
 assign the locality of any part that is occasioning a subjective 
 feelmg. 
 
 Some explanation is necessary here. How should the same 
 pressure, causing the same feeling, be recognized sometimes 
 in one spot, and sometimes in another? The quaUty of a 
 sensation may be the same in two cases, yet we may learn to 
 localize them differently. On this point, we can only assert 
 the fiiiCt, and surmise, that it is physically supported by the 
 independence of the nerves distributed over the different 
 parts; an independence already assumed for the feeling of 
 plurality of contacts, as described under Touch. The nerves 
 of touch in the right forefinger are so far distinct from the 
 nerves of the left forefinger, that a separate track or line of 
 association can be formed between each and the movements 
 that determine us to look to the right or to the left. We 
 seem to have qualitative sameness of sensation with artificial 
 or associated difference. 
 
 We are best able to localize the feelings connected with 
 the surface, because its changes are accessible to observation. 
 The deep-seated pairts can be got at, only when they are 
 brought into some relation with the surface; as whenpres- 
 
102 KETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGDIXr. 
 
 sure on the stomacli or the liver modifies a feeling supposed 
 to be connected with the part; or as when local treatment 
 soothes an irritation. 
 
 28. Our body occupies, as it were, a position between 
 the subject mind and the object world at large. Atten- 
 tion to our body is an object state, but with strong subject 
 associations. 
 
 By gazing on things external to our body, we are in a 
 truly object attitnde ; by gazing on any part of the skin, we 
 bring np subject feelings. By imagining the local appearances 
 of a pain, we may almost realize it physically. This is one of 
 the connexions of idea and reality, occurring in an exaggerated 
 form under the mesmeric sleep. Mr. Braid used the feet to 
 induce healthy actions on diseased organs. It is scarcely pos- 
 sible to gaze intently for a long time on any part of the body 
 without induciag subjective feelings in reference to it; and 
 these carry with them actoal changes in the part. 
 
 29. Associated differences in sensations alike in quality 
 may occur, not only in Touch, but also in Sight, and in 
 Muscular Movements. 
 
 The foregoing remarks apply to Touch. The same is'trufi 
 of Sight. A sensation of light may be qualitatively the same 
 as another; but, by arising through different parts of the 
 retina, they are recognized as different ; they become associ- 
 ated with different movements. If two twins are so alike 
 that we camnot disting^uish them, some variation is made in 
 their dress to prevent confusion. In the same way, sensations 
 through different parts of the retina are made distinct by their 
 alliances. One requires an upward motion to place it in the 
 centre of vision, another a downward ; one a larger, and an- 
 other a smaller sweep, to attain the same position. 
 
 As regards the muscles likewise, we have to assume a 
 sense of difference, not due to quality, but to local seat. It 
 may be the same as regards the feeling itself, whether we 
 raise the right arm or the left ; but the two feelings enter into 
 distinct alliances with other feelings not the same. 
 
 ASSOCIATES WITH PLEASURE AND PAIN. 
 
 30. By means of contiguous association, states of 
 Pleasure and PsSn can, to some extent, persist, or be re- 
 produced, without the original stimulus. 
 
ASSOCIATIONS OF PLJEASUEE AND PAIN. 103 
 
 The extending of association to states of pleasure and pain, 
 or states of feeling, or emotion generally, most render it a great 
 power as regards onr happiness. By a reference to the &cts, 
 we can ascertain how far die prineaple operates in this direc- 
 tion. A familiar example is famished by our likings for objects 
 and places, after long connexion with tiiem. 
 
 The pleasures of the Senses are usually reflected by things 
 that are their causes, or by certain regular accompaniments. 
 Thus we connect the enjoyment of exercise with our instra- 
 ments of sport or gymnastic ; the pleasures of repose with an 
 easy chair, a sofa, or a bed ; and the pleasure of riding with a 
 horse and carriage. The sight of food, and its preparation, 
 recalls something of the delight of eating ; the scantily in- 
 dulged child is fascinated by the mere view of the pastry- 
 cook's window. The representation of fragrant flowers gives 
 an agreeable recoUectiou of the fragrance. 
 
 The pains of the Senses could be stiU more decisively ap- 
 pealed to. All objects that have severely pained us are painful 
 to encounter. It takes a certain efibrt, to overcome the re- 
 pugnance to the instruments of a severe surgical operation. 
 
 It cannot be contended that such associated pleasures and 
 pains are individually of any great force, as compared with 
 the originals ; the fractional value of each echo is but small. 
 But a total result, very far from insignificant, may be gained, 
 by accumnlating around us a great many things associated 
 with our pleasures, and reflecting a number of our happy 
 moments. The sportsman'strophies, the traveller's curiosities, 
 the naturalist's collections made by himself, the student's 
 prizes, the engineer's models, are able to revive an occasional 
 glow of foregone excitement. 
 
 31. The law of this association may be assumed to 
 accord with the case of difiPerent senses (§ 26). We have 
 already assumed that there may be a good, or a bad, 
 memory for pleasure as such, and for pain as such ; while, 
 in regard to special modes of pleasure and pain, as in the 
 several senses, the retentiveness will vary with the good- 
 ness of the sense in other respects. 
 
 We have formerly seen that a foil and accurate memory 
 for pleasure and for pain is the intellectual basis, both of pru- 
 dence as regards self, and of sympathy as regards others. 
 This may be a general feature of the chairacter, applicable to 
 pleasures and pains as such. Still, we must suppose the 
 general power greatly modified acoording to the class or local 
 
104 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 origin. A high endowment for colour will naturally include 
 the retentiTeness for the pleasures and the pains of colour. 
 So, the circumstances that direct attention upon any sense will 
 impress, not only its intellectual elements, but its pleasures 
 and pains. 
 
 The revival of a foregone pleasure by force of memory 
 must be measured by the amount of change it makes on the 
 present condition of the mind, as otherwise occasioned. In a 
 happy mood, we are liable to happy recollections, and repel 
 the opposite; but in this case, the pleasurable state represents 
 the present influence, and not the past. 
 
 32. The Special Emotions, by being directed habitually 
 on the same object, become Affections. 
 
 After the feeling of Love or Tenderness has been often 
 aroused in connexion with the same person, a habitual or cus- 
 tomary regard is induced, of greater power than the original 
 attraction. The memories of the past then add their power 
 to heighten the present impression. This influence, however, 
 is chiefly manifested in neutralizing the deadening influence 
 of familiarity. The recollected warmth of past moments keeps 
 up a glow, when the present stimulation has lost its influence. 
 Past associations of tender feeling will even overcome causes 
 of positive dislike. 
 
 So, Anger repeated generates hatred. Fear may take on a 
 habitual, and thence more aggravated form. The Egotistic 
 passions are notably strengthened, after having often run in the 
 same channel without opposition. The religious sentiment is 
 converted into an afiection, by being made frequently to arise 
 in connexion with the object of worship. 
 
 33. The Emotions may spread themselves over col,- 
 lateral and indifferent objects. 
 
 We have here a more testing case of association. The acci- 
 dental connexions with the objects of our love, anger, fear 
 egotism, suffice to recall the feelings, and have a value on that 
 account. Hence tokens of friendship, reUcs, places, acquire a 
 deep hold of our affections. 
 
 This is carried to the utmost in religion. Holy places 
 symbols, rites, formaUties, language, reflect and magnify the 
 feehngs towards the main object of worship ; and the difficnltv 
 ever has been to keep them from wholly usurping, by their 
 sensuous facilities, the place of the unseen Deity. 
 
 Human authority avails itself of such associatioBS, in order ■ 
 
INTEHEST OF MEANS TO ENDS. 105 
 
 to extend its influence. Official robes and symbols, a (Sere- 
 monial of obeisance and deference, solemnities in the investi- 
 ture to office, forms observed in degrading and punishing, 
 have the efiect of diffusing the respect for authority in civil 
 society. The Biomans, who were the greatest inventors in the 
 substance of law, were also the most attentive to its forms ; 
 such attention being partly the cause, and partly the effect, of 
 their great regard to authority in the worst of times. 
 
 Those formalities that have an intrinsic expressiveness, as 
 bending, prostration, passing under the yoke, are necessarily 
 more impressive than what is intrinsically unmeaning. 
 
 34. Association transfers the interest of an End of 
 pursuit to the Means. 
 
 The &miliar example of this is money. Allied in the first 
 instance with the delights that it obtains, and the relief &om 
 numerous pains, it becomes at last an object of affection in 
 itself, and is preferred, in its unemployed state, to all pur- 
 chasable gratifications. 
 
 The circumstances that favour the transference are such as 
 these : — Money is a tangible, measurable, permanent posses- 
 sion; the pleasures obtained by it being often fugitive, are apt to 
 leave a feeling of regret, as if they had cost too much. Th6 
 tnind easily learns to derive more satisfaction from the per- 
 manent possibility, than from the perishing actuality ; espe- 
 cially such minds as are more susceptible to fear for the future 
 than to present enjoyment. 
 
 The influence of early penury and privation in disposing to 
 avarice is of itself an example of associated feeling, as well as 
 a contributing cause to the love of money unspent. 
 
 The accessions of distinction and power, attached to the 
 possession of wealth, necessarily enrich the agreeable associa- 
 ciations connected with it. 
 
 The feeling of Property, in its full comprehension, contains 
 a mass of blended sentiment, and of piled-up associations, 
 that can scarcely be tracked out in their detail. The things 
 that serve so many of the primary uses of life, become also 
 the subject of mingled pride and affection. Property in land 
 has charms of its own ; it is an impressive object to the eye 
 and to the mind, and involves both present influence, and 
 the memory of ancient privileges. The possession of a spot 
 of land is the most powerftil of all known motives to 
 industry. 
 
106 RETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIQUITV. 
 
 Another example of means converted into ends by trans- 
 ferred feeling is the attachment to forms of business, as book- 
 keeping, legal and technical formalities, even after they have 
 ceased to answer their ends. This is an element in the con- 
 servation of laws and formalities whose spirit has evaporated. 
 
 The regard to truth is, and ought to be, an all-powerfiil 
 sentiment, from its being entwined in a thousand ways with 
 the welfare of human society. We are not to be surprised, if 
 an element of such importance a-s a means, should be often 
 regarded as an absolute end, to be pursued irrespective of con- 
 sequences, whether near or remote. 
 
 35, Many objects of Fine Art derive their charm from 
 associations. 
 
 Fine Art contains effects intrinsically pleasing, as sweet 
 and harmonious sounds ; colours and their harmonies ; curved 
 lines ; proportions in general. 
 
 Other effects are due to association with pleasing qnaliiies. 
 Thus, the hues and complexion of health are not the most 
 pleasing colours intrinsically. There is nothing in breadth of 
 chest, development of muscle, size of bone, to give a primitive 
 delight in connexion with the manly figure ; but the connexion 
 of these qualities with physical power gives them an adventi- 
 tious charm. A large cranial development would not be in- 
 teresting in itself; viewed as disproportion, it might be even 
 unpleasing. But as indicating mentol power it is agreeable to 
 behold. 
 
 The lustre of a polished surface is intrinsically pleasing ; 
 there is a farther pleasure when it is connected with ease in 
 machinery, or with cleanliness in household management. 
 
 The celebrated theory of Alison consisted in attributing all 
 the pleasures of Beauty, to associations with primary modes 
 of the agreeable ; which primary modes, would of course not 
 themselves be admitted into the aesthetic circle. The follow- 
 ing out of this, theory led the author to collect examples of 
 borrowed or associated emotions, although in many of bis 
 instances, primitive effects could be assigned. 
 
 The following are some of his illustrations for the Sublime. 
 ' All sounds are ia general sublime, which are associated with 
 ideas of great Power or Might ; the Noise of a Torrent ; the Fall 
 of a Cataract ; the Uproar of a Tempest ; the Explosion of Gim- 
 powder ; the Dashing of the Waves, &o.' Most of these sounds, 
 however, produce a strong effect by their intensity and volume 
 without regard to what they suggest. More in point are the fol- 
 lowing. ' That the Notes or Cries of some animals are Sublime 
 
FINE AET ASSOCIATIONS. 107 
 
 every one knows : the Roar of the lion, the Growling of Bears, 
 the Howling of Wolves, the Scream of the Eagle. In aU these 
 cases, those are the notes of animals remarkable for their strength, 
 and formidable for their ferocity.' As illustrations of Beauty, he 
 gives the following : — ' The Bleating of a Iiamb is beautiful in a 
 fine day in spring ; the Lowing of a Cow at a distance, amid the 
 scenery of a pastoral landscape in summer. The Call of a Goat 
 among rocks is strikingly beautiful, as expressing wildness and 
 independence. The Hiua of the Beetle is beautiful on a fine 
 summer evening, as appearing to suit the stillness and repose of 
 that pleasing season. The twitter of the swallow is beautiful in 
 the morning, and seems to be expressive of the cheerfulness of 
 that time.' 
 
 36. The Language of the Feelings, both in their natural 
 manifestations, and in their verbal expression, has to be 
 acquired. 
 
 The meaning of the smile and the frown is learnt in 
 infancy by observing what circamstances they go along with. 
 The various modifications of the features, tones, and gestures 
 for pleasure, pain, love, anger, fear, wonder, are connected 
 with known occasions that show what they mean. Animals 
 understand this language. There is a pertain intrinsic effi- 
 cacy in some modes of expression, as when soft and gentle 
 tones are used for afiection, and harsh, emphatic utterances 
 for anger ; but the play of the features has no original mean- 
 ing, it must be understood by experience. 
 
 Verbal expression greatiy enlarges the compass of the 
 language of the feelings. Every emotion has its charac- 
 teristic forms of speech, expressing its shades with very 
 gi'eat delicacy. Poets, who have to depict and excite the 
 emotions, require an unusual command of these forms, and of 
 aJl the images and associated circumstances that have the 
 power to resuscitate the varieties of feeling. 
 
 37. The Signs of Happiness in others have a cheering 
 
 effect on ourselves. 
 
 It is a part of our pleasures to see happy beings around us, 
 and especially those that have the power_ of expressing their 
 feelings in a Uvely manner. Children and animals, in their happy 
 moods, impart a oertaia tone of gaiety to a spectator. On tiie 
 other hand, the wretched, the downcast, and the querulous, are 
 apt to chill and depress those in their company. There is a 
 satisfaction in merely beholding, or even in imagining, the appear- 
 ances and accompaniments of superior happiness, which probably 
 accounts in part for the disposition to do homage to the wealthy, 
 the powerful, the renowned, and the successful among mankind. 
 
108 EETENTIVENESS-^LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 38. The happiness of our later life is in great part 
 made up of the pleasurable memories of early years. 
 
 The early period of life, so favourable to acquirement 
 generally, is adapted to the storing up of pleasures and pains. 
 The same pleasure, happening in youth and in middle age, 
 will not be equally remembered as a cheering association in 
 advanced life. The joys of early years have thus an additional 
 valne. A pinched, severe, and ascetic bringing-np will sen- 
 sibly depress the tone of the whole future life ; scarcely any 
 amount of subsequent good fortune will suffice to redeem the 
 waste. 
 
 39. In the Moral Sentiment, association counts for a 
 share, altiiough the extent of the influence is variously 
 estimated. 
 
 It is only in accordance with all the other facts of asso- 
 ciated feeUngs, that if a certain kind of conduct, say thefb, or 
 evil speaking, is constantly made the subject of punishment, 
 censure, or disapprobation, an associative growth will be 
 formed between the conduct and the infliction of pain ; and 
 the individual will recoil from it with all the repugnance 
 acquired during this conjunction between it and painftil feel- 
 ings. The general principle is confirmed by the actual facts ; 
 those that have received a careful moral education are almost 
 as superior, in their moral conduct, to the offspring of 
 dissolute parents, as the educated man is to the uneducated 
 in any other respect. 
 
 The conditions of progress in these moral acquirements 
 are worthy of being specified. The natural and predisposing 
 endowments are the good retentiveness for pleasure and 
 pain generally, constituting the natural gift of Prudence, 
 and the tendency to enter into the pleasures and paons of 
 others (called Sympathy). To these must be added, as A 
 negative condition, the thoderate degree of the counter im- 
 pulses (which win be specified in another place); General 
 retentiveness would apply to this acquirement. Repetition, 
 or assiduous iteration, must co-operate under circumstances 
 favourable to the impressiveness of tiie lesson : which circum- 
 stances vary according as the associations are intended to be 
 chiefly of fear, or of love. Moreover, for moral discipline as 
 for everything else, a certain portion of the life and the 
 thoughts must be left free from other pressing cares and 
 acquisitions. 
 
FEELINGS BKING UP THEIU OBJECTS. 109 
 
 The association between objects and feelings also enables 
 feelings to bring up their associated objects. This bond, how- 
 ever, Farely operates singly ; an emotion, as love, anger, or fear, 
 is not usually associated with one object in particular ; when 
 it is so, it is able to suggest the object. Most generally, the 
 association with feeling is one determining link among others, 
 in a compound association. 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS OF VOLITION. 
 
 40. In Volition, there is involved a process of con- 
 tiguous association between specific actions and states of 
 feeling. 
 
 This is the third element in the growth of the Will, as 
 already described ; Spontaneity and Self-consa^ation being 
 the two other elements. The law of Self-conservation would 
 determine the continuance of an action that feeds a pleasure, 
 and the abatement of an action concurring with pain; but 
 does not enable us to begin a specific movement that would 
 bring pleasure or remove pain. This is believed to be at first 
 a fortuitous concurrence, made to adhere after a certain 
 amount of repetition. 
 
 When the mature will is regarded in its whole compass, it 
 contains a wide range of successive growths, the earliest 
 being attended with the greatest diEB.culties. These will be 
 traced, once for all, in the department of the Will. 
 
 NATURAL OBJECTS. 
 
 41. Our permanent Eecollections, or Ideas, of the Con- 
 crete objects of external nature, consist of associated sen- 
 sible qualities. 
 
 The concrete combinations that we call natural objects, in 
 most instances, affect a plurality of senses. The distant starry 
 sphere, reveals itself only to sight ; but all terrestrial things, in 
 some form or other, appeal to several senses. A piece of 
 quartz, besides being seen, has a characteristic touch ; an 
 orange has taste and odour in addition. 
 
 The present case, therefore, merely applies the association 
 of a plurality of senses to the individual things making up the 
 object world (the conjunctions or groupings of things will be 
 viewed separately). The complete image of a mineral, plant, 
 or animal, is the enduring association of all its sensible im- 
 pressions, the. lead being taken by sight. 
 
110 EETENTIVENESS — ^LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 The conditions of rapid and abundant acquirement in this 
 region of things are, — the adhesiveness of the senses, and 
 chiefly of sight, and the circumstances that determine atten- 
 tion or concentration of mind. 
 
 42. The Naturalist mind represents the maximum of 
 disinterested associations. 
 
 The purpose of the Naturalist is, not selective, but ex- 
 haustive ; whatever be the department that he applies himself 
 to, he notices every species belonging to it. In order to 
 lighten the load of detail, and for other reasons, he studies 
 classification and orderly method ; but, notwithstanding the 
 utmost economy, his mind must retain a vast number of the 
 sensible aggregates constituting the specific objects of the 
 natural world. He must possess a high degree of sensible, 
 and especially visual, retentiveness ; his turn of mind must be 
 objective, or towards the exercise of the senses ; and his life 
 must be largely engrossed by the exercise of observation. He 
 must not have any strong emotional likings, of the nature of 
 preference; having to give an account of everything that 
 exists, because it exists, his maia delight should be to attain 
 impartiality and exhaustive completeness ; he should be espe- 
 cially charmed by the arts of classification and method adapted 
 to this end. 
 
 43. In minds generally, the associations of natural 
 objects are generally ruled by the feelings. 
 
 Next to frequency, or familiarity of encounter, and often 
 before it, in point of associating eflB.caoy, is the interest awak- 
 ened in objects either by their striking qualities, or by their 
 uses in the economy of life. The one is the artistic preference, 
 and the other the industrial. The gems, the more attractive 
 flowers, shrubs, and trees, the animals distinguished for their 
 imposing qualities, are singled out for recollection, in prefer- 
 ence to the indifferent specimens of each kind. And still 
 more universally stimulati'ng to the attention is the influence 
 of our wants, uses and conveniences^, our occupations and pur- 
 suits. 
 
 NATURAL AND HABITUAL CONJUNCTIONS. 
 
 44. The things habitually or frequently conjoined in 
 our experience are conjoined in our recollection. 
 
 The things about us that maintain fixed places and rela- 
 tions become connected in idea, as they are in reality ; and 
 the mind thus reflects the habitual environment. The house 
 
VARIEGATED IMAGERY OF THE WORLD. Ill 
 
 we live in, with its famiture and arrangements, the street^ 
 town, or rural scene that we encounter daily, by their inces- 
 sant iteration, cohere into abiding recollections, any one part 
 easily bringing all the rest to the mind's view. Our know- 
 ledge of such familiar objects is made up of the connexion of 
 each with its associated objects. Our knowledge of a man or 
 woman includes the external circumstances constantly con- 
 joined with him. or her — locality, family, and occupation. 
 The conditions favouring the adhesiveness are Repetition and 
 special Interest in what is near ourselves. 
 
 For the easy retention of the variegated imagery of the 
 world, the prime requisite is powerful retentiveness for Colour. 
 This gives to the mind a pictorial character, a grasp of the 
 Concrete of nature, with all the emotional interests thence 
 arising. It is required by the Naturalist, and is indispensable 
 to the Painter and to the Poet. Also, in large operations, 
 involving the external world, as in the military art, 
 engineering, the laying out of towns, plantations and gardens, 
 the visual endowment is the predominating circumstance ; 
 while the optical, or colour element, is still more important 
 than the element of form. 
 
 45. Among aggregates or eonjunctiGns, may be in- 
 cluded Maps, Diagrams, and Pictorial Eepresentations. 
 
 These artificial conjunctions are a large part of our higher 
 knowledge ; they bring to view, by a medium of representa- 
 tion, what we have no access to, in the reality. The reten- 
 tiveness for them follows the same laws, and is influenced by 
 the same conditions. According as they depend upon light 
 and shade and colour, on the one hand, or upon outline form, 
 on the other, they exercise the optical, or the muscular ad- 
 hesiveness of the sight When the complicacy is great, as in 
 a map, or a drawing, the varieties of light and colour are the 
 main fact; in mere skeleton diagrams, visible form is the 
 principal. The special interest varies according to circum- 
 stances. To the mind of Dr. Arnold, a map had intense fas- 
 cination ; it was suggestive of the multifarious human interest 
 of his recollections of history. 
 
 SUCCESSIONS. 
 
 46. The phenomena of the world may be divided into 
 the Co-existing and the Successive, although, so far as the 
 mind is concerned, the generic fact is Succession. 
 
112 EETENTIYENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 If we except such cases as-^oomplex and coinciding mus- 
 cnlar movements, the concurrence of sensations, through 
 different senses, at the same moment, and our mixed or 
 blended emotions, — our mental perceptions are all successive ; 
 we must shift the attention from point to point in viewing a 
 landscape, and mast make a corresponding series of jumps, 
 even in the reooUeotion. Oo-existence, as we have seen, is 
 an artificial growth, formed from a certain peculiar class of 
 mental successions. The subjective mind, in its power of 
 attention, is single and confined; it overtakes the object, 
 world, only by movement in time. 
 
 Still, after Corezistence has been established as something 
 distinct, we recognize, as its contrast, phenomena of Succes- 
 sion. All such phenomena, if by their uniformity or regu- 
 larity, they are iterated to the view, give rise to a corre- 
 sponding association in our ideas. 
 
 Successions of- Gyde. The successions that perform ii 
 cycle, as day and night, the moon's phases, the seasons of the 
 year, the routine of occupations and professions-r-are' en- 
 grained on our reeoUection, and make part of our expectation 
 of the future. 
 
 Successions of Evolution. These are chiefly exemplified in 
 living beings. It is the very nature of organized life to evolve 
 itself through a series of changes ; and this series, which is 
 characteristic for different ^ecies, enters into our knowledge 
 of living beings. To know a plant we nmst know it at every 
 stage. A certain number of observations made upon each 
 kind gives coherence in the mind to the successive aspects. 
 Wherever we have any special interest, as in farming, gar- 
 dening, rearLng stock, we become acquainted with every phase 
 in the order of development. The evolution of the human 
 beiug is impressed in our mind by repetition, and by the 
 quickening stimulus of our interest in humanity. Evolution 
 fartier applies to the course of disease, to any long operation, 
 as a process of law, and to the history of nations. When 
 there is a slight uncertainty in the issue, tiie additional interest 
 of plot may be roused. 
 
 Apart from the special interest in the unwinding of the 
 future, the associations of evolution are, in principle, not 
 materially different from the associations of still life. As 
 regards both Cycles and Evolutions, the laws or conditions of 
 adhesion are ilie same as has been repeatedly stated above, 
 in connexion with the aspects of the outer world. A more 
 definite peculiarity belongs to the successions next to be 
 named. 
 
IMPEESSIVENESS OF CAUSE AHD EFFECT. 113 
 
 Cause and Effect. Leaving out of view, for the present, 
 strict scientific causation, we may advert to what is commonly 
 regarded as cause and effect, namely, a sudden and impressive 
 change ; as when a blow is followed by a noise and a frac- 
 ,tnre. A large part of our knowledge of nature is made up of 
 these successions. 
 
 According to the general principle of Relativity, or 
 Change, we are impressed in proportion to the intensiiy and 
 the suddenness of any effect. So marked and powerful are 
 some effects, that one experience is remembered for life. The 
 explosion of gunpowder, the cutting away of a support to some 
 heavy body, the extinction of a life, — are so pungent and ex- 
 citing, that a second occurrence is unnecessary to stamp the 
 fact on the memory. The order of nature, in so far as com- 
 posed of these more sudden effects, is rapidly learnt. 
 
 The associations of things with their iises, or practical ap- 
 plications, involves the stimulus of cause and effect, together 
 with the farther interest of utility. A lever in itself is an un- 
 exciting visible object ; in operation, it produces the excite- 
 ment of change, and the gratification arising from a useful 
 end. Furniture, tools, and implements generally, are, in their 
 ideas, aggregates of visible appearance and tangible qualities, 
 togettier with their saperadded appearances when in use. 
 
 The scientific properties of objects, brought out by experi- 
 ment, or observed in the course of nature, often involve the 
 most startling effects, and are thereby quickly impressed upon 
 the mind. The distinguishing property of oxygen, to support 
 combustion, is for ever remembered by means of the experi- 
 ment of combustion in the pure gas. The properties of a salt 
 that affect the senses strongly, are learnt at once. The de- 
 composition of light by the prism is one of those startling 
 appearances that the stupidest person will remember through 
 the mei'e force of the sensation. 
 
 The Effects produced by our own agency are additionally 
 impressive. The antecedent in this case is our expended 
 energy, whose familiarity makes it the type of all causation. 
 There is nothing so well remembered by us, as the results of 
 our own actions ; we possess the cause in ourselves, and 
 there is occasionally added the charm of pride or complacency. 
 Hence, in studying natural processes, we succeed best by mak- 
 ing the observations and experiments for ourselves. 
 
 The most impressive part of our knowledge of living beings 
 — men and animals — consists in seeing them, now as acting, 
 and now as acted on. The effects that they produce upon 
 
114 EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 outward things, and the effects that outward agents produce 
 upon them, are remembered by us under the stimulus of 
 movement and change. There is a highly complex interest in 
 watching the movements of our fellow men ; the mere excite- 
 ment of change and effect is a part of the case ; our sym- 
 pathies, antipathies, fears, admiration, and other emotions, 
 lend impressiveness to the display. Thus, what may be called 
 the object part of our knowledge of human nature, depends, in 
 the first place, on our visible or pictorial retentiveness, and, in 
 the next place, on our susceptibility to the various feelings 
 awakened by the manifestations of humanity. 
 
 MECHANICAL ACQUISITIONS. 
 
 We have now touched on the chief classes of things asso- 
 ciated under Contiguity. To give the principles in another 
 light, we will allude to the recognized departments of 
 acquisition. 
 
 Under Mechanical Acquisitions, we include the whole of 
 handicraft industry and skill, as well as the use of the bodily 
 members in the more obvious and universal actions of daily 
 life. Whether for self-preservation and bodily comfort, for 
 industry, or for sport and recreation, we have to be educated 
 into a number of bodily aptitudes. 
 
 47. In Mechanical Acquirements, the conditions are : 
 (1) The endowments of the Active Organs ; (2) the deli- 
 cacy of the Sense concerned ; and (3) the special Interest. 
 
 (1) The endowments of the Active Organs are, first, mere 
 muscular vigour and strength, which we must assume as a 
 requisite, if only as biinging about persistency in exertion. 
 Secondly, we may assume as a separate fact, involving the 
 nerve centres, great Spontaneity, or the disposition to put forth 
 muscular activity, which does not always go along with mus- 
 cular development. Thirdly, and most vital of all, is the still 
 deeper peculiarity shown in the Perception of Graduated 
 Muscular expenditure and the retentiveness for muscular 
 groupings. 
 
 The first and second elements by themselves would deter- 
 mine the Active Temperament — the disposition and avidity for 
 bodily occupation, and the consequent readiness to apply to 
 all pursuits giving scope to this prompting. The third pecu- 
 liarity would most specifically contribute to the rapidity of 
 acquirement in the skilled exercise of the bodily organs. 
 
 (2) The delicacy of the special Sense concerned in the artj 
 
CONDITIONS OF MECHANICAL ACQUIREMENTS. 115 
 
 is of equal, if not of greater, importance. If it is to produce 
 cfiects of tactile delicacy, — as in surface polish, or soft consis- 
 tency, — a nice touch is requisite ; if the work is judged by 
 colour, the optical part of sight is demanded ; if to produce 
 musical or articulate effects, the ear is involved. 
 
 No amount of flexibility or compass of the active or^an 
 will enable us to rise above our discrimination of the effect pro- 
 duced ; and an inferior flexibility will be greatly extended by 
 the effort to comply with a delicate perception. Moreover, 
 the associations of mechanical skill are, as has been seen, a 
 mixture of grouped muscular movements and situations with 
 sensible impressions ; and the importance of the sensible part 
 has been shown by the failure of the other connexions on its 
 being withdrawn. 
 
 (3) The special Interest in the work may flow from 
 various sources. The possession of the active endowments is 
 an inducement to exercise them, and all exercise within the 
 scope of one's powers is agreeable ; while superiority is still 
 more agreeable. Then, as regards the Sense : a sensibi- 
 lity highly developed, say for colour, is a source of pleasure, 
 as well as of discrimination. Besides these modes of interest, 
 growing out of the possession of the natural aptitudes, there 
 may be adventitious sources. It not unfrequently happens 
 that a charm attaches to something not within the compass of 
 our aptitudes. We may have sufficient musical ear to enjoy 
 music, but not to acquire the musical art ; and the same with, 
 colour. We then have a sort of admiration for a power that 
 gives us a pleasure, and that we do not possess. Finally, 
 whatever circumstances give an artificial value to mechanical 
 acquirements, incline our devotion to them, and so facilitate 
 our progress. 
 
 48. In the conduct of mechanical training, regard is to 
 be had to the vigour and freshness of the system ; and the 
 exercises must be continued long enough to bring the 
 energies into full play. 
 
 The physical vigour and freshness, both of the moving 
 organs, and of the senses, being a prime requisite, mechanical 
 dnll is most effectual in the early hours of the day, and after 
 the refreshment of meals. The exercise should be continued 
 long enough to draw the circulation and the nervous agency 
 copiously towards the organs exercised ; at the outset of an 
 operation, there is both a stiffness of the parts and a feeling 
 of fatigue, both transitory ; the blood as yet has not found its 
 
116 KETENTIVENESS — LA.W OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 way to the members engaged. When, at a later stage, genuine 
 fatigue comes on, the exercise should cease; the cohesive 
 power is then at a minimtim. In the army, recmits are 
 drilled three times a-day — early morning, after breakfast, and 
 after dinner — for an hour and a half to two hours each time. 
 The apprentice at a trade learns by fits and snatches, and 
 mixes up the performance of work with the acquisition of 
 new powers. The pains special to the learner are of two 
 sorts — fatigue of the attention, and the exhaustion caused by 
 repeated trials and failures. 
 
 ACQUISITIONS IN LANGUAGE. 
 
 49. First, Oral Language. This acquisition involves 
 an active endowment — Articulation by the Voice ; and a 
 sense — the Ear. 
 
 The beginnings of articulation belong to the early stage of 
 the voluntary acquirements. The child must first arrive at 
 the power of articulating single letters and syllables ; these 
 are then united into words ; and words are conjoined into 
 sentences. 
 
 As in the case of the Active organs for mechanical acquisi- 
 tion generally, we must assume as the conditions of articulate 
 cohesiveness, (1) the muscular vigour of the larynx and asso- 
 ciated members, (2) the vocal spontaneity, and (3) most im- 
 portant of all, the special discrimination and retentiveness 
 attaching to the vocal movements, connected, we may suppose, 
 with the high organization' of the allied motor centres. 
 
 Next, is the delicacy of the Ear for Articulate Efiects, 
 implying both discrimination and retentiveness, the first being 
 accepted as a criterion of the second. This endowment may 
 be looked upon as related to the special nerve centres of hear- 
 ing (on the passive or ingoing side of the brain). 
 
 When these two natural endowments stand high, the 
 acquisition of words and of verbal sequences will proceed with 
 proportionate rapidity. If there be a good general adhesive- 
 ness in addition, the progress will be stUl greater. Moreover, 
 language is the acquisition of words, not by themselves, 
 but in association with things. Hence, the next condition : — 
 
 50. As language is an association of names with 
 objects or meanings, we must include, as a condition, the 
 law of heterogeneous adhesion. 
 
 That is to say, we are to look to the goodness of the asso- 
 
SPECIA.L INTEKEST IN LANGUAGE. 117 
 
 ciations (inter se) of speecli on the one hand, and of the 
 objects named on the other, as formerly explained. We 
 learn much sooner the names of things that impress ns, than 
 of those that do not. Each man's vocabulary is made up, by 
 preference, of the names of the objects that interest himself; 
 the Naturalist knows more names of his own department than 
 of other departments. 
 
 51. Besides the mere vocabulary, Language includes a 
 great number of definite arrangements of words, with a 
 view to its various ends, and subject to grammatical and 
 other laws. 
 
 We have not only to name things, but to make affirma- 
 tions about them, and, in other ways to unite or compose 
 consecutive statements. These forms may be exceedingly 
 numerous and varied for the same meaning or purpose. Their 
 ready acquisition is almost exclusively governed by the cir- 
 cumstances of pure verbal adhesion. The fluent orator, the 
 difiFiise and illustrative writer, the poet, must excel in mere 
 verbal abundance,, irrespective of tiie limits of the subject 
 matter. 
 
 52. While the acquisition of language must depend, in 
 the first instance, upon the opportunities of hearing and 
 speaking, the effect of Kepetition is greatly modified by 
 special interest. 
 
 Of the mass of language that passes through the ear, only 
 a selection is retained, and that selection, although partly de- 
 pending on iteration, is also greatly dependent on our interest 
 in the subjects, and our liking for special modes of describing 
 the same subject. 
 
 A man's vocabulary wiU show who he has kept company 
 with, what books he has studied, what departments he knows ; 
 it will show farther his predominating tastes, emotions, or 
 likings. We see in Milton, for example, his peculiar erudi- 
 tion, and also his strong fascination for whatever was large, 
 lofty, vast, powerftil, or sublime. In Shakespeare, the ad- 
 hesiveness for language as such, was so great, that it seemed 
 to include every species of terms in nearly equal proportions. 
 Only a very narrow examination enables us to detect his pre- 
 ferences, or his lines of study, and veins of more special 
 interest. 
 
 Many terms and forms of language are permanently en- 
 grained by some purely accidental concentration of the mind, 
 
118 KETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 or awakening of attention. Thns, -when we happen to hare 
 felt very mnch the want of a word, before being told it, the im- 
 pression is a durable one. Any interesting circumstance attend- 
 ing the ntterance of a phrase stamps it for ever. The emphasis 
 of a great orator, or actor, wUl impress his peculiarity of 
 language. 
 
 53. As regards Elocution, the powers of the voice are 
 subservient to the Ear for Cadence. 
 
 The Ear for Cadence is probably a sense partaking both 
 of the musical and the articulate ear. Either of these alone, 
 in the greatest perfection, with the other deficient, would not 
 suffice for the actor or the elocutionist. The fine sense of 
 cadence stores the mind with many strains or melodies of 
 utterance, which the orator reproduces in his oral delivery, 
 choosing, if need be, the words that give most scope to the 
 melody. 
 
 The purest exercise of verbal adhesiveness is seen in vocal 
 mimicry, which demands the endowments of voice, articulate 
 ear, and ear for cadence, with little besides. 
 
 54. Written language appeals to the sense of Arbitrary 
 Visible Fonns. 
 
 Written symbols depend for their adhesiveness on the 
 muscular endowment of the eye and its related nerve centres. 
 A well-known aid to verbal memory is to write with one's 
 own hand what has to be remembered. The effect of this 
 is not simply to add a new line of adhesion, the arm and 
 fingra: recollections — although we might remember by these — 
 but to impress the forms upon the eye, through the concen- 
 trated attention of the act of copying. . 
 
 55. Short modes of acquiring languages have been 
 often sought ; but there are no rules special to language. 
 Any undue stimulus of the attention to one thing is at 
 the expense of something else. 
 
 Health, regularity, method, the absence of distractions, 
 are the conditions favourable to all acquisition ; granting 
 these, each mind has a certain amount of adhesive aptitude, 
 which may be distributed in one way or in another, but 
 cannot be added to. A language involves a certain definite 
 number of adhesive growths, drawing upon the adhesive 
 capability to a proportionate degree. What is spent upon 
 that must be taken from something else. It will afterwards 
 
INFOKMATION CONVEYED IN LANGUAGE. 119 
 
 be seen, that acqiiisition is economized by the detection of 
 similarities ; and this has a special application to the study of 
 languages that are cognate to one 'another. It is now the 
 custom for good teachers of the classical, as well as of the con- 
 tinental, tongues, to lay open the deeper affinities with our 
 own, so as thereby to promote the memory of the vocables. 
 
 56. A good verbal adhesiveness is of value in the me- 
 mory of knowledge or information conveyed in language. 
 
 The repetition of speeches, poetry, &c., by rote is an 
 exercise of the verbal memory. Sir Walter Scott had this 
 power, although doubtless it was greatest where the subject 
 inspired his feelings. Macaulay was distinguished by his ver- 
 bal memory. Such men, by their memory for words, remem- 
 bered also the information attached to the words. In the 
 extreme cases of this endowment, the memory of an exposition 
 or discourse is consistent with a total ignorance of the meaning. 
 
 EETENTIVENESS IN SCIENCE. 
 
 57. Knowledge, as Science, is liable, in a greater or less 
 degree, to be clothed in artificial and uninteresting sym- 
 bols, in which guise it has to be held in the mind. 
 
 ramiliar and matter-of-fact knowledge may be embraced 
 under the sensible and concrete forms of nature : the ris- 
 ing of the sun is a phenomenon of visible succession. But 
 in Astronomy, the gorgeous march of the heavenly bodies ap- 
 pears as a mass of algebraical calculations. 
 
 58. Sciences are divided into Object Sciences — those 
 of external nature, and Subject Sciences, or those relating 
 to mind. 
 
 The Object Sciences range between the most Concrete, 
 as Natui'al History, and the most Abstract, as Mathematics. 
 
 In the more Concrete and Experimental Sciences, as the 
 Natural History group (Mineralogy, Botany, Zoology, Ac), 
 Geography, Anatomy, Chemistry, Heat, Electricity, — the 
 actual appearances to the senses constitute a large part of 
 the subject matter ; hence in them, the Concrete mind (whose 
 starting point is Colour) wUl be at home. The number or 
 detail of the visible aspects is such as to need this endowment. 
 Still, as sciences, they involve gfeneralization and general 
 notions, and cannot be divorced from the arbitrary symbolism 
 or macidnery suited to the high generalities ; hence they may 
 
120 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITT. 
 
 be regarded as the mixed type of Science. The pure type is 
 seen in the next class. 
 
 The Abstract Sciences are Mathematics, the mathematical 
 parts of Natural Philosophy, much of Chemistry and Physi- 
 ology, and the more technical parts of the other Concrete 
 Sciences. These, when in character, are represented to the 
 mind by numbers, by line diagrams, by symbols and signs, 
 most frequently adopted from the alphabet, but united in un- 
 familiar and repulsive combinations; while many of the 
 generalities are expressed in ordinary language, but in the 
 most abstract terms of language. 
 
 As mere sense presentation, this machinery is laid hold of 
 by the eye for form reposing on the muscular retentiveness of 
 vision. It is, as it were, a variety of written language, also 
 named orally so as to obtain a concurring hold on the ear. 
 The interest of colour is set aside ; the forms have no aesthetic 
 charm. The motive that quickens the natural adhesiveness 
 of the eye for forms, must be some extraneous interest 
 
 That interest is the interest of Truth in its comprehensive- 
 ness or generality. This is the inducement to lay up in the 
 mind uninteresting forms, and to endure the labour attendant 
 on abstract notions and reasonings. 
 
 59. The Subject Sciences, those of Mind proper, are 
 grounded on self-consciousness, or introspective attention. 
 
 Although the science of mind includes many phenomena 
 of an Object character, — namely, the bodily manifestatious of 
 mind, and the actions of living beings, as prompted by their 
 feelings, — ^yet the essential properties of mind are known only 
 in each one's self-consciousness. 
 
 There being no special medium of observation for the 
 phenomena of mind, like the eye, the ear, or the touch, for the 
 departments of the object world, we must follow a different 
 course in endeavouring to assign the special attitude for dis- 
 criminating and retaining the self-conscious states generally. 
 
 60. The special ciicumstances favouring the accumu- 
 lation of knowledge in regard to mental, or subject states, 
 are the Absence, or moderate pressure, of Object regards, 
 and Interest in the department. 
 
 As we cannot appeal to a positive endowment, a mental 
 eye, analogous to the bodily eye for colour, we may sup- 
 pose that the waking consciousness, being divide'd between 
 Object and Subject regards, may in each person incline more 
 
CONDITIONS OF SUBJECTIVE ACQXJIEEMENTS. 121 
 
 to one than to the other. Given a certain native power of 
 intellect, the direction taken by it, will determine the intellect- 
 tual character. If the Object regards are exclusive or over- 
 powering, the knowledge of the Subject, as such, will be at 
 its lowest ebb. 
 
 The circumstances favouring the Objective attention can 
 be assigned, with great probability, and their remission would 
 therefore account for the Subjective attention. These objective 
 circumstances are, first, great spontaneous muscular activity 
 in aU its forms, and next, a high development of the senses 
 most allied with object properties, as sight, touch, and hear- 
 ing. Where the forces of the system are profusely determined 
 towards bodily energies, the character is rendered pre-emi- 
 nently objective ; whereas, not only persons differently con- 
 stituted, but the same persons under advancing years, illness, 
 and confinement of the energies, are thrown more npon self- 
 consciousness, and exhibit the consequences of this attitude, 
 in greater knowledge of the feelings, more sympathy with 
 others, and an ethical or moralizing tendency. Again, as re- 
 gards the Object senses, a strong susceptibility to colour, or 
 to music, or to tactile properties, operates in the direction of 
 the object regards ; if these sensibilities are only average, or 
 below average, in a mind of great general powers, a large 
 share of attention will be given to subject states. On the 
 other extreme, great organic sensibility inclines the regards 
 to the subject-self. 
 
 61. In order to indicate the medium, or organ, of 
 mental study, a faculty was designated for that purpose, 
 by Eeid and Stewart, under the name 'Consciousness.' 
 Hamilton spoke of the same power as the ' Presentatiye 
 Faculty' for Self. 
 
 ' Reflection' had been previously used by Locke, to mean 
 the source of our knowledge of the Subject world ; the name, 
 however, was not well chosen. The word ' Consciousness ' is 
 preferable ; but if consciousness be comprehensively applied 
 to the Object as well as to the Subject regards, the qualified 
 form ' Self-consciousness ' is still more suitable ; it is also 
 justified by common usage. 
 
 Hamilton calls the first source of our knowledge of facts, 
 the faculty of Presentation. The Senses are the Presen- 
 tative medium for the object world ; Self-consciousness is the 
 Presentation of the subject world. 
 
122 EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUIXr, 
 
 BUSINESS, OK PRACTICAL LIFE. 
 
 62. The Education of the higher Industry, as opposed 
 to mere handicraft, varies with the different departments. 
 Among the elements involved, we may specify (1) an 
 acquaintance with Material forms and properties, (2) cer- 
 tain technical Formalities akin to science, and (3) a prac- 
 tical knowledge of Human beings. 
 
 (1) The knowledge of a certain class of natural properties 
 is involved in the varions' industrial arts, — in Agriculture, 
 Manufactures, and Commerce. This is not essentially distinct 
 from scientific knowledge, although differently selected and 
 circumscribed. The scientific attribute, generality, is not so 
 much aimed at, as precision or certainty in the particular 
 apphcations. The steel-worker must have a minute acquaint- 
 ance with the properties of steel; the cotton-spinner must 
 know all the shades and varieties of the material. 
 
 (2) The formalities of book-keeping, and the modes of 
 reckoning money transactions, are of the nature of arbitrary 
 forms, like Arithmetic and Mathematics. 
 
 (3) In many practical departments, as statesmanship, 
 oratory, teaching, &c., human beings are the material, and the 
 knowledge of them, in the practical shape, is a prime requisite. 
 The same knowledge is of avail to the employer of workmen, 
 and to the trader who has to negotiate in the market with 
 other human beings. 
 
 The comprehensive Interest in the present case is worldly 
 means, which is a far higher spur to attention than truth. 
 There are special likings for special avocations, owing to the 
 incidents of each suiting different individuaUties. Another 
 biassing circumstance is the greater honour attached to certain 
 professions. 
 
 There is a close relation, in point of mental aptitude, 
 between the higher walks of material Industry and the Con- 
 crete or Experimental Sciences ; and between the formal de- 
 partments, as Law and Mathematics. The management of 
 human beings would depend upon the aptitude for the sub- 
 ject sciences. 
 
 ACQUISITIONS IN THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 63. Fine Art constructions are intended to give a cer- 
 tain species of pleasure, named the pleasure of Beauty, 
 Taste, or ^Esthetic emotion. 
 
CONDITIONS OF FINE ART ACQUIREMENTS. 123 
 
 The nsaally recognized Fine Arts are Architecture, Sculp- 
 ture, Painting, Poetry, Dramatic display. Refined Address, 
 Dancing, Music. Their common end is refined pleasure, 
 although their means or instrumentality is difierent. They 
 are divided between the Eye and the Ear, the two higher 
 senses. Poetry and Acting combine both. 
 
 64. The most general conditions of acquisition in Fine 
 Art are (1) Mechanical Aptitude, (2) Adhesiveness for the 
 Subject-matter of the Art, and (3) Artistic sensibility. 
 
 (1) In those Arts where the artist is a mechanical work- 
 man, he requires corresponding Active endowments. The 
 singer, the actor, the orator, need powers of voice (strength, 
 spontaneity, and the condition that determines alike discrimi- 
 nation and retentireness) : the actor and orator are farther in 
 want of corresponding powers of feature and gesture. The 
 instrumental performer of music, the painter, and the sculptor, 
 are workers with the hand. The architect and poet are 
 exempted from the present condition. 
 
 (2) An adhesiveness for the Subject or Material of the 
 Art is of consequence as storing the mind with available re- 
 collections and forms. The painter and poet should have 
 extensive memories for the pictorial in nature, as mere visible 
 display, without regard to beauty in the first instance. The 
 poet should have, in addition, a mind well stored with 
 vocables, and with their melodious and metrical combiuations. 
 The actor should have an eye and memory for gestures. The 
 musician would derive advantage from an adhesiveness for 
 sounds as such. 
 
 (3) The Artistic feeling is the guide to the employment of 
 these powers and resources, and the motive for concentrating 
 attention upon such objects as gratify it. The Artist must 
 have a special and distinguishing sensibility for the proper 
 effects of his art; proportions in Architecture, fine curves 
 and groupings in Sculpture, colour harmonies in Painting, 
 melody in Music, and. so on. To have a large command of 
 material, without artistic selection is to fail in the proper 
 sphere of art ; a pictorial mind, without aesthetic feeling, might 
 make a naturalist or a geographer, but not a painter or a 
 poet. The profuse command of original conceptions was ap- 
 parent in Bacon, but not a poet's delicacy in applying them. 
 
 HISTORY AND NARRATIVE. 
 65. The successions of events and transactions in 
 human life, remembered and related, make History. 
 
124 RETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 The adhesion for witnessed or narrated events is often 
 looked upon as a characteristic exhibition of memory. Bacon, 
 in dividing human knowledge, according to oar faculties, 
 assigned History to Memory, Philosophy to Reason, Poetry 
 to Imagination. 
 
 66. Transactions witnessed impress themselves as Sen- 
 sations, principally of Sight and of Sound, aad as Actions, 
 when the spectator is also an agent. 
 
 A pageant, ceremony, or other pictorial display commends 
 itself to the pictorial memory. , Most active demonstrations 
 are accompanied, more or less, with effects of sound ; human 
 agency is usually attended with the exercise of speech. 
 
 Historical transactions have an interest with human beings 
 generally, although with some more than others. Hence the 
 memory for witnessed events, being the result of a stimulated 
 attention, is usually good. 
 
 Sometimes a single transaction is, in its minutest details, 
 remembered for life. This is owing partly to the length of 
 time occupied in attending to it, partly to the interest excited, 
 and partly to the frequent mental repetition and verbal narra- 
 tion afterwards. 
 
 67. Transactions narrated obtain the aid of the Verbal 
 memory. 
 
 A narrative is a complex stream of imagery and language. 
 In so far as we can realize the picture of the events, we con- 
 nect the succession pictorially ; in so far as we remember the 
 flow of words, we retain it verbally. Probably, in most cases, 
 the memory is formed now by one bond, now by another ; 
 difierent minds portioning out the recollection differently 
 between the two. 
 
 OUR PAST LIFE. 
 
 68. The complex current of each one's existence is 
 made up of all our Actions, Sensations, Emotions, Thoughts, 
 as they happened. 
 
 Our own actions are retained in various shapes. 
 
 (1) Inasmuch as they produce a constantly altered spec- 
 tacle about us, they form alliances with our sensations. A 
 walk in the country, although a fact of energy or activity, is 
 remembered as a series of pictorial aspects. The same is true 
 of our executed work ; an artist's finished picture is the em- 
 bodiment of his labour for a length of time, and the easiest 
 form of remembering it. 
 
EMBODIMENT OF OUR PAST LIFE. 125 
 
 (2) If we remember actions as such, and apart from the 
 correlative changes of sensible appearance, it is as ideal move- 
 inents, for ■which we have a certain adhesiveness, varying no 
 doubt with the motor endowments as a whole. If we re- 
 member an action sufficiently to do it again, we remember it 
 also ideally. We remember our verbal utterances, partly as 
 connected threads of vocal exertion. StUl, we rarely depend 
 on this single thread. A surgeon may remember how he 
 operated for stone, by his memory of hand movements ; but 
 the sensible results of the different stages im.press him much 
 miore, 
 
 The memory of onr feelings or emotions, in their pure 
 subject character, as in pleasure and pain, comes under the 
 proper adhesiveness of the subject states. Allusion has been 
 made to the permanent recollection of states of pleasure and 
 pain, as a thing variable in individuals, and of great import- 
 ance in its practical results. It was also remarked that no 
 law can be laid down as governing this department, no special 
 endowment of sensibility pointed out, except the negation of 
 extreme object regards, in a mind of good general retentive- 
 ness. 
 
 CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS ON RETENTIVENESS. 
 
 69. (1) There is some difficulty in establishing what we 
 have named general Retentiveness, seeing that so much de- 
 pends on the special organ, and on the interest excited. Still, 
 when we encounter a person distinguished as a learner gener- 
 ally, with a strong bent for acquisition in all departments — 
 bodUy skUl, languages, sciences, fine arts — we seem justified in 
 representing the case as an example of adhesive power on the 
 whole, and not as an aggregate of local superiorities. The 
 renowned ' admirable Crichton' is a historical example of the 
 class. And we find many men that are almost equally good 
 in language and in science, in business and in fine art. More- 
 over, the superiority of man over the lower animals is general 
 and perva.^ve, and better expressed by a general retentiveness 
 than by the sum of special and local distinctions. 
 
 (2) There can be no question as to the superior retentive- 
 ness or plasticity of early years. We cannot state with pre- 
 cision the comparative adhesiveness of different ages, but from 
 the time that the organs are fully under command, onward 
 through life, there appears to be a steady decrease. The for- 
 mation of bodily habits seems to be favoured not solely by 
 nervous conditions, at their maximum in youth, but by mus- 
 
126 EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY. 
 
 cnlar conditions also ; the growing stage of the muscles being 
 the stage of easiest adaptation to new movements. 
 
 As regards the mental peculiarities, the earliest periods are 
 most snsceptible to Moral impressions ; also to Physical habits, 
 such as bodily carriage, the mechanical part of language (pro- 
 nunciation), or the use of the hand as in drawing. After these, 
 come the Yerbal memory, and the exercise of the senses in 
 Observation, with the corresponding pictorial recollections. 
 The Generalizing, Abstracting, and Scientific faculties are 
 much later; Arithmetic, Grammar, Geometry, Physical Science, 
 &c., begin to be possible from abont the tenth year onwards. 
 Up to fourteen or sixteen, the concrete side of education must 
 prevail with the vast majority, although, by that time, a good 
 many abstract elements should be mastered, more especially 
 mathematics and grammar. The basis of every aptitude, not 
 of a high scientific kind, should be laid before sixteen. 
 
 (3) The limitation of the acquirements possible to each 
 person has been repeatedly noticed. There are reasons for 
 believing that this hmitation has for its physical counterpart 
 the limited number of the nervous elements. Each distinct 
 mode of consciousness, each distinct adhesive grouping, would 
 appear to appropriate a distinct track of nervous communi- 
 cations, involving a definite number of fibres and of cells or 
 corpuscles ; and numerous as are the component fibres and 
 cells of the brain (they must be counted by millions) they 
 are still limited ; one brain possesses more than another, but 
 all have their limitations. 
 
 It is hardly correct to speak of improving the Memory as 
 a whole. We may, by devotion to a particular subject, make 
 great acquisitions in that subject ; or we may, by habits of 
 attention to a certain class of things, remember those things 
 better than others ; but the plasticity on the whole, although 
 susceptible of being economized, is scarcely susceptible of 
 being increased. No doubt by leaving the other powers of the 
 mind in abeyance — those entering into B«ason, Imagination, 
 &c. — and by not wasting ourselves in the excitement of the 
 feelings, we may determine a certain additional portion of the 
 collective mental energies to plastic acquisition ; but this is 
 still to divert power, not to create it. 
 
 (4) There is a temporary adhesivetiess, serving many of 
 the occasions of daily life. When we have to follow a direc- 
 tion, to convey a message, to answer a question, to put a fact 
 on record, a few minutes' retention is all that is necessary. 
 In such instances, we falfil the requirements before the pre- 
 sent impression has died away. 
 
TJIMPOKARY KETENTIVENESS. 127 
 
 The next grade of adhesiveness is represented by the 
 superior readiness and liveliness of recollection for things that 
 have occurred within a few hours or a few days, or perhaps 
 months. It is the difference between days, or weeks, and 
 years of interval. The things are supposed to have gone 
 completely out of mind, to have been overlaid by many newer 
 impressions ; stUl we find that nearness in time makes a great 
 difference ; that as our impressions go into the far past, with- 
 out being renewed, they tend to decay; that, after a few 
 years, extinction has come over a great many that were good 
 for a few months, especially such as were formed late in life. 
 
 What is called cramming is a case of temporary adhesive- 
 ness. But the reproach implied in this name attaches more 
 to the circumstance that the acquisitions are made by an undue 
 pressure and excitement of the brain, which can be only tem- 
 porary, and ends in an exhaustion of the plastic forces. An 
 even pace of acquirement, within the Umits of the strength, 
 is the true economy in the long run. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 AGEEEMENT— LAW OF SIMILAEITT. 
 
 1. The statement of this law is as follows : — 
 
 Present Actions, Sensations, Thoughts, or Emotions 
 tend to revive their Like among previously oc- 
 curring states. 
 
 Contiguity joins together things that occur together, or 
 that are, by any circumstance, presented to the mind at the 
 same tmie ; as when we associate heat with light, a falling body 
 with a concussion. But, in addition to this link of reproduc- 
 tive connexion, we find that one thing will, by virtue of simi- 
 larity, recall another separated from it in time, as when a 
 portrait brings up the original. 
 
 The second fundamental property of Intellect, termed 
 Consciousness of Agreement, or Similarity, is thus a great 
 power of mental reproduction, or a means of recovering past 
 mental states. It was recognized by Aristotle as one of the 
 links in the succession of our thoughts. 
 
128 AGREEMENT — ^LAW OF SIMILAKITT. 
 
 2, Similarity, in one form, is implied under Contiguity. 
 "When a contiguous bond is confirmed by repeated exer- 
 cises, each new impression must recall the total of the past. 
 
 In order that we may, by repetition, attain an enduring 
 idea of the winding of a river, seen from the same point, each 
 new view must reinstate the effect of the previous ; which is 
 a species of the attraction of similarity. In such a case, how- 
 ever, the similarity amounts to identity, and is never f ailin g 
 in its operation. There is no need to mention what can with 
 certainty be counted on ; hence this condition of the success of 
 contiguous association was tacitly assumed. The cases that 
 demand our attention are those where the similarity does not 
 amount to identity, and where it may fail to operate : the 
 circumstances leading to the failure or the success are then a 
 matter of distinct enquiry. 
 
 3. The impediments to the sure revival of the Past, 
 through the bond of similarity, are Faintness and Diversity. 
 
 There are cases where a present impression is too Feeble 
 to strike into the old-established track of the same impression, 
 and to make it alive again ; as when we are unable to iden- 
 tify a faint colour, or to recognize a visible object in twilight 
 dimness. This forms one department of diEB.eult and doubtftil 
 re-instatement. The most numerous and interesting cases, 
 however, come under the head of Diversity, or likeness accom- 
 panied by unlikenesB ; as when an air is played with new 
 variations, or on strange instruments. It wiU then depend 
 upon various circumstances, whether or not we shall be sixack 
 with the similarity. 
 
 It will appear, as we proceed, that there are the greatest 
 individual differences, in respect of the power of re-instating 
 a past experience through similarity, under the obstructions 
 caused by faintness and diversity. This power would seem 
 to follow laws of its own, and not to rise or fall in the propor- 
 tion of the Contiguons adhesiveness. As with Contiguity, how- 
 ever, so here we find the facts to tally best with the assump- 
 tion of a General Power of attraction for Similars, modified by 
 the Local endowments of the Senses. Each intellect woidd 
 seem to be gifted with a certain degree of SimUarity on the 
 whole, or for things generally ; such general power being con- 
 sistent with special differences, iaccording to the same local. 
 pecuUarities as we have allowed for in Contiguity. These 
 will be made to appear in the illustration of the workings of 
 
CONDITIONS OF EECOGNIZING FEEBLE IMPRESSIONS. 129 
 
 Similarity, first under the disadvantage of Faintness, and 
 secondly, and at greater length, under the obstruction of 
 Diversity. 
 
 FEEBLENESS OF IMPRESSION. 
 
 4. Under a certain degree of Faintiiess, a present im- 
 pression will be unable to recall the past, even, although 
 the resemblance amounts to identity/ 
 
 When a present impression is very f9.int or feeble, it is the 
 same as no impression at all. Nevertheless, we are interested 
 in considering the instances, of not unfreqnent occurrence, 
 where a faint impression is recognized by one man and not by 
 another. Suppose a taste. In the case of a very feeble brine, 
 many persons might consider the water quite fcesh ; others 
 agaui would discern the taste of the salt ; that is to say, the 
 present impression of salt would recall the previous cplleptive 
 impression of the taste of salt, and with that the name and 
 characters, or the fall knowledge of salt; in other words, 
 would identify the substance. 
 
 (1) Let us reflect on the mental peculiarity that may be 
 supposed to cause the difierence. In the first place, we must 
 admit that the natural delicacy of the sense of Taste might 
 vary. We know that all the senses are subject to individual 
 variations of natural acuteness ; the readiest test of the com- 
 parative acuteness being the power of Discrimination, which 
 power also implies a delicate sense of Agreement, as weU as a 
 special force of Retentiveness. In the same way, a delicate 
 sense of smeU, as in the dog, would show itself in identifying 
 very faint odours ; a good ear would make out fainter impres- 
 sions of sound ; an eye for. colour would recognize a faint shade of 
 yellow in what to another eye would seem the absence of cplpur. 
 
 (2) In the second place, through familiarity,, or other 
 cause, the previous impression might he more deeply engrained in 
 one mind than in another ; as a consequence of which, it would 
 start out on a slighter touch of present stimulus. ; We shotJd 
 expect this to happen from the very nature of the case, and 
 we know, by abuidance of familiar facte, that it does happen. 
 The sailor identifies a ship in the ofBag, and, determines its 
 buUd, sooner than a landsman. According as our familiarity 
 with spoken language increases, we identify the faintest whis- 
 per, or most indistinct utterance. It matters not by what 
 means the previous impression has been rendered deep and 
 strong^T-fwhether by mere iteration, or by the influence of 
 feeUng. 
 
 9 
 
130 AGREEMENT— LAW OF SIMILABITT. 
 
 (3) A third possible source of inequality, in recognizing a 
 faint impression, is the habit of attending to the particular 
 class of impressions. This may be otherwise described, as 
 the acquired delieaxy of the sense; by repeated acts of attention 
 or concentration of mind, on any one sense, or any one region of 
 things, a habitual concentration is determined, augmenting, by 
 so much, the natural delicacy of the sense. Hence all profes- 
 sional habits of regarding some particular objects, render the 
 individuals susceptible to the feeblest impression of any one 
 of those objects. 
 
 It need not be made the subject of a separate head, that 
 the nndistracted condition of the mind at the time, necessarily 
 favours the power of making out the identity. A full concen- 
 tration of the observing powers is supposed in order to do 
 justice to the case ; the concentration may, or may not, be 
 aided by motives of special interest, or by circumstances that 
 excite the nervous energy beyond its ordinary pitch. 
 
 These three conditions, Offering in origin or source, have 
 one common effect, namely, to give greater strength or inten- 
 sity to the previous impression. They may be considered as 
 exhausting the local and special aids to the restoration of a 
 past state by Similarity, under the disadvantage of feebleness 
 in the present or actual stimulus. If we assume, in addition, 
 a General Power of Similarity, greater in some minds than in 
 others, we seem to exhaust the means of accounting for supe- 
 rior power of identification in the case of Feebleness. 
 
 For the sake of clearness,, let us repeat the four conditions 
 in a summary statement. 
 
 I. General Powers of Similarity. This is the deep and 
 pervasive aptitude, the intellectual gift, good for all classes of 
 impressions. 
 
 II. Special! and Local Circnmstancea 
 
 (1) Natural delicacy or acuteness of Sense. 
 
 (2) The depth or intensity of the previous impression. 
 
 (3) Acquired delicacy, or habitual attention, to a parti- 
 cular class of things. 
 
 AU these considerations are no less applicable to the means 
 of conquering the obstruction of Diversity ; they must, how- 
 ever, for that case, be supplemented by a fourth special cir- 
 cumstance, to be presently mentioned. 
 
 SIMILABITT IN DIVEESITT— SENSATIONa 
 
 5. Movements, Feelings of Movement, and Sensations 
 
OBSTKTTCTIVE OF DIVERSITY. 131 
 
 generally, are revived in idea, by the force of partial simi- 
 larity, or likeness in diiference. 
 
 When a portrait brings to our mind the original, it is by 
 virtue of similarity ; the difiFerences between painted canvass 
 and a living man or woman do not bUnd ns to the points of 
 likeness. Increase the diversity, however, by dress, attitude, 
 , and by idealizing the features, and the remaining likeness 
 may be insnf&cient to recall the original ; the diverse circum- 
 stances carry the mind away from the points of similarity. 
 
 As regards Diversity, therefore, the distinctive feature is 
 the influence of the points of dissimilarity. These, by the 
 general law, have a tendency to call up their like ; and hence 
 a struggle of opposing iufluences. A person that we have 
 seen only in ordinary costume is painted in military or official 
 uniform. Viewing the picture, we may be instigated, by 
 similarity, in various directions. As a portrait, the picture 
 may suggest other portraits, the reviving stroke of similarity- 
 operating upon the painter's execution. Or the military 
 dress may suggest some soldier by profession. Lastly, the 
 portrait may recaU: its original by the resemblance of the face. 
 Three persons looking at the same portrait may thus be 
 moved in three different lines of mental resuscitation ; and 
 to each one there wiU. be an attraction of likeness in diver- 
 sity ; the points of diversity, by their own independent attrac- 
 tions, operating as a hindrance to the similarity. Whichever 
 point brings on the recall is the likeness ; the others are the 
 nnlikenesses ; and in their efforts to recall their own simili- 
 tudes, they count for so much dead weight against the suc- 
 cessful identity. 
 
 It is thus apparent that the circumstance special to the 
 obstruction caused by Diversity, is the striving of the separate 
 features, each for itself, to strike the recall. Hence, besides 
 the three special circumstances contributing to resuscitation, 
 under Faintness, we must now add a fourth — namely, (4) a 
 low or inferior suse^Ubility to the points of diversity. 
 
 6. Movefments and Feelings of Movement. Before proceeding 
 to the Sensations proper, we may advert to the one case of 
 movement that furnishes interesting examples of Similarity, 
 namely. Articulate movements, or Speech. Any train of 
 words presently uttered is liable to recall previous trains 
 containing salient identities, although in the midst of differ- 
 ence. In using a particular phrase, or in telling an anecdote, 
 we are Hable to be made aware that we are repeating our- 
 
132 AGEEEMENT— LAW OF SIMTLAKITY. 
 
 selves. We may trace similarities still farther removed from 
 identity. In uttering the expression ' rights of property,' we 
 may be led to remember a famous saying, that ' property has 
 its duties as well as its rights.' Coincidences of phraseology 
 in authors are thus recalled. Pronouncing Campbell's lines — 
 
 — :- we linger to survey 
 The promis'd joys of life's unmeasured way, 
 
 we can hardly fail to recall, if we have previously read. Pope's— 
 
 we tremble to survey 
 
 The. growing labours of the lengthened way. 
 
 Verbal similitudes form one powerful link in the resuscitations 
 necessary for continuous address or composition. They are 
 favoured by all the special circumstances above laid down — 
 the verbal or articulate susceptibility, natural and acquired, 
 the previous familiarity, and the low susceptibility to the dif- 
 
 • ferences between the new and old, which differences may be 
 sometimes in the words, but as often in the sense ; the conse- 
 quence being that a regard to meaning or sense is often a 
 bar to verbal similitudes being struck, especially those, like 
 epigrams or puns, that play upon similarities in the form of 
 the word, amidst ^the greatest discordancies of meaning. 
 
 7. Sensations of Organic Life. Among the organic sensa- 
 tions, there are many cases of the repetition of a feeling with 
 new admixtures, and variety of feircumstanoes, all tending to 
 thwart the reviving or identifying operation. The same or- 
 ganic depression may have totally different antecedents and 
 collaterals. A shock of grief, a glut of pleasure, a fit of over- 
 work, an accidental loss of two or three nights' rest, may 
 all end in the very same kind of headache, stupor, or feeling 
 of discomfort ; but the gre^t difference in the antecedents may 
 prevent our identifying the occasions. The derangement 
 caused by grief is more likely to recall a previous occasion of 
 a similar grief, than to suggest a time of overdone enjoyment ; 
 the sameness in organic state is, in the case of such a parallel, 
 nullified by the repulsion of opposites in the accompanying 
 
 ^ circumstances ; a state of grief does not permit a time of 
 pleasure to be recalled and dwelt' upon ; the loss of a parent 
 at home is not compatible with the remembrance of a long 
 night of gaiety abroad. Hence we do not identify the sup- 
 posed state of organic depression with all the previous recur- 
 rences of the same state ; unless, indeed, a scientific education 
 has made us aware of the sameness of the physical effects 
 resulting from the most dissimilar causes. 
 
IDENTIFICATION OF TASTES— CLASSIFICATION, 133 
 
 8i Taste. A taste may be disguised by mixture with 
 other tastes. Each of the various ingredients tends to recall 
 its like, but under more or less obstruction from the others. 
 Three or four salts might be ■dissolved together, to their 
 mutual confusion of taste ; the one actually identified would 
 be probably the most familiar. Sugar, common salt, alcohol, 
 would be discerned in preference to less common tastes or 
 relishes. 
 
 In the different wines, there is a common effect, partly 
 of organic sensation, and partly of taste ; and this is identified 
 in the midst of much diversity. If a person were to encoun- 
 ter at intervals all the different juices of the grape, in all 
 countries, — ^thc varieties, or diversities, would obscure the 
 sameness ; the common taste of alcohol would hardly emerge 
 under the aecessories — sweetness, sourness, tartness, and the 
 rest; the mind would, at first, fail to identify a sweet and a 
 sour liquid as agreeing in alcoholic pungency. Such an iden- 
 tification, however, would sooner or later be effected ; and it 
 is important to mark the consequences, as representing one of 
 the fruits of the operation of similarity. The discovery of 
 this important point of community in substances so widely 
 scattered, and so various in their concrete totalities, was what 
 Plato called seeing ' the one in the many' — the discovery of a 
 class ; it was rising to the unity of nature in the midst of her 
 diversity. Such discoveries have a twofold value ; they ease 
 the' intellectual grasp ; and they enlarge our practical re- 
 sources. 
 
 We can carry the identification, in the instance supposed, 
 stiU farther. When. the fermentation of malt was discovered, 
 new liquids were obtained ; and the distillation of malt and 
 various sugary substances added others. The same identify- 
 ing stroke, obstructed for a time by differences, would trace a 
 community in the wine group, the malt liquors, and the dis- 
 tilled liquors ; the range of community is now extended ; 
 ' the one' is found in a larger ' many.' The class is henceforth 
 widened to alcoholic drinks ; the intellect embraces all by a 
 single effort ; the needs of practical life, as regards this one 
 property, are gratified by a more abundant choice. 
 
 The identification may stretch yet farther. • The common 
 fact of stimulating the nervous system, and imparting elation 
 to the mental tone, may be detected in other substances, as in 
 the so-called stimulants — opium, tobacco, tea, hemp, &c. 
 There are differences to break through, before arriving at this 
 point ; the power of Similarity may need to be aided by 
 
134 AGEEEMENT — ^LAW OF SIMILABITY. 
 
 favouring conditions, such as familiarity with the substances 
 to be identified ; still, the differences would not long hold out 
 against the felt agreement of wine, coffee, tobacco, and opium. 
 A separate illustration for Smell is needless. 
 
 9. ToMeA. The plurality of effects in tangible objects affords 
 scope for recognizing agreement in difference. More especi- 
 ally does the combination of the tactile with muscular sensi- 
 bility allow of great variety of impressions. 
 
 We identify a wooden surface in every variety of form ; 
 we identify the spherical shape in variety of surface, and t»f 
 size ; we identify silken, woollen, linen, fabrics by the touch, 
 although the texture may be coarse or fine. We identify 
 viscid and powdery substances by their peculiar consistency, 
 although the specimens may be disguised by unlike accom- 
 paniments. 
 
 In this way we generalize and classify effects of touch, and 
 the substances that produce them, however different in other 
 points. The classified sensations of Touch, as described 
 above (see TcmoK), namely, soft touch, pungent touch, plur- 
 ality of points, hardness, resistance, tactile form, &c., all suppose 
 this operation of identifying the same effect, in the midst of 
 diverse accompaniments. Until we have made some progress in 
 identification, we cannot be said to know these various effects ; 
 we do not separate them from the concretes where they first 
 appear. If hardness were always accompanied with a fixed 
 degfree of warmth, we should know only the joint sensation, 
 which we should recognize as one and not as two. It is by 
 identifying the common effect of hardness, under variety of 
 temperature, that we possess the idea of hardness by itsel£ 
 Such is an example of the operation of Similarity in the very 
 beginnings of our cognitive separation of nature's concretes. 
 
 10. Hearing. The still greater complexity of effects of 
 Sound affords ample scope for seeing the like in the xmlike. 
 Thus, the pitch of a note may be overlaid by varying inten- 
 sity, by difference of voice or instrument, and so on. In such 
 a case, only the good ear wUl recognize it : the natural and 
 acquired delicacy of the sense of pitch is tested by identifying 
 a note heard amidst distracting accompaniments. 
 
 The articulate property of sound may be disguised beyond 
 the power of ordinary identification. When a person talks 
 with indistinct utterance, or with an unaccustomed voice, 
 pronunciation and accent, the points of difference overpower 
 the articulate agreement ; failing to identify the articulate 
 characters, we feil to understand the speaker. This is a 
 
IDENTIFICATION IN MUSIC AND IN LANGUAGE, 135 
 
 testing case for the local aids to similarity, namely, the good 
 articulate ear, and the indifference or low sensibility to 
 effects of cadence, which are felt by the ear for elocution or 
 oratory. A provincial brogue, nnfanuliair to ns, always 
 renders a speaker more or less unintelligible ; in other words, 
 the diversity of accent drowns the community of articula- 
 tion. We might have, as a converse instance, the ear for 
 cadence so acute as to identify a very disguised provincialism 
 of accent. 
 
 In listening to a continuous musical piece or air, we 
 identify the piece, or we do not. A bad ear, and little pre- 
 vious familiarity, would account for the failure ; the obsteuc- 
 tion being increased by a strong susceptibility for instrumental 
 and other particularities apart from the character of the piece. 
 Also, we may identify the key, although the piece be new ; 
 we may identify the style of the composer ; or we may trace a 
 certaiu ethical character — the gay, the solemn, the pathetic, 
 the melancholy. 
 
 Continuous spoken address is diversified by cadence, as 
 already remarked, and by aU the arts of elocution, as well as 
 by the visible accompaniments of gesture. The hearer may 
 incline, by preference, to one class of effects, being compara- 
 tively insensitive to the others ; and the course of the identifi- 
 cation will alter accordingly. Our easy understanding of 
 every-day speech is owing to the uniformity of aU the accom- 
 paniments of voice, pronunciation, cadence, and gesticulation ; 
 if these accompaniments are altered, as when we listen to 
 strangers, or foreigners, the diversity clouds the perception of 
 the articulate sameness. 
 
 Our memory for language spoken is a mixture of articu- 
 late and auditory recollections ; the ear counting for more 
 than the voice. The occasions for tracing similarity in diver- 
 sify, among verbal trains, are innumerable. When another 
 • person is speaking, we are affected through the ear, and are 
 reminded of previously heard sayings, more or less similar 
 according to the circumstances. We detect resembling phrases, 
 and styles, in different speakers ; we are reminded of past 
 occasions when the same forms were used by the same or by 
 other persons. We generalize mannerisms and peculiarities 
 iu each person that we are accustomed to listen to, and assign 
 characteristics in accordance therewith. 
 
 The great diversifying accompaniment in language is the 
 meaning or subject matter. A mind intently regarding the 
 sense wiU be less apt to dwell upon the phraseology ; the 
 
136 AGEEEMENT— LAW OP SIMILARITY. 
 
 suggestiyeness will be for meaning and not fdr words. And, 
 conversely, a small regard to meaning, and an aetite stpprecia- 
 tion of words, will make the mind keenly aUve to sinlilarities 
 of phrase in spite of disparity of sense. 
 
 11. S'bght We idSntify colowrs nnder difference of shade ; 
 wHch leads to the classifying of colonrs, as bines, yellows, 
 reds, &c. When a colonf is intermediate, or on the margin 
 between two principal colonrs, we may identify it with either 
 the one or other, according to the ciroxunstances. We gene- 
 ralize the peculiar effect of lustrie, as seen in many different 
 situations, — in the pebbly brook, the coating of varnish, the 
 brilliant surface of jet black, the polished marble, the human 
 eye. It requires a higher stretch of Similarity to identify with 
 those the sparkle of solar reflection from broken surfaces. 
 
 Combinations of Colour with visible Form and Size, are 
 identified now on one feature, now on another. We identify 
 a common colour, or shade of colour, through all changes of 
 form and magnitude ; such identification being our notion, or 
 idea, of that colour. A deep susceptibility to colour will make 
 us perceive delicate agreements, as well as differences, and 
 enlarge our fund of these distinct notions of shades of colour. 
 It is by consciousness of agreement, that we recognize a colour 
 according to its precise shade, and not nierely according to its 
 generic class— red, blue, orange, &o. 
 
 To identify visible forms in the midst of differences of 
 colour and dimensions, is to classify and generalize the forms of 
 natural bodies. We discern a common effect in all the bodies 
 called tound, or oval, or triangular. We identify less sym- 
 metrical forms that recur in nature and in art — the egg-shape, 
 heart-shape',' pear-shape, &c. The resemblances are generally 
 obvious ; sometimes they are obscure, as in many of the 
 desCTiptive comparisons in Botany and in Anatomy. Deep 
 identities of form would be soonest arrived at by minds little 
 sensitive to colours. 
 
 Under arbitrary and symboEcal forms, we have the case 
 of deciphering handwriting^ The perception of alphabetic^,! 
 identity is sometimes difficult; and me difficulty is aggravated" 
 if there be great symmetry or proportion in other respects. 
 An elegant indistinct hand is often the most illegible of any. ' 
 The best decipherer woiild be a person susceptible to the ' 
 alphabetic distinctions, arid V^hoUy unsusceptible to regularity 
 and Symmetry. 
 
 Visible forms, linked together, enter into our recollections 
 of Language: We may trace similarities of phrase through 
 
VISIBLE FORMS AND VISIBLE MOVEMENTS. 137 
 
 the eye, as well as through the ear. The suggestive force of 
 a sentence uttered is greatly increased by -writing it down and 
 exhibiting it to the eye. 
 
 So, visible forms artistically pleasing are identified on that 
 grbund, by the artist, although there should not be either 
 mathematical symmetry or literal agreement. The strong 
 sense of the mathematical, the regulat, or the literal, might 
 be a hindrance to artistic invention generally. 
 
 A scene of nature is to the eye a mixed and complicated 
 effect, suggesting to different minds different comparisons, 
 according to susceptibility and to previous experience. The 
 samie is frue of any varied spectacle, as a pageant or procession. 
 We have only to ring the changes on the several circum- 
 stances, positive and negative, that favour a particular recall, to 
 exhaust all the varieties of individual characters. The mental 
 preference for form, or for colour, for symmetrical forms, for 
 artistic effects, will each operate characteristically upon the 
 course of the identification. 
 
 Under Sight, finally, we may mention visible movements. 
 Notwithstanding diversity of acconipanying circumstances, 
 we trace identity, and form classes, among rectilineal move- 
 ments, circular movements, elliptical movements, pendulums, 
 waves, waterfalls, and so on. The more complex movements 
 of animals are reduced to identical modes--the walk, gaUop, 
 trot, shamble, of quadrupeds; also the peculiar flight of dif- 
 ferent species of birds. The gait of human beings is a part 
 of their character, and is identified in the midst of other dif- 
 ferences. Once more, a visible movement is identified with a 
 resetobling form in still life, as the rainbow with a projectile ; 
 a falling body with a crushing weight. 
 
 12; Effects common to the Semises generally; Although there 
 is a generic and fundamentjil difference of feeling between one 
 sense and another, as between touch and smell, hearing and 
 sight, yet we identify many common effects. Thus the charac- 
 teristic called ' pungency ' applies to tastes and to smells alike, 
 and is not inappropriate when describing Touch, Hearing, or 
 Sight. In' all the senses, we' identify the pleasing and the 
 painful, and the different modes of acute and massive. The 
 feeling of warmth is identified with effects of vision ; mention 
 is mAde of warm colours. By a farther stretch, we speak of 
 warm emotions, a cold nature, a bitter repeiit^oe, a sweet 
 disposition. These last, however, pass into thd region of 
 metaphor and poetry, where resemblances are sought for 
 emotional effect. 
 
138 AGREEMENT— LAW OF SIMILABITT, 
 
 CONTIGUOUS AGGKEGATES — CONJUNCTIONS. 
 
 13. First, Objects affecting a Plurality of Senses. 
 
 Two things may agree to the touch, and differ to the 
 sight ; or agree to the sight, and differ to the taste or smell. 
 Nevertheless, the difference need not necessarily blind us to 
 the similarities. We identify the heavy metals on the point 
 of weight, although they are Tinlike in appearance ; we iden- 
 tify the metallic lustre, amid variety of colour, weight, and 
 other differences, including in one case the difference of liquid 
 and solid. StiU, if some one feature of diversity were very 
 alluring, as the glitter of the diamond, we should not proceed 
 to identify the crystalline form, or the specific gravity, until 
 our admiration of the more startling quality were exhausted. 
 
 14. Secondly, Aggregates of associated properties and 
 uses. 
 
 No one object in nature discloses the whole of its charac- 
 teristics as it appears in stiUness and isolation. A flint is not 
 fully known, until we manipulate it, for hardness, brittleness, 
 and the rest. Our knowledge of each object is therefore a 
 compound of its permanent aspects, and of its possible aspects, 
 under certain operations. A hammer is not completely known 
 till it is seen in action; a weather-cock must be observed , 
 turning with the wind. 
 
 In such cases, likeness may be accompanied with great 
 diversity. Things widely different in their mere sensuous 
 appearance may be identical in their uses ; and things vndely 
 different in their uses may be identical in their appearance. 
 Take the first case — diversity in appearance, with identity in 
 use. A rope is in appearance very unlike two bevelled tooth 
 wheels working into one another, but it may serve the same 
 end of communicating movement from one revolving axle to 
 another. 
 
 A still more remarkable instance of diversity of appear- 
 ance, in company with identity of use, is seen in the Prime 
 Movers. It is easy to identify human force with animal 
 force ; a difference so small could be got over by the most 
 ordinary intellect in search of a mechanical power. A water- 
 fall is a much less obvious comparison ; it would demand a 
 considerable stretch of identifying faculty concentrating itself 
 on the point of mechanical force. Still farther removed in 
 sensuous aspects is the power of the wind, It is not recorded 
 
IDENTITY OF PEIME MOVERS. 139 
 
 under what circumstances the human mind extended its grasp 
 to these less apparent sources of motive power; but we 
 happen tp be ftdly acquainted with the discovery of the 
 greatest of them all ; and can produce it as a highly illustra- 
 tive examjle of the workings of Similarity in Diversity. To 
 the common eye, steam, or vapour, suggested nothing but 
 fleecy tenuity ; it seemed the farthest remove fi^om anything 
 that could exert moving power. Doubtless, the forcing up of 
 the lid of a boiling kettle was a familiar fact, but this tact did 
 not suggest as a parallel the other sources of moving power ; 
 the likeness was shrouded by too many circumstsmces of 
 unHkeness. The special conditions of such an identification, 
 in the mind of Watt, were his previous studies of mechanical 
 properties, the habit of directing his mind to these on all 
 occasions, and the negative peculiarity of indifference to mere 
 sensuous aspects as such. To these, we must probably add 
 the general power of Similarity in an unusual degree ; an 
 assumption necessary when we consider the number of suc- 
 cessftil fetches made by him, as compared with other men of 
 like education, pursuits, and habits. 
 
 In the class of Mineral bodies, we have the concurrence of 
 many attributes in each individual, «ome sensible and per- 
 manent, others experimental and occasional. If we take the 
 group of metals, we find a certain number easily identified ; 
 the differences, although considerable, do not overpower the 
 marked sameness in appearance and in specific gravily. But 
 when Sir Humphrey Davy suggested that metals were locked 
 up in soda, potash, and lime, the identification was opposed 
 by everything in the sensible appearance ; it proceeded upon 
 associated properties, and remote relationships, appreciated 
 only by the intellect. An identity had already been struck, 
 and a class formed, among the bodies termed salts ; it was 
 also known that many of these are composed of an acid and 
 the oxide of a metal; such are sulphate of oxide of iron, 
 nitrate of oxide of silver ; others consist of an acid and an 
 alkali, as sulphate of soda, nitrate of jpotasli. Thus, the neu- 
 tral salts, as a whole, being so far analogous as to suggest alike 
 constitution, while a>n oxide of a metal and an alkali served 
 an identical function in neutralizing the acid, the thought 
 came across the mind of Davy, that the alhalies are oxides of 
 metals ; a flash of insight that he had the skill and good for- 
 tune to verify. This was hunting out nature's similarities in 
 the deepest tiiickets of concealment. 
 
 The progress of science in the Vegetable world would 
 
140 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILAKITT. 
 
 reveal the operation of the principle before ns, in striking out 
 deep identities in superficial diversities. In the first classifi- 
 cations of -plants, the more obvious feature of size took hold 
 of the attention ; the Trees of the Forest, were marked off 
 from the Shrubs, and the Mowers. The great step fmade by 
 Linneeus, consisted in tracing identity in less conspicuous 
 parts of the plant, the organs of fructification; under which the 
 largest trees and the smallest shrubs were brought together. 
 
 Botany presents other examples. Thus, Goethe saw in 
 the flower the form of the entire plant ; the circular arrange- 
 ment of the petals of the corolla was paralleled by the cork- 
 screw arrangement of the leaves round the stem. So, Oken, 
 in the leaf, identified the plant ; the branchings of the veins 
 of a leaf are, in feet, a miniature of the entire vegetable, with 
 its parent stem, branches and ramifications. 
 
 In the Animal Kingdom, we might quote many deep 
 fetches of Similarity. , The first superficial classification of 
 animals according to their element, — animals of the land, the 
 water, and the air, has since been traversed by other classifi- 
 cations founded on deep community of structure ; the bat has 
 been detached from birds, and the seal, whale, and porpoise 
 from fishes. More pointed^ still, as illustrating the power of 
 a few select minds to detect similarities unapparent to the 
 m.ultitude, is the discovery of the deep identities in the 
 vertebrate skeleton, termed homologies. - The first suggestion 
 of them is attributed to Oken, a man remarkable for this 
 species of intellectual penetration. Walking one day in a 
 forest, he came on the blanched skull of a deer. He took it 
 up, and while examining the anatomical arrangements, there 
 flashed upon him the identity between it and the back bone ; 
 the skull, he said, was four vertebrse distorted by the expanded 
 cerebral mass and the development of the face. It is strange 
 that this similarity should not have been first struck out in 
 the case of the fishes, where the deviation of the head from 
 the spine is smallest. To see it in the quadruped, was to 
 work at a far greater disadvantage. But Oken was a man, 
 not merely gifted with large powers of analogical discovery, 
 or, as one should, say, general Power of Similarity; he was, 
 by the bent of his mind, an analogy-hunter ; he studiously set 
 himself to look at things^.in diverse aspects, so as to detect 
 new analogies. No man ever suggested so many identities 
 of that peculiar class ; although only a, small number, perhaps 
 not above half a dozen, have been found to hold upon farther 
 examination. 
 
CYCLE.— EVOLUTION. — CAUSATION. 141 
 
 The homologies of the vetebrate series of animals, whoEe 
 discovery and exposition enter into Comparative Anatomy, 
 consist in showing the deep correspondence of parts super- 
 ficially nnUke ; the upper arm of man, the fore leg of the 
 quadruped, the wing of the bird, the anterior fin of the fish. 
 
 SUCCESSIONS. 
 
 15. The natural successions have been already con- 
 sidered under Cycle, Evolution, and Cause and Effect 
 In all of them, there is scope for Identification in the 
 midst of difFerence. 
 
 Gycle. The chief natural phenomena of cycle, the day 
 and the year, are too obviously alike not to be identified ; the 
 difierences are insignificant as compared with the agreements. 
 In the rising and setting of the stars, there is a point of simi- 
 larity that may have been long unobserved, the constancy of 
 angle in the same latitude, the angle being the co-latitude of 
 the place. Besides being an unobvious fact, there are two 
 disguising unlikenesses in the risiag and setting of the stars 
 in the same place ; namely, the height reached by them, and 
 the change of the time of rising throughout the year. The 
 cycles of the planets would be easy to trace in the superior 
 planets, not so in Mercury and Venus. 
 
 The cycles of human afiairs are sometimes apparent, 
 but often obscure. Writers on the Philosophy of His- 
 tory have remarked a sort of vibratory tendency in human 
 societies, or a transition between two extremes, as from 
 asceticism to licence, from severity of taste to laxity, from con- 
 servation to innovation. 
 
 Uvolution. The successions of Evolution are typified, 
 and principally constituted, by the growth of living beings. 
 Each plant and animal, in the course of its existence, pre- 
 sents a series of phases, and, as respects these, we discover a 
 similarity in different individuals and species. The depart- 
 ment, called Comparative Embryology, traces identities in 
 the midst of wide diversities. Again, the mental evolution of 
 human beings is a subject of interesttag comparison. 
 
 Cause and Effect. Causation is the name for the total pro- 
 ductive forces of the world, and, as these are comparatively 
 few in number, but wide in their distribution, and often dis- 
 guised in their operation, the ingenuity of man has long been 
 exercised in detecting the hidden similarities. An example 
 will show the nature of the difficulties and the means of con- 
 quering them. The burning of coaJ, and the rusting of iron, 
 
142 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY. 
 
 show to the eye nothing in common except the fact of change. 
 No mere force of Similarity, however aided by the ordinary 
 fisivonring conditions, positive and negative, could have de- 
 tected the deep community of these two phenomena. Other 
 phenomena had to be interposed, having relations to both, in 
 order to disclose the likeness. The experiments of Priestley 
 upon the red oxide were the intermediate link. Mercury, 
 when burned, becomes heavier, being converted iuto a red 
 powder, by taking up material from the air, which can be 
 again driven off by heat, so as to reproduce the metallic sub- 
 stance. Thus, while the act of combustion of the mercury has 
 a strict resemblance to the burning of coal, the resisting 
 change on the substance could suggest the rusting of iron, the 
 only difference being the time occupied. By such intermediate 
 comparisons, the general law of oxidation has been gradually 
 traced through all its entanglements. 
 
 If not the greatest known stretch of identifying genius, 
 the example most illustrious from its circumstances was the 
 discovery of universal gravitation. Here the appearances 
 were, in the highest degree, unfavourable to identification. 
 Who could see anything in common between the grand and 
 silent march of the moon and the planets round the heavens, 
 and the fall of unsupported bodies to the ground ? A pre- 
 paratory process was necessary on both sides. Newton, by 
 studying the planetary motions as a case of the composition 
 of forces, resolved them each into two; a tendency in a straight 
 line through space, and a tendency to the sun as a centre. He 
 thus had clearly before him the fact, that there was an attraction 
 of the planets to the sun, and of the moon to the earth. This 
 was the preparation on one side. On the other side, he medi- 
 tated on the various phenomena of falling bodies, and, putting 
 away as irrelevant the accidental cLrcumstances and interests 
 that engross the common mind, he saw in these bodies a 
 common tendency of the nature of attraction to the earth's 
 surface, or rather the earth's centre. Viewed in this light, 
 the phenomenon was closely assimilated to the great effect 
 of Solar attraction, which he had previously isolated ; and we 
 are not to be surprised that, in some happy moment, the two 
 flashed together in his mind. Even after the preparatory 
 shapings on both sides, the stroke of identification was a re- 
 markable fetch of similarity ; the attendant disparities were 
 still great and imposing; and we must suppose that the 
 mind of Newton was distinguished no less by the negative 
 condition of inattention to the vulgar and sensuous aspects, 
 
ABSTRACTION. — INDUCTION. 143 
 
 than by absorption in the purely dynamical aspect, of the 
 phenomena. 
 
 REASONING AND SCIENCE IN GENERAL, 
 
 16. The Generalizing power of the mind, already seen 
 to be a mode of Similarity, culminates in Science, and is 
 designated under the names Abstraction and Eeasoning. 
 
 The example just quoted, and others previoasly given, 
 exhibit Similarity at work in scientific discovery. Still, it is 
 desirable to give a more complete view of the relations of 
 science to the identifying faculty. The chief scientific pro- 
 cesses are these four — Observation, Definition, Induction, 
 Deduction ; the first is the source of the individual facts, and 
 depends on the senses ; the three last relate to the generalities, 
 and are all dependent on the intellectual force of Similarity. 
 
 I. Glassifisation, Abstraction, Generalization of Notions or 
 Ccmcepts, Oeneral Names, Definition. These designations all 
 refer to the one operation of identifying a number of things 
 on some point, or property, which property is finally em- 
 bodied in language by the process called Definition. The 
 start is given by an identifying operation, a perception of 
 likeness or community in many things otherwise diverse. 
 In watching the heavenly bodies, the early astronomers dis- 
 covered a few that moved steadily through the fixed stars, 
 and made the circle of the heavens in longer or shorter 
 periods. The bodies identified and brought together on 
 this common ground, made a class, as distinguished from 
 a mere confased aggregate. The mind, reflecting on the 
 things so classified, attends to their similarity, and en- 
 deavours to leave out of view the points of dissimilarity; 
 this is the long-disputed process of abstraction ; the common 
 attribute or attributes is called the abstract idea, the notion, 
 or the concept. When a name is applied to the things com- 
 pared, because of their agreement or community, it is a 
 general name, as ' planet.' And when we are farther desirous 
 of settling, by the help of language, the precise nature and 
 limits of the common attribute, the result is a definition. A 
 planet would now be defined as ' a body circulating around 
 the sun as its centre, in an orbit nearly circular.' (On 
 Abstraction, see Chap, v.) 
 
 n. Conjoined properties generalized. General Affirmations, 
 Propositions, Judgments, Laws of Nature, Induction. In Ab- 
 straction, a single isolated property, or a collection of proper- 
 
144 AGREEMENT — LAW OB" SIMILARITY. 
 
 ties treated as a unity, is identified and generalized ; , .under 
 Induction, a conjunction, union, or concurrence of two distinct 
 properties is identified. A proposition contains two notions 
 bound together by a copula. 'Heat' is the name of one 
 general property or notion; 'expansion' is the name of a 
 second notion ; the proposition ' heat expands bodies,' is a pro- 
 position uniting the two properties in an inductive generality, 
 or a law of nature. Here, too, the prime requisite is the 
 identifying stroke of Similarity. One present instance of the 
 concurrence of heat with increase of bulk, may recall by simi- 
 larity other instances; the mind, awakened by the flash of 
 identity, takes note of the concurrence, looks out for other 
 cases in point, and ventures (rightly or wrongly) to affirm a 
 general law of nature, connecting the two properties. 
 
 All the difficulties and the facilities connected with the 
 working of Similarity may be found attending these inductive 
 generalizations. There is one noticeable circumstance special 
 to the case. That two. things or two properties affisct us to- 
 gether, excites no attention at first; we are so familiar, with, 
 such unions that we take little note of the fact. It is, how- 
 ever, a point of some importance to know whether two tjiings, 
 occurring together, do so merely by accident, or by virtue of 
 some fixed attachment keeping them always together ; for, in 
 the first case, the coincidence is of no moment, while in the last 
 case, it is something that we may count on and anticipate in 
 the future. Now, the real problem of inductive generalization 
 consists in eliminating the regular and constant concurrences 
 from the casual and inconstant. It is the identifying stroke 
 of Similarity that is the means of rousing us to the constant 
 concurrences ; these repeat themselves while other things 
 come and go, and the repetition is the prompting to suspect 
 an alliance, and not merely a coincidence. 
 
 The favouring conditions of mind for scientific induction 
 are the conditions, positive and negative, of the scientific intel- 
 lect on the whole. General Power of Simi] arity being supposed , 
 the special circumstances are, suaeeptibility to symbols and 
 forms ; the previous familiarity with the subject matter ; the ■ 
 scientific interest ; and the absence of the purely sensuous and 
 concrete regards. Such are unquestionably the intellectual 
 features of the greatest scientific geniuses, the men whose, lives 
 are a series of discoveries. 
 
 Some conjunctions are obvious ; as light and heat with the 
 sun's rays. Others areless obvious, but yet discernible, with- 
 out any artificial medium ; such are the signs of weather. 
 
DEDUCTION. 145 
 
 seasons and crops, the pointing of the loadstone to the north, 
 many of the causes of agreeable and disagreeable sensation 
 and of good and ill health, the influences of national prosperity. 
 A third class demand artificial media and aids, as Kepler's 
 laws, and the law of refraction of light, which could not have 
 been discovered without the intervention of numerical and 
 geometrical relations. 
 
 in. Dkbtjction, Deducthie Inference, Baiiocination, Agpli. 
 cation or Extension of Inductions, Syllogism. When a>n- Induc- 
 tive generality has been established, the application of it to 
 new cases is called Deduction. Kepler's laws were framed 
 upon the six planets ; they have been deductively applied to 
 all that have since been discovered. The law of gravity was 
 deductively applied to explain the tides. 
 
 Deduction also is a process of identification, by the force 
 of Similarity. The new case must resemble the old, otherwise 
 there can be no legitimate application of the law. Newton, 
 by an inductive idtentification, detected, among transparent 
 bodies, a conjunction between combustibility and high refi^act- 
 ing power ; the oils and resins bend light much more than 
 water or glass. He then, by a farther stroke' of identification, 
 bethought himself of the diamond, the most refracting of all 
 known substances ; the deductive application of the law 
 would lead to the inference that it was composed of some 
 highly combustible element ; which afterwards was found to 
 be the case. 
 
 The Deductive process appears under two aspects ; a prin- 
 ciple may be given, and its application to facts sought for ; or 
 a fact may be given, and its principle sought for. In both, 
 the discovery is made by the force of Similarity. When the 
 law of definite proportions was first promulgated, an un- 
 bounded range of applications lay before the chemist ; which 
 was the carrying out of the principle deductively. 
 
 Beasoning by Analogy. This is a mode of reasoning that 
 bears upon its name the process of Similarity ; the fact, how- 
 ever, being that ia it the similarity is imperfeot, and the con- 
 clusion so much the less cogent. When we examine a sample 
 of wheat, the production of the same soil, and infer that the 
 rest will correspond to the sample, we make a rigid induc- 
 tion ; there being an identity of nature in the material or 
 kind. But when we reason from wheat to the other cereals, 
 the similarity is accompanied with diversities, and the rea- 
 soning is then precarious and only probable ; such is reasoning 
 by Analogy. Thus, there is an analogy, not an identity, be- 
 10 
 
146 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY. 
 
 tween waves of water and waves of air as in sonnd ; between 
 electricity and the nerve force ; between the functions, bodily 
 and mental, of men and of the inferior animals ; between the 
 family and the state ; between the growth of a living being 
 and the growth of a nation. These analogies are struck out 
 by the intellectual power of Similariiy ; they are useful when 
 no closer parallelism can be drawn. 
 
 17. The scientific processes, named Induction and 
 Deductionj correspond to what is called the eeabon, or 
 the Eeasoning faculty of the mind. 
 
 The name Beason is used in a narrow sense, corresponding 
 to Deduction, and also in a wider sense, comprising both De- 
 duction and Induction. To express the scientific faculty in its 
 fulness, the process called Abstraction would have to be taken 
 along with Reason in the wider sense. What is variously 
 termed by Hamilton the Elaborative or Discursive Faculty, 
 Comparison, the Faculty of Relations, Thought (in a peculiar 
 narrow sense), includes the aggregate of processes now de- 
 scribed as entering into the operations of science. It has 
 just been seen, that the working of Similarity renders an 
 adequate account of the principal feature in all these opera- 
 tions, althqugh, to complete the explanation, there still re- 
 mains a circumstance to be brought forward under the head 
 •oi the Constructive operations of the Intellect. 
 
 BUSINESS AND PRACTICE. 
 
 18. Of Practical discoveries, some are due to observa- 
 tion and trial ; others are the extension or application of 
 known devices, through the perception of Similarity. 
 
 The first discovery of a lever, a pump, or a boat, could 
 be made only by a stumbling and tentative method ; acci- 
 dent alone could disclose the advantage of these imple- 
 ments. But the extension, to new cases, of machinery once 
 discovered, proceeds on the identifying stroke of Similarity, 
 sometimes in the midst of great dissimilarity. Among early 
 nations, we find few indications of discoveries by this last 
 method ; the mechanical knowledge of the Egyptians, or of the 
 Chinese, would seem to be all of tentative or experimental 
 origin. In modem invention, however, we can trace the 
 workings of great intellectnal force of Similarity. It is emi- 
 nent in the career of Watt. His ' governor balls' is a wonder- 
 ful stroke of intellectual grasp ; it was not a mechanical tenta- 
 
TEANSFEK OF PRACTICAL DEVICES. 147 
 
 tive ; it was not even the extension of a device already in 
 existence. The similarity lay deeper ; he wanted to institute 
 a connexion between the increase or diminntion of a rapid 
 rotatory movement and the opening and shutting- of a valve ; 
 and he was so fortunate as to recall the situation of bodies 
 flying off by centrifngal force, where the distance from the 
 centre varies slightly according to the change of speed. No 
 other apposite parallel has ever been suggested for the same 
 situation ; and the device once thought of has been carried 
 out into many different applications. His suggestion of the 
 lobster-jointed pipe, for conveying water across the bottom of 
 the Clyde, was another pure fetch of similarity. 
 
 The device of carving a mould and impressing it upon 
 any number of separate things, goes back to a high antiquity ; 
 as we see in coins. One of its many extensions is the art of 
 Printing. 
 
 The common water pump, discovered by experiment,, was 
 transmuted into the air pump. The water-wheel is the proto- 
 type of the ship's paddle. The screw-propeUer is an 'exten- 
 sion of the vanes of the windmill. 
 
 In the administration and the forms of business, something 
 must first be devised by trials, or suggested by accident ; the 
 further extension is a purely intellectual process. The or- 
 ganization of masses of men to act together began, doubtless, 
 in the necessities of war ; repeated trials showed that there 
 must be a chief or superior head, with subordinate grades of 
 command. The machinery once suggested is extended to all 
 other organizations of large bodies, as for public works, 
 manufactures, &c. 
 
 The arts of book-keeping, including the employment of 
 printed forms and schedules, have been gradually made to 
 permeate all departments of business. 
 
 The art of Persuasion is greatly dependent on the attrac- 
 tive force of Similarity. The orator has to make out an iden- 
 ^ty between his end and the views, opinions, and motive 
 forces of his hearers ; and such identity may be very much 
 clogged and disguised. If he has to address an assembly of 
 men of wealth, he must reconoile his aims with the rights and 
 interests of property. Now, all reconciliation proceeds on the 
 perception of points of agreement, real or supposed ; hence a 
 mind fertile in discoveries of identification is so far fitted for 
 the task of persuasion. Burke's speeches abound in these 
 strokes of discernment. 
 
148 A&REEMENT— LAW OF SIMILAKITT. 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE C0MPAEIS0N3 AND LITERAET AET. 
 
 19. A large department of invention, more especially 
 in Literature, consists in striking, out similitudes, among 
 things different in kind, yet serving to illustrate each 
 other. 
 
 Of the Figures of Speech, one extensive class is denomi- 
 nated Figures of Similarity, inolading the Simile, Metaphor, 
 Personification, Allegoryi &c. These are called Figures, be- 
 cause they proceed upon some likeness of form in difference 
 of subject. When we compare the act of eating in a man and 
 in a dog, the comparison is real, literal, a comparison in kind ; 
 when we talk of digesting and ruminating knowledge, the 
 comparison is illustrative or figurative. Since the origin of lite- 
 rature, many thousands of such comparisons have been struck 
 out ; every great literary genius has contributed to the stock ; 
 the profusion of Shakespeare being probably unmatched. 
 
 These Ulnstrative comparisons are of two kinds, depending, 
 for their invention, on different mental conditions. Of the first 
 kind are those ttiat render an obscure subject clearer, as when 
 we compare the heart to a force pump, the lungs to a bellows, 
 and business routine to a beaten track. The expositor of 
 difficult subjects and doctrines avails himself, as far as his in- 
 tellectual reach will go, of such illustrative similitudes. They 
 are numerous in Plato. Among the moderns. Bacon is con- 
 spicuous for both the number and felicity of his illustrations. 
 Some have become household words. His ' Essay on Delays' 
 may be referred to, as exemplifying his profuse employment of 
 similes. 
 
 The invention of such similes is a pure intellectual effort 
 of Similarity. They suppose previous acquaintance with the 
 regions whence they are drawn, an acquaintance terminating 
 in deep or vivid impressions, enhanced by a sensibility for 
 the material of them. 
 
 The other class comprehends those serving for ornament 
 or emotional efiect ; as when one man is extolled as god-like, 
 another compared to the brutes. Here the likeness involves 
 a common emotionj with or without intellectual similitude. 
 For their invention, a deep emotional susceptibility must be 
 combined with the force of intellect. He that would command 
 similitudes illustrative ofa pathetic situation, must have often 
 been pathetically moved in actually contemplating the original 
 objects of comparison. 
 
LITEKAKY GEMIUS. 149 
 
 An unlearned genius like Bunyan knows the commoner 
 appearances of nature, the experience of the mind open to 
 every one, the more familiar aspects of society and manners, 
 and the compass of religious doctrine. Out of these materials, 
 Bunyan drew his similes and his allegories ; being favoured 
 by a special susceptibility to the concrete world of sense, by 
 strong emotions superadding an element of interest to a 
 greater or less number of objects, and, we must suppose also, 
 by large general power of Similarity. 
 
 Shakespeare, without being learned, had more reading than 
 Bunyan. Still his resources were to a great degree personal 
 observation, and common things. His glances around him 
 impressed the things on his mind with a force out of all propor- 
 tion to the attention that he could have given them. Natural 
 scenery, natural objects, human character, his own mind, 
 society and its usages, were absorbed by him, as material for 
 his identifying and constructive faculty. He had a moderate 
 knowledge of books, which extended his sphere of allusion to 
 foreign scenes, and to the incidents and personalities of the 
 ancient world ; and his study of the subject of one play gave 
 him a stock of allusive references to be employed incidentally 
 in the others. 
 
 Bacon had an eye for the concrete world about him, but 
 his mental attention was divided between this and book study 
 in philosophy, scholarship, politics, and law. His sphere or 
 similitudes has a corresponding compass. 
 
 Milton also had the concrete eye for the real world, a 
 poet's interest in nature, and a vein of emotion that gave spe- 
 cial impressiveness to whatever was large, vast, unbounded, 
 mysterious in its immensity. He likewise had very great 
 stores of reading, and had absorbed the scenes and pictures of 
 remote countries and times. 
 
 Literary comparisons being expressed in language, are 
 very much subject to verbal conditions. The associations 
 with words concur to bring some forward, and to keep others 
 back. A great poet needs verbal profusion, as well aa pic- 
 torial suggestivenesB. 
 
 THE FINE ARTS IN GENERAL. 
 
 20. The intellectual power of tracing similarity in 
 diversity is most conspicuous in Poetry and the Literary 
 Art. It may enter, in some degree, into Painting, Sculp- 
 ture, Architecture, and Design. But, as regards the 
 
150 AGKEEMENT— LAW OF SIMILAEITT. 
 
 effusive arts — Music, Elocution, Stage-display, Dancing, 
 and the graces of Demeanour — the mental endowment even 
 of the greatest genius has but little that is purely Intel-, 
 lectual; the elements are — Sensibility, and the compass 
 and power of the Organs engaged. 
 
 What has been .said under the foregoing head is sufficient 
 for the Poetical Art. In Paiating, it is conceivable and likely 
 that the resources of the artist should be aided by a far-reach- 
 ing power of Similarity^ in recalling scenes to select from, and 
 combine, he draws upon his past experience, brought up by 
 the force of likeness in unlikeness.; although his final appro- 
 priation must be governed .entirely by his sense of artistic 
 effect. An artist may have great intellectual forces, with only 
 a moderate sensibility to the refinements of composition ; in 
 other words, great profusion and little taste. It would be 
 easy to produce literary artists of this character ; and per- 
 haps we may regard Michael Angela, as a parallel in 
 Painting. • 
 
 In the other class of Pine Arts, typified by Music, it seems 
 unsuitable to appeal to an unusual force of the identifying 
 faculty. The fine Sensibility is the great requisite ; second to 
 which is the endowment of the Active Organ concerned. A 
 gi^at musician depends principally on delicate ear for pitch ; 
 an elocutionist on the ear for cadence.; an actor superadds the 
 eye for gesture and pictorial elements. 
 
 SIMILARITY IN ACQUISITION AND MEMORY. 
 
 21. To whatever extent new acquisitions are the repeti- 
 tion of old, there is an intellectual saving. Now, it being 
 necessary that the old should be recovered to the view, any 
 superiority in the identifying faculty will be apparent in 
 diminishing the labour of acquirement. 
 
 It is of some importance to remark, that our more 
 complicated acquisitions are a kind of patchwork. The 
 memory of a scene in nature is the tacking together of pre- 
 vious memories. If a pleader, after once reading a brief, can 
 remember its contents, the reason is that only a small part is 
 new. In geometry, one demonstration is so like another, 
 that after a certain familiarity with the matter of demonstra- 
 tions, the fresh cost to the memory, in each, is very small. 
 
 It is obvious, then, that by a greater reach of the identify- 
 ing power, the means and resources of this piecing operation 
 
VALUE OF METHOD IN MEMORY. 151 
 
 may be extended. The scientific man whose penetrating 
 glance can recognize the smallest identity between something 
 fresh and something already known, recovers that portion of 
 the past for present nse ; while he that is unable to bring 
 about the recovery, must learn the whole anew. This is a 
 genuine and often realized distinction between one intellect 
 and another. A mind like Bacon's, studying Law, would 
 make tenfold strides, as compared with one of average endow- 
 ment. 
 
 The value of method, order, uniformity of plan, in aiding 
 memory, is wholly explicable on the principle of making one 
 acquisition serve for a great many occasions. When things are 
 always put in the same places, we have only to form one local 
 tie, in our memory of each; whereas, if tools and utensils are 
 put away at random, there must be either a distinct local ad- 
 hesion, or' the trouble of a search as often as any one is used. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION. 
 
 1. Associations, separately too weak, may, conjointly, 
 be strong enough to revive a past experience. 
 
 Hitherto we have assumed the links of association to be 
 single or individual ; we must now consider the very frequent 
 case of the union of several bonds of contiguity or similarity. 
 The facts brought up in the course of the illustration will 
 show that, here as elsewhere, union is strength. 
 
 The combinations may be of Contiguity solely, or of 
 mixed Contiguity and Similarity. Besides these purely intel- 
 lectual bonds, an Emotion may contribute to the recall ; and 
 we have farther to ascertain what influence may be exercised 
 by the will or Volition. 
 
 The general law may be stated thus : — 
 
 Past actions, sensations, thoughts, or emotions, are re- 
 called more easily, when associated either through 
 contiguity or similarity, with more than one present 
 object or impression. 
 
162 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION, 
 
 COMPOSITION OP CONTIGUITIES. 
 
 2. In the Composition of Contiguities, we may dis- 
 tinguish Conjunctions and Successions. 
 
 Gonjimciions. Most things affect the mind by a plurality 
 of impressions. So simple an object as a star, is an aggregate 
 of light, visible magmtq.de, and visible form; a. diamond is a 
 greater aggregate ; a human being is more complicated stil]. 
 A link of association with any one of the component parts of 
 these aggregates may be strong enough to recall the whole ; 
 this would be single-handed contiguity. Or, a plurality or 
 links, individually unequal to the recall, might compass it by 
 their united force. A diamond might be suggested to the 
 mind, partly by some circumstance that recalled its brilliancy, 
 partly by an alliance with its h?i,rdness. 
 
 It is, however, when we pass beyond isolated objects to 
 the aggregates made up by the various relationships of things, 
 that we find the greatest scope for plurality of associations ; 
 as in the connexions with locality, with persons, with uses, 
 and with properties. 
 
 Local associations play a great part in memory, both in 
 single sufi&ciency, and in partnership with others. All things, 
 with a fixed or usual localily, become connected in the mind 
 with that locality. But a great many of these bonds are in- 
 dividually too feeble ; we cannot, by thinking of the interior 
 of a house, recall the whole of its furniture and contents. 
 Nevertheless, local connexions may eke out other ties also 
 insufScient of themselves. We may not be able to remem- 
 ber a mineral specimen by its being a certain ore of iron ; but 
 some local association in a museum or cabinet may com- 
 plete the recall of its visible aspect. It often happens to ns 
 to meet persons in the street, whom we have formerly seen, 
 but cannot teU who they are ; something brings to mind the 
 place of our former meeting, which, although of itself unable 
 to effect the recall, in co-operation with the other, may be 
 found adequate. Abercrombie relates that, walking in the 
 street one day, he met a lady whose face was familiar, but 
 whose name and connexions he could not remember. Some 
 time after, he passed a cottage, to which he had been taken six 
 months before, to see a gentleman who had met with an acci- 
 dent on the road, and had been taken there insensible. He then 
 remembered that the lady was the wife of that patient. The 
 local association completed the defective link in his memory. 
 
MULTIPLE ASSOCIATIONS WITH PERSONS. 153 
 
 The connexions with persons frequently unite with other 
 contiguous links. Objects become associated with their 
 owners, naiakers, inventors, with all persons concerned in their 
 use, or frequenting their locality. Many of those associations 
 are imperfect in themselves, but capable of adding something 
 to other associating bonds. A docteine may be recalled partly 
 by its subject, and partly by its being a doctrine of Aristotle 
 or of Locke. The buildings rendered famous by great men 
 may be remembered through this bond, in conjunction with 
 locality. 
 
 We may adduce the converse case, the recall of persons 
 by multiple associations. The relations of human beings are 
 so numerous as to give frequent occasion to their being re- 
 membered by the union of many bonds. Persons are asso- 
 ciated with their name ; with locality, habitation, and places 
 of resort ; with blood and lineage, a very powerful mental tie, 
 in consequence of the strength of the family feelings ; with 
 associates and friends; with occupation, pursuits, amusements; 
 with property and possessions ; with rank and position ; with 
 the many attributes that make up character and reputation ; 
 with a particular age; with the time. they have lived in; with 
 the vicissitudes and incidents that mark the course of their 
 life. Desiring to recall the names of the Cabinet Ministers, 
 we might think of them first as enumerated in a list ; if we 
 failed to remember any one or more, we should then recall the 
 departments of state, next the leading men in the Lords and 
 in the Commons, and so on, till everyone was brought up to 
 mind. 
 
 The connexion with uses and properties is a frequent means 
 of association, both single and in combination. In recalling 
 some great exhibition of works of industry, we assist the local 
 alliances with the associations of use ; we go over mentally 
 the implements of Agriculture, Mining, Engineering, War; 
 wearing apparel, furniture, <fcc. So with regard to the naturid 
 properties of things — the physical and chemical properties of 
 a salt, the distinguishing marks of a vegetable species, the 
 anatomy of an animal. Lron, nickel, and cobalt are remem- 
 bered in part by their magnetic properties ; the simple bodies 
 in chemistry are associated with the idea of simplicity; the 
 oxides with their containing oxygen. 
 
 Successions. Among the various kinds of succession ad- 
 verted to, under Contiguity, there may be cases of combina- 
 tion. The memory of any series of events may be assisted by 
 collateral and concurring series, or by conjunctions, such as 
 
154 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION. 
 
 above described. In the grand succession of our total ex- 
 perience in the Order of Time, many intermediate links that 
 fail ns, when exclusively relied on, are yet able to count in 
 combined action. Our historical recollections are almost 
 always composite; the main thread is helped by collateral 
 currents, conjunctions, and associations ; and we are so well 
 aware of this, that, whenever we are at a loss, we make an 
 express search for such additional aids. To remember any 
 considerable series of events, say in English history, we should 
 have to avail ourselves of concurring associations with persons, 
 places, striking incidents, casual conjunctions. Thinking or 
 the 16th century, we remember the two great monarchs be- 
 tween whose reigns it was almost equally divided ; with their 
 personalities many of the events are associated so strongly as 
 to be recalled by that single link ; others less strongly, and 
 recoverable only in combination with a different link, as the 
 date or order of time. Localities and local objects — the 
 metropolis, the Tower, TUbnry fort, the monasteries — contri- 
 bute additional ties, some suf&cient in themselves, the rest 
 useful in raising other links to the point of sufficiency. 
 
 Language. The coherence of names, and of trains of lan- 
 guage, is a very large fraction of our total acquisitions. "We 
 are ofteu aided here by composite links. When unable to 
 recall a name, we fall back upon the circumstances of last 
 hearing it, or on some other known bond of connexion. 
 
 Many of our recollections are a mixture of language with 
 our conceptions of things. A discourse heard impresses ns 
 partly as a train of words, partly as a train of thoughts, 
 images, and feeUngs ; the remembrance of it is therefore of a 
 compound nature. The learner in any subject, as Geometry, 
 depends partly on his verbal memory, partly on his memory 
 for the actual conceptions, the lines, angles, circles, &c. A 
 pictorial description is held by verbal associations in conjunc- 
 tion with the hold of the purely pictorial elements. In all 
 such cases, defects in the one train may be supplied from the 
 other. 
 
 COMPOSITION OF SIMILAKITIES. 
 
 3. The case of plurality of points of likeness contri- 
 buting to the recall of something past, is sufficiently re- 
 presented under the Law of Similaxity. 
 
 It is merely a case of greater resemblance, the effect of 
 which is to augment the chances of recall. If a thought, re- 
 
SECOND-RATE TALENT. 155 
 
 sembling in the sabject some one previously known, has also 
 a resemblance in the language, the operation of similarity in 
 restoring the fact is so much the more certain. If we are 
 reading a work which has imitated, or borrowed from, some 
 other work that we have known, the similarity does not strike 
 at first, but as we go on, the increasing number of resembling 
 points brings on the flash of recognition. Wherever we have 
 any means of increasing the similarity, and reducing the di- 
 versity, between what is presMit and what is out of mind, we 
 necessarily provoke the reviving encounter. 
 
 MIXED CONTIGUITY AND SIMILAEITY. 
 
 4. Things first brought together by the stroke of Simi- 
 larity are afterwards retained by the help of Contiguity. 
 
 A man of inventive reach of mind brings up a new simile, 
 or achieves a great identification in science. The two remote 
 things thus brought together may then be made coherent by 
 contiguous association; the recall at first due to genius is 
 afterwards caused by memory. It is thus that we remember 
 the fetches of great poets, and the scientific generalities that 
 are the triumphs -of modern discovery. 
 
 There is, however, an intermediate stage, wherein great 
 strokes of Similarity may not have become matter of pure 
 memory by Contiguity, but are recovered partly by the force 
 of the similarity, and partly by the aid of a nascent, but in- 
 complete, contiguous association. It is by this mixed or 
 united hold, that a second-rate mind can appropriate and use 
 the inventions of original minds, before they have become so 
 hackneyed and common as to be in everybody's memory. It is 
 in the same way that we can retain scientific truths, through 
 our own perception of their generalizing sweep, when once 
 they have been brought to our view. No man could take hold 
 of any large amount of scientific doctrines, without seeing 
 for himself the similarities that they involve, besides his 
 memory of the statements of them. We can, after Newton, 
 compare Terrestrial with Celestial gravity, and keep in mind 
 his law by the force of the similarity that makes one recall 
 the other ; we are also assisted by the contiguous junction of 
 the two facts in the wording of the law. 
 
 5. The reviving stroke of Similarity may be aided by 
 the protnmity of the things desired. 
 
 A poet living in the country falls readily upon rural 
 
156 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION. 
 
 images. The books that we have lately read are the most 
 likely to famiah parallels to any present subject. Hence, an 
 important rule for assisting invention — ^namely, to refresh oiir 
 minds -with the subjects where we expect to find the identities 
 that we are in quest of. A natural philosopher is in need of 
 certain mathematical formulee, but is unable to discover those 
 that are suitable ; his resource is to renew his mathematical 
 studies for a time, thereby coming into closer mental proxi- 
 ■njity with the whole range of the department. Gibbon tells 
 us that he replenished hjs resources of sarcasm, by pemsiag 
 annually Pascal's Proviacial Letters. So a poet might pre- 
 pare himself for composing in the Spenserian stanza, by fami- 
 liarizing himself with the Faerie Queen, and the other models. 
 In whatever point a writer either feels intellectual weakness, 
 or desires to be unusually strong, he should keep close com- 
 panionship with the highest examples of the quality. If he 
 aspires to elevated diction, his flight will be aided by frequent 
 recurrence to -lEschylus ajid Milton. 
 
 6. The bond of similarity is sometimes artificially 
 employed as a help to Memory. 
 
 The art of Mnemonics, or artificial memory, among other 
 devices, uses a combination of similarity and contig^ty. 
 One of the simplest examples is the use of alliteration ; the 
 sequence of words 'life and liberty' is better remembered 
 than ' life and freedom.' The efiect would also arise from the 
 arrangement of a series of leading names in the alphabetical 
 order of their commencing letters. Verse is a nmemonic aid; 
 knowing the metrical form that a saying must assume, we have 
 already a certain hold of it by similarity, which will in part 
 make up for the weakness of the contiguous bond. 
 
 Another mnemonic art, applicable to the learning of a string 
 of words, as the exceptions to a rvde in grammar, is to arrange 
 them so as to have a connexion of meaning. Thus, in English 
 there are certain verbs that are followed by other verbs in the 
 infinitive without the use of the preposition ' to.' For remem- 
 bering these more easily, we might cast them thus :— feel hear 
 see (senses), will, shall, may, can, do, have (auxiliaries), let bid' 
 make, dare, durst, must, need (diflferent forms of permission and 
 compulsion). 
 
 THE ELEMENT OP FEELING. 
 
 7. The link of Feeling may enter powerfully into com- 
 posite associatioa 
 
EMOTIONAL CONTEOL OF THE THOUGHTS. 157 
 
 The association of objects aad feelings has been abeady 
 noticed (Contioditt, § 30). The consequences, which are 
 anmerous and far-reaching, will be still farther traced in the 
 description of the higher emotions. 
 
 A present feeUng is a power in the mind, retaining and 
 reviving the objects that are in harmony with it, and repelling 
 such as are discordant, or merely indifferent. In an affec- 
 tionate mood, the thoughts and images partake of love and 
 tenderness. The habitual egotist has a facility in recalling 
 facts for his own glorification. 
 
 When a number of things are equally open to be suggested 
 by the intellectual bonds, tibe emotional state gives the pre- 
 ference. The thoughts of persons of intense feelings, and of 
 small inteUectual power, have the monotonous stamp of the 
 prevailing emotion ; such are fond and weak-minded mothers, 
 exclusive devotees to business, and enthusiastic temperaments 
 in general. The plausibility of characters in fiction or romance 
 is made to depend on this circumstance. All the thoughts 
 and expressions of a Shylock bear the cast of the feelings 
 attributed to him. 
 
 INFLUENCE OF VOLITION. 
 
 8. The influence of the Will in intellectual production 
 is indirect. 
 
 No mere urgency of motive can make a feeble bond 
 stronger. If one's life were to depend upon an effort of 
 memory beyond the pitch of the formed adhesion, it would be 
 of little aviol. 
 
 (1) A powerful Motive, by exciting the system, may 
 exalt the intensity of the mental processes. 
 
 Any great pain to be avoided, or pleasure to be com- 
 manded, is accompanied with an increased nervous action, 
 under which all the powers are enhanced, including the forces 
 of revival by contiguity and similarity. The effect of increased 
 cerebral action is seen in the extreme case of the delirium of 
 fever, during which long-forgotten trains have sometimes been 
 i"evived with minute fidelity. The greatest stretches of inven- 
 tion usually require a more than ordinary cerebral excitement, 
 sometimes worked up by physical stimulants, but commonly 
 arising in the voluntary effort. 
 
 (2) The Will operates under the form of Attention, or 
 mental concentration upon special objects present to the 
 view. 
 
158 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION. 
 
 It is probable that a greater force of attention, directed 
 npon what is present, will in some degree quicken the power 
 to revive the associated past. In difficult recollection, we 
 assume this to be the case ; anxious to recall the name of a 
 distant hill, we gaze npon the hiU for some time, thinking 
 thereby to add to the chance of the recovery. We can do the 
 same with a mere mental image : the will fixes the mental 
 attention as well as the bodily — a fact very much in favour of 
 the doctrine as to the seat of revived impressions. If we come 
 to a stand in repeating a discourse, we dwell strongly upon 
 the last remembered words ; if a local association snaps, we 
 concentrate the mind npon the part next the' break. 
 
 (3) The Will prompts the search after collateral links. 
 
 It has been seen, that, by uniting several links, each too 
 weak of itself, we may form a compound that will be suffi- 
 cient. Now, by a voluntary act, we can go off in search of 
 these collateral bonds. Not remembering in the order of time, 
 all the chief events of a given century, we can, by mere 
 voluntary determination, pass to other links, as persons, 
 places, and notable circumstances. 
 
 The power of the Will over the trains of thought, through 
 these indirect means, may be considerable. We may not at 
 once determine what thoughts shall arise, but, of those that 
 have arisen, we can determine the attention upon some rather 
 than upon others ; the withdrawal of the attention from any 
 one will nullify its power of farther reproduction. We thus 
 refrain from pursuing trains not available for the purpose in 
 hand. If we are building up a geological speculation, we 
 confine our local recollections to geological features. 
 
 It may be remarked as frequently occurring, that although 
 there are present to the mind one or more objects, each richly 
 associated with mental trains, yet there is nothing actually 
 suggested. The inertness may be owing to various causes, 
 highly illustrative of the workings of the intellect. It may 
 a,rise from mere exhaustion, indolence, or inactivity. The 
 condition of the mind and brain in respect of activity, is very 
 variable, and very much within our control. Or, again, the 
 forces of the mind may have got into a set track or attitude, 
 opposing a certain resistance to the assumption of any other 
 trains of thought; as when some one subject engrosses our 
 attention, so that even during a break in the actual current 
 of the thoughts, other subjects are not entertained. And, 
 farther, when numerous solicitations on different sides are 
 
CONFLICTING POINTS OF VIEW. 159 
 
 nearly equally balanced, the result is a kind of intellectual 
 Buspense ; when an object is associated equally with many 
 outgoing trains, as the sun, or the sea, no start is made tiU 
 some concurring Unks point to one definite movement. K 
 the sea is stormy and we are contemplating a sea voyage, we 
 are led off into all the trains of recollection of our seafaring 
 experience. 
 
 OBSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 9. The power to assist includes the power to resist. 
 Any agency that is helpful when with us, is obstructive 
 when against us. This is fully applicable to the case of 
 concurring associations. 
 
 It often happens that we fail to remember a name, from 
 having the mind pre-occupied with a wrong syllable. So 
 when things are lost ; should we accidentally be prepossessed 
 with some mistaken locality, or some erroneous supposition, 
 we have not the full benefit of our power of recollection in the 
 matter ; at some other time, when the wrong prepossession has 
 left us, our memory may be quite adequate to the recall. 
 
 The history of science would famish many instances of dis- 
 coveries kept back by the force of a prejudice or pre-occu- 
 pation, some false bent or cue once getting hold of men's 
 minds. Several of the glimpses of Aristotle in Psychology were 
 nearer the truth than <£e views that long prevailed after him ; 
 not so much from his superior genius, as from his not being 
 involved in the mazes of an ultra-spiritualistic philosophy. It 
 is remarked of Priestley, that though he began his researches 
 in Chemistry with Kttle knowledge of what had been already 
 done, he entered on the subject free from the prejudices that 
 warped the judgment and limited the view of the educated 
 chemists. 
 
 Obstructive associations may be traced, on a grajid scale, 
 in the conflict of different modes of viewing the objects aiid 
 occurrences of the world. There is a standing hostility 
 between the Artistic and the Scientific modes of looking at 
 things, and an opposition less marked between the Scientific, 
 or the Theoretical, and the Practical points of view. The 
 artistic mind is obstructed by the presence of considerar 
 tions of scientific truth.; and the scientific mind, bent on being 
 artistic, walks encumbered, and with diminished energy. 
 Poetic fiction is never so brilliant as when the poet is un- 
 trammeled by a regard to truth. 
 
160 COICPOUNB ASSOCIATTON. 
 
 A good instance of the obstrnctiveness of incompatible 
 ideas is found in the eflfort of gaessing riddles and conun- 
 dmms. These nsually turn npon the eqtiiTocal meanings of 
 words. Now a mind that makes use of language to pass to the 
 serious import or genuine meaningSj is disqualified from follow- 
 ing out the play of equivooationy not because thei requisite 
 associations do not exists but because these are OTerbome by 
 others inimical to the whole proceeding. 
 
 ASSOCIATION OF CONTRAST. 
 
 10. It beiflg- known as a fact, that objects, on many 
 occasions; recall their contraries ; Contrast, or Contrariety, 
 has been admitted among the forces that revive past 
 thoughts. The influence may be analyzed as follows : — 
 
 (1 ) Contrast is a phase of the primary function of mind, 
 named Discrimination or Eelativity. 
 
 If every state of feeUng and of knowledge implies a tran- 
 sition, and is therefore a double or two-sided fact, our know- 
 ledge is essentially a cognition of contraries. Heat means, 
 not an absolute state, but the shock of a transition from cold ; 
 the recent cold is as essential to the fact as the present heat. 
 When we think of heat, we have a tacit reference to cold ; 
 when we think of ' up,' we have a tacit reference to ' down.' 
 To pass into the contrary cognition in these cases, is merely 
 to reverse the order of the couple, to make cold the explicit, 
 and heat the implicit element. 
 
 (2) Contrasts are frequently suggested by Contiguity. 
 A great number of the more usual contrasts acquire a 
 
 farther connexion through the habitual transitions of thought 
 and speech. Our memory contains numerous associated 
 couples, — up and down, great and small, rich and poor, true 
 and false, life and death. 
 
 When we come to understand the value of contrast as a 
 Rhetorical device both for intensifying the expression of 
 feeling, and for clearness in expounding doctrine, we acquire 
 the habit of introducing contrasts on all important occasions. 
 
 (3) The mutual suggestion of contraries may be partly 
 due to Similarity. 
 
 There is an old maxim that contraries must have a ground 
 of -likeness. This is true of all contraries up to the highest 
 contrast of all (Object and Subject). Matter and Space are 
 in the genus Extension (the Object) : Intellect and Feeling 
 
CONTRAST AN EMOTIONAL EFFECT. 161 
 
 are both under Mind, the subject ; blue aoad red are in the 
 class colour. Thus, while the highest opposition can be sug- 
 gested only by Relativity or pure Contrjist, the lower kiuds 
 introduce an element of similarity in their generic agreement. 
 Wealth may suggest poverty, partly by the opposition, and 
 partly by leading us to think of the generic subject — human 
 conditions. 
 
 It is by the mutual attraction of similars, that we are 
 made alive to contradictions. "We hear a certain affirmation ; 
 the sameness of subject recalls a previous affirmation of an 
 opposite tenor. The announcement that a certain rock is of a 
 sedimentary origin, brings to our mind by similarity the idea 
 of the same rock, coupled with the assertion of its igneous 
 origin. 
 
 (4) Many Contrasts are stamped on the mind through 
 Emotion. 
 
 Apart from the influence of the shock of change, necessary 
 to consciousness in any degree, the mind may be quickened 
 by strong special emotions. When any quality is in excess, 
 as heat, cold, exercise, rest, we are urged to think of the 
 opposite as a desired relief. The disappointment of our ex- 
 pectations may take the form of a shock of contrast ; looking 
 for favour, we may encounter contumely ; a journey for health 
 may confirm our malady. 
 
 The contrasts of Poetry and Art are transitions for height- 
 ening an effect. 
 
 The moralist delights in pourtraying the contrasts in 
 human conditions — the pride of prosperity with the chances 
 of misfortime and the certainty of the last end. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 CONSTEUCTIVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 1. By means of association, the mind has the power 
 to form Combinations, or aggregates, different from any- 
 thing actually experienced. 
 
 The processes named Imagination, Creation, Constructive- 
 ness, have not been taken account of in the preceding exposi- 
 11 
 
162 CONSTRtXCTIVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 tion. Ik Similarity, we had before ns a power tending to 
 originality and invention ; but the genins of the mechanical 
 inventor, the man of scienpe, the poet, the painter, the musi- 
 cian, implies something more complex. In the steam-engine, 
 in the science of geometry, in Paradise Lost, we find something 
 beyond the grandest fetches of Similarity. 
 
 Nevertheless, the intellectual powers already described are 
 sufficient for these creations ; the addition consists of a stimu- 
 lus and guidance supplied by the I'eelings and the WilL 
 This will appear from the examples. 
 
 MECHANICAL CONSTBUCTIVENESS. 
 
 2. In Mechanical Acquisition, we have often to com- 
 bine movements into new groupings. An exercise of 
 volition, directed to the movements separately, brings 
 them together in the first instance. 
 
 In learning to dance, the separate positions are first 
 acquired; when the will can command these, the pupil is 
 directed to combine them into the steps and figures ; these at 
 last become coherent by the plastic force of Contiguity. It is 
 the same with military drill, and with education in the manual 
 arts ; the learner is first able to command certain elementary 
 movements, and then unites them, in time and order, as 
 directed. 
 
 Sometimes the process is to dissociate and suppress move- 
 ments, as in endeavouring to walk without swinging the 
 arms. The instrumentality is the same. One effiart of voli- 
 tion determines the complex movement ; another is directed 
 to the members to be arrested ; and the required act is the 
 result of the dififerential operation. 
 
 When a complex act has to be performed, made up of timed 
 and ordered movements, successive attempts are needed to 
 make them fall into their places. Thus, in learning to swim, 
 wa throw out the limbs, by separate volitions, but cannot at 
 first attain to the exact rhythm of the swimmer. After a time, 
 we make the effort that happily combines every movement in 
 the proper order. The difficulty is at an end : we then keep 
 up the snccessftd conjunction, and fall into it, at pleasure, 
 ever afterwards. 
 
 These constructions of our mechanical or musculkr ener- 
 gies, exemplify the three conditions or essentials of the Oon- 
 Btmctive process of the Intellect. 
 
 . (1) There must be a command of the separate elements. 
 
CONDITIONS OF THE CONSTRUCTIVE PROCESS. 163 
 
 The more thorough and complete this command, the easier is 
 the work of uniting them iuto new combinations. 
 
 (2) There must be an idea, plan, or conception, of the de- 
 sired combinations ; some mental delineation of it, such as to 
 make us aware when we have succeeded. This idea may be a 
 model for imitation, as the fugleman of a company at driU ; 
 or it may be a conception of the effect to be produced, as in 
 laying out grounds. In other cases, it is a verbal combina- 
 tion or description, as when we are told to conceive a gold 
 mountain. 
 
 (3) There is a series of tentatives, or a process of trial and 
 error. The distinct voHtions are put in exercise to bring on 
 the separate movements, but these do not at first chime in to 
 the joint result; the sense of failure determines another 
 trial, and then another, until some one prove successful. 
 The moment of success is attended with a certain satisfaction, 
 or elation, under which arises a re-inforced prompting to 
 maintain the fortunate combination; and the circnmstances 
 are then, in the highest degree, favourable for the beginning 
 of a permanent association. 
 
 VERBAL CONSTRUCTIVENESS. 
 
 3. Verbal constructiveness is exemplified, first, ia learn- 
 ing to Articulate. 
 
 A certain power of nttering the elementary articulations — 
 the vowels, consonants, and simpler syllables-^being pre- 
 supposed, it is desired to combine these into words, under the 
 spur of imitation. The ear supplies the type to be conformed 
 to; the win nrges various tentatives; there is a sense of these 
 being nnconformable to the type, which invites renewal, until 
 conformity is attained. The child can pronounce the syllables 
 may, ree, in separation ; it hears Mary, with the wish to say 
 the word ; the first endeavours are sensibly wrong ; they are 
 renewed, and, at some favourable conjuncture, the two syllables 
 fall exactly together in the right order. The ear is satisfied 
 and delighted, and a gush of nervous influence accompanies the 
 satisfaction, which goes a good way to cement the connexion ; 
 eveiy succeeding endeavour involves fewer stumbles, and the 
 association is at last completed. 
 
 The child's initial difGicnIties in this acquirement are owing 
 to the imperfect command of the elementary sounds. The 
 VQice is not at first formed to them, and the voluntary link 
 that arouses them is for a lone time wanting. 
 
164 CONSTKUCTIVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 4. The combining of words into Sentences is a farther 
 exercise of constructiveness. 
 
 To imitate literally a sentence heard, is substantially the 
 same effort as now described. A farther advance is exemplified, 
 when the child constructs new sentences to suit new mean- 
 ings. From the combination "good boy,' and the separate 
 name 'Tom,' coupled with an approving sentiment towards 
 Tom, the will is prompted to Associate and recombine the 
 form, ' Tom,' so as to make ' good Tom.' The idea or type iti 
 the mind is to convey some expression having the same force 
 towards the new subject, as the old form has towards ' boy ; ' 
 there must be a feeliag, from analogy, that 'good Tom' 
 answers the end; and accordingly, when this is struck out, there 
 follows the throb of successful endeavour. As before, the more 
 or less easy attainment of the end depends on the familiarity 
 with the constituents. When a considerable variety of sen- 
 tences have been mastered, the process of dropping out and 
 taking in, to answer new meanings, is performed with the 
 utmost rapidity. 
 
 5. The highest Combinations of Language fulfil the 
 same conditions. 
 
 It is necessary, first, to lay up in the memory a certain 
 store of names (allied to things), and of formed combinations 
 of these into afBrmations, clauses, sentences, and connected 
 portions of discourse, with meanings attached. This acquired 
 store contains the material of new compositions ; the more 
 abundant and the more familiar the verbal sequences at com- 
 mand, and the nearer they approach to our requirements, the 
 less troublesome will be the work of composition. A meaning 
 has to be expressed, partly, but not wholly, coinciding with 
 expressed meanings already laid up in the memory; the 
 nearest of these previous forms are recalled by the associating 
 forces ; we operate upon them by combination, by excision, and 
 by substitution, until our mind is satisfied that the resulting 
 verbal construction embraces the subject proposed. 
 
 The compliance with other conditions, besides the signify- 
 ing of a meaning, demands greater resources to start from, or 
 else more numerous tentatives. Not to mention the forms of 
 grammar, which are comparatively easy to satisfy when the 
 stored up arrangements have been grammatical, there may be 
 in the mind certain ideals of perspicuity, of terseness, of 
 elegance, of melody, of cadence, aU which have to be complied 
 
CONSTEUCTIVENESS IN LANGUAGE. 165 
 
 with by the method of tentatives. It is then requisite to com- 
 pose many sentences to the same meaning, in order to choose 
 one that combines the other requisites. But in order to em- 
 body each one of those high demands, we must have ab-eady, 
 in the memory, numerous forms adapted to each ; forms of 
 perspicuous statement, of brevity, of elegance, of melody. We 
 should also have a very decided feeling of the result when 
 attained. 
 
 To take the example of Versification. The power of verse- 
 making supposes a memory largely stored with verses. A 
 given meaning has to be expressed in verse. The prose mind, 
 following the lead of meaniug, would first light upon a prose 
 form, and, on that as a basis, would proceed to make the 
 accommodations needed for verse. The true poet, however, 
 is he that ' lisped in numbers, for the numbers came ; ' his 
 first basis of operations is a metrical form ; this is shaped and 
 modified to comply with the signification, yet never departing 
 from metre. 
 
 FEELINGS OF MOVEMENT. 
 
 6. We may, by help of experience, create new com- 
 binations in the Ideas or Feelings of Force and Movement. 
 
 The most important muscular feelings, for the purposes of 
 the intellect, are our numerous impressions of resistance, 
 pressure, movement, embodied in the various muscles and 
 muscular groupings. Through the hand and arm, we have 
 engrained impressions or ideas of different degrees of weight 
 and resistance — one pound, four poimds, twenty pounds. It 
 is possible to construct intermediate grades or varieties of 
 quantity. Griven the idea of a one pound weight, and the 
 idea of a double or a treble, we can, by an effort of construc- 
 tion, form some approximate idea of two pounds or three 
 pounds. The main condition is stiU the vividness of our hold 
 of the constituent notions. The greatest difficulty lies in 
 knowing when we have succeeded, it not being in our power 
 to say exactly that the constructed impression corresponds to 
 the double or the triple of the original. 
 
 The graduation of our muscular efforts to a certain end, 
 as hitting a mark, or striking a zaeasured blow, supposes the 
 power of interpolating shades of muscular consciousness. The 
 feelings of Architectural fitness are an excellent example of the 
 same constructiveness. From our experience of the weight 
 and the tenacity of small pieces of stone, we take upon our- 
 
166 CONSTEUCTIVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 selves to judge what 'biitk of support is needed, in a column, 
 for masses altogether beyond our means of direct estimate. 
 
 It is by a vague efifort of constructiveness, applied to our 
 muscular acquirements, that we conceive untraversed dis- 
 tances, as the remote Alpine summits, the moon and the stars. 
 We iucrease numerically known exertions of our own — ^that is, 
 combine them with notions of multipUed quantity, and thereby 
 obtain representations, doubtless feeble and inadequate, of 
 these vast distances. 
 
 The emotional feelings of movement fall under the analogy 
 of the emotions generally, which are given in a separate head. 
 
 CONSTRUCTIVENESS IN THE SENSATIONS. 
 
 7. In the Sensations of the Senses, whether Emotional 
 or Intellectual, there is large scope for original construc- 
 tions. 
 
 In the lower senses, as those of Organic Life, Taste, and 
 Smell, the principal effect is emotional, and is attended by the 
 circumstances special to the feelings. We may, by a great 
 effort, conceive new forms of organic pain or pleasure, pro- 
 vided they are resolvable into elements known to us. If it be 
 true, that the pains of parturition are of the nature of spasm, 
 or cramp, they may to some extent be conceived through that 
 experience. The pain of gout may be realized through the 
 knowledge of other modes of acute inflammatory pain. Many 
 modes of acute pain are comparable to scalding heat. 
 
 So with the pleasurable organic feelings. We all know 
 what exhilaration is, and can conceive the general fact with 
 varieties of mode. We may thence be made to conceive the 
 exciting effect of some unknown stimulant, as opium or TudiaTi 
 hemp. 
 
 The obstacle in such a case is the low intellectual per- 
 sistence of these feelings ; we cannot, without considerable 
 striving, recover an organic state under a present state of an 
 alien character. Even the familiar pleasures of eating are not 
 easy to revive ideally in their absence. The constructive 
 exertion is finiitless, if the elements have no abiding hold of 
 the mind. 
 
 Tastes, as being more intellectually persistent than organic 
 states, are more constructible. IVom the experience of 
 relishes, sweets, bitters, &c., we might conceive a complex 
 taste never known, a new mixture of relish and bitterness, of 
 sweet and sour. So with Smells. We might endeavour to 
 
TOUCH. — HEAEING. — SIGHT. 167 
 
 conceive assafoetida from garlic, or an oriental spice-grove 
 from our own flowers and perfomes. 
 
 In the higher senses, the examples are abundant. In 
 Tonch, Hearing, and Sight, the pleasures and pains, as being 
 more intellectnally persistent, are more constructible, than the 
 feelings of the lower senses ; while the sensations whose char- 
 acter is knowledge, and not feeling, are pre-eminently disposed 
 to. the combining operation. 
 
 We have a lai^e experience of Tenches, soft, pungent, 
 hard, rough, smooth, and may often be called upon, to realize 
 new varieties. Many minerals have speciaUties of touch ; 
 for example, asbestos. If we had never touched cork, we 
 should have to combine mentally the several elements, namely, 
 a special kind of soft touch, warmth, and lightness. 
 
 The textile bodies have speciaUties of touch ; and from 
 the experience of a certain number we are qualified to con- 
 ceive others, if resolvable into the known. The blind must 
 frequently perform this operation. 
 
 In the sense of Tonch, considered as including muscular 
 exertion, there is scope for constructing grades of tactual size 
 and form, as well as pressure and resistance. 
 
 In the sense of Hearing, there is frequent occasion for con- 
 structiveness. We maybe asked to conceive unheard sounds, 
 as the muttering of an earthquake, the crash of a falling house, 
 the shout of a battalion in a bayonet charge. The describer, 
 in these cases, must assign some sounds known to us, such as, 
 if combined and intensified, would approach the reality. An 
 ear retentive for sounds generally, and a special familiariiy 
 with those to be combined, would be conditions of success. 
 
 In Sight, construotiveness is facilitated by the intellectual 
 quality of the sense. Given a dead colour, we could conceive 
 it made brilliant or lustrous. It is a more doubtful matter 
 whether we could make the construction supposed by Hume, 
 namely, to interpose an unexperienced shade of colour. Inas- 
 much as all the varieties of colour are reducible to three 
 primary colours, there should be a possibility of picturing 
 new slmdes. Hobbes's example, a mountain of gold, typifies a 
 comparatively easy class of constructions, the alteration of 
 colour in a given form ; such are a white crow, a room when 
 painted, a sketch when the colours are laid iu, London built 
 of the stone of Edinburgh, or of Paris. Here we have to dis- 
 miss or dissociate one element, and introduce another, an 
 operation that may be very much thwarted or aided by the 
 feelings : the colour most agreeable in itself wiU cUng to us 
 
168 CONSTEUCTIVK ASSOCIATION. 
 
 by preference. Another class involves the putting together 
 of new shapes, as the mermaid, the dragon, the chimaera, 
 Milton's pictures of Sin and Death. 
 
 The ready hold of the elements to be combined is still the 
 grand condition of success. Also, in order to possess ourselves 
 permanently of a new image, by means of construction, we 
 must continue or repeat the effort, as for any other desired re- 
 membrance. 
 
 CONSTKUCTION OF NEW EMOTIONS. 
 
 8. Examples may be taken from the higher Emotions. 
 The more simple Emotions, as Wonder, Fear, Love, Power, 
 must be known byexperience. Even although we be able to 
 resolve into simpler elements. Self-complacency, Anger, the 
 Intellectual Emotions, the Artistic and the Moral Feelings, yet 
 some experience should be had of them as compounds, in order 
 to enlarge the constructive basis. 
 
 The simplest exercise of construction would be to change 
 the degree of an emotion ; as in entering into the feelings of 
 another person, habitually more or less courageous, loving, self- 
 complacent, irascible, than one's-self. We should then have to 
 multiply or diminish our known states of feeling, together with 
 their collaterals and consequences. We should not merely 
 endeavour to intensify our conception of courage, for example ; 
 we should also deal with its occasions, its expression, aud its' 
 results, which also, being multiplied, would support the attempt 
 to magnify the proper emotion. As a considerable aid, we 
 might go back to iiie occasion when our own feeling was acci- 
 dentally stimulated to an intense degree. 
 
 Any one feebly constituted in the emotions generally would 
 be disqualified from realizing a temperament of the opposite 
 stamp, unless by a very intense exertion. So it would be with 
 a person of weak volition endeavouring to conceive a man of 
 energy. There is a natural repugnance to the very attempt to 
 pass so far out of one's own bounds ; whence the maxim — to 
 know a man we must love him. 
 
 A BtUl more frequent exercise is to transfer a familiar emo- 
 tion to a new object. This is the way that we enter into other 
 men's tastes, and likings, their fears, hatreds, and antipathies. 
 We have the feelings in otirselves, and we can by an effort of 
 construction suppose them to invest other objects. Ambition 
 is at bottom the same, whether for temporal power or for 
 spiritual power ; for official command, or for inteUectnal and 
 moral sway. The sentiment of worship is genericaUy alike, 
 
TRANSFER OF EMOTIONS TO NEW OBJECTS. 169 
 
 whatever be the objects of worship ; still, a considerable effort 
 would be necessary for a Christian to enter into the manner of 
 feeling of a Pagan, or for a Calvinist to sympathize with a 
 Komanist. 
 
 The authors of Poetry and Romance have to unfold the 
 workings of characters far removed from their own, which 
 involves emotional constmctiveness. In such cases, it is desir- 
 able to check the imaginative adaptation, by actual observa- 
 tion of individuals nearly approaching to the type in view. 
 This is the usual course of novelists, when pourtraying a charac- 
 ter far removed from their own. Goethe's 'Fair Saint,' in 
 Wilhelm Meister, was depicted from acquaintance with a real 
 person. 
 
 CONCRETING THE ABSTRACT. 
 
 9. The forming, out of abstract elements, images in the 
 Concrete, is an application of constructiveness. 
 
 We may join together size, form, and colour into a con- 
 crete visible image ; as when we ai"e told to fancy to our- 
 selves a golden ingot of given dimensions. So we may con- 
 ceive a building from its plans, elevations, and known material. 
 The facility in such cases, depends, for the most part, upon 
 the ideal hold of colour. When there is great complication of 
 form, something depends on the muscular retentiveness of the 
 eye. 
 
 Another case is the conceiving of a country from a map, 
 the actual dimensions and the colours being also given. The 
 mind must endeavour to regain as vividly as possible the 
 memories most nearly corresponding to the prescribed ele- 
 ments, and by a voluntary act hold them in the view till they 
 fuse into a concrete. Or, we may start from a well-remem- 
 bered concrete, and strike out and insert portions, tiU it suit 
 the elements given. 
 
 It is substantially the same operation to picture to our- 
 selves minerals, plants, and animals, from their descriptions, 
 with or without the aid of drawings. 
 
 REALIZING OP BEPEESENTATION OR DESCRIPTION. 
 
 10. To realize Verbal descriptions, or other Eepresenta- 
 tions of things not experienced, is a constructive process. 
 
 This is but the continuation of the foregoing cases. Lan- 
 guage, pictures, sculptuted forms, models, and diagrams are 
 modes of indicating the elements, whose mental combination 
 
170 CONSTEUCTIVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 will give the idea of the object intended. It is a part of tiie 
 Bhetorical Art, to show how to describe things so as to give 
 the utmost aid to the mind in conceiving them. 
 
 The realizing of things, not personally experienced, but 
 brought before us in description or other indication, is the 
 chief meaning of the act of Conceiving, or Conception, some- 
 times treated as one of the intellectual faculties. It passes 
 above memory, as being an exercise of Constmctiveness, and 
 falls below Imagination proper, as containing no exercise oi 
 originaliiy or invention. 
 
 CONSTRUCTIVENESS IN SCIENCE, 
 
 11. The Abstractions, Inductions, Deductions, and 
 Experimental Discoveries of Science, already included 
 under similarity, also involve constmctiveness. 
 
 To begin with Abstraction. We may represent a form by 
 an outline diagram, as in Euclid. But this, ae giving a 
 definite size, colour, and material, is not an abstraction. The 
 most perfect type of the abstract idea is the verbal definition, 
 which is a construction of language adapted to exclude what- 
 ever does not belong to the generafized attribute. The 
 definition, ' a hue is length without breadth,' is a verbal con- 
 stmction, intended to give what belongs to the line in the 
 abstract. So with the definitions of science generally ; inertia, 
 polarity, heat, cell, animal, mind, and so on. They are, on 
 the part of the first firamers, exercises of original construction, 
 proceeding tentatively till a form of words is arrived at, oon- 
 fijrmable to all the individuals to be included in the generality. 
 
 Induction presents no new peculiarity. All inductions 
 have at last to be shaped and tied down by precise language, 
 expressing neither more nor less than is common to the facta 
 comprehended in each. Sometimes an induction is made up 
 of numerical and geometrical elements, as the laws of Kepler, 
 and Snell's law of Sines. These involve, in the first instance, 
 discoveries of Similarity. 
 
 The Deductive Sciences are made up of a vast machinery, 
 exemplifying, in a remarkable degree, the creative or construc- 
 tive, as opposed to the merely reproductive, processes of the 
 mind. Nature does not provide cubic equations, chemical 
 formulsB, or syllogistic schemes. These are built up by slow 
 degrees, out of elementary symbols, and the constructions are 
 governed and checked by the ends to be served. 
 
 The discoveries of Experimental Science are a more pal- 
 
THE GENIUS OF THE IMVENTOK. 171 
 
 pable ^ and obyioua case of oonstructiveness, being mostly 
 material operations. The first inventor of an instrument, as 
 the air-pnmp, may have certain previous instruments to proceed 
 upon,^ as the common water- pump, the instruments for enclos- 
 ing air, &c.; these he tentatively modifies and adapts till the 
 new end is answered. 
 
 PRACTICAL CONSTRUCTIONS, 
 
 12. In all the departments of Practice, there are 
 examples of constructive arrangement. 
 
 The discoveries and devices of the mechanical arts consist 
 in machinery adapted to ends. They may be described in the 
 terms above applied to the Experimental discoveries of science. 
 
 The mere transfer, by a stroke of Similarity, of a machinery 
 already in use to a new case, constitutes one department of 
 practical invention; as in the extension of the wheel and 
 pinion to aU kinds of machinery. But a very great number of 
 advances in machinery are absolutely new creations, as in the 
 first invention of the mechanic powers, the pump, the melting 
 of metals, the devices of surgery. There must be a certain 
 amount of accident to begin with ; but the accidents must fall 
 into the hands of men prepared, by a peexdiar cast of mind, for 
 taming them to account. The main qualities of the inventive 
 genius for practice are — intellectual attainments in the subject 
 matter of the discoveries, activity of temperament applied to 
 the making of experibients, and a charm or fascination for the 
 subject. Such men as Kepler, Hooke, Priestley, James "Watt, 
 Sir Williajn Herschell, combined the inteUectrnal, active, and 
 emotional constituents of great inventors in the arts. To re- 
 sources of knowledge, they added an equally indispensable 
 gift, — compounded of activity and emotional interest — namely, 
 unwearied groping and experimentation. Mere handicraft 
 skill is also an element in mechanical constrnctiveness. 
 
 The like qualities belong to the contrivers of business ar- 
 rangements, of social organization, law, and administration. 
 Sometimes, a mere fetch of Similarity is enough, but oftener 
 there is a long series of tentatives, ending in a construction 
 suitable to the object sought The organization of an army, 
 the keeping of public accounts, the management of a large 
 fiictory, are the result of innumerable trials checked by felt 
 similarity to the ends. 
 
 The quality of mind named Judgment, has a meaning with 
 r^erence to oonstructiveness, being a clear sense of the pur- 
 
172 CONSTEUCTrVE ASSOCIATION. 
 
 pose to be served, and of the fitness of any construction for 
 that purpose. Judgment is often put in contrast to genius, 
 or intellectual fertility ; it does not provide the suggestions, 
 but tests them. There are various obstacles to the exercise of 
 a severe judgment of the fitness of means to ends ; — ^impa- 
 tience of the labour of repeated constructions, self-conceit, 
 and a feeble sense of the importance of the objects to be 
 gained. Wellington is, by common consent, held to have 
 been a man of pre-eminent judgment, at least in military 
 affairs. 
 
 The adapting of one's views and plans to the opinions of 
 others, as in party leadership, is a case containing all the ele- 
 ments of constructiveness. According to the number of con- 
 ditions to be fulfilled, the operation is the more protracted, 
 the mental conflict more severe, and the greater the demand 
 for variety of suggestions, the product of associating forces 
 working on previous knowledge. Long experience, by accu- 
 mulating constructions already formed, diminishes the labour 
 in suiting the new cases. 
 
 The imitating of a model is an instance of constructive- 
 ness. The model has to be changed in certain particulars to 
 suit the case in hand; as when one Act of Parliament is 
 framed upon another. The facility of the construction de- 
 pends on having fally present to the mind the model and the 
 subject to be shaped according to it. If both the one and the 
 other are perfectly familiar, the combination emerges easily 
 and almost unconsciously. 
 
 In Oratory, there is a perpetual series of constructions ; it 
 is rare to repeat the same form of words. The speaker has 
 before him, as disjecta membra, a certain meaning to be ex- 
 pressed, and sentences expressing approximations to that 
 meaning ; he has also an ideal of cadence, taste, and other 
 requisites. Possessing a full mastery of all these elements, he 
 puts them together in the required shape, with a rapidity that 
 causes astonishment. The repartees of a ready wit are sur- 
 prising from the quickness of the combining operation. Still 
 more remarkable, in this respect, are the Italian Improvisa- 
 tor! ; their facility must be due to their abundance of ready 
 formed combinations. 
 
 CONSTEUCTIVENESS UNDER FEELING. 
 
 13. It is the nature of certain constructions to satfefy 
 some immediate feeling or emotion — as Fear, Love, Anger, 
 Beailty, Moral Sentiment 
 
EMOTIONAL INFLUENCES. 173 
 
 We are supposed to be strongly occupied with an emotion, 
 and to impart its tinge to the constructions of the thoughts. 
 
 Under Compound Association, notice was taken of the 
 agency of the feelings in mere reminiscence ; the same agency 
 is farther displayed in new constructions. In strong Fear, 
 we construct imaginations of danger; in general elation of 
 mind, all our pictures take a sanguine form. The warm 
 enthusiastic temperament of Wordsworth and of SheUey pour- 
 trays nature in gorgeous hues. All images brought up by 
 intellectual resuscitation are shaped and adapted tiU they 
 conform to the reigning emotion. 
 
 The exemplifications of this kind of constructiveness are 
 numerous. In literary compositions, we detect the emotional 
 nature of the writers, as well as their knowledge and habits 
 of thought; the warm geniality of Shakespeare, the lofty 
 pride of Milton, the mildness of Addison, the gloomy scorn of 
 Swift. 
 
 Bias, or the influence of the Feelings in truth and false- 
 hood, means the shaping of facts and doctrines to suit a sen- 
 timent. Properly speaking, this influence is completed by a 
 constructive operation, the taking out and putting in of parts 
 ajid particulars till the feeUng is conformed to. It is thus 
 that many theories of phUoaophy have been framed to suit the 
 dignity of nature, or rather flie sentiment of the dignified in 
 the mind of the theorizer.- 
 
 The Myth is a construction so far governed by feeling as 
 to give evidence only of feeling and not of fact. Such are the 
 Grecian legends referring to the divine and heroic descent oi 
 the several tribes ; and the legends of saints and remarkable 
 persons in more recent times. 
 
 The natural craving of the mind for something beyond 
 fact and reality, is the motive for ideal and hyperbolical crea.^ 
 tions. The intellectual processes supply the material ; various 
 constructions are attempted and rejected, until the feeling is 
 complied with. 
 
 14. The Constructions of the Fine Arts generally are 
 framed to suit the .^Esthetic Feelings, or Taste, of the 
 artist. 
 
 What these feelings are will be shown in detail afterwards. 
 They are different from the feelings that guide us in scientific 
 and in practical constructions, from none of which can a 
 motive (ultimately grounded on feeling) be absent. 
 
 For example, there is no requirement in art more constant 
 
174 CONSTKXJCTIVE ASSOCUTION. 
 
 than the satisfying of the feeling of Harmony. Take the case oi 
 Poetry. The images must harmonize with the sentiments ; 
 the characters, besides being consistent with themselves, mast 
 be placed in suitable scenes and situations ; the language must 
 be intrinsically melodious, and also in keeping with the subject- 
 matter. The composition has to be modified in submission to 
 this all-perrading requirement. The tentatives may be numer- 
 ous and protracted, but the elements of success are now ap- 
 parent There should be a command of language for selection. 
 The feeling of harmony should be strong and delicate, and 
 should be already embodied in numerous familiar examples. 
 With abundant material and a decisive sense of the effect, the 
 execution is a series of trials, continued till the result folly 
 accords with the sensibility of the artist. 
 
 A humourist has in his mind a certain subject, as Knight 
 Errantry, and a certain feeling called humour, and with this feel- 
 ing he possesses many instances of combinations for gratifying it. 
 Out of the career of the Enight Errant, he singles out passages, 
 susceptible of being combined into ludicrous images, as for 
 example, the extravagances of the pursuit; he heightens these, 
 excludes any sobering or redeeming features, and also contrives 
 situations for giving them in their most ludicrous form ; and at last 
 produces a construction successfully appealing to the emotion that 
 he starts with. 
 
 15. Imagination will be found most characteristically 
 exemplified in Fine Art Constructiveness. The principal 
 elements of Imagination are (1) Goncreteness, (2) Origin- 
 ality or Invention, and (3) the presence of an Emotion. 
 
 (1) Imagination has for its objects the concrete, the real or 
 the actual, as opposed to abstractions and generalities, which 
 are thg matter of science, and occasionally of the practical 
 arts. The fuU colouring of reality is supposed to enter into 
 our imagination of a scene in nature, or of a transaction in 
 history. To imagine the landing of Julius Caesar in Britain, 
 is to be impressed with the visible aspect of the scene, in the 
 same way — although without the vividness, accuracy, or 
 completeness — a an actual spectator would remember it. 
 Sensation, Memory, Conception, Imagination, alike deal 
 with the fulness of the actual world, as opposed to mere 
 abstractions. 
 
 (2) Imagination farther points to some Originality, Novelty, 
 Inventiveness, or Creativeness, on the part of the mind ima- 
 gining, and is not 9, mere reproduction of previous forms. 
 It ranks as a Constructive process, thus rising above both 
 
IMAGINATION SXIPPOSES A PKESENT EMOTION. 175 
 
 memory and conception. The name is occasionally used in 
 the sense of Realizing a Description, or Conceiving what is 
 represented to us through language ; but this usage is unde- 
 sirable, as confounding two very different operations, while 
 the inferior exercise is sufficiently denoted by other words. 
 The prevailing employment of the term Imagination, is to 
 express originality ; by a jJowerftd imagination we mean a 
 wide compass of creative effort, as in the highest productions 
 of poetry or the other Fine Arts. The word in its best appli- 
 cation, is identical with Fine Art Constrnctiveness, as will 
 farther appear under the subsequent head. 
 
 (3) Lnagination is subject to some present emotion of the 
 mind. This needs explanation. All constructions are fca" 
 some end, which must be a feeling in the last resort. A pum.p 
 is constracted to gratify the feeling of thirst, and other wants, 
 all resolvable into feelings. A geometrical diagram is in- 
 tended to give some satisfaction immediate or remote. 
 
 The feelings or emotions ruling the constructions of Ima- 
 gination are, first, the .(^Esthetic Emotions, or those of Fine 
 Art. A construction that gratifies these is not included either 
 in Science or in Practice. The Paradise Lost is a work of 
 Imagination ; Euclid's Elements, and the Chinese WaU, are 
 not works of Imagination. When a work of Utility is shaped, 
 decorated, or adorned, to gratify aesthetic sensibility, it com- 
 bines Imagination with practical constrnctiveness. 
 
 Secondly, Imagination is allowed to be used for expressing 
 the Mas given by present emotions to the constructions for 
 Truth, or for Utility, as when we distort facts through our 
 fears, likings, antipathies, or our artistic feelings. The per- 
 verting influence of the feelings, either in matters of know- 
 ledge, or in matters of practice, is often described as intruding 
 Imagination into the province of Reason, although Reason itself 
 must work for ends, and these ends must centre in feelings. 
 There are feeKngs that are the legitimate goal of the reason ; 
 and there are others that are not legitimate ; and to give way 
 to these last (which are either SBsthetic feelings, or in close 
 alliance with them), is to fall under the sway of Imagination. 
 
 The name Fancy, a corruption of phantasy (from the 
 Greek phantasia, which had nearly the meaning of ' idea ' in 
 modem times, as opposed to sensation and actuality), is applied 
 to those creations that are farthest removed from nature, feet, 
 or sober reality. The pictures of Fairy land, and the super- 
 natural, are creatures of the fancy. The light, sportive vein 
 of Art, as contrasted with the thoughtfdl, grave, and serious, 
 
176 ABSTRACTION — THE ABSTRACT IDEA. 
 
 is called fanciful. 'Comns,' as compared with 'Paradise 
 Lost,' is a work of fancy. 
 
 Ideality, or the Ideal, is another name for Imagination. 
 It notes more parfcictdarly the tendency to soar above the 
 limits of the actual, and to combine scenes where onr aspira- 
 tions and desires may find gratification, if only in idea ; there 
 being nothing to satisfy ns in the world of reaUty. 
 
 CHAPTEE v.* 
 ABSTRACTION— THE ABSTEACIT IDEA, 
 
 NOMINALISM AND REALISM. 
 
 1. The first stage in Abstraction is to identify and 
 compare a number of objects possessing similarity in 
 diversity; as stars, mountains, horses, men, pleasures. 
 Such objects constitute a Class. 
 
 Until we have been struck with the resemblance of various 
 things that also differ, we do not make a beginning in abstrac- 
 tion. We feel identity am.ong the stars in spite of their 
 variety. There is something conmion to the state named plea- 
 sure, amid much disparity. The things thus identified make 
 a class, and the operation is called classifying. 
 
 2. We are able to attend to the points of agreement 
 of resembling thiijgs, and to neglect the points of differ- 
 ence ; as when we think of the light of luminous bodies, 
 or the roundness of round bodies. This power is named 
 Abstraction. 
 
 It is a fact that we can direct our attention, or our 
 thoughts, to the points of agreement of bodies that agree. 
 We can think of flie light of the heavenly bodies, and make 
 assertions, and draw inferences respecting it. So we can 
 think of the roundness of spherical bodies, and discard the 
 consideration of their colour and size. In such an object as the 
 full moon, we can concentrate our regards upon its luminous 
 
 * The four preceding chapters complete the systematic view of the 
 Intellect ; the three following embrace the leading controTersies. 
 
TO ABSTEACT IS TO CLASSIFY. 177 
 
 character, wherein it agrees with one class of objects ; or upon 
 its figure, wherein it agrees with another class of objects. We 
 can think of the taste of a strawberry, either as agreeing with 
 other tastes, or as agreeing with pleasures generally. 
 
 In the case of concrete objects operating upon different senses, 
 we can readily concentrate attention upon the properties of a 
 single sense. Notwithstanding the solicitations of a plurality of 
 senses at once, we can be absorbed with one ; we can be all eye, 
 although also affected with sounds, and all ear, although also 
 affected with sights ; the mental attention may flow in one ex- 
 clusive channel .of sense. We may likewise, to some extent, give 
 a dominant attention to the active or to the passive feelings of a 
 sense. Thus, in sight, we can be more engaged with tiie mus- 
 cular than with the optical elements, and vice versa; but we 
 cannot entirely s«>arate the two. 
 
 The special dimcidty of abstraction occurs in the indivisible sen- 
 sations of a sense; every sound has a plurality of characters — inten- 
 sity, volume, pitcii, &c. ; to these we can give a separate attention, 
 only by the methods described in the succeeding paragraphs. 
 
 3. Every Concrete thing falls into as many classes as it 
 has attributes ; to refer it to one of these classes, and to 
 think of the corresponding attribute, are one mental opera- 
 tion. 
 
 When a concrete thing before the view recalls others 
 agreeing in a certain point, our attention is awake upon that 
 point ; when the moon recalls other luminous bodies, we are 
 thinking of its light ; when it recalls other round bodies, we 
 are thinking of its roundness. The two operations are not 
 different but identicaL 
 
 On this supposition, to abstract, or to think of a property 
 in the abstract, is to dasBify under some one head. To ab- 
 stract the property of transparency from water, is to recall, at 
 the instance of water, window glf^s, crystal, air, &c. ; to ab- 
 stract its liquidity, is to recall milk, vinegar, melted butter, 
 mercury, &o. ; to abstract its weight is to bring it into com- 
 parison with other kinds of gravitating matter. 
 
 Hence abstraction does not properly consist in the mental 
 separation of one property of a thing from the other proper- 
 ties — as in thinking of the roundness of the moon apart from 
 its luminosity and apparent magnitude. Such a separation is 
 impracticable ; no one can think of a circle without colour 
 and a definite size. AU the purposes of the abstract idea are 
 served by conceiving a concrete thing in company with others 
 resembling it in the attribute in question ; and by affirming 
 12 
 
178 ABSTEACTION^-THE ABSTKACT IDEA. 
 
 nothing, of the one concrete, but what is true of all those 
 others. _ - 
 
 When we thiak of the moon in comparison with a circle 
 drawn on paper, and make that the' subject of a proposition, 
 we affirm only what is common to these two things ; we re- 
 frain from afi&ming colour, size, or position ; we confine our- 
 selves to what is involved in the community of form. 
 
 In abstract reasoning, therefore, we are not so much en- 
 gaged with any single thing, as with a class of things. When 
 we are discussing government, we commonly have in view a 
 number of governments, alternately thought of; if we notice 
 in any one government a certain feature, we run over the 
 rest in our mind, to see if the same feature is present in all. 
 There is no such thing as an idea of government in the ab- 
 stract ; there is only possible a comparison of governments in 
 the concrete ; the abstraction is the likeness or community of 
 the individuals. To be a good abstract reasoner, one should 
 possess an ample range of concrete instances. 
 
 4. There are various cases, where we seem to approach 
 to a pure Abstract Idea. 
 
 (1) In some instances, we can perform a material separa- 
 tion of one property from others. Thus the sweetness of wine 
 depends upon its sugar ; the stimulating property is due to 
 alcohol ; the bouquet to a certain ether. Now, all these ele- 
 ments can be presented in separation. This, however, is not 
 abstraction ; every one of the substances is a concrete thing, 
 having many other properties besides the one noted. Sugar 
 is not mere sweetness; nor is alcohol a stimulant in the 
 abstract. 
 
 (2) In the Lineal Diagrams of Geometry, the substance is 
 attenuated to a bare form; solidity is absent, and no more 
 colour is left than is necessary to the outline of the figure. 
 Still, the object is concrete. The colour of the line is essential 
 to its purpose ; and there is a definite size. When studying 
 the circle by the diagram, we must take heed of affirm- 
 ing anything that is not common to other round things. 
 One way of observing the precaution is to keep before the 
 view a plurality of round objects, difiering in colour and in 
 size; each is then checked by the others. It is the prin- 
 ciple of sound generalization to affirm nothing of a class but 
 what is true of all its recognized members. 
 
 There may be indistinctness, or a want of vividness, in our 
 conceptions of concrete things ; we may fail in realizing the 
 
VERBAL DEFINITION THE P0EEST ABSTEACTION. 179 
 
 richness of colouring and the minute tracery of an object ; we 
 may think of the form under a dim, hazy colour, far below 
 the original ; still this is not abstraction ; the colour and the 
 form are not divorced in the mind. 
 
 (3) The verbal expression of what is. common to a class 
 appears to give a separate existence to the generalily. The 
 description, ' A Hue is length without breadth,' may be called 
 an abstract idea of a liae. StiU, the meaning of the words 
 ' length ' and ' breadth ' is inconceivaWe, without the aid of 
 individual concrete things possessing length and breadth. 
 Length is a name for one or more things agreeing in the pro- 
 perty so called ; and the property is nothing but this agree- 
 ment. When, therefore, an abstraction is defined by a verbal 
 reference to other abstractions, the effect is to transfer the 
 attention from one class of concrete things to some other 
 classes of concrete things. ' A triangle is a figure bounded by 
 three right Hues,' directs ub to contemplate the concretes 
 impUed under 'boundary,' imder 'three,' and under 'right 
 line.' 
 
 After arriving at the verbal definition, we are able to reason 
 of a class by reference to a single individual. When told 
 that ' a line is length without breadth,' we are cautioned against 
 viewing the line before us, in a diagram, under any other view 
 but its length. A certain width is necessary to our seeing or 
 conceiving the line, but we take warning from the definition 
 not to affirm or include any proposition as to width. We con- 
 tract a habitual precaution on this head, which enables us to 
 work correctly upon one specimen, instead of needing the 
 check of various differing specimens. Thus, while nothing 
 can dispense with the presence of a concrete example, it is 
 possible to work without a plurality of examples ; and what 
 enables us to do so is the restraint imposed by the verbal de- 
 finition. 
 
 5. The only generality possessing separate existence is 
 the Name ; and the proper force of a general name is to 
 signify agreement among the concrete things denoted 
 by it. 
 
 When a certain number of things affect the mind with 
 similarity in difference, it is of importance to make the feet 
 known ; which is done by the use of a common name. The 
 things called fires have a community of effect, and the appli- 
 cation of one word to all, shows that to be the case ; and 
 shows nothing else. Every name that we find applied to a 
 
180 ABSTEACTION — ^THB ABSTRACT IDEA. 
 
 pltirality of objects is a declaration of agreement (in a given 
 manner) among sncli objects; man, horse, river, just. To 
 this view of the nature of general, or abstract ideas, is given 
 the designation ' Nominalism.' 
 
 6. General Ideas, separated from particulars, have no 
 counterpart Eeality (as implied in Eealism), and no Men- 
 tal existence (as affirmed in Conceptualism). 
 
 Becanse we have a name ' ronnd,' or ' circle,' signifying 
 that certain things impress us alike, althongh also differing, it 
 does not follow that there exists in natnre a thing, of pure 
 ronndnesB, with no other property conjoined ; a circle, of no 
 material, no colour, and no size. All iiature's circles are circles 
 in the concrete, each one embodied along with other material 
 attributes ; a certaia colour and size being inseparable from 
 the form. This is the denial of Realism. 
 
 Neither can we have even a mental Conception of any pro- 
 perty abstracted from all others ; we cannot conceive a circle, 
 except of some colour and some size ; we cannot conceive jus- 
 tice, except by thinking of just actions. 
 
 7. There is a strong tendency in the mind to ascribe 
 separate existence to abstractions; the motive resides in 
 the Feelings, and is favoured by the operation of Language. 
 
 The ascribing of separate existence to abstractions is seen 
 more particularly in early philosophy ; as in the Indeterminate 
 of Anaximander, the Numbers of Pythagoras, the One and the 
 Absolute of the Eleates, the Nous or Mind of Anaxagoras — 
 offered as the primal source, or first cause of all existing 
 things. To account in some/ way or other for all that we see 
 around ua, has been an intense craving of mankind ; and one 
 mode of satisfying it is to construct fictitious agencies, such as 
 those above named. 
 
 The facility that language a£Ebrds to Realism depends on 
 the circumstance that we are apt to expect every word to have 
 a thing corresponding. What is true of concrete names, as 
 Sun, Earth, England, we suppose to be true of general names, 
 as space, heat, attraction ; we naturally regard these as some- 
 thing more than mere comparisons of particulars. 
 
 Time is a pure absti-action ; it has no existence except in 
 concrete duration. Things enduring are what we know ; until 
 we nave become aware of a certain number of these, we have 
 no notion 'of time. Tet, owing to the sublime effect produced 
 by the things that have great duration, we contract an asso- 
 
LANGUAGE FACILITATES EEAUSM. 181 
 
 ciation with the name for tlds property in general, and speak 
 of Time as if it were a real and separate existence. 
 
 The existence of a supposed External and Independent 
 material world, is the crowning iastance of an ahstraction con- 
 verted into a separate entity. (For an account of the contro- 
 versy of Nominalism and Realism, see Appendix A.) 
 
 CHAPTEE VL 
 
 THE OEIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 EXPEEIENCE AND INTUITION. 
 
 1. The question has been raised, with reference to a 
 certain small and select portion of our knowledge, whether 
 it is derived from Experience like the larger portion, or 
 whether it is Intuitive. 
 
 While the great mass of our knowledge is obviously at- 
 tained in the course of our experience of the world, it is con- 
 tended by some philosophers that certain elements exist in the 
 mind at birth ; as, for example, our ideas of Space, Time, and 
 Cause ; the Axioms of Mathematics ; the distinction of Right 
 and Wrong; the ideas of God and Imiliortality. 
 
 These iubom elements have received many other names ; 
 as Innate ideas. Instinctive truths, notions and truths a 'priori, 
 Mrst Principles, Common Sense, Primary Reliefs, Transcen- 
 dental notions and truths, truths of the Reason. 
 
 2. It is considered that the assigning of a purely 
 mental origin to certaia ideas, both accounts for what is 
 otherwise inexplicable, and confers an Authority, higher 
 than experience, upon some important principles, specula- 
 tive and practical 
 
 There are certain peculiarities, it is zaaantained, belonging 
 to such, notions and principles as those above specified, that 
 mere experience and acquisition cannot account for. 
 
 Again, the ante-natal origin of an idea is believed to give 
 it a character of certainty, authority, dignity, sucH as cannot 
 be affirmed of anything obtained in the course of experience. 
 
182 THE ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Thus Kant, in remarking on the notion of Cause, said the 
 question respecting it was, — ' Whether this notion were ex- 
 cogitated by the mind a priori, and thus possessed an intrinsic 
 truth, independent of all experience, and consequently a more 
 extenswe dpplicahilHy, one not limited merely to objects of 
 actual experience.' A supaior and more commanding sweep 
 is thus accorded to the notions originating in the mind. 
 
 3. In more explicit terms, the characters ascribed to 
 the Intuitive or Innate principles, whereby they transcend, 
 or rise above, other principles, are mainly these two — 
 Necessity and Univbbsaiity. 
 
 The necessary, or what must be true, is opposed to the 
 contingent, which may or may not be true. That the whole is 
 greater than its part, and that every efiFect must have a cause, 
 are said to be necessary ; that unsupported bodies fall to the 
 ground is contingent, the fact might have been otherwise. 
 
 Universality follows necessity ; what must be true cannot 
 but be universally true. 
 
 4. The first objection to the doctrine of Innate ideas 
 and principles, is that it presumes on the finality of some 
 one Analysis of the Mind. 
 
 Nothing is to be held innate that can be shown to arise 
 from experience and education. .Language is not innate ; we 
 can account for any one's power of speech by instruction, fol- 
 lowing upon the aiticulate capacity, the sense of hearing, and 
 the adjnitted powers of the intellect. 
 
 To aflten that the notions of Space and Time are intuitive, 
 is to affirm that by no possibiUly shall mental philosophers 
 ever be able to account for them by the operation of our per- 
 ceptive feculties. Now, although the analysis of the mind at 
 any one time should not be able to explain the rise of these 
 notions, we are not, for that reason, justified in saying that 
 they are never to be explained. 
 
 Although, strictly speaking, we are not entitled to call 
 any notion ultimate, and underivable, any more than chemists 
 are entitled to call a substance absolutely simple, yet there are 
 certain appearances indicating that a fact, whether material 
 or mental, is either simple or the reverse. The so-called 
 elementary bodies, — oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and the metals, 
 are probably simple, because none of the powerftd decompos- 
 ing agencies now possessed have been able to decompose 
 them. A newly-discovered saline body or crystal would be 
 
INTUITION SUPPOSES ONE ANALYSIS FINAL. 183 
 
 considered compotmd, because such bodies are siiBceptible of 
 decompositioii. 
 
 So in the Mind, it is not probable that we shall ever be 
 able to analyze the sensation of Colour ; it is an effect arising 
 on the presentation of what is called a visible body, and is not 
 resolvable into any other effect. In like manner, the feeling 
 of Resistance, or Expended Energy, has all the appearance of 
 being a simple fact or experience of the mind. It enters into 
 many mental states, but we cannot show that any other men- 
 tal state enters into it. On the other hand, there are good 
 reasons for thinking that our notion or idea of a pebble is a 
 compound, l)eing made up of resistance, touch, visible form, 
 and visible colour ; we can identify the presence of all these 
 elements in the notion, which is the only proof we have of its 
 being a complex and not a simple notion. 
 
 The question then is, may not our notion of Space, or Ex- 
 tension, be derived from the Muscular feelings or Sensations, 
 co-operating with the Intellectual powers ? Can we identify 
 all diat there is in the notion with these elements of sensible 
 expea-ience, intellectually combined ? Is the analysis of Space 
 given in previous chapters (pp. 26, 48, 63), sufficient to ac- 
 count for it ? If not, what element is there that cannot be 
 identified with Muscular feeling, and Sensation, under the 
 Intellectual properties of Difference, Agreement and Reten- 
 tiveness ? It is now allowed, (by Hamilton, for example,) 
 that we have an empirical knowledge of extension ; why may 
 not this be the whole ? 
 
 In the final appeal, the sufficiency of an analysis rests upon 
 each person's feelings of identity, or difference, in comparing 
 the thing to be analyzed with the elements affirmed to enter 
 into it. If any man is conscious that his notion of Space con- 
 tains nothing but what is supplied by muscular and sensible 
 experience, operated on by the intellect, he has aU the evi- 
 dence that the CEise admits of. 
 
 Even granting that our present analysis of Space is unable 
 to resolve it into elements of post-nat-al experience, we are 
 not, therefore, to hold the matter closed for ever. The power 
 of analysis is progressive ; and the most that any one is en- 
 titled to say, is, that, as yet, Space has not been resolved — 
 that it contains an element that is unique, and not identified 
 with any mode of consciousness gained in our experience ol 
 the world. 
 
 The notion of Time, in the same way, may be held as 
 either resolvable into muscular and sensible impressions, 
 
184 THE OBIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 associated and generalized, or as not so resolvable at present. 
 But no one is entitled to aflSrm it as absolutely simple and 
 nnderived, or that Analysis has reached the last term, in re- 
 spect of this notion. ' 
 
 In point of fact, the analysis of the feeling of Time seems 
 the easiest of all. Every muscular feeling, sensation, and 
 emotion, is different according to the degree of its endurance ; 
 we discriminate the greater &om the less persistence of any 
 state of consciousness. This discriminated persistence is the 
 attribute of Time. We usually measure Time by some mode 
 of our muscular sensibility, as motion ; but we may measure 
 it upon any kind of consciousness ; we being differently 
 affected by the unequal continuance of every mental condition. 
 
 5. The existence of Innate ideas has an Improbability 
 corresponding to the amount of our dependence on experi- 
 ence for our knowledge. 
 
 The unquestionable rule being that our knowledge is 
 gained through Movement and Sense (Intellectual functions 
 co-operating), the burden lies with the advocate of innate 
 truth to make good any exceptions to the rule. 
 
 The difficulties in the way of such an attempt are formi- 
 dable. We cannot interrogate the new-bom child; we have no 
 means of testing its knowledge, until a large store of ideas 
 has been acquired. It is different with the powers of action ; 
 we can see that a child is able to suck at birth, and to perfom 
 various movements and gesticulations. But IJiere ia no evi- 
 dence that it possesses any kind of knowledge or ideas. 
 
 6. On the theory of Nominalism, innate general ideas 
 would involve innate particulars. 
 
 If an abstractian, or generality, be nothing but a host of 
 particulars identified and compared, the abstraction is nothing 
 without the particulars. Space bas meaning in reference to 
 extended things, and to nothing besides. If we are born with 
 a pre-existing idea of space, we must have pre-existing ideas 
 of concrete extended objects, which we compare and classify 
 as extended. But the same objects would also be susceptible 
 of classifications according to other properties, as colour, so 
 that we should farther possess innate ideas of colour. 
 
 7. The characteristic of Necessity, rightly understood, 
 does not point to an Innate origin, 
 
 A proper necessary truth is one where the subject implies 
 
NEOESSAEY TEUTH NOT INNATE. 185 
 
 the predicate ; it is a trath of Implication. What is called 
 the Law of Identity — whatever is, is, A is A — is given as an 
 example of a necessary truth. That a thing is what it is, we 
 may pronounce necessary in the highest sense ; we cannot 
 without self-contradiction, say otherwise. Now, there is no 
 apparent reason why our ordmary faculties would fail to teach 
 us this necessity, or why there must he innate forms provided 
 expressly for the purpose. The difficulty would be to avoid 
 recognizing such a necessity. Were it admissible that a thing 
 could both be and not be, our faculties would be stulti&ed and 
 rendered nugatory. That we should abide by a declaration 
 once made, is indispensable to all understanding between man 
 and man. The law of necessity, in this sense, is not a law of 
 things, but an unavoidable accompaniment of the use of 
 speech. To draiy it, is intellectual suicide. 
 
 Another so-called necessary truth is the Law of Contradic- 
 tion. A thing cannot both be and not be. This is merely the 
 law of Identity in another form. For example, if it be 
 affirmed, ' This room is hot ; ' the inference is necessary that it is 
 not cold. Such an inference, however, according to the prin- 
 ciple of Belativity, is no new fact ; it is the same fact stated 
 fi:om the other side ; hot and not-cold express the same thing. 
 There is no march of information in these necessary truths ; 
 the necessity lies in a thing being exactly what it is ; in an 
 affirmation being still true, although perhaps differently ex- 
 pressed, or looked at from another side. 
 
 Again, when we say ' all men are mortal,' the inference is 
 necessary, that one man, in particular, or some men, axe mor- 
 tal. The necessity lies in the fact that the inference merely 
 repeats the proposition, only not to the same extent. 'All 
 men' is an abbreviation for, this man, the other, and the 
 other; and when we apply the proposition, 'all men are mor- 
 tal' to the case of this man, we do nothing but abide by our 
 affirmation. When we have maintained a principle in one 
 shape, we are understood to be ready to maintain it in any 
 other equivalent shape — to be consistent with ourselves. 
 This we should be equally inclined to, on any supposition as 
 as to the origin of our ideas. 
 
 These necessary truths have, from their very nature, the 
 highest possible ' TTniversality.' That 'whatever is, is;' that 
 ' if all matter gravitate, some matter gravitates,' — are true at 
 all times and places, on the same grounds as they are true 
 now. The obligatiou of consistency cannot be dispensed with 
 at any conceivable place, or any conceivable time. If nature 
 
186 THE ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 had omitted to supply the supposed innate tendency to recog- 
 nize such Universality, we should still recognize it, from a 
 feeling of the utter helplessness that its denial would plunge 
 us into. 
 
 There is, besides, in the active tendency of the mind, a 
 strong disposition to extend to all places and times whatever 
 is true in the present (sec Belief). So powerful, indeed, is 
 this impulse, that it constantly leads ns too far, and needs to 
 be checked and reduced within limits. We are induced to 
 generalize to the utmost whatever we find in our limited 
 experience ; we believe that our present feelings will always 
 continue. Instead of requiring an intuitive preparation to 
 bring us up to the mark of Universality, we are constantly 
 urged, through the operation of our active tendencies, to 
 over-universaJity ; and it would have been well for ns to have 
 been endowed with some innate caution in this respect. 
 
 8. The concessions made by the supporters of Innate 
 Principles are almost fatal to the evidence of these prin- 
 ciples, and to their value as authority. 
 
 It is allowed that experience is the occasion of our being 
 conscious of our intuitive knowledga "We have no idea of 
 Space, till we encounter extended things, nor of time, till we 
 experience continuing or successive things. The innate element 
 is always found in the embrace of an element of sense-per- 
 ception. This circumstance casts the greatest uncertainty npon 
 the whole speculation. It is scarcely possible to say how much 
 is due to experience, and how much to intuition. May not 
 the exactness, the purity, the certainty of an innate principle 
 be impaired by its alliance with the inferior element of actual 
 sensation ? 
 
 9. In the present position of the controversy in ques- 
 tion, the chief alleged Innate (speculative) Principles are 
 the Axioms of Mathematics, and the Law of Causation. 
 
 The axioms of Mathematics have been variously stated. 
 There are good reasons for regarding as axioms, in the proper 
 sense of the word, these two. ' Things equal to the same 
 thing are equal to one another ; ' and ' The sums of equals 
 are equal.' It may be maintained that on these two axioms, 
 together with the definitions, the whole fabric of mathematics 
 can be raised. 
 
 Neither of these two axioms is necessary, in the sense of 
 Implication. When we affirm that 'things equal to the 
 
AXIOMS OF MATHEMATICS. 187 
 
 same thing are equal to one another,' we do not affirm an 
 identical proposition ; the snbject is not involved in the pre- 
 dicate. Equality is properly defined as immediate coincidence 
 (things that, being applied to one another, coincide, are equal). 
 Now, the axiom affirms mediate coincidence, or coincidence 
 through some third thing; and however obvious we may 
 suppose the truth affirmed, it is not an identical proposition ; 
 it connects together two facts, differing not in language only, 
 but in nature 5 it declares mediate coincidence to be as good 
 as immediate coincidence; that where we cannot bring two 
 things together for direct comparison, we may presume them 
 to be equal, if tiiey can be indirectly compared with some 
 third thing. There would be no self-contradiction in denying 
 this axiom. 
 
 The same line of observation is applicable to the second 
 axiom ; ' the sums of equals are equal.' It is not an identical 
 proposition ; it joins together two distinct properties — equality 
 (by coincidence) and equality by the medium of the sum of 
 equalities. 
 
 Neither of these axioms is intuitive, any more than neces- 
 sary. They both flow from our actual experience ; they are 
 abundantly confirmed by repeated trials ; and would, to all 
 appearance, be as strongly believed as they are, by virtue of 
 the extent and variety of the confirmations of them. Such is 
 the view taken by those that impugn innate principles, and con- 
 tend for th« origin, in experience, of all our ideas whatsoever. 
 Some of the axioms of Euclid are necessary, in the strict 
 sense. * Things that, being applied to one another, coincide, 
 are equal,' is not an axiom, but a definition — namely, the 
 definition of equality. ' The whole is greater than its part,' is 
 a corollary from a definition, ttie definition of whole and 
 part; from the very nature of whole and part, the whole 
 must be greater than any one part. This is a necessary, 
 because an identical, proposition. ' That two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space,' (Kant's stock instance) is, in reality, 
 a corollary from the definition of straight lines, and is therefore 
 necessary indeed, but is an implicated or identical statement. 
 To contradict it, is to contradict the very definition. 
 
 That every Effect not only has, but must have, a Cause, is 
 alleged to be a truth at once necessary and intuitive. Ex- 
 perience, it is said, cannot show that every change has a 
 cause, still less that it must have a cause. 
 
 As the word ' effect ' is a correlative , term, implying a 
 cause, we must substitute the word ' event,' in order to 
 
188 THE ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 represent the question fairly; 'Every event must be pre- 
 ceded by some other event,' would then be the statement of 
 the law. This assertion is obviously not necessary in the 
 sense of Implication ; it is not an identical proposition ; the 
 opposite is not self-contradictory. It has aU the appearance 
 of an induction from facts. 
 
 The upholders of the innate origin of Causation refer to 
 another criterion of the necessary and the intuitive — the in- 
 concewahiUty of the opposite. They contend that we cannot 
 conceive an absolute beginning ; we are obliged to think of 
 every event as growing out of some previous event. Conse- 
 quently, they say, there cannot be a creation out of nothing. 
 
 As an assertion of fact, this is easily met by denial. There 
 is nothing to prevent us from conceiving an isolated event. 
 Any difiB.cuUy that we might have, in conceiving something to 
 arise out of nothing, is due to our experience being all the 
 other way. The more we are instructed in the facts of the 
 world, the more are we made aware that every event is 
 chained to some other event ; this begets in us a habit of 
 conceiving events as so enchained ; if it were not for this habit, 
 there would be no serious obstacle to our conceiving the 
 opposite state of things. (For the historical view of the 
 opinions on the subject of this chapter, see Appendix B.J 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 1. The relations of the Mind to the External, Material, 
 or Extended World, give rise to two distinct, although 
 connected questions — the Theory of Vision, and the Per- 
 ception of the Extemal^jad Material World. 
 
 Logically, as well as historically, these questions are con- 
 nected; in both of them, Berkeley endeavoured to subvert 
 what had been the received opinions up to his time. 
 
 THEORY OF VISION. 
 
 2. Berkeley's Theory of Vision professes to account 
 for our perceiving Distance by sight. One explanation 
 
PEOPEE SENSIBILITY OF THE EYE. 189 
 
 refers the perception to Instinct, the other to Experience, 
 or education. 
 
 The instinctive theory prevailed before Berkeley; the 
 other view was introduced by him, and has been generally, 
 thongh not universally, received by scientific men. 
 
 We find oarselves able, as far back as we can remember, 
 to perceive by sight the comparative distances of objects, and 
 to assign their real magnitudes ; whence it would seem that 
 the perception com.es to us by nature, and not by education. 
 In opposition to such an inference, Berkeley held that Distance 
 is not seen, but felt by touch, and that we learn to connect 
 our tactile experiences with the accompanying visible signs. 
 In the same way we judge, by the eye, of the real magnitudes 
 of things, after we have both seen and handled them. 
 
 Berkeley's arguments were greatly enfeebled by the im- 
 perfect views prevailing in. his time, regarding our active or 
 muscular sensibility. We shall, in the following summary, 
 present the fall force of the arguments as they stand now. 
 
 3. The native sensibility of the eye includes (1) light 
 and Colour, and their various shades, (2) Visible Figure, ' 
 and Visible (or retinal) Magnitude. 
 
 The optical sensibility of the eye is for light and colour. 
 The muscular sensibility is for visible forms and visible mag- 
 nitudes, and their degrees. It is interesting to note that the 
 judgment of visible size is the most delicate and accurate of 
 all 9ie judgments of the mind. Every accurate standard of 
 comparison is in the last resort an appeal to visible magnitude, 
 as the balance, the thermometer, &c. 
 
 Visible magnitude corresponds to the extent of the image 
 . upon the retina, and hence is called, by Wheatstone, Ketinal 
 magnitude. 
 
 4. The visible appearances or signs connected with 
 variation of distance from the eye are these : (1) The feel- 
 ing of muscular tension in the interior of the eye-ball. 
 (2) The feeling of convergence or divergence of the two 
 eyes. (3) The varying dissimilarity of the pictures pre- 
 sented to the two eyes. (4) The greater clearness of near 
 objects, and the haziness of distant. (5) The variation of 
 retinal magnitude. 
 
 (1) It has been shown {SigM) that to adjust the eye to a 
 near object (a few inches), there is a muscular strain in the 
 eye-ball. 
 
190 XHEOKY OF VISION. 
 
 (2) Another sign of nearness is the convergence of the 
 two eyes, which is relaxed more and more as the object is re- 
 moved ; at great distances the eyes being paralleL 
 
 (3) For near distances, the pctnres seen by the two eyes 
 are dissimilar ; as the distance increases, they are less so, and 
 at great distances they are exactly similar. Such identify is, 
 therefore, a sign of great distance. 
 
 (4) Incidental to distance, when very great, is a certain 
 haziness, which is so far a constant fact, that painters make 
 nse of it in their perspective. 
 
 (5) When an object retreats from the eye, its visible or 
 retinal magnitude steadily diminishes, and we are very sensi- 
 tive to this dimiantion. If one human figure is seen at six 
 feet distance, and another at twelve, nearly behind the first ; 
 the one has four times the retinal magnitude of the other ; 
 and this disparity strikes the mind more forcibly, perhaps, 
 than all the other signs put together. 
 
 5. The meaning, or import, of Distance, is something 
 beyond the experience of the eye. 
 
 The meaning of distance may be illustrated thus. If a 
 ball is held before the eyes, first at six inches, and then at 
 twelve, the optical changes wiU be as above described. But 
 conjoined with visible changes is a definite movement of the 
 arm, of which we are conscious. This introduces a new sen- 
 sibility into the case ; and when we say that the ball has been 
 removed to the greater distance, one (and the more important) 
 meaning of the fact is, that the hand and arm would have to 
 be moved to carry it to its new position, or to touch it there. 
 
 Such is an example of the meaning of distance for near 
 objects. Another measure is introduced for distant objects. 
 To compare six feet with twelve feet, we must move the 
 whole body in locomotion, and estimate, from our muscular 
 sensibility, the difference between one locomotive exercise 
 and anothei'. To come up to one object, we move two paces, 
 to another four, and so on. To change one visible appear- 
 ance, or retinal magnitude, to another, we put forth a definite 
 locomotion, which is not merely our measure ©r estimate 
 praeticalh) of the interval between the two appearances, but 
 the sole meaning or import of distance. If any one denies 
 this, let him say what meaning is left, if aU that is signified 
 by locomotion of the whole body, or any part of it, be wholly 
 withdrawn. 
 
 But if Distance has no meaning apart from the move- 
 
OPPOETUNITIES FOE ASSOCIATING DISTANCE. 191 
 
 lueuts of other organs than the eye, the question then is, has 
 nature gi^d us at birth with the power of learning through 
 one sense the experience of another sense? Do we smell 
 sounds, or hear touches, or taste colours ? Such conjunctions 
 may not be impossible, but they are unusual ; and the 
 burden of proof lies upon the affirmer. 
 
 6. The experience of early infancy and childhood is 
 incessantly forming the Associations between the visible 
 signs of distance and the movements that constitute the 
 meaning of distance (together with real magnitude). 
 
 The infant in the nurse's arms is perpetually experiencing 
 the visible changes consequent on its being carried about ; and 
 as soon, as it is aware of the fact of its being moved or carried 
 (an unavoidable muscular consciousness), it connects this 
 experience with the startling changes of visible magnitude in 
 the things before its eyes. The visible appesirance of the 
 wall of a room is doubled, tripled, or quadrupled, while the 
 child is carried from one end of the room to another. There 
 would be no possibility of avoiding the association of the 
 two facts. After a time, the momentary visible magnitude of 
 the familiar wall would be connected with the amount of 
 locomotion necessary to increase the magnitude to its maximum, 
 or reduce it to its minimum ; which would be a perception of 
 distance began. When the child attains to its own powers of 
 locomotion, experiments are greatly increased in number and 
 in variety; in a single day, the child might cross a room 
 several scores of times, and every time the optical changes 
 would be felt in connexion with its movements. A few 
 weeks or months of this experience could not but engrain a 
 vast number of associations of visible change with degrees of 
 locomotion. The child would at the same time be handling 
 things, taking their measures with the arms ; walking round 
 tables and chairs, estimating their real magnitudes by experi- 
 mental muscular exertions, and connecting these real magni- 
 tudes with optical adjustments and changes. There are thus 
 abundant opportunities of attaining the required connexions 
 of real distances and real sizes with visible signs; every 
 instant of the active Hfe of the child is furnishing additional 
 confirmations ; and the final result is likely to be a firm, 
 and indissoluble alliance between visible signs and the multi- 
 farious locomotive and other experience accompanying them. 
 
 7. According to the experiments of Wheatstone, the 
 order of dependence among our visual perceptions is as 
 
192 THEORY OP VlSIOlf. 
 
 follows :— The Inclination of the Axes of the eyes, in com- 
 pany -with a given Eetinal picture, suggests the Tnagnitude 
 first; and from the true magnitude thus known and the 
 retinal magnitude, we infer the distance. 
 
 It was the prevalent opinion, that the feeling of the degree 
 of convergence of the axes at 6nce suggests distance ; and that 
 the distance thus suggested, taken along with the visihle or 
 retinal magnitude, gives the true magnitude. Wheatstone, on 
 the contrary, concludes from his experiments that the first 
 suggestion made is real magnitude (as experienced by touch 
 and locomotion), and that, by combining this with the visible 
 magnitude, the suggestioli of distance follows. A block of 
 stone is first judged to be, in size, a foot in the side ; we then 
 know from its visible or retinal size, whether the distance be 
 ten feet, or fifty ; there being, as already remarked, no more 
 delicate means of discrimination than by differences of retinal 
 size. 
 
 These experiments are important, as showing that Distance 
 is not even the first inference, but the last, and implicates with 
 it a prior inference of true iMkgnitude ; all which increases the 
 difficulty of supposing the perception of distance to be in- 
 stinctive. 
 
 8. The perception of Distance is farther illustrated by 
 the Stereoscope. 
 
 This great invention of Wheatstone's has given an impetus 
 to the study of what is termed Binocular vision, or the con- 
 currence of the two eyes in the single picture. The con- 
 nexion of solid effect, — ^in other words, the perception of dis- 
 tanee, — with double vision, is rendered very striking. It is 
 shown, that the dissimilarity of the two pictures is a sign of 
 distance, bound up in inseparable association with the fact. 
 
 To account for our seeing an object single with two eyes, 
 the following considerations are ofiered. 
 
 (1) The picture of the object is received by one eye; the 
 other merely extending its compass, and giving the dissimi- 
 larity of aspect that is a sign of the distance. It is a mistake 
 in feet, to suppose that each eye sees a ftdl and entire picture, 
 independent of the other ; one eye takes the lead and receives 
 the picture, the other supplying the additions. Supposing the 
 right eye to be the leader, if we shut that eye, the picture 
 will be observed to shift its ground to the right ; in fact, an 
 entfrely new picture is now formed by the left eye alone,— a 
 
IN VISION THE PAST UNITES WITH THE PRESENT. 193 
 
 picture that is never allowed to be formed when both eyes are 
 open. It is as in Touch, where we may employ both hands, 
 but we attend chiefly to one, using the other as an extension 
 of the contact. 
 
 (2) Equally pertinent is the consideration that, in vision, 
 "what the mind conceives is, not the optical effect actually 
 presented at the moment, but a com/pound or accujrmlated effect, 
 the result of all our past experience of vision in connexion 
 with the various movements that enable us to estimate real 
 size and distance. As in reading, our mental picture is not 
 confined to a visible word, but involves the feeling of articula- 
 tion and the melody on the ear, together with the suggested 
 meanings, — so, in vision, the mind supplies far more than tho 
 sense receives. In looking at an extended prospect, we see 
 distinctly only the part in the line of the eye ; all the rest is 
 to the vision indistinct and vague. Nevertheless, the mind 
 supplies from memory a clear picture of the other parts. 
 Also, in looking down a vista, the adjustment of the eyes per- 
 mits only one portion to be clearly seen, the rest being neces- 
 sarily confused ; but the mind gives almost the correct picture 
 throughout, so that the indistinctness demonstrably attaching to 
 the optical image does not equally cloud the mental perception. 
 
 9. It is admitted by the opponents of Berkeley, that 
 the instinctive perception must be aided by certain acquire- 
 ments or associations. 
 
 The concession is made that, ' although the eye possessed 
 the most perfect power of perceiving distance, it could tiQt 
 possibly convey an idea of the amount of walking necessary to 
 pass over it.' This, as Mr. J. S. Mill remarks, is to surrender 
 the whole question. The author of the remark parries the 
 conclusion, by saying that there is no more in it than the 
 difference between hearing musical tones and the power of 
 distinguishing them accurately. But the perception of any 
 quality must involve the perception of its degree ; we could 
 not be said to perceive weight, unless we could distinguish 
 between a greater and a less ; very nice shades of difference 
 might not be felt without education; but not to feel any 
 amount of difference is not to feel at all. The loose remark 
 is made, ' we first roughly estimate the difference by the eye — 
 this we correct by measurement.' But a rough estimate is 
 ptill an estimate of more or less, a sense of difference. 
 
 The question still returns. What is the meaning or im.port 
 pf Distance ? One meaning of vital importance practically, 
 13 
 
194 THEORY OF VISIOST. 
 
 is the greater or less locomotion or other movement required 
 to traverse it. Subtract tiiat meaning, which is said by all 
 not to be instinctive, and what meaning remains ? Until the 
 two contending parties agree npon this, it is vain to argue the 
 question. Nevertheless, we shall now present a summary of 
 the chief arguments on the side of instinctive perception. 
 
 10. L — In perceiving distance, we are not conscious of 
 tactual feelings or locomotive reminiscences ; what we see is 
 a visible quaUty, and nothing more. 
 
 If distance is merely the suggestion of touch, &o., we ought to 
 be conscious of a tactile state, a state of locomotive, or other mus- 
 cular, eflbrt. It is denied that we have any such consciousness. 
 We never, it is said, see resistance or hardness, which are the 
 real tactile qualities. 
 
 The supporters of Berkeley meet this allegation by saying, 
 that we are conscious of associated qualities in bring conscious of 
 distance. Even as to' the more strictly tactile properties of resist- 
 ance and hardness, we are distinctly conscious of these in looking 
 at a stone wall^ we do not see them in the eye, but their visible 
 signs so strongly suggest them, that they are inseparable from the 
 act of vision. 
 
 Mr. Mill, remarking on his own experience, says, that in judg- 
 ing the distance of an object, the idea suggested to his mind ' is 
 commonly tbat of the length of time, or the quantity of motion, 
 that would be requisite for reaching to the object if near, or 
 walking up to it if at a distance.' 
 
 It thus appears that opposite allegations can be made as to the 
 interpretation of individual consciousness, which renders this 
 argument indecisive on either side ; as in all assertions referring 
 to the subjective world, each one must judge for themselves. 
 
 11. II. — The early experience or education of children is 
 inadequate to produce the requisite strength of association. 
 
 It is affirmed that the opportunities are wanting for imiting 
 the visual signs with the tactual and other effects ; that the con- 
 stant association requisite does not take place ; that the visible 
 experience is sufficiently frequent, but the tactual and locomotive 
 experience rare. ' We see a house at the distance of forty yards, 
 a mountain at ten miles ; but how often do we estimate the dis- 
 tance by any other sense ?' For every separate adjustment of the 
 eye, corresponding to all grades of distance, we ought to have 
 made innumerable experiments of touch or locomotion. 
 
 But to all thia^it is replied, first, that the infant is making the 
 experimental connexions as often as it is moved from place to 
 place, no matter how. And, secondly, it being admitted that we 
 originally see distance only in the ' rough,' and without discrimi- 
 nation of degree, and have to learn by experience all the separate 
 stages, it seems no great additional demand on our education to 
 
OBJECTIONS TO BERKELEY'S THEOKY. 195 
 
 acquire the rough estimate as well, implying as it does so much 
 less than the numerous associations that distinguish degrees. 
 
 It is farther urged against the doctrine of acquirement, that 
 the associated things should be able to reproduce one another re- 
 ciprocally. Tactual and locomotive perceptions ought to suggest 
 their yisual signs as efficiently as the inverse operation ; that is, 
 in putting forth our hand in the dark to touch a thing, there 
 ought to flash upon us the visible remembrance of its distance ; 
 which, it is alleged, is not the case. So, walking a few steps in 
 the dark should give us the visual sensations corresponding to the 
 interval passed over. 
 
 It may be replied, that we have in both cases a visual estimate 
 of distance, just as accurate as our estimate of movement or loco- 
 motion from visible signs. When we walk slk paces in the dark, 
 retreating from a wall, we can then, and do, think of the visual 
 distance of the wall at slk yards ; every pace that we take sug- 
 gests the retreating figure of the waU ; and if our estimate is not 
 perfectly accurate, neither is our estimate of real distance, judged 
 by its signs, always accurate. 
 
 12. III. — Observations made upon persons bom blind, and 
 after a lapse of years made to see, are affirmed to be in favour 
 of the instinctive origin of the perceptions. 
 
 The first and best known of these cases, a youth couched by 
 Cheselden {Phil. Trans. 1728), has, until lately, been considered 
 as confirmatory of Berkeley's doctrine. But the recent opponents 
 of Berkeley have endeavoured to give it a different turn, as well 
 as to explain the other cases in their view. It is admitted, how- 
 ever, that the observers were not sufficiently aware of the points 
 to be noted in order to settle this question. Two patients are 
 quoted by Mr. Bailey, who could distinguish by the unassisted eye 
 whether an object was brought nearer or carried farther from 
 them. But in neither case, were the circumstances of the experi- 
 ment such as to prove the fact. 
 
 Cheselden's patient said that ' all objects seemed to touch his 
 eyes,' which is not compatible with his seeing things at a distance, 
 and some things farther off than others. A similar remark was 
 made by other patients, and although laborious attempts are 
 made to explain- away the effect of the observation (see Abbot's 
 ' Sight and Touch,' chap, x.), the necessity of such attempts is fatal 
 to the decisiveness of such cases as proofs of intuitive perception. 
 
 13. IV. — The case of the lower animals is adduced as pre- 
 senting an instinct such as is contended for, which would at 
 least show that the fact is one within the compass of nature. 
 
 The power of many animals to direct their movements, almost 
 immediately after birth, seems established by a large mass of 
 concurrent observations. For example, ' the moment the chicken 
 has broken the shell, it will dart at and catch a spider. Sir 
 Joseph Banks said he had seen a chicken catch at a fly whilst the 
 
196 THEOEY OF VISION. 
 
 shell stuck in its tail.' Many similar facts have been related over 
 and over again by veracious -witnesses. Sucb powers obviously 
 imply an intuitive measure of distance, and a farther instinctive 
 power of directing the movements iu exact accordance therewith. 
 On these facts, it is open to the adherents of Berkeley's theory to 
 make the following comments. 
 
 (1) There does not exist a body of careful and adequate obser- 
 vations irpon the early movements of animals. It is not enough 
 that even a competent observer makes an occasional observation 
 of this nature; it is essential that a course of many hundred 
 observations should be made on each separate species, varying the 
 circumstances, in every possible way, so as to ascertaia the usual 
 order of proceeding in the species generally, and all the condi- 
 tions and limitations of the aptitudes alleged. We know enough 
 to pronounce such facts as the above, respecting the chick, to be 
 extreme and exceptional instances ; usually a certain time (two or 
 three days) elapses ere the chick can peck at seeds of com ; and 
 the nature of its operations during that interval, as well as the 
 character of the first attempts, should receive the most careful 
 scrutiny by different observers. There is satisfactory evidence 
 that these animals do possess, at a remarkably early period, a 
 power of precise adjustment of their moving organs to external 
 objects ; but it is not proved that this power is complete at the 
 instant of biith in any single species. 
 
 (2) As regards the bearing upon the Theory of Vision in man, 
 these observations have the fatal weakness of proving too much. 
 They prove that animals have not only the power of seeing dis- 
 tance, but the power of appreciating its exact amount, and the 
 still farther power of graduating their own movements in exact 
 correspondence with the distance measured. They include both the 
 gift that we are alleged to have by nature, and two other apti- 
 tudes that in us are acquired. This enormous disparity reduces 
 the force of the analogy to almost nothing. A natural endow- 
 ment that goes the length of a, precise muscular adjustment 
 adapted to each varying distance, so far transcends the utmost 
 that can be affirmed of our primitive stock of visual perceptions, 
 as to amount to a new and distinct attribute, presupposing a 
 totally different organization. 
 
 14. V. — ^The observations on infants are held as favouring 
 the instinctive perception of distance. 
 
 It is not alleged that infants at birth exhibit any symptoms of 
 this knowledge, like the animals just quoted, but that they show 
 it before they have developed the powers of touch and locomotion 
 requisite for actual distances. The infant is said to have the 
 power of bringing its hand accurately to its mouth about the 
 eleventh week, while the power of touching and handling has 
 made very little progress at the end of six months. Yet, by this 
 time, the child knows the difference between a friend and a 
 stranger, and throws itself out in the direction of the one, and 
 
DOCTRINE OF HEREUITAEY EXPERIENCE. 197 
 
 turns away from the other; it also knows when it is moved 
 towards the object it liies, and makes no attempt to seize a thing 
 until it is brought quite close. Of course, locomotion has not yet 
 begun. 
 
 "We have given by anticipation the only answer to these facts, sup- 
 posing them accurately stated (which is doubtful). The earliest as- 
 sociations of visible appearances with actual trials of distance and 
 real magnitude are not made by the hand, or by the child's own 
 locomotion, but by its movements as carried from place to place ; 
 and until some one can show that it can have no adequate conscious- 
 ness of these movements, at the same time that it is conscious 
 of the changes of the retinal magnitude of the things about 
 it, the Berkleian theory is not affected by the facts in question. 
 
 15. It has been suggested, as a third alternative in this 
 dispute, that there may be a hereditary or transmitted ex- 
 perience of the connexion between the visible signs and the 
 locomotive measure of distance. 
 
 This view belongs to what is called the Development hypo- 
 thesis. If there be such a thing as the transmission of acquired 
 powers to posterity, it may operate in the present instance. 
 Facts are adduced (by Darwin, Spencer, and others) to show that 
 this transmission is possible, although the utmost extent of it 
 would appear to be but small for one or a few generations. Still, 
 it is argued that, if there be any experience likely to impress 
 itself on the organization permanently, it would be an experience 
 80 incessant as the connexion of the visible signs with the loco- 
 motive estimate of distance. 
 
 It may be remarked, with reference to this hypothesis, that, 
 whatever be the case with certain of the lower animals, the heredi- 
 tary transmission has not operated to confer the instinct upon 
 man (unless the opposition to Berkeley be successful, which is 
 not admitted). Hereditary experience may have predisposed 
 the nervous system to fall in more rapidly into the connexions 
 required. Tim is what no Berkeleian is in a position to deny, 
 while it might ease the difficulty suggested by the great strength 
 and maturity of the acquisitions at the earliest period of our 
 recoUeotions. 
 
 PERCEPTION OP A MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 1. All Perception or Eaiowledge implies mind. 
 
 To perceive is an act of mind ; whatever we may sup- 
 pose the thing perceived to be, we cannot divorce it from 
 the percipient mind. To perceive a tree is a mental act; 
 the tree is known as perceived, and not in any other way. 
 There is no such thing known as a tree wholly detached from 
 perception ; and we can speak only of what we know. 
 
198 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 2. The Perception of Matter points to a fundamental 
 distinction in our experience. We are in one condition, 
 or attitude, of mind -when sun-eying a tree or a mountain, 
 and in a totally different condition or attitude when 
 luxuriating in warmth, or when suffering from toothacha 
 
 The difference here indicated is the greatest contrast 
 within our experience. It is expressed hy Matter and Mind (in 
 a naiTow sense), External and Internal, Object and Subject. 
 
 3. The distinction between the attitude of material 
 perception and the subjective consciousness has been com- 
 monly stated, by supposing a material world, in the first 
 instance, detached from perception, and, afterwards, coming 
 into perception, by operating upon the mind. This view 
 involves a contradiction. 
 
 The prevailing doctrine is that a tree is something in itself 
 apart from all perception ; that, by its Inminons emanations, it 
 impresses onr mind and is then perceived; the perception 
 being an effect, and the unperceived tree the cause. But the 
 tree is known only through perception ; what it may be 
 anterior to, or independent of, perception, we cannot tell ; we 
 can think of it as perceived, but not as unperceived. There 
 is a manifest contradiction in the supposition ; we are required 
 at the same moment to perceive the thing and not to perceive 
 it. We know the touch of iron, but we cannot know the 
 touch apart from the touch. 
 
 4. Assuming the Perception of Matter to be a fact 
 that cannot be disengaged from the mind, we may analyze 
 the distinction between it and the modes of subjective 
 consciousness, into three main particulars. 
 
 I. — The perception of Matter, or the Object conscious- 
 ness, is connected with the putting forth of Muscular 
 Energy, as opposed to Passive Feeling. 
 
 The fundamental properties of the material or object world 
 are Force or Resistance, and Extension, — the Mechanical and 
 the Mathematical properties. These have sometimes been 
 called the primary gnalities of matter. The modes of Exten- 
 sion are called, by Hamilton, primary qnahties, and the modes 
 of Resistance or Force, secuiido-primary. 
 
 Now, it has been formerly seen (musculae feelings) that, 
 in experiencing resistance, and in perceiving extension, our 
 moving energies are called into play. The exertion of our 
 
PERCEPTION OF MATTER CONNECTED WITH ENERGY. 199 
 
 own muscular power is the fact constituting the property 
 called resistance. Of matter as independent of our feeling 
 of resistance, we can have no conception ; the rising up of 
 this feeling within ns amounts to everything that we mean by 
 resisting matter. We are not at liberty to say, without in- 
 curring contradiction, that our feeling of expended energy is 
 one thing, and a resisting material world another and a differ- 
 ent thing ; that other and different thing is by us wholly un- 
 thinkable. 
 
 On the other hand, in purely passive feeling, as in those 
 of our sensations that do not call forth our muscular energies, 
 we are not perceiving matter, we are in a state of subject con- 
 sciousness. The feeling of warmth, as in the bath, is an 
 example. If we deliver ourselves wholly to the pleasure of 
 the warmth, we are in a truly subject attitude, we are in 
 noways cognizant of a material world. All our senses may 
 jrield similar experiences, if we resign ourselves to their purely 
 sensible or passive side ; if we are absorbed with a relish 
 without moving the masticating organs, or with an odour, 
 without snuffing it, or moving up to it. In pure soft touch, 
 we approach to the subject attitude ; but there are few exer- 
 cises of touch entirely separated from muscular effect. On 
 the same conditions, sounds might be a purely subject 
 experience. Lastly, it is just possible, although difficult, 
 to make light a subject experience ; mere formless radiance 
 would be an approach to it; the recognition of form or 
 boundary introduces an object property, embodied in ocular 
 movements. 
 
 The qualities of matter affecting our senses on their purely 
 passive side — their special or characteristic sensibility — are 
 called the secondary qualities of matter — Taste, Odour, Touch 
 proper (soft touch, &c.), Sound, and Colour. 
 
 The distinction of Primary and Secondary qualities is made 
 chiefly with reference to Perception. The primary, on the com- 
 mon theory, are those of pure and independent matter, matter 
 per se; the secondary are tinged or coloured by the percipient 
 mind. 
 
 "We have thus, in putting forth energy, a mode of con- 
 sciousness belonging to the object side ; and in passive feel- 
 ing, a mode of consciousness belonging to the subject side. 
 
 5. II. — Our object experience farther consists of the 
 uniform connexion of Definite Feelings with Definite 
 Energies. 
 
200 PERCEPTION -OF A MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 The efiect that we call the interior of a room is, in the 
 final analysis, a regular series of feelings of sense, related to 
 definite muscalar energies. A movement, one pace forward, 
 makes a distinct and definite change in the ocnlar impressions ; 
 a etep backwards exactly restores the previous impression. 
 A movement to one side gives rise to another definite change, 
 and so on. The coincidences are perfectly uniform in their 
 occurrence. Again, in moving down a street, we undergo a 
 series of sensible feelings, in accordance with our movements ; 
 we reverse the movements, and encounter the feelings in the 
 reverse order. We repeat the experiment, with the same 
 results. All our so-called sensations are in this way related 
 to movements. Our sensations of light vary with our move- 
 ments, and (allowance being made for other known changes) 
 always in the same way with the same amount of movement. 
 We open the eye and light is felt; we close it^ and light 
 ceases. This gives to light its object character. Sound, by 
 itself, would be purely subjective ; but a sound steadily in- 
 creasing with one movement, and steadily decreasing with 
 another, is treated as objective. 
 
 On the other hand, what, in opposition to sensations, we 
 call, the flow of ideas, — ^the truly mental or subjective life — 
 has no connexion with our movements. We may remain stUl 
 and think of the different views of a room, of a street, of a pros- 
 pect, in any order. This is a total contrast to the other ex- 
 perience ; mankind are justified in using very decided language 
 to express so great a difierence ; they are not, however, 
 justified in using language to aflBrm that, in the object percep- 
 tion, there are unperceived existences giving the cue to our 
 actual perceptions. 
 
 Thus, then, what we call Sensation, Actuality, Objectivity, 
 is an unlimited series of associations of definite movements 
 with definite feelings j the Idea, Ideality, Subjectivity, is a 
 flow of feelings without dependence on muscular or active 
 energy. In this property also, we see that it is still our ener- 
 getic or active side that constitutes the basis of the object 
 experience, the object consciousness. 
 
 6. Our own body is a part of our Object experience. 
 
 It is in our own body that Object and Subject come to- 
 gether m that mtimate alliance known as the union of mind 
 and body. Still, the body is object to the mind, and is viewed 
 m the same manner as other parts of the objective aggregate. 
 
 When we speak of an eo:ternal world, the comparison is 
 
THK OBJECT COMMON TO ALL. 20 i 
 
 strict only in comparing onr body with the things that sur- 
 round it. External and Internal are not strictly appli- 
 cable to express the totality of the object as compared with 
 the totality of the subject. The terms 'alliance,' 'union,' 
 ' association,' are less unsuitable ; they do not conunit us to 
 the impropriety of specifically locating the TJnextended. 
 
 7. III. — In regard to the Object properties, all miads 
 are affected alike : in regard to the Subject properties, 
 there is no constant agreement. 
 
 By communicating with others, we find that, in regard to 
 the feelings that definitely vary with definite energies, what 
 happens to one happens to alL Two persons walking down 
 the same street, have the same changes of sensation, at each 
 step. Whoever performs the definite series of movements 
 called ascending a mountain, will be conscious of the same 
 sensitive changes, the same series of ocular effects. Other 
 persons as well as we experience light in the act of opening 
 the eyes, in definite circumstances. 
 
 On the other hand, although on the same mountain top the 
 optical experience of all beholders is the same, they may differ 
 in many other feelings, — in the sense of fatigue, in the sense 
 of hunger, in the sesthetic enjoyment. They will also differ 
 in the flow and succession of their ideas ; no two will have tbe 
 same train of thoughts. These are subjective elements of the 
 mind: For although they also are affected by movements, and 
 are under a strict law of succession of their own, yet there is 
 no exact uniformity as to the time, degree, and manner of 
 their showing themselves. Now, the object world is limited 
 to points of strict and rigorous community, whei'e the effect 
 is the same to all minds. 
 
 This rigorous uniformity belongs ouly to the so-called 
 primary qualities. Extension and Biesistance ; visible form 
 and visible magnitude, tangible form and tangible magnitude, 
 and degrees of force or resistance, are the points where beings 
 are constituted alike. They are not constituted strictly alike 
 as regards Colour (witness Colour-blindness), Sound, Touch 
 proper, Smell, Taste, still less Organic Sensation. They are 
 constituted, however, very nearly alike in the higher senses ; 
 there is little difference in regard to colour ; hence the popular 
 notion of the independent external world is a coloured world, 
 but it ought to be only an Extended, Shaped, and Resisting 
 world. Colour is a secondary quality, varied by the varieties 
 of the subject ; and should therefore be withdrawn from rigorous 
 
202 PERCEPTION OF A MATEEIAL WO ELD. 
 
 object existence, as not being Btrietly common to all. Still 
 ■we join it to the object properties, by reason of its being 
 definitely varied with definite movements in each person, 
 although it may not be precisely the same experience in all 
 persons. 
 
 8. When, la order to distinguish what is common to 
 all from what is special to each, we ascribe separate and 
 independent existence to the common element, the Object, 
 we not only forget that the object qualities are still modes 
 of conscious experience, but are guilty besides of con- 
 ■ vertincf an abstraction into reality — the error of Eealism. 
 
 In the perception of Extension, Shape, Eesistance, and, to 
 a certain extent, Colour, we all agree; and it is important to 
 express the agreement. But it does not follow, that the 
 agreeing properties subsist apart, and in isolation : any more 
 than that roundness exists as a separate entity, or detached 
 from all round things. We are conscious of object qualities 
 only in their union with subject qualities ; we may, by the 
 exercise called Abstraction, think of the object qualities by 
 themselves, but we cannot thereby confer upon them an 
 existence aloof from all subject qualities. 
 
 THEORIES OF THE MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 Berkeley. The so-called Ideal Theory of Berkeley is given 
 in his work entitled ' The Principles of Human Knowledge,' and 
 is farther defended and elucidated in ' Three Dialogues between 
 Hylas and Plulonous.' 
 
 The Introduction to the ' Principles of Human Knowledge ' is 
 occupied with an onslaught on the doctrine of Abstract Ideas. 
 The author felt that the common theory of the material world is 
 a remnant of Bealism, and incompatible with thorough-going 
 XominaUsm. 
 
 The objects of human knowledge, he goes on to say, are ideas 
 of one or other of these three classes : — (1) Ideas actuaUyimprinted 
 on the senses, (2) ideas arrived at by attending to the passions and 
 operations of the mind — as pleasure, pain, sweetness, love, con- 
 science, &o., and (3) ideas formed by memory or by imagination 
 reviving and combining the two other classes. 
 
 It is necessary to remark on this peculiar use of the word 
 ' idea,' to express what we commonly call ' sensations' and 
 ' things,' that Berkeley does not thereby mean to assimilate the 
 perception of a tree to the idea that we form of a tree when re- 
 membered ; he only intends to say that sensation, or perception, 
 is a mental fact or product, a phase or aspect of mind, and 
 cannot have any existence apart from mind. He has, however, ' 
 
BERKELEY. 203 
 
 taken a word, hitherto employed only in the subject sphere, and 
 generalized it to express both the object and the subject, marking 
 the difference by specific designations, as if we should say, object 
 ideas (sensations, things, objects), and subject ideas (feelings, pas- 
 sions, thoughts, &c.). 
 
 Sight, he continues, gives ideas of colour ; touch gives hard- 
 ness and softness ; smelling furnishes odours. Moreover, there 
 may be concurrences of these ; a certain colour, taste, smell, figure, 
 may go together, and have one name, apple. 
 
 Besides these three kinds of ideas, countless in their detail, 
 there is a something that knows or perceives them, and exercises 
 the various functions called, willing, imagining, remembering. 
 This is mind, spirit, soul, myself; a something different from the 
 ideas that constitute knowledge. 
 
 Now, with regard to ideas of the second and third classes, — 
 ideas of our thoughts and passions, and ideas of memory and 
 imagination — it is allowed by everybody that these exist only in the 
 mind. 
 
 To Berkeley, it is equally evident that ideas of the first doss — 
 sensations of the senses — cannot exist otherwise than in a mind 
 perceiving them. The table I write on exists ; that is, I see or 
 feel it ; if I were out of my study, I should say it existed, mean- 
 ing if I return I shall perceive it ; or if any other persons are now 
 there, they will perceive it. In short, -(vith regard to outward 
 things generally, they exist as perceived ; the esse is pendpi. 
 
 To suppose otherwise (the vulgar opinion), is a contradiction. 
 Sensible objects are the things perceived by sense ; but whatever 
 we perceive is our own ideas or sensations ; it is self -contradictory 
 to say that anything exists unperceived. It is only a nice ab- 
 straction that enables us to suppose things unperceived; the 
 things we see and feel are so many sensations, notions, ideas, im- 
 pressions of sense, and it is no more possible to divide them from 
 the act of perception, than to divide a thing from itself. The 
 choir of heaven, the furniture of the earth, all the things that 
 compose the mighty frame of the world, have no existence with- 
 out a mind ; they subsist either in the minds of created spirits, or, 
 failing these, in the mind of some eternal spirit. There is no 
 other substance but spirit, that which perceives ; it is a perceiving 
 substance that alone furnishes the substratum of colour, figure, 
 and other sensible qualities. 
 
 He next supposes some one to allege, that although ideas are 
 in the mind, yet something like them, something that they are 
 oopies of, may exist in an unthinking substance. The reply is, an 
 idea is like only to an idea. Either the supposed originals are 
 perceived, and then they are only ideas ; or they are not perceived, 
 in which case, colour is declared to resemble som.ething invisible. 
 
 The distinction between Primary and Secondary Qualities is 
 of no avail. Extension, Figure, and Motion are stOl ideas of the 
 mind ; neither they nor their archetypes can exist in an unperceiv- 
 ing substance. It being admitted that the secondary qualities 
 
204 PEKCKPTION OF A MATERIAL WOKLD. 
 
 exist in the mind alone, and yet are inseparably united with the 
 primary quaUties, (extension is always coloured}, it follows that 
 these primary qualities can have no separate existence. Again, 
 the properties called great and small, slow and swift,^ are entirely 
 relative ; they change with the position of the percMving organs. 
 Therefore the absolute, and independent extension, must neither 
 be great nor small, which would am.ount to nothing. So the 
 qualities Numher and Unity are creatures of the mind. In short, 
 whatever goes to prove that tastes and colours exist only in the 
 mind, proves the same as to Extension, Kgure, and Motion. 
 
 He then examines the received opinion that extension is a 
 mode of the substratum matter, and finds the expression devoid of 
 meaning. 
 
 Granting the possibiUty of solid, figured, movable substances, 
 existing without the mind, how can we ever know this ? Is it 
 not possible that we might be affected with all the ideas we have 
 now, though no bodies exist without that resemble them ? More- 
 over, the assumed existence of such bodies is no help in explaining 
 the rise of our ideas, seeing that we are unable to comprehend how 
 body can act on spirit. In short, if there were external bodies, it 
 is impossible that we should know it ; and if there were not, we 
 should still have the same reason for believing it. 
 
 He points out (although with insufficient Psychology) the 
 difference between ideas of sensation, and ideas of reflection or 
 memory : the ideas of sense do not depend on our wiU (we open 
 our eyes and cannot resist the consequences). Moreover, these 
 ideas of sense are more strong, lively, and distinct, than the 
 others ; they have a steadiness, order, and coherence, unlike the 
 ideas influenced by our own will ; the set rules of their coherence 
 constitute the laws of nature, the knowledge of which is our 
 practical foresight. 
 
 To the objection that the reaMty of things is abolished or re- 
 moved by his theory, he merely repeats his main position in varied 
 terms. There are spiritual substances or minds having the power 
 of exciting ideas in themselves at pleasure ; but ideas so arising 
 are faint, weak, and unsteady. There is another class of ideas, 
 those perceived by sense ; which are impressed according to cer- 
 tain rules or laws of nature; and to them, the idea of reality is 
 attached in a more peculiar meaning. He, therefore, removes 
 no reality as understood by the vulgai-, but only a philosophie 
 fiction. 
 
 It may seem very harsh, he further remarks, to say that we 
 eat and drink and are clothed by icJetu. But so is any deviation 
 Irom familiar language. Underneath the language is a questicm 
 of fact. To use the terms ' object of sense, ' ' thing,' is to assume 
 the error he is combating. 
 
 He then notices other objections ; such as the supposed per- 
 petual annihilation and creation involved in the theory ; the no- 
 tion, that to regard extension as a purely mental fact is to make 
 the mind extended ; the consent of mankind to the view he is 
 
HUME. 205 
 
 opposing ; the superfluity of the curious organization of plants 
 and animals on his system, &o. His answers bring out nothing 
 new. He repeats his attacks on abstract ideas, in the leading in- 
 stances of Time, Space, and Motion ; and combats the doctrine of 
 mathematicians as to the Infinite Divisibility of lines. 
 
 He is strenuous in maintaining the existence of spirit apart 
 from ideas ; spirit is the support and substratum of ideas, and 
 cannot be itself an idea. The supposition that spirit can be 
 known after the manner of an idea, or sensation, is a root of 
 Boeptioism. He considers the Deity the immediate cause of all 
 our sensations, and that the theory of the world is simplified by 
 reducing everything to his direct agency ; while atheism is de- 
 prived of its greatest support — the independent existence of 
 matter. 
 
 All the ingenuity of a century and half, has failed to see a way 
 out of the contradiction exposed by Berkeley ; although he has 
 not always guarded his own positions. It is to be regretted that 
 he could not find some other name than idea, for expressing our 
 object consciousness. In spite of all his attempts to distinguish 
 ideas of sensation from the cotnmonly understood ideas, he la- 
 boured under a heavy disadvantage in running counter to the 
 associations of familiar language. He laid himself open to refu- 
 tation by something more severe than a ' grin,' or a nickname — 
 Idealist. 
 
 Hume. Hume is noted for having embraced the views of 
 Berkeley, with the exception of that relating to a separate .soul or 
 spirit. He thus reduced all existence to perceptions and ideas. 
 
 Hume's philosophy is given at greatest length in the ' Treatise 
 on Human Nature.' The application of his philosophical prin- 
 ciples to Material Perception, is found in Part IV. His subsequent 
 work, entitled, ' An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding,' 
 is prefaced by a note, desiring that this work, and not the Treatise 
 on Human Nature, may be taieu as representing his philosophical 
 sentiments and principles. On referring to the 'Enquiry,' we 
 find that the handling of the doctrine of perception is compressed 
 into one very short chapter (Sect, xii.), entitled, ' Of the Aca- 
 demical or Sceptical Philosophy.' It does not appear, however, 
 that the author's views on this doctrine underwent any change ; 
 or that any injustice would be done to him by referring to the 
 more expanded treatment of Perception in the ' Human Nature.' 
 Tfis fundamental views of the mind are the same in both treatises. 
 His resolution of all our Intellectual elements into Impressions 
 and Ideas, differing only in vividness or intensity ; his thorough- 
 :going Nominalism; his repudiation of any nexus in Cause and 
 Effect beyond mere experience of their conjunction ; his explana- 
 tion of Belief by the greater vividness of the object; his reference 
 of the belief in nature's uniformity to Custom; his refusal to 
 admit anything that cannot be referred to a primary impression 
 on the mind through the senses, — are cardinal doctrines of his 
 philosophy from first to last. 
 
206 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 In the later work, his remarks on Perception are in the fol- 
 lowing strain : — Men are prompted by a strong instiuct of their 
 nature to suppose the very images, presented by their senses, to 
 he the external objects ; not to represent them. On the other 
 hand, philosophy so-called teaches that nothing can be present to 
 the mind but an image or perception, that the senses are only the 
 inlets, and do not constitute immediate intercourse between the 
 mind and external objects. Thus philosophy has obviously de- 
 parted from the dictates of nature, and has been deprived of that 
 support, while exposing itself to the cavils of the sceptic, who 
 asks, how it is that the perceptions of the mind must needs be 
 caused by external objects (different; though resembling), and 
 not from some energy of the mind itself, or through some un- 
 known spirit or other cause ? Can there be anything more inex- 
 plicable than that body should operate upon mind, the two being 
 so different, and even so contrary in their nature ? It is a ques- 
 tion oifact, whether the perceptions of the senses be produced by 
 external objects resembling them. How shall this question be 
 determined ? By experience surely ; but in such a matter experi- 
 ence must be silent. The mind has nothing present to it but the 
 perceptions, and cannot reach any experience of their connexion 
 with objects. 
 
 He then remarks on the distinction between the secondary and 
 primary qualities, with a view of showing that, as regards the 
 independent existence of their objects, the two classes are on the 
 same level. 
 
 If we turn to the Treatise on Human Nature, we find the 
 subject of Sense Perception handled with great fulness of detail 
 (Part IV. Sect. 2). Hume argues that, by the senses, we cannot 
 know either continued or distinct existence. He then enqxiires how 
 we came by the belief in the continued existence of the objects of 
 the senses, and ascribes it to the coherence and constancy of our im- 
 pressions respecting them. He observes that the mind once set 
 agoing in a particular track, has a tendency to go on, even when 
 objects fail it ; and,Hhrough this tendency, we transmute inter- 
 rupted existence into continued existence. He accounts, on his 
 general theory of belief (following vividness of impression) for 
 our believing in this imagined continuity. Continued existence, 
 when once recognized, easily conducts us to distinct or independent 
 existence ; both being equally grounded on imagination, and not 
 on reality. 
 
 In Sect, v., he treats of the Immateriality of the Soul, in 
 which he represents the question, ' Whether our perceptions 
 inhere in a material or in an immaterial substance?' as one 
 wholly devoid of meaning. We have no perfect idea of anything 
 but a perception. A substance is entirely different from a per- 
 ception. We have therefore no idea of a substance. ' The doc- 
 trine of the immateriality, simplicity, and indivisibility of a 
 thinking substance is a true atheism, and will serve to justify all 
 those sentiments for which Spinoza is so universally infamous.' 
 
KEID. 207 
 
 In the chapter (Sect, vi.) on Personal Identity, he denies the 
 existence of se?/' in the abstract; there is nothing to give us the 
 impression of a perennial and invariable self. ' When I enter,' 
 he says, ' most intimately into what I call myself, I always 
 stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, 
 light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. ' Mind is nothing 
 but a bundle of conceptions, in a perpetual flux and movement. 
 He goes on to explain by what tendencies of the mind the fiction 
 of a pure, absolute self is set up, and what is the real nature of 
 what we call ' personal identity.' 
 
 Such is a brief indication of the celebrated scepticism of 
 Hvime. It is, however, to be remarked of him, in contrast tq 
 Berkeley, that be often expresses himself as if his theory was 
 at variance with the experience of mankind. As he was a man 
 fond of literary effects, as well as of speculation, we do not 
 always know when he is earnest ; but he speaks as if the belief 
 that fire warms and water refreshes, was the revolt of nature 
 against his scepticism. It is no wonder that others have sup- 
 posed him to deny bath the existence of matter and the existence 
 of mind, although, in point of fact, he denies neither, but only 
 a certain theoretic mode of looking at and expressing the pheno- 
 mena admitted by all. The outcry against him and Berkeley proves 
 that a rose under another name does not always smell as sweet. 
 
 Eeid. Eeid reclaimed against Berkeley and Hume, on the 
 ground of what he called Common Sense. ' To what purpose,' 
 he says, ' is it for philosophy to decide against common sense in 
 this or in any other matter ? The belief of a material world is 
 older, and of more authority, than any principles of philosophy.' 
 ' That we have clear and distinct conceptions of extension, figure, 
 and motion, and other attributes of body, which are neither sensa- 
 tions, nor like any sensation, is a fact of which we may be as cer- 
 tain as that we have sensations.' In general, it may be said, that 
 £eid declaims, rather than reasons on the question; and Hamilton, 
 who equally repudiates the ideal theory, and appeals to conscious- 
 ness in favour of the prevailing opinion, finds Eeid ' often at fault, 
 often confused, and sometimes even contradictory.' In his edition 
 of Eeid (Note C, p. 820), Hamilton draws up two classes of state- 
 ments on the part of Eeid, pointing to two opposing doctrines, 
 one called 'the doctrine of mediate perception,' which Hamilton 
 disavows, and the other called ' immediate perception,' which Ha- 
 milton adopts. 
 
 The doctrine of mediate conception, or representative con- 
 ception, is the most glaring form of the doctrine of the separate 
 existence of matter; its self-contradictory character is exposed 
 by no one more vigorously than by Hamilton. He finds Eeid 
 sUpping into it, in saying that the primary qualities. Extension, 
 &c., are suggested to us through tiie secondary : the secondary 
 are the signs, on occasion of which we are made to ' conceive ' the 
 primary. But, says Hamilton, if the primary qualities are sug- 
 gested conceptions, our knowledge of the external world is wholly 
 
208 PERCEPTION OF A MATEBIAL WOELD. 
 
 subjective or ideal Equally unguarded is the expression that, 
 ' if sensation he produced, the perception follows, even when there 
 is no object.' So, to locaUze sensation (a pain in the toe, for 
 instance) in the hrain is conformable to mediate or representative 
 perception. Eeid's use of the terms ' notion ' and ' conception ' 
 likewise favours the same view. Also, in calling imagination of 
 the past an immediate knowledge, Heid is on dangerous ground : 
 such imanediate knowledge, applied to perception, is really a 
 mediate knowledge. Again, the doctrine of Eeid and Stewart, 
 that perception of distant objects is possible, if sifted, leads to 
 representationism. Once more, Eeid's calling pereeption an tn- 
 /erence is of the same tendency. Finally, he ought not to separate, 
 as he does, our belief of an external world from our cognition 
 of it. 
 
 On the other hand, Hamilton adduces statements conformable 
 to Eeal or Immediate presentation. These chiefly consist in repeat- 
 ing the common opinion of mankind, that whatever is perceived 
 exists. Mr. J. S. MUl, in opposition to Hamilton, maintains that 
 Eeid throughout adhered to the doctrine of Eepresentation, or 
 mediate perception, and quotes numerous passages, where he 
 iterates the view that the sensations are merely signs, and that 
 the objects themselves are the things signified. What he did not 
 maintain was, that the sign resembled the original; which is a 
 crude form of representative perception, 
 
 Stewabt fcdlowed Eeid so closely on the subject of Percep- 
 tion, that a separate account of his opinions is inmeeessary. 
 Beown is noted for the virulence of his attack upon Eeid's claims 
 to have vindicated Common Sense against Ideal^m. The attack 
 has been reviewed by Hamilton, who in his turn is reviewed by 
 Mr. J. S. Mill. Mr. Mill's reading of Brown is that he is substan- 
 tially at one with Eeid. ' He (Brown) thought that certain sen- 
 sations, irresistibly, and by a law of our nature, suggest, without 
 any process of reasoning, and without the intervention of any 
 tertium quid, the notion of something external, and an invincible 
 belief in its real existence. Brown differed from Eeid (and also 
 from Hamilton) in denying an intuitive perception of the Primary 
 Qualities of bodies. 
 
 TTfMTT.Tnv Hamilton has distinguished himself both as the 
 historian and critic of the Theories of Perception, and as the pro- 
 pounder of a theory of his own, different alike from Berkeley and 
 from Eeid. 
 
 He has endeavoured to give an exhaustive classification of all 
 the possible theories. [See Edition of Eeid, Note C, and 
 Lectures.] 
 
 As his scheme is a theoretical rather than a historical one, it 
 comprehends doctrines that have probably never been held. The 
 first great division is into Presentation and Eepresentation ; or 
 into those that consider what is presented to the mind as the 
 whole fact, and those that consider that there is some other fact 
 not presented to the mind. The first class — the Presentationists— r 
 
HAMILTON. 2G& 
 
 is divided into fhe Natural BeaUsts or Natural Dualists, who 
 accept the oommoii sense view that the object of perception is some- 
 thing material, extended, and external [Hamilton's own opinion], 
 and the Idealists, who consider that nothing exists beyond ideas 
 of the mind. He gives various refined subdivisions of this class, 
 which must of course take in Berkeley and Hume, Hume's ex- 
 treme doctrine, he calls (in the Lectures) Nihilism, and expressively 
 describes it as 'a consciousness of various bundles of baseless ap- 
 peajunces.' The second great class — ^the Bepresentationists — ^has 
 many supposed varieties ; but the main example of it is designated 
 by the phrase ' Cosmothetic Idealism' ; meaning that an External 
 W orld is supposed apart from our mental perception, as the incon- 
 ceivable and incomprehensible cause of that perception. The 
 mental fact or perception is thus not ultimate, but vicarious, and 
 intermediate, — ^the means of suggesting or introducing something 
 else. This view Hamilton, in common vrith Berkeley, Hume, and 
 Ferrier, holds to be untenable, and absurd. 
 
 His own doctrine — Natural Kealism — ^by which he proposes to 
 vindicate the common sense view, and yet avoid the difficulties of 
 the Bepresentative scheme, contains the following allegations : — 
 
 1. In the act of sensible perception, I am conscious of two 
 things — of myself the perceiving subbed, and of an external reality 
 in relation with my sense as the ohfect perceived. 
 
 2. I am. conscious of knowing each not mediately in something 
 else, as rqaresented, but immediately, as existing. 
 
 3. The two are known together, but in mutual contrast ; they 
 are one in knowledge, but opposed in existence. 
 
 4. In their mutual relation, each is equally dependent, and 
 equally independent. 
 
 5. "We are percipient of nothing but what is in proximate con- 
 tact, in immediate relation with ovu organs of sense ; in short, with 
 the rays of light on the retina (Beid, p. 814). From which it follows 
 as an inference, that when different persons look at the sun, each 
 sees a separate object. 
 
 La the hostile criticisms of Mr. Samuel Bailey, and Mr. Mill, 
 this last position has been singled out as the author's greatest con- 
 tradiction both of fact and of himself. It may be remarked, how- 
 ever, that in his more fundamental positions, there is an insur- 
 mountable contradiction. By his hypothesis of immediate percep- 
 tion, he has escaped the difficulties of the Eepresentationist, to 
 fall into others equally serious. If we are to interpret terms 
 according to their meaning, how are we to reconcile immediate 
 knowledge, and an external reality ? A reality external to us must 
 be removed from us, if by never so little interval ; and it is im- 
 possible to understand how the mind can be cognizant of a thing 
 deta<ihed from itself. Then, how can the two things be equally 
 dependent and egmdly independent. This is admissible as an epigram, 
 but must be resolvable by a double sense of the words. In no 
 sense can we reconcile independent existence with the dependence 
 necessary to knowledge. 
 14 
 
210 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 There is another criticism, applicable to these positions. 
 Hamilton justly lays it down as the condition, of a fact of con- 
 sciousness, or fundamental tanth, that it must be uMimate and 
 simple ; in other words, the terms of the fact must refer to ultimate 
 dements of our experience. Apply this test to the terms ' exter- 
 nal,' ' independent,' and ' reality ;' and we shall have to admit 
 that these are not simple or ultimate notions, but complex and 
 derived. It is inadmissible, therefore, to regard any proposition 
 involving them as an ultimate fact of consciousness. 
 
 Eebeiee. Ferrier's system is occupied with illustrating under 
 every imaginable variety of expression, from the rigour of geo- 
 metrical forms to the richest colours of poetry, the_ necessary 
 implication of the object and the subject, — ^the impossibility and 
 the self-contradiction of an independent material world. HSs first 
 proposition in the ' Institutes,' is perhaps not the most satisfactory 
 in its wording, but viewed by the light of those that follow, its 
 meaning becomes clear : — 'Along with whatever our intelligence 
 knows, it must as the ground or condition of its knowledge, have 
 some cognizance of self.' This he conceives the most fundamental 
 expression of the fact that our knowledge of the world is a ment^ 
 modification ; a something held in the grasp of mind, not some- 
 thing totally apart from mind. 
 
 He proceeds, in his second proposition, to say that — ' The object 
 of knowledge, whatever it may be, is always something more 
 than is naturally or usually regarded as the object. It always is, 
 and must be, the object with the addition of one's self, — object 
 plus subject; thing, or thought, mecum. Self is an integral and 
 essential part of every object of cognition ' — a various wording 
 of the general doctrine. So is Prop. III. 'The objective 
 part of the object of knowledge, though distin^iishable, is not 
 separable in cognition from the subjective part, or the ego ; but 
 the objective part and the subjective part do together constitute 
 the unit or mininmm of knowledge.' Still more pointed in the 
 statement, though still the same in substance, is Prop. IV. : — 
 ' Matter per ae, the whole material universe by itself, is of necessity 
 absolutely unknowable.' After this, it is Uttie else than tau- 
 tology (justifiable in the circumstances) to add in Prop. V. : — ' All 
 the qualities of matter by themselves are of necessity absolutely un- 
 knowable.' His other propositions still repeat the main idea, but 
 with reference to the explication of tiie various terms of philosophy 
 — Universal and Partictdar, Ego and non-Ego, Sense and Intellect, 
 Presentation and Bepresentation, Phenomenon, Substance, Itela- 
 tive. Absolute, Contingent. 
 
 . The questionable expression in the first and fundamental pro- 
 position, is the phrase 'have some cognizance of itself,' which 
 suggests a more specific effect of self -consciousness than the author 
 really means. BQs other propositions are content with the more 
 general and safe afBrmation, that, in knowledge, self must be pre- 
 sent as an essential part of the fact. It is not necessary, and it 
 appears scarcely accurate, to say that the mind, while cognizing 
 
FERMEE.— MANSEL. 211 
 
 an object, must at the same time be cognizing self. The cognition 
 of self points to the study of the subject mind, in which there is a 
 remission of the object regards. 
 
 Besides his ' Institutes of Metaphysic,' Ferrier has several 
 dissertations on the same question, now brought together in a 
 posthumous publication. The biu^en of them all is the same; 
 his efifort still is to. expose the self-contradiction of the prevailing 
 theory. He is almost exclusively occupied in clearing the groimd ; 
 and when we seek his own positive views we find only a few brief 
 indications. 
 
 In the first place, he contends that Perception is a simple, 
 ultimate, indivisible fact : ' the absolutely elementary in cognition, 
 the ne phis ultra of thought. It has no pedigree. It admits of no 
 analysis. It is not a relation constituted by the coalescence of an 
 objective and a subjective element. It is not a state or modifica- 
 tion of the human mind. It is not an effect which can be dis- 
 tinguished from its cause. It is positively the Fnisr, with no 
 forerunner.' (Lectures and Semains, ii. 411.) 
 
 Secondly, as the ultimate support of our Perception and 
 Matter, he follows Berkeley in assigning the direct agency of the 
 Deity. He puts the question, ' Is the Perception of matter a 
 modification of the human mind, or is it not P' and replies, ' that 
 in his belief it is not.' He thus repudiates ' subjective idealism, 
 and cares not what other idealism he is charged with.' 
 
 MawseIi. Mr. Mansel maintains (1) that being in itself, or 
 substance without attributes, is not only unknowable but contrary 
 to the nature of things. (2) That Berkeley's denial of the existence 
 of matter (in the sense of the unknown support of qualities) is not 
 in any way contrary to common sense. (3) But when Berkeley 
 went so far as to assert the non-existence of matter, he went as far 
 beyond the evidence as his opponents did in maintarniug its 
 existence. [Berkeley might, however, deny it on the ground that 
 it was a self-contradictory and fictitious entity of the imagination.] 
 
 (4) It is possible to take an intermediate course, to admit that 
 we have no right to assert the existence of any other kind of 
 matter than what is presented in consciousness; but to deny 
 Berkeley's other position, that we are conscious only of our own 
 ideas. ' If, in any mode of consciousness whatever, an external 
 object is directly presented as existing in relation to me, that 
 object, though composed of sensible qualities only, is given as a 
 material substance, existing as a distinct reality, and not merdy 
 as a mode of my own mind.' This is very much the language of 
 Hamilton's Natural Kealism ; and, Kke it, treats the adult con- 
 sciousness as expressing the natural or primitive consciousness. 
 
 (5) He maintains with Berkeley, and against Hume, that a 
 personal self is directly presented in intuition, together with its 
 several affections. , 
 
 (6) He, moreover, analyzes the fact of external perception, and 
 specifies resistance to locomotive energy, as the mode of conscious- 
 ness which directly tells us of the existence of an external world. 
 
212 PBECEPTIffN OF A MATERIAL WORLD. 
 
 He -would not admit that this oonsdousness is the external world. 
 (Metaphysics, pp. 329, 346.) 
 
 Bajxet. Mr. Samuel Bailey has devoted a large portion of 
 his ' Letters on the Human Mina ' to the problem before lis. He 
 criticises Locke, Berkeley, Hume, Eeid, Brown, Stewart, Kant, 
 and Hamilton. His own view is, that ' the perception of external 
 things through the organs of sense is a direct mental fact or phe- 
 nomenon of consciousness not susceptible of being resolved into 
 anything else.' 'It is vain attempting to trace any mental^ event 
 between the percipient and the thing perceived; vain trying to 
 express the fact more simply or fully than by saying, we perceive 
 the object.' In short, perception is a simple, indivisible, ultimate 
 experience of the human mind. 
 
 A conclusion to the same effect is enunciated by Fenier, al- 
 though he and Mr. Bailey would probably not accord on anything 
 else as regards this problem. 
 
 The absolute simplicity of this experience is as doubtful in 
 itself, as it is at variance with the common belief. There are 
 experiences of the mind that we pronounce, with great confidence, 
 to be simple (although always reserving the possibility of future 
 resolution), as our feeling of muscular energy, our sensation of 
 sweetness m taste, our sensation of white light. But these oases 
 of unequivocal simplicity are few in number, and difficult to state 
 in their absolute purity ; and all of them are, indeed, crusted over 
 with a numerous body of associations. But when we turn to the 
 fact called perception, we cannot help being struck with the 
 appearwiwi, at least, of complexity. There is seemingly a combi- 
 nation of a perceiving mind, a mode of activity of that mind, and 
 a something to be perceived — ^nothing less than the whole extended 
 universe. To make out this seemingly threefold concurrence to 
 be an indivisible fact, would at least demand a justifying expla- 
 nation. It is true that most of the attempts to analyze it have 
 only brought their authors into contradictions ; and that there 
 may be wisdom as well as safety in renouncing the task. Still, 
 no one can answer for the whole future of philosophy ; no one 
 can affirm that a fact, having so much the appearance of com- 
 plexity as this, shall never be made to yield to analysis. 
 
 J. S. Mill. In his ' Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's Philo- 
 sophy,' Mr. Mill, after criticising Hamilton's mode of handling 
 Perception, advances what he calls ' The Psychological Theory of 
 the Belief in an External World.' 
 
 The theory postulates certain truths, proved by experience, and 
 generally admitted, although not adequately felt by the^ohool of 
 Hamilton. 
 
 The first truth is that the human mind is capable of Expectationi 
 in other words, after experiencing actual sensations, we can con- 
 ceive Possible sensations. 
 
 He next postulates the Laws of Association. After briefly stating 
 these laws, and alluding to the power of repetition in making the 
 bond of Contiguity more secure, he points out that, in certain 
 
J. S. MILL. 213 
 
 circumstances of unbroken and iterated conjunction, there may 
 arise an Inseparable, or Indissoluble, association between two 
 things, so that we shall be practically unable to conceive the 
 thxogs in separation ; as in the acquired perceptions of sight. 
 
 Setting out from these premises, the theory malataina that 
 there are associations naturally, and even necessarily, generated 
 by the order of our sensations, and of our reminiscences of sensa- 
 tion, such as would give rise to the belief of an external world, 
 and make it seem an intuition. 
 
 Mr. Mill asks, ' What is the meaning of a thing being external 
 to us, and not a part of our thoughts ? ' and replies that there is 
 meant something that exists when we are not thinldng of it, that 
 existed before we had thought of it, and would exist if we were 
 annihilated ; and further, that there exist things that have never 
 acted on our senses, and tilings never perceived by any one. Now, 
 such a belief is within the compass of the known laws of associa- 
 tion. ' I see a piece of white paper on a table. I go into another 
 room, and though I have ceased to see the paper, I am persuaded 
 that it is stUI there. I have not now the sensation, but I believe 
 that when I place myself in the same circumstances, I shall have 
 it again, at any moment.' Thus, together with a small and 
 limited portion of actual sraisation, there is always a vast compass 
 of possible sensation. These posrabilities are to us the external 
 world ; the present sensations are fugitive, the possible sensations 
 are Permanent. To this wide region of Permanent Possibility of 
 sensation, a name is given — Substance, Matter, the External 
 World ; and although the thing thus named is related to, and 
 based upon, our actual sensations, yet ' from a familiar tendency 
 of the mind,' the different name comes to be conjsidered the name 
 of a different thing. 
 
 These certified or guaranteed possibilities of sensation, have 
 another peculiarity ; they refer to sensations not single, but 
 Grouped. A material substance is the rallying point of a great 
 and indefinite number and variety of sensations : and when a few 
 of these are present, the remaining number are conceived by us 
 as Present Possibilities. As this happens in turn to all the sensa- 
 tions, the group as a whole presents itself to the mind as Perma- 
 nent, in contrast to the temporary and passing individual sensa- 
 tions. The present sensation of a piece of money is but one of a 
 vast aggregate of possible sensations that we might have in con- 
 nexion with it. 
 
 Again, we recognize a fixed Order of our sensations ; an Order 
 of succession, giving rise to the idea of Cause and EfBect, through 
 the fixity of the sequence. But this order is not realized so much 
 in actual sensations, as in the groups or possibilities of sensation. 
 We find the possibilities to be regular, when the actualities are 
 not ; the fire goes out and puts an end to one particular possibility 
 of warmth and light. There is a constant set of possible sensa- 
 tions forming the background to every actual sensation at any 
 moment. 
 
214 PEKCEPnON OF A MATERIAL WOELD. 
 
 Now, when this point is reached, the Permanent Possibilitiee 
 have assumed such an unlikeness of aspect, and such a difference 
 of position to ns, from the mere actualities, that it would be con- 
 trary to all our experience of the human mind, if they were not 
 conceived to be something intrinsically and geneiically distinct 
 from the present feelings. The sensations cease ; the possibilities 
 remain ; they are independent of our will, our presence, and every- 
 thing belonging to us. 
 
 Moreover, we find other sentient beings recognizing, in com- 
 mon with ourselves, the Permanent Possibilities. They may not 
 have the same actual sensations, but they have always the same 
 possible sensations. This puts the final seal to our conception of 
 the groups of possibilities as the fundamental Beality in Nature. 
 
 The idea of Externality is derived solely from the notion that 
 experience gives of the Permanent Possibilities. Our sensations 
 we carry with us, and they never exist where we are not; but, 
 when we change our place, we do not change the Permanent 
 Possibilities of Sensation. When we have ceased to feel, they will 
 remain to others. 
 
 The distinction of Ptimaiy and Secondary Qualities corre- 
 sponds to the greater permanence of one class of sensations. The 
 sensations of the Primary Qualities — Extension, Weight, &c., are 
 constant, and the same at all times to all persons ; those of the 
 Secondary qualities are only occasional ; they vary in the same 
 person, and are different to different persons. 
 
 As regards MnrD, Mr. Mill holds that we have no conception 
 of Mind in itself, as distinguished from its conscious manifesta- 
 tions. The notion that we form of Mind, as a unity, is still de- 
 rived from the attribute of Permanence. It is a Permanent Possi- 
 bility of sensation, and also of thoughts, emotions and volitions. 
 Its states differ from matter in not occurring in groups ; and still 
 farther, in not being shared by other sentient beings. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 THE EMOTIONS. 
 
 CHAPTEH I. 
 FEELING IN GENERAL, 
 
 1. Of the two great divisions of the Feelings— Sensa- 
 tions (with muscular feelings), and Emotions — the second 
 has now to be entered upon. As a preparation, it is ex- 
 pedient to resume the characters of Feelmg in general. 
 
 This survey might have preceded the consideration o£ the 
 lower department of the Feelings ; but, in exposition, there 
 is often an advantage gained by deferring the higher gener- 
 alities until some of the particulaxs have been given. 
 
 The Muscular Feelings and Sensations are the primary 
 Feehngs, those arising out of the immediate operation of ex- 
 ternal agents, with the minimum of intellectual proeesses and 
 growths. The Special Emotions are secondary or derived, 
 and involve the intellect. 
 
 2. Positively, Feeling comprehends pleasures and 
 pains, and states of excitement that are neither. Nega- 
 tively, it is opposed to Volition and to Intellect. 
 
 If Feeling were confined to pleasure and pain (as Hamil- 
 ton assumes), it would have all the precision of our experience 
 of those two states. But certain modes of consciousness, 
 neither pleasurable nor painfol, embraced by the word ' ex- 
 citement,' are accounted feelings. This leaves a vague and 
 uncertain margin in the boundary of the Feelings. 
 
 There axe only three ultimate modes of mind — Feeling, 
 Volition, and Intellect. Vohtion is action under Feeling; its 
 
216 FEELING IN GENERAL. 
 
 differentia, therefore, is active energy for an end, -wMcli is a dis- 
 tinctive and wdl-defined property. Intellect has three constitu- 
 ents, — discrimination, similarity, retentiveness, — aU clearly de- 
 finable. The precision attaching to Volition and to Intellect gives 
 a precise negative definition to Feeling. Thus, any mental state 
 not being Action for an End, and not regarded as Discrimination, 
 Agreement, or Eetentiveness, must be viewed as Feeling. 
 
 3. Feeling has a two-fold aspect — Physical and 
 Mental 
 
 The Physical aspect involves all the organs recog- 
 nized as connected with mental operations — the Brain, 
 Muscles, Senses, and Secreting organs. 
 
 The manner of working of these organs, under states 
 of feeUng, is summed up ia two great laws — Eelativity 
 and Diffusion. 
 
 The details already given in a former Book (I.) vnU ren- 
 der sufficient a brief stetement of these laws. 
 
 4. The principle of Relativity, in its purely ^AysicaZ 
 aspect, means that, in order to Feeling, there must be 
 some change in the mode or intensity of the cerebral and 
 other processes. 
 
 The proofs in favour of the principle of Relativity em- 
 brace at once its physical and its mental sides. It is scarcely 
 possible to separats, in language, the two sides ; our most 
 familiar names having « reference to both aspects. An tm- 
 pression anggests a physical as well as a mental phenomenon. 
 
 5. The Law of Diffusion is thus expressed :— ' Accord- 
 ing as an impression is accompanied with Feeling, the 
 aroused ciments diffuse themselves freely over the brain, 
 leading to a^ general agitation of the moving organs, as 
 weU as affecting the visceta.' 
 
 This law is implied in the details aWeady given as to the 
 expression or embodiment of the ifeelings. Every feding, in 
 proportion to its strength, is acoompaaied with movements, 
 and with changes in the organic functions. If a feeling has 
 no such apparent accompaniments, we conclude, either that it 
 is weak, or that there is an effort of voluntary (and, it may 
 be, habitual) suppression. 
 
 The physical grbundwork of the great distinction of 
 Pleasuee and Pain, is fully explained in Book I„ chap. IV 
 (p. 75). 
 
PLEASUEE AND PAIN, 217 
 
 CHAEACTEES OF FEELING. 
 
 6. The characters of Feeling are (1) those of Feeling 
 proper (Emotional) ; (2) those referring to the Will (Voli- 
 tional) ; (3) those bearing upon Thought (Intellectual) ; 
 and (4) certain mixed properties, including Forethought, 
 Desire, and Belief. 
 
 Hmotional Characters of FeeUiig. 
 
 7. Every feeling has its characteristic physical side. 
 
 As regards the Senses, a distinct origin or agency can be 
 assigned, as weU as & diffused wave of effects, the expression 
 or outward embodiment of the state. In the Emotions, the 
 physical origin is less definable, there being a supposed coalition 
 of sensations with one another and with ideas ; the diffusion 
 or expression is, therefore, the principal fact. For the opposite 
 states of pleasure and pain, and for the leading emotions, as 
 wonder, fear, love, &c., the outward expression is remarkably 
 characteristic. 
 
 8. On the mental side, we recognize Qualify (Pleasure, 
 Pain, Indifference) ; Degree, in the two modes of Intensity 
 and Quantity ; and Speciality. 
 
 Quality. This expresses the fundamental distinction of 
 Pleasure and Pain, involving the sum of all human interest, 
 the ends of all pursuit. Happiness and Misery are the names 
 of aggregates, or totals of pleasures and pains. Each one's 
 happiness may be defined as the surplus centre when the total 
 of pain is subtracted from the total of pleasure. 
 
 We may have feeling without either pleasure or pain. 
 Surprise is a familiar instance. Some surprises give us de- 
 light, others cause suffering ; but many do neither. A pain- 
 ftd emotion may be deprived of its pain, and yet leave us in 
 a state of excitement ; and still oftener, a pleasurable emotion 
 may cease as delight, but not as feeling. The name excite- 
 ment appUes to many such states. There may be a certain 
 amount of pleasure or of pain, but we are conscious of a still 
 greater amount of mere agitation or excitement. 
 
 Degree. The degree or strength of a feeling admits of the 
 two distinct modes, named Intensity or acuteness, and Quan- 
 tity or mass. The prick of a pin is an acute pain ; the de- 
 pression of general fatigue is massive. The physical fact, in 
 
218 FEELING IN GENEKAL. 
 
 acateness, is the intense stimulation of a small surface, in mas- 
 sive feeling, the gentler stimulation of a wide surface. 
 
 Acute pleasures and pains stunulate the wiU, and impress 
 the intellect, perhaps more strongly than an equivalent stimu- 
 lation of the massive kind. Hence their efficacy as m.otives. 
 In punishment, acute pains have the advantage of being m.uch 
 dreaded, while they do not endanger health. 
 
 Massive pleasures have the power of soothing morbid 
 activity, and of inducing the oender emotion. Massive pains 
 are recognized under such names as depression, gloom, melan- 
 choly, despair. Their amount is known by the pleasure that 
 they can neutralize. They debilitate and weaken the tone of the 
 system, and are not favourable to voluntary exertion, although 
 their motive force ought to be great. • They are powerful to 
 induce abstinence &om the actions that give rise to them. 
 
 For Speciality, see examples under the Senses. 
 
 Volitional Characters of Feeling. 
 
 9. The Will is moved by the feelings; pleasure caus- 
 ing pursuit, pain avoidance. Hence the voluntary actions 
 are a farther clue to the states of feeling. There is no 
 direct volitional stimulus given by neutral excitement. 
 
 As the energy of pursuit or avoidance is in proportion 
 to the degree of the pleasure or pain, other things being the 
 same, we possess both an additional character of those feel- 
 ings, and an important indication of their presence and amount 
 in human beings. 
 
 The neutral feelings govern the actions only through the 
 fixed idea, by which a disturbing force is brought to bear on 
 the operations of the will, as influenced by pleasure and pain. 
 
 Intelleetual Characters of Feeling. 
 
 10. A Peeling viewed with reference to any one of the 
 three properties — Discrimination, Agreement, Eetentive- 
 ness — assumes an intellectual aspect, and is on the eve 
 of becoming a state of intellect proper. StDl, as there 
 belongs to aU feelings a certain degree of ideal persistence 
 and recoverability, and as importance attaches to this 
 Eetentive property, we may recognize it as their intel- 
 lectual attribute. 
 
 Feelings have a different value according as, on the one 
 hand, they pass away and are forgotten ; or as, on the other, 
 they are easily recovered, at after times, by mental instigation 
 
FOKETHO0GHT AND DESIRE. 219 
 
 solely. The violent shocks of physical pain, as in organic 
 sensations, are not easily remembered. The pleasures and 
 pains of the higher senses are more retainable ; and the feel- 
 ings connected with some of the special emotions, as Tender 
 Feeling, Pride, &c., are perhaps still better remembered. 
 One of the meanings of refinement as applied to pleasures is 
 the being more easily sustained ia the ideal state; in this 
 meaning, the inteUectoal senses impart more refined pleasures 
 than Taste or Smell. 
 
 Farther applications of the Betentiveness of Feeling will 
 be given under the next head. 
 
 Mixed Characters of Feeling. 
 
 11. The consideration of Feeling, tinder the intellec- 
 tual attribute of Eetentiveness or Ideal permanence, brings 
 into view the nature of Forethought or Prudence. 
 
 A feeling in the actual, as Hunger, prompts the will 
 according to its strength or degree ; the same feeling, in anti- 
 cipation, has power according as the force of the actual cleaves 
 to it in the ideal, which depends on the Setentiveness of the 
 mind for past states of the feeling. A feeling, however strong 
 in the actual, if feebly remembered, wUl have no power to 
 stimulate efforts of pursuit or avoidance. According as the 
 remembrance of a pleasure approaches the vividness of actuality, 
 is the energy of the will on its account sustained in absence ; 
 the pursuit is thus steady, although the fruition is only occa- 
 sional. 
 
 12. The state of Desire grows out of the retentiveness 
 of the mind for pleasure and pain. 
 
 Desire is a mixed property. A pleasure is present to the 
 mind as an idea ; the idea, however falls short of the original ; 
 the consciousness of this inferiority is painful, and urges us 
 to realize the full actuality. 
 
 13. It is the property of every feeling to Occupy the 
 mind — ^to fix the attention upon the cause or object of the 
 feeling, and to exclude other objects. 
 
 This applies alike to pleasures, to pains, and to neutral 
 excitement ; with modifications due to the characteristics of 
 the three modes of feeling. 
 
 Pleasure, as such, detains the mental regards ; the charm 
 of a spectacle or a piece of music is all-engrossing. Hence 
 the pleasing emotions are what most strongly possess the 
 
220 FEELING IN GENERAL. 
 
 attention and repel all attempts at diversion. If we were to 
 look to this case solely, we might suppose that the engross- 
 ment was due to the pleasure as such. 
 
 It is, however, a fact that painful feelings have a power 
 to detain and engross the mind. This is contraay to the 
 working of pain as such, which is to repel whatever causes 
 it; we shut the ears to discord, and turn the eyes away from 
 a dizzying sight. But the mere fact of our being excited by 
 a painful idea retains it in the mind : we cannot banish it, 
 alUiough we will to do so ; the very attempt often increases 
 the mental excitement, which is to increase its permanence. 
 Thus, a painfal excitement, as excitement, or feeling, detains 
 the mind, while; as paim,, it would seek to remove our atten- 
 tion from the cause^ and allay the state of feeling. 
 
 We can now understand the characteristic attribute of 
 Neutral feelings. As feeling, they detain and occupy the 
 mind, although without the aid of pleasure, or the opposiiion 
 due to pain. The detention is due simply to the strength ot 
 the excitement as such. A surprise makes us attend to the 
 circumstance causing it ; it is a power to prevent us from 
 attending to, or thinking of, other things. It controls onr 
 thoughts for the time tbat it lasts, directing them towards 
 the matters connected with it, and away from all unconnected 
 things. 
 
 14. The influence of the feelings on Belief is of a 
 mixed nature. 
 
 That influence can be understood from what has just 
 been said. Pleasure, as such, influences belief. In the first 
 place, it influences the Will in action or pursuit, which carries 
 belief with it ; he that is fond of sport is urged to foUow it, 
 and believes (in opposition to evidence) that no harm or risk 
 wUl attend it. In the next place, pleaisure detains the mind 
 upon the favourite objects, and excludes all considerations of 
 a hostile kind : this is the influence upon the thoughts, even 
 when no voluntary action is instigated ; any opinion that is' 
 agreeable to us gains possession of our thoughts, and is a 
 hostile power against the suggestion of views running counter 
 to it. 
 
 Pain, as such, would make us revolt from the objects and 
 thoughts that induce it, and would make us disbeUeve in 
 those objects and thoughts; a narrative of great atrocity 
 would, through that circumstance, induce to disbelief. But 
 throu^ the excitement of mind that it causes, it keeps our 
 
INFLUENCE IN BELIEF. 221 
 
 attention morbidly fixed on all its circumstances, and by the 
 very intensity of the feeling, and in spite of the pain, favours 
 our reception and belief of the particulars alleged. 
 
 Neutral Excitement, as snch, and in proportion to its 
 strength, by detaining the thoughts, and excluding others, 
 is a power on the side of belief We are to a certain extent 
 disposed to believe whatever we are made strongly to conceive 
 and feel. 
 
 Thus all the feelings of the mind are influential in swaying 
 the beliefs, in thwarting the reason, and in perverting the 
 iudgment in matters of truth and falsehood. 
 
 THE INTERPRETATION AND ESTIMATE OP FEELING. 
 
 15. For a knowledge of the feelings of others, we must 
 trust to external signs, interpreted by our own conscions- 
 ness. The signs are (1) the Expression, (2) the Conduct, 
 and (3) the indications of the Course of the Thoughts. 
 
 (1) The outward Expression or Embodiment is a key 
 to the nature and the amount of the feeling. 
 
 This arises out of the fact that different feeUngs express 
 themselves differently, and that the stronger the feeling the 
 stronger the expression. 
 
 In interpreting the signs of feeKng famished by the 
 features, voice, gestures, &c., we have to observe certain pre- 
 cautious. In the first place, the same outward expression may 
 not correspond in all persons to the same degree of feeling. 
 Some temperaments are naturally demonstrative, others are 
 wanting in demonstration. One man may be in the practice 
 of giving way to the outburst of feeling, another may habitu- 
 ally suppress, or moderate, the external display. Even in the 
 same person, the vigour of the demonstrations wiU vary with 
 the stoength and fresbness of the organs ; the young are more 
 lively than the old, without being necessarily more affected. 
 The practical inference is that we should make allowance for 
 temperament (if it can be ascertained) and for the state of 
 bodily vigour, before concluding that the most vociferous 
 and demonstrative person feels most. 
 
 16. (2) The Conduct pursued is an indication of the 
 strength of the feelings, especially as regards pleasure 
 and pain. 
 
 This is the law of the Will. According to the degree of a 
 pleasure is the urgency to pursue it ; according to the degree 
 
222 FEELING IN GENERAl. 
 
 of a pain, is the urgency to avoid it We infer strength of 
 taste or liking on fiie one hand, and strength of disliking on 
 the other, from the motive force of each in pnrsnit and avoid- 
 ance. The criterion of conduct is probably more to be trusted 
 than the criterion of demonstrativeness ; the combination of 
 the two makes a still greater approach to accuracy. 
 
 The exceptions to this test, are the exceptions to the Will. 
 In a very energetic temperament, strength of action does not 
 imply strength of feeling ; allowance must be made for the 
 vigour of mere spontaneity. Again, the fixed idea may be a 
 disturbing element, as in Pear. Lastly, habits of acting once 
 formed, cease to represent the power of a present feeling. 
 
 17. (3) The Course of the Thoughts may bear the 
 impress of Feeling, and give evidence of its kind and 
 degree. 
 
 We have seen that the feelings detain the miad with their 
 objects, and, in proportion to their strength, exclude other 
 objects. There is no stronger proof of affection, than the 
 constant occupation of the thoughts with a beloved object. 
 Vanity is attested in the same unmistakeable way. The in- 
 ability to banish a pain&l subject is an evidence of the inten- 
 sity of the pain, since it overcomes the force of the will, as 
 well as confines the intellectual trains to one channel. 
 
 The counteractive to this test is the natural and acquired 
 amount of the intellectual forces, which offer a certain strength 
 of resistance to the detention of the mind on one class of ideas. 
 A man of high intellectual endowments may have strong 
 feelings, without being possessed by them to the same degree 
 as a feebler intellect. Moreover, it is a part of self-control to 
 check the influence of emotion in this, as well as in other 
 points where it exercises a mastery. 
 
 ] 8. The influence on Belief is a decisive test of the 
 strength of a feeling. 
 
 This is the practical outcome of the volitional and intel- 
 lectual power combined. When one is carried away by some 
 ideal, in despite of facts and evidence, the cause is a strong 
 emotion. Such is the influence of love or of antipathy. 
 
 19. The liabilities to error of these several tests, taken 
 separately, are to a great degree counteracted when they 
 are taken together. 
 
 The demonstrative temperament exaggerates the expres- 
 
ESTIMATE OF HAPPINESS AND MISERY. 223 
 
 sion of feeling, but the test of conduct will apply a correction. 
 The man of nataral energy may seem to have strong likings 
 for the things that he pursues, or dislikings for what he 
 avoids ; but the course of his thoughts and the strength of 
 his beliefs, failing to confirm the inference, will set his char- 
 acter in its true Ught. 
 
 20. "We attain an insight into the feelings of others by 
 their own description of them. Each man can compare 
 his own feelings, and state their relative degree. The 
 thing required is a standard, or common measure, between 
 one person and another. 
 
 If by means of the various tests already indicated, one 
 man can obtain the assurance that, in some point, he feels 
 exactly as another does, a common measure is established 
 between them ; by reference to which they can make known 
 to each other the intensity of their feelings generally. Two 
 persons comparing notes, as to expression, conduct, and the 
 course of thought, may arrive at the conclusion that in the 
 enjoyment of music, they are on a par ; they are then able 
 (approximately) to estimate one another's feelings as to all 
 other things. 
 
 21. The criteria of feeling may be applied in estimating 
 the Happiness or the Misery of our fellow-beings. 
 
 As the estimate of our own happiness or misery is the 
 guide to our actions as regards ourselves, the estimate of the 
 happiness or misery of our fellows is the basis of our sympa- 
 thies, our duties, and our entire conduct towards them. It is 
 the immediate foxmdation of Ethics and of Politics, and the 
 final consideration in all knowledge, science, and art. 
 
 It is remarked by Paley, with reference to the amount of 
 happiness belonging to different pursuits and modes of Ufe, 
 that there is ' a presumption in favour of those conditions of 
 life in which men appear most cheerful and contented. For 
 though the apparent happiness of mankind be not always a 
 true measure of their real happiness, it is the best measure we 
 have.' For a rough estimate, cheerftilness and contentment 
 are good indications ; both, however, are liable to mislead. 
 Cheerftilness, in the demonstrative temperament of a French- 
 man or an Italian, would not mean the same thing as in an 
 Englishman. A still greater uncertainty would belong to the 
 other criterion — contentment ; for that state is a proof, not so 
 much of happiness, as of training. Many are content with little; 
 
224 FEELING IN GENERAL. 
 
 obhers, with a large ftind of happiness, remaiii dissatisfied ; as 
 regards these, therefore, it is not true that discontent is a 
 sign of nnhappiness. Contentment is a virtue of great im- 
 portance to society generally ; still, it does not indicate the 
 possession of happiness by the subject of it. 
 
 Men's happiness can be measured only by the degree and 
 the continuance of their enjoyments, as compared with the 
 degree and the continuance of their pains. We have to apply 
 the various tests, in the course of a sufficient observation, 
 to determine these points. K we can farther interrogate 
 each one as to their own feelings and experience, we shall 
 come still closer to the truth. 
 
 An easier mode of approximating to the estimate in ques- 
 tion, and oije far more accurate than Paley's two tests 
 (although not suitable to some of his opinions), is to consider 
 each man's share of the usual sources of pleasure, and his 
 exemptions from the usual sources of paiu. The so-called 
 good things of life — Health, Wealth, Priends, Honours, 
 Power, opportunities of gratification, a smooth career — so 
 unequally possessed by mankind, are a rough measure of hap- 
 piness. The estimate may, however, be made more exact by 
 close individual observation and the application of the tests. 
 
 THK DEVELOPMENT OF FEELING. 
 
 22. An outburst of feeling passes through the stages 
 of rise, culmination, and subsidence. 
 
 What we call a state of feeling, or emotion, is a transitory 
 outburst from a permanent condition approaching to indifier- 
 ence. There is every variety of mode as respects both degree 
 and duration. A feeble stimulus can be continued longer 
 than a powerfdl one ; while every intense display must be ren- 
 dered short by exhaustion. 
 
 Practically, the moment of culmination of feeling, or pas- 
 sion, is the moment of perilous decisions and fatal mistakes. 
 
 23. The emotional states are prone to alternation and 
 periodicity. 
 
 The Appetites are marked by regularity of recurrence 
 depending on bodily causes. In the pleasurable feelings 
 generally, the great alternation is from exercise, on the one 
 hand, to remission or repose on the other. Tids is a prime 
 condition of the maintenance of a flow of pleasure. Each 
 sensibility is roused in turn, and remitted when the point or 
 exhaustion is reached. 
 
ENDS OF THE ANALYSIS OF THE FEELINGS. 225 
 
 Habit determines a more specific alternation. Sensibilities 
 accustomed to be gratified at periodic intervals, acquire the 
 force of appetites. 
 
 24. It is proper, in conclusion, to set forth the ends to 
 be served by the analysis of the Feelings. 
 
 (1) Here, as elsewhere, there is scope for gratifying en- 
 lightened curiosity, by the reference of various and compli- 
 cated phenomena to general laws. 
 
 (2) The chief foundations of Ethics are to be found in the 
 nature of the human feelings. The question of the Moral 
 Sense is a question as to the simple or compound character of 
 a feeUng. 
 
 (3) The wide department of -Esthetics, in like manner, 
 supposes a knowledge of the laws and varieties of feeling. 
 The Poetical and Literary Art, for example, is amenable to 
 improvement, according as the human emotions are more 
 exactly studied. The science of Rhetoric, for the time being, 
 contains the application of the science of mind in generaJ, 
 and of the feelings in particular, to literary composition. 
 
 (4) The theory of Human Happiness reposes immediately 
 on the knowledge of the human feelings. This must ever be 
 the point of convergence of all the sciences, but it is the 
 science of the feelings that gives the line of direction. 
 
 (5) The Interpretation of Human Character, the under- 
 standing of men and their motives, will grow with the im- 
 proved knowledge of the feeKngs. Not merely the emotional 
 character as such, and the conduct, or voluntary actions, whose 
 motives are the feelings, but also much of what seems purely 
 intellectual tendencies, may derive elucidation from the pre- 
 sent subject. The intellectual forces are, in all men to some 
 extent, and in many men to a great extent, swayed by emo- 
 tion. In particular, the man of Imagination, in the proper 
 sense of the word, the poet or artist, is determined, in his 
 productions, as much by feeling as by intellect. 
 
 15 
 
226 THE EMOTIONS AND THEIB CLASSIFICATION. 
 
 CHAPTEE IL 
 THE EMOTIONS AND THEIE CLASSIFICATION. 
 
 1. The Emotions, as compared with the Sensations, 
 are secondary, derived, or compound feelings. 
 
 The Mnscnlar Feelings and the Sensations are assumed to 
 be the primary or fdndamental sensibilities. The concurrence, 
 or combination, of these, in various ways, originates^ new- 
 states that acquire a permanent and generic form, wherein the 
 simple elements cease to be apparent. 
 
 2. Sensations, and their ideas, may coalesce to form 
 new feelings, or emotions. 
 
 First, The simplest case is a plurality of sensations, 
 whether of the same sense, or of different senses, in 
 
 MUTUAL HAEMONY or in MUTUAL CONFLICT. 
 
 Harmony is a source of pleasure, Discord of pain. We 
 may reasonably assume, as the physical basis of the situation, 
 that, in the one case, the nerve currents conspire to a common 
 effect, and, in the other case, run into wasting conflict. 
 
 Examples will arise in the subsequent detail. The element 
 of Harmony is prominent in the Pine Art Emotions. Con- 
 sistency and Inconsistency in truth and falsehood are feelings 
 related to the exercise of the Intellect. There is a species of 
 Harmony in the workings of Sympathy. 
 
 3. Secondly, There may be, as a consequence of the 
 Law of Contiguity, a transf&r of feelings to things that 
 do not originally excite them, as in the cases already 
 illustrated (Contiguity, § 33). 
 
 4. Thirdly, There may be a coalescetice of separate 
 feelings into one aggregate or whole, as in Property, 
 Beauty, Justice, and the Moral Sentiment. 
 
 These examples nearly all illustrate both transfer and 
 coalescence. 
 
 5. We cannot, in classifying the emotions, comply 
 with the rules of logical division. The nature of the case 
 admits of but one method — to proceed from the simpler to 
 the more complex. 
 
GENERA OF EMOTION, 227 
 
 There are several well-marked and important genera of 
 emotion, which must find a place ander every classification, 
 although there may be different views as to the best order to 
 take them in ; as, for example, Love, Anger, Fear, Wonder ; 
 which are all comparatively simple. Others have a high degree 
 of complexity; such, in my opinion, are Beauty and the 
 Moral Sentiment. 
 
 The treatment of the various kinds of Emotions must essen- 
 tially consist in defining and describing each with precision, 
 in assigning the derivation, if possible, and in tracing out the 
 most usual forms and varieties. In the description, we shall 
 apply the I^atural History method, already exemplified in the 
 Sensations. 
 
 6. The arrangement is as follows : — 
 
 I. While the Lorn of Selaiamh) is essential to Feeling in 
 everj form, there are certain Emotional states of a very 
 general kind, developed by the mere intensity of the transi- 
 tion ; such are Novelty, Sueprisb, and Wonder. 
 
 There are also certain pleasurable feelings that are the 
 rebound from very general modes of pain, and which are, 
 therefore, more peculiarly connected with Relativity ; as 
 LiBEETT with reference to Resteaiht, and Power as the 
 rebound from Impotence. 
 
 In none of the feelings, can we leave out of view this great 
 condition of mental life ; but, in a certain number of instances, 
 the emotional state exists only as a transition between opposites : 
 the pleasure supposes a previous pain, and the pain a previous 
 pleasure. 
 
 n. The emotion of Terror, or Fear, may receive an early 
 consideration. 
 
 ILL The Tender Emotion, or Love, is a well-marked and 
 far-reaching susceptibility of our nature, and a leading source 
 of onr pleasures. We may append to it the emotions of 
 Admiration, Reverence, and Esteem. 
 
 rV. When we see in ourselves the qualities that excite 
 love or admiration in others, we are affected by a pleasurable 
 emotion, named Self-Compi^cenct, Self-gratnlation, Self- 
 esteem. This will be shown to be a derivative of the Tender 
 Emotion. 
 
 A stiU fiirther effect of the same pleasurable kind is pro- 
 duced on us by the admiration or esteem of others, the names for 
 which are Approbation, Praise, Reputation, Glory, and the Kke. 
 
 V. The elation of superior Power is a very marked and 
 widely ramifying genus of pleasurable emotion, being an 
 
228 THE EMOTIONS AND THEIE CLASSIFICATION. 
 
 emotion of pure Relativity or Compaxison ; the correlative is 
 the pain, of Impotence. 
 
 VI. Angbb or the Irascible Emotion is the pleasurable 
 emotion, of malevolence. 
 
 The foregoing comprise the best marked of otir simpler 
 emotions. For although they are aU more or less of a com- 
 pound nature, yet there is, in each, something characteristic 
 and peculiar, imparting a generic distinctness, and obtaining 
 a separate recognition throughout the human race. 
 
 VII. There are certain Emotional situations arising under 
 the action of Will. Besides the pleasures and pains of Exer- 
 cise, and the gratification of succeeding in an End, with the 
 opposite mortification of missing what is laboured for, there is, 
 in the attitude of PnESUiT, a peculiar state of Tomd, so far 
 agreeable in itself, that factitious occupations are instituted 
 to bring it into play. When I use the term Plot-inteeest, 
 the character of the situation alluded to will be suggested 
 with tolerable distinctness. 
 
 Vni. The exercise of the Intellect also is attended with 
 states of Emotion. More especially, under the Law of Simi- 
 larity, the identification of Like in the midst of unlike is the 
 cause of agreeable surprise; while Inconsistency or Con- 
 tradiction is an occasion of pain. 
 
 IX. The foregoing classes possess each a certain unity 
 and distinctness as respects their origin in the human con- 
 stitution. The next class is one that has been very com- 
 monly regarded as a unity in the investigations of philoso- 
 phers. I mean the emotions of Pine Aet, expressed by the 
 single term Beauty, or the Beautiful. There is doubtless 
 a certain individuality in the feeling that mankind have 
 agreed to designate by the common phrase, ' the feeling of 
 beauty,' but this community of character implies littie more 
 than a refined pleasure. If we take the productions of 
 Pine Art, and examine the sources of the delight that they 
 give us, we shall find a very great variety of species, notwith- 
 standing the generic likeness implied in classifying them 
 together. Many of our simple sensations, and many of the 
 feelings belonging to the different heads just enumerated, 
 are brought into play by artistic compositions. 
 
 X. The Moral Sense in man, like the sense of beauty, has 
 been very generally looked upon as one and indivisible ; a 
 position exceedingly open to question. The subject will be 
 fnlly considered, in tiie part of this volume devoted to 
 Ethics. 
 
NOVELTY. 229 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EMOTIONS OF RELATIVITY: NOVELTY.— 
 WONDER.— LIBERTY. 
 
 1. The Objects of the emotion of Novelty are well 
 understood. 
 
 The Physical circumstance may he inferred to be a 
 change in the locality of nervous action, extending also to 
 the allied organs — the muscles and the senses. 
 
 That pleasure should arise from varying the parts and 
 organs stimulated, is a necessary consequence of the fact that 
 stimulation is pleasurable. 
 
 2. The Emotion is, in Quality, pleasurable ; in Degree, 
 various, according to the stimulation, which may be acute 
 or massive. It has no Speciality. 
 
 The pleasure is, in fact, the primitive charm of all sensa- 
 tion, before it has been dulled by continuance and satiety. 
 It has the vagueness of character belonging to mere organic 
 stimulation. 
 
 3. The corresponding pain is Monotony, tedium, ennui. 
 
 This arises from some parts of the system being unduly 
 dra"wn upon, while others have their stimulation withheld. 
 Its ordinary modes are generally known ; the extreme and 
 agonizing degrees are made use of in punishment 
 
 Monotony is often aggravated by the pain of excessive 
 Subjectivity, or self-consciousness. The absence of objective 
 attractions leaves the mind in the subjective condition, which, 
 when long continued, gives the sense of intolerable ennui. To 
 be confined in the dark, or without occupation, is to be made 
 the victim of subjective tedium. 
 
 Under the Species of Novelty, we may indicate, first, the 
 simple Sensations, as encountered in early life. Such of these 
 as are in their nature pleasing, are, in the first experience, 
 pre-eminently so. The general exhilaration designated by the 
 word Freshness, is due, among other causes, to novelty of sen- 
 sation. 
 
230 EMOTIONS OF KELATIVITY. 
 
 The primary sensations are speedily gone througL, and 
 fall into the ordinary routine of pleasures, which, by being re- 
 mitted or alternated, continue to afford a certain measure of 
 delight. The charm of novelty then belongs only to new and 
 "varied combinations, and in that form it may be sustained, 
 although with decreasing force, to the end of life. New 
 scenes, new objects, new persons, and new aspects of life, con- 
 stitute the attractions of travel. Novelty in incidents and 
 events, is furnished by the transactions of life, and by the pages 
 of story. Inventions in the Arts, and discoveries in Science, 
 have the initial charm of novelty, as well as the interest of 
 permanent utility. In Fine Art, whose end is .pleasure, the 
 powerful effects of novelty are earnestly invoked ; pleasurable 
 surprises are expected of the artist in every department; 
 beauty must be enhanced by originality ; while the passion for 
 change, uncontrolled, leads in the end to decadence. Last 
 of all, in Fashion, novelty is supreme. Thronghout the whole, 
 but one rule prevails ; other things the same, the greater the 
 novelty, the greater the pleasure. 
 
 4, Next to Novelty is Variety, alternation, or change 
 
 The longer any stimulant has been remitted, the greater 
 the impression on its renewal. Variety is a minor form of 
 novelty. 
 
 Our happiness depends materially on the wise remission 
 and variation of objects of delight. Mere change of pleasures 
 will produce, within limits, a continuance of t£e pleasurable 
 wave. Still, it is likely that periods of absolute indifference 
 and quiet, if not of painftil privation, should intervene, in 
 order to maintain the highest zest of enjoyment. . 
 
 5. Surprise is a breach of expectation, and in addi- 
 tion to mere Eelativity, includes an element of Conflict. 
 
 In Surprise, we are said to be startied. There is a shock 
 of contradiction, which is always exciting. The excitement 
 may be pleasurable, painful, or neutral, according to the case. 
 As pure conflict, it would be a source of pain ; as a pungent 
 stimulus, when the nerves are fresh, it may be pleasurable. 
 Frequently, it is neither, being our typical instance of neutral 
 emotion. 
 
 The circumstances of the surprise may farther affect its 
 character. When the occurrence is something better than 
 we expected, there is an access of pleasure ; when worse, 
 of pain. 
 
WONDER.— LIBERTY. 231 
 
 6. WoKDER, or the Marvellous, is felt on the view of 
 "what rises above, or what falls heneath, our expectations. 
 In the one case, it is an elating emotion, of a kindred with 
 the Sublime ; on the other, it tends to depression, or else 
 to contempt. 
 
 The pleasing side of Wonder is dne to what greatly 
 transcends use and wont. It is an emotion of pnre relativity. 
 
 If we exclude the side of Littleness and Contempt, every- 
 thing included in Wonder has its foundation either in pure 
 Surprise, on the one hand, which is the shock of contradic- 
 tion, or in the admiration of what is great or Sublime, on the 
 other. The full account of this last emotion belongs to a 
 much later stage of the exposition. 
 
 7. The opposing couple — Eestraint and Liberty — 
 are wholly referable to Conflict, combined with Eelativity. 
 
 Bestraint is a case of conflicting impulses, and induces the 
 depression due to conflict. It may have every variety of 
 degree, being in all cases painful. The active spontaneity 
 repressed by confinement ; the free vent of emotional difiasion 
 arrested by dread of punishment ; the voluntary movements 
 opposed ; the wishes thwarted, — are cases of intestine conflict, 
 and of sufiering. The pain induced has a speeiahfy through 
 its connexion with the active organs. In the more acute 
 struggles, it is characterized as a ' racking ' pain. 
 
 There is a stimulating effect in opposition or conflict. 
 Physically, we may suppose, that the sudden check to the 
 nervous currents develops new activity in the brain : while, 
 mentally, it is a fact of pregnant application, that hostihty, 
 not overpowering, rouses the energies to more than ordinary, 
 efforts. This is seen in every species of contest. Even the 
 intellectual powers attain a more commanding success in the 
 ardour of polemics. 
 
 Under continued restraint, the system at length adapts 
 itself to the situation. The taming down of impulses by 
 steady suppression is one of the effects of habit, exemplified 
 in moral discipline. (See Moral Habits.) 
 
 8. Liberty is the correlative of Eestraint. It is the 
 joyous outburst of feeling on the release from a foregone 
 bondage, or on the cessation of a conflict. 
 
 The liberation must occur while the restraint is still 
 painful ; after the system has thoroughly' accommodated it- 
 
232 EMOTIONS OF EELATIVITT. 
 
 self, there is no reaction, and no flush of joyous elation. 
 This fact has been remarked in those that have g^own old in 
 servitude, or have undergone long imprisonment. So in 
 minds long fettered by subscription to creeds, even the desire 
 of freedom is extinct. 
 
 The character of the emotion of Liberty is an undefined 
 elation, or intoxication, great according to the suddenness 
 and the extent of the release, as weU, as the previous galling 
 of the chain. Like all other feelings of relativity, it can be 
 renewed only by a renewal of the pain of restraint, and, there- 
 fore, is not an absolute addition to the sum of happiness, ex- 
 cept to those already in bondage. 
 
 A condition so familiar to every human being needs little 
 farther to be said in the way of example or illustration. We 
 may remark, however, that Liberty has an incalculable value, 
 as including the scope given to individuals to seek their own 
 happiness in their own way. 
 
 The emotions of Power and Lnpotence are, to some 
 extent, coincident with the foregoing, but have a far wider 
 range. Li consequence of their superior complication and 
 great importance, they are discussed in a separate chapter. 
 
 We have included, in the present chapter, feelings of a 
 very elementary and very general kind, subsisting purely by 
 the contrast of opposites. We might give a very wide illus- 
 tration to the general principle, by adverting to the painful 
 depression of burdens, labours, toUs, present and prospective ; 
 and to the joyous rebound upon the occasions of their miti- 
 gation or abatement. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 EMOTION OP TEREOE. 
 
 1. The emotion of Terror originates in the apprehen- 
 sion of coming evil Its characters are — a peculiar form 
 of pain or misery ; the prostration of the active energies ; 
 and the excessive hold of the related ideas on the mind. 
 
 First, as to the Object, or cause— the apprehension of 
 coming evil : — 
 
OCCASIONS OF TEEEOE. 233 
 
 It does not appear that a present pain, without anticipa- 
 tion, induces the state of fear. A person may have received 
 a severe blow, but if it is done and past, although the smart 
 remains, there is a total absence of terror. A present inflic- 
 tion, as the beginning or foretaste of more to come, is pre- 
 eminently a cause of l£e feeling. 
 
 Sometimes the apprehension is of certain evil, as when 
 some painfiil operation has to be gone through. The mere 
 idea of pain is depressing, but the certainty of its approach 
 gives a new character to the suffering. This situation, 
 although, in one view, the most terrible, is yet the most favour- 
 able to an efibrt of courageous endurance ; we are most ready 
 to make an exertion, when we are sure it will be wanted. 
 
 A second case is uncertain, but possible or probable, 
 calamity, as in the chances of a storm, a severe illness, an 
 equal contest for a great stake. This is a state of varying 
 probabilities and fluctuating estimate. The distraction may 
 be harassing in the extreme. 
 
 Any iiew uncertainty is especially a cause of terror. We 
 become habituated to a frequent danger, and realize the full 
 force of apprehension only when the evil is one previously 
 unknown. Such are — the terror caused by epidemics, the 
 apprehensions from an unexperienced illness, the feeling of a 
 recruit under fire. 
 
 2. Terror, on the physical side, shows both a loss and 
 a transfer of nervous energy. Power is suddenly and 
 extensively withdrawn from the Organic processes, to be 
 concentrated on certain Intellectual processes, and on the 
 bodily Movements. 
 
 The appearances may be distributed between effects of 
 relaxation and effects of tension. 
 
 The relaxation is seen, as regards the Muscles, in the dropping 
 of the Jaw, in the collapse overtaking all organs not specially 
 excited, in tremblings of the lips and other parts, and in the 
 loosening of the sphincters. 
 
 Next as regards the Organic Processes and Viscera. The 
 Digestion is everywhere weakened ; the flow of saliva is checked, 
 the gastric secretion arrested (appetite failing), the bowels de- 
 ranged. The Expiration is enfeebled. The heart and Circulation 
 are disturbed ; there is either a flushing of the face, or a deadly 
 pallor. The skin shows symptoms of derangement — ^the cold 
 sweat, the altered odour of the perspiration, the creepiag action 
 that lifts the hair. The kidneys are directly or indirectiy affected. 
 The sexual organs feel the depressing- influence. The secretion of 
 milk in the mother's breasts is vitiated. 
 
234 EMOTION OF TEEEOR. 
 
 The increased tension ia shown in the stare of the eye and the 
 raising of the scalp (by the occipito-frontalis muscle), in the in- 
 flation of the nostril, the shrill cry, the violent movements of pro- 
 tection or flight. The stare of me eye is to be token as an exag- 
 gerated fixing of the attention on the dreaded object ; and there 
 concurs with it an equally intense occupation of the thoughts in 
 the same ezcLusive direction. Whatever movements of expression, 
 or of volition, are suggested by these thoughts, have a similar 
 intensity. 
 
 That snoh a, physical condition should be accompanied 
 with great depression is a consequence of the theory of plea- 
 sure and pain. The prostration affects the most sensitive 
 processes, the organic ; the increase of energy is in the move- 
 ments, which have comparatively little sensibility. 
 
 3. Mentally, Terror is a form of massive pain. 
 
 The depression of a severe fright is known to be, for the 
 time, overwhelming. If we apply the test of the submergence 
 of pleasure, we shall reckon it one of the most formidable 
 visitations of human suffering. Of its Speciality, we can only 
 say that the great depression is accompanied with great ex- 
 citement. 
 
 As regards Volition, the pain would operate like any other 
 pain to seek relief. It has been formerly remarked, that the 
 generic tendency of all pain is to quench activity ; and this is 
 more especially true when fear accompanies the pain. Hence, 
 as a deterring instrument, and especially in subduing active: 
 opposition, terror is a great addition to mere pain; nothing, 
 so effectually tames the haughty spirit into submission. Its, 
 defective side (even if we overlook the misery) is shown, if- 
 we endeavour, by means of it, to induce great and persevering 
 exertions, the discharge of multifarious duties ; the waste of 
 power being incompatible with anything arduous. Slave 
 labour is notoriously unproductive. 
 
 With regard to the Intellect, the characters of the emotion 
 ai* very marked. The concentration of energy in the percep- 
 tions and the allied intellectual trains, gives an extraordinary 
 impressiveness to the objects and circumstances of the feeling. 
 In a house believed to be haunted, every sound is listened to 
 with avidity ; every breath of wind is interpreted as the ap- 
 proach of the dreaded spirit. Hence, for securing attention 
 to a limited subject, the feeling is highly eificacious. 
 
 Terror, in its intellectual excitement, affords the extreme 
 instance of the fixed idea, or the persistence of an image or 
 intellectual train, against the forces of the will and the in- 
 
SPECIES OF TERROR 235 
 
 tellect combined. An impending danger monopolizes the 
 thoughts. The protracted forms of fear expressed by anxiety, 
 watchfulness, care, — engross the intellect, to the exclusion of 
 liberalizing studies. 
 
 The influence of Fear on Belief, follows from its other 
 characters. The tendency is to give way to the suggestions 
 of danger, and to bar out all considerations on the other side. 
 
 4. The foUowing are the chief Species of Terror. 
 
 (1) The case of the Lower Animals. 
 
 In them, we have manifest traces of timidity, as an addi- 
 tion to mere pain. In the deterring smart of the whip, there 
 might be nothing beyond the effect of pain on the will ; while 
 the threat of it is still pain in the idea. The evidence of fear 
 is seen in the exaggerated activity inspired by trifling causes ; 
 the surrender of great advantages to small risks. Still more is 
 the state shown in the dread of what has never done any 
 harm : the dread of the human presence, in so many animals ; 
 the dread of other animals before experience of their disposi- 
 tion ; and the liability to be disturbed by slight commotions, 
 noises, and strange appearances. 
 
 (2) Fear in Children. 
 
 The mental system in infancy is highly susceptible, not 
 merely to pain, but to shocks and surprises. Any great ex- 
 citement has a perturbing effect allied to fear. After the 
 child has contracted, a familiarity with the persons and things 
 around it, it manifests unequivocal fear on the occurrence of 
 any thing very strange. The grasp of an unknown person 
 often gives a fright. This early experience very much re- 
 sembles the manifestations habitual to the inferior animals. 
 At the more advanced stage, where known evils are 
 to be encountered, if the child knows that it has to go 
 through something painful, the feeling is of the usual or 
 typical kind, modified only by the feebleness of the counter- 
 actives, and the consequent vehemence of the manifestations. 
 (3) Slavish Terror. 
 
 Slavish terror takes its rise under a superior unlimited in 
 power, capricious in conduct, or extreme in severity. The 
 possibility of some great infliction is itself necessarily a cause 
 of terror. The uncertainty that one knows not how to 
 meet, or provide against, is still more unhinging. It is not 
 possible to preserve composure under a capricious rule, except 
 by being in a state of preparation for the very worst. The 
 
236; EMOTION OF TEEEOR 
 
 Stoical prescaiptions of Epictetns, bimself a slave, arein 
 harmony with such a situation. Another circumstance tending 
 to beget slavish fear is the conscious neglect of duty on the 
 part of the inferior, he at the same time being unprepared 
 calmly to face the consequences. The state of slavery is a 
 state of terror from the power and arbitrary dispositions of 
 the master; the free-born servant has mainly to fear the 
 effects of his own remissness. 
 
 (4) Forebodings of disaster generally. 
 
 The usual form of Fear may be expressed as the Fore- 
 boding of evil or disaster, more or less certain. No human 
 being is wholly exempt from this condition ; it is a standing 
 dish in the banquet of life. There is a possibility of en- 
 countering evil with the minimum of fear, of bearing the pain 
 by itself, without the unhinging apprehensions ; a lofty ideal 
 realized only by a favoured few. 
 
 The term Anxiety generally implies an element of fear, 
 although it may be used when there is nothing intended but 
 the rational and measured avoidance of pain, which is the 
 true antithesis of fear. Suspicion expresses the influence of 
 the fears on Belief. It is a state wherein trifling incidents are 
 read as the certain index of great calamities. More especially, 
 it points to exaggerated estimates of the motives and inten- 
 tions of other men. To be suspicious is a part of the 
 general temper of timidity. Panic is an outburst of terror 
 affecting a multitude in common, and heightened by sympathy 
 or infection. It has ruined many armies, otherwise equipped 
 for victory. It renders a populace utterly uncontrolULble in 
 great emergencies. 
 
 Like any other emotion, there may be a permanent asso- 
 ciation between the state of Fear and the objects that have 
 often called it forth, or have been connected with it The 
 mother is in habitual trepidation about a sick, or wavward, 
 or incapable child. Even when there is no cause for "alarm, 
 a shade of terror is apt to be present. This has been called 
 an Affection of Fear, as we have an Affection of Love, and an 
 Affection of Anger (Hatred). The solicitude of a woman 
 about her person and appearance, or of a man of genius for 
 his fame, is an affection of feax. The same fact is expressed 
 by Anxiety and Care. 
 
 (5) The Terrors of Superstition. 
 
 Our position in the world contains the sources of fear. 
 The vast powers of nature dispose of our lives and happiness 
 
DISTRUST OF OUE FACULTIES. 237 
 
 with irresistible might and awful aspect. Ages had elapsed 
 ere the knowledge -of law and nniformity, prevailing among 
 those powers, had been arrived at by the human intellect. 
 The profonnd ignorance of primitive man was the soil wherein 
 his early conceptions and theories sprang up; and the fear 
 inseparable from ignorance gave them their character. The 
 essence of superstition is expressed by the definition of fear. 
 An jJtogether exaggerated estimate of things, the ascription 
 of evil agency to the most harmless objects, and false appre- 
 hensions everywhere, are among the attributes of the super- 
 stitious man. 
 
 (6) The Distrust of our Faculties in new operatioas. 
 In all untried situations, in the exercise of imperfect 
 
 powers, and in the commencement of enterprises where we 
 but partly see our way, we are liable to the quakings of 
 terror. This is one of the miseries of early years. In great 
 posts, where every movement affects the happiness of mxdti- 
 tudes, the sensitive mind will always have a certain amount 
 of apprehension. 
 
 One remarkable form of this distrust is the being Abashed 
 before a strange face, a new company, or a great multitude. 
 This is a reproduction, in manhood, of childish fear, but the 
 circumstances are somewhat altered. After we have seen some- 
 thing of the world, we are aware of the possibilities of evil that 
 Me in the compass of every human being ; every new encoun- 
 ter is attended with dread, until experience gives assurance ; we 
 are apt to regard every man an enemy till we prove him a friend. 
 
 It might be a question as regards shyness before strangers, 
 whether the more instinctive form of dread, shown in early 
 infancy, does not cUng to us in later years, requiring a har- 
 dening process to dispel it. If anything seemed to imply 
 such a weakness, it would be the awftil sensation of first ap- 
 pearing, as a speaker or performer, before a large assembly. 
 Probably, however, there is enough in the evil possibilities oi 
 the case to account for the excessive perturbation of most per- 
 sons so situated. 
 
 The world's censure may be looked at merely as so 
 much pain, and estimated accordingly, or it may be accom- 
 panied witti the agitation of fear. Being somewhat uncertain 
 and capricious, as well as potent for evil, it is liable to this 
 aggravation of its severity. 
 
 (7) The Tear of Death. 
 
 In the fear of Death, we have two elements. The extinc- 
 
238 EMOTION OF TEKEOE. 
 
 tion of life's pleasures, interests, and hopes, is looked forward 
 to with apprehension according to the zest . for these : in the 
 young and vigorous, the misery of the prospect is extreme ; a 
 youthfal culprit sentenced to execution is heart-rending in 
 his tones of anguish The other element is the dread Un- 
 known, which operates variously according to a man's temper, 
 conscience, and education. 
 
 5. Terror is farther illustrated by its Counteractives 
 and Opposites — ^the sources of Courage. 
 
 These are: — (1) Physical vigour of constitution; which 
 resists the withdrawal of the blood from the organic functions. 
 
 (2) The Active or Energetic Temperament ; or the presence, 
 in large quantity, of what the shock of fear tends to destroy. 
 
 (3) The Sanguine Temperament; which, being a copious 
 fond of emotional vigour, shown in natural buoyancy, fulness 
 of animal spirits, manifestations of warm sociability, and the 
 like, is also the antithesis of depressing agencies — whether 
 mere pain, or the aggravations of fear. (4) Force of Will ; 
 arising from the power of the motives to equanimity. (5) In- 
 tellectual Force ; which reftises to be overpowered by the 
 fixed idea of an object of fright, and so serves to counter- 
 balance the state of dread. (6) In so far as terror is grounded 
 on Ignorance, the remedy is Knowledge. The victories gained 
 over superstition, in the later ages, have been due to the more 
 exact acquaintance with nature. Pericles, instructed in 
 Astronomy under Anaxagoras, rescued his army from the 
 panic of an eclipse, by a familiar illustration of its true causa 
 
 6. The Eeaction, or Eelief, from Terror, like any other 
 rebound from a depressing condition, is cheering or 
 hilarious. 
 
 This is the source of the cheerfulness of the state of con- 
 fidence, security, assurance ; a pleasure purely relative to the 
 depression of fear. 
 
 7. The uses of Terror in government, and in Educa- 
 tion, are easily understood. 
 
 The discipline of pain, if reinforced by terror, is still 
 more e£5.caciou8 in subduing obduracy of mind. Pride, inde- 
 pendence, self-reliance, are incompatible with the perturbation, 
 of fear. 
 
 8. The employment of the passion of Fear in Art de- 
 mands explanation. 
 
FEAK IN ART. 239 
 
 The essence of Fear is misery, and the essence of Art is 
 pleasure. But incidental to Fear, is a certain amount of ex- 
 citement, which may be so regulated as to have the pungency 
 without the pain of the emotion. Mere sympathetic terrors, 
 and still more such as are wholly fictitious, attain this happy 
 medium. There is, nevertheless, a limit; which has been 
 overstepped both by Shakespeare and by "Walter Scott. 
 
 A slight fear, with speedy relief, may be stimulating at 
 all times. To robust constitutions, even serious danger is 
 welcomed for its excitement. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 TENDER EMOTION. 
 
 1. Tenderness is a pleasurable emotion, variously 
 stimulated, whose effect is to draw human beings into 
 mutual embrace. 
 
 The Objects, or causes of tenderness, are chiefly found 
 in connexion with human beings and other sentient crea- 
 tures ; towards whom alone it can be properly manifested. 
 
 The exciting causes or stimulants of the feeling are, more 
 particularly, the following , — 
 
 First, the massive, or voluminous Pleasures. Under this 
 head, we have already included slow movements, repose after 
 exercise, repletion, agreeable warmth, soft contacts, gentle 
 and voluminous sounds, mild sunshine. Such pleasures are 
 known to soothe or calm down the activity, as opposed to the 
 acute and pungent pleasures ; they also incite tender feeling. 
 
 In the next place, very great pleasures inoHne to the ten- 
 der outburst. Under the agitation of joy, an afiectionate 
 warmth is manifested, demanding a response. Occasions oi 
 rejoicing are celebrated by social gatherings and hospitality. 
 Thirdly, Pains are among the causes of tenderness. This 
 seems a contradiction and a paradox ; but in reality it is con- 
 sistent with all the characters of the feeling. There would be 
 no marvel in calling a pleasure to our aid on occasion of pain ; 
 the marvel is that, at that moment, the system is prepared to 
 yield an assuagement merely because there is a want. It 
 
240 TENDER EMOTION. 
 
 has to be explained why this emotion in pajticnlar should 
 be so ready to btirst out in times of suffering. We can 
 best understand its occurring in connexion with pains of the 
 affections. 
 
 Fourthly, There are certain more local and special causes 
 that deserve to be mentioned, as farther illustrating the feeling 
 and its physical embodiments. The touch of the breast, the 
 neck, the mouth, and the hand, and the movements of the 
 upper members, are allied to this feeling ; as the contact and 
 the movements of the inferior parts of the body are concerned 
 iu sexual excitement. The reason is to be found in the 
 vicinity of the organic functions peculiar to each of the 
 feelings. Farther, there are certain special stimulants in the 
 higher senses. In Hearing, the high and mellow note, 
 occurring sometimes in the wail of grief, and adopted in 
 pathetic address, has a touching eflloacy. By virtue of this 
 coincidence, too early in its date to be the result of mere 
 association, (and probably a mode of voluminous sensation), 
 there is a power in the outburst of grief to affect others with 
 tenderness. The ' dying fall' is pathetic, as a mode of soft and 
 pleasurable feeling. KnaUy, in Sight, the sensations of lustre 
 have a like eflB.cacy. The influence of the clear drop, ap- 
 pearing on the moistened eye, and inducing the secretion in 
 the eye of the beholder, is probably more than mere lustre ; 
 it adds the stimulus to self-consciousness, and possibly an 
 effect of association besides. 
 
 The alliance of tenderness with inaction renders it the 
 emotion of weakness ; whence the experience or the view of 
 weakness very readily suggests it. The helplessness of 
 infaiicy, of age, of sickness, of destitution, caUs it forth. 
 Even among inanimate things, slender and fragile forms, 
 after being personified, are sources of tender feeling, and are 
 thence considered objects of beauty. In Burke's theory of 
 the Beautiful, this was made the central feature. 
 
 2. The PHYSICAL side of the Tender Emotion specially 
 involves (1) Touch, (2) the Lachrymal Organs, and (3) 
 the movements of the Pharynx. 
 
 (1) ^he soft extended contact, the source of a volnminons 
 sensation of touch, as a physical fact, is both the beginning and 
 the .end of the tender feeling. One might suspect a glandular, 
 as well as a purely tactile, effect in this contact ; not only is 
 the skin a vast secreting organ, but there is something in the 
 feeling strongly analogous to the organic or visceral sensi- 
 
PHYSICAL ACCOMPAHIMEKTS OF TENDEKNESS. 241 
 
 bilities. The remark is farther confirmed by the considera- 
 tion of the next accompaniment. 
 
 (2) The Lachrymal Organs — Gland and Sao — are specifi- 
 cally afiected under the tender feeling. We must assume two 
 stages or degrees of this action ; a gentle, healthy flow, 
 accompanied with genial sensibility, and, in the case of great 
 stimulation, a violent, profuse flow, from excessive action 
 and congestion of the brain, under pain or extreme joy. 
 
 (3) The movements of the Pharynx, or bag of the throat, 
 the muscular cavity where the food is swallowed, are suscep- 
 tible to the tender feeling. In violent grief, these muscles 
 are canvtdsed, so as to be unable to swallow ; in the gentler 
 degrees, they are the seat of a sensibility characteristic of the 
 emotion. Considering that these muscles are but the com- 
 mencement of the muscular fibres of the alimentary canal, we 
 may presume, from analogy, that the alimentary canal as a 
 whole is affected under the feeling. The phrase ' bowels of 
 compassion' would point to this conclusion. 
 
 In women, we must add, as an adjunct of tender feeling, 
 the mammary secretion, an eminent addition to the sources 
 of the feeling in organic sensibility. 
 
 3. The link of sequence, physical and mental, between 
 the stimulants of tender feeling and the manifestations, is 
 to be sought in the common character of the two sets of 
 phenomena. 
 
 It would be in accordance with the Law of Self-conserva- 
 tion, that a pleasurable wave should extend itself, by reflexion 
 from all the sources of the same emotion. If the warm em- 
 brace is a cause of the feeling, the feeling, otherwise sug- 
 gested, would seek its increase and consummation in the 
 embrace, as well as in the other responsive tokens of tender- 
 ness — the smile, the glance, the tones, the sympathies of other 
 beings. 
 
 llie same principle is seen in the diflusive manifestations 
 of feeling generally. Joyfal emotion prompts to the musical 
 outburst that would, of itself, be an inspiration of joy. 
 
 When pain is a stimulant, the motive still is to have 
 recourse to something pleasurable. This is not the only 
 resort on an occasion of pain. In some states. Anger, or 
 the pleasure of maJerolence, is called to aid ; the circum- 
 stances being natural vigour, an irascible habit, and &e 
 absence of genial sympathies. When tenderness is invoked, 
 the circumstances are usually extreme weakness, the tender 
 16 
 
242 TENDEB EMOTION. 
 
 disposition, or the connexion of the pain with Bome tender 
 relationship. 
 
 4. On the mental side. Tenderness is a feeling, in 
 quality pleasurable, in degree massive and not acute. Its 
 remarkable speciality (wbicH may be a consequence of 
 the foregoing properties) is its connexion with tranquillity 
 and repose. 
 
 It is the character of a voluminous excitement to affect 
 lightly a large surface, being thus a more enduring and sus- 
 tainable source of pleasure. This is pre-eminently the nature 
 of the Tender Feeling, and constitutes its great value in 
 hnman life. It is a tranquillizer under morbid excitement, a 
 soothing power in pain, and a means of enjoyment when the 
 forces of the system are at the lowest ebb, or in abeyance for 
 the time. 
 
 As regards Volition, the tender feeling prompts to efforts 
 for its own fruition, like other pleasures, according to their 
 degree. Its tranquillizing influence upon morbid excitement 
 is the substitution of a new state, such as, from its occupying 
 the mind strongly and agreeably, is a power to displace other 
 states. 
 
 The Intellectual peculiarity of tenderness follows from the 
 others. Being easUy sustained, it has in a high degree the 
 property of persistence, and recoverability in idea. 
 
 The readiness to form permanent associations, under the 
 law of Contiguity, is a fiirther extension of the intellectual 
 property. The feeling is one superadded to proper sensuous 
 charm, as terror is an addition to mere pain ; but when often 
 excited in connexion with an object of sense, it is kindled at 
 the mere mention or suggestion of that object ; such habitual 
 or associated Tenderness being the meaning of Affection. 
 
 5. The mixed characters of the feeling farther illus- 
 trate its main featui-e. 
 
 The operation upon the Will in pursuit, corresponding to 
 the de^ee of the pleasure and the retentiveness combined, is 
 shown in the energies put forth in favour of objects of affec- 
 tion and tender regard. 
 
 As Desire, this emotion maintains its consistency. In an 
 easily sustainable feeling, the mere idea contains a large 
 amount of the pleasure ; ' the imagination of the feast' is in 
 some degree satisfying. Love is often satisfied with objects 
 purely ideal. 
 
MATEKNAL EELATIONSHIP. 243 
 
 The Control of the Attention and the Trains of thought, 
 even in the ordinary degrees of the feelings wonld naturally 
 be great, while, in lie intenser formSfit is apt to be overwhelm- 
 ing. The same can be said of the allied effect on Belief; the 
 partialities of love, affection,, and friendship^ are counted upon 
 as laws of human nature. 
 
 SPECIES OP THE TENDER EMOTION. 
 
 6. It is the nature of the Emotion to vent itself mainly 
 on human beings. 
 
 A human person combines the stimulants beyond any other 
 object. The sensuous exterior,, the voice and movements pur- 
 posely attuned,, largely arouse the feeling, while the response 
 supposes another personality. 
 
 The companionable animals are within the compass of the 
 feeling. 
 
 The Family Grovp. 
 
 7. The relation of Mother and Offspring deserves to 
 rank first. 
 
 The infant, as a sensuous objeet,,has all the properties that 
 stimulate the feeling. The skin soft and pure, the eye fresh 
 and clear, the outline rounded ; the diminutive size and help- 
 lessness ; the interest of the comparison showing so much like- 
 ness to the full-grown individual ; the action so different and 
 yet so similar, — render the child an impressive object of ten- 
 derness to every one. And in the case of the mother, there is 
 superadded a powerfiil element of regard, arising out of the 
 original relation to herself, and the special engagement of her 
 energies in supporting the infant's existence. Such a com- 
 bination of self-interest and the associations of a strong 
 solicitude would, under any circumstances, stamp an object 
 on the mind ; a house, or a garden, so situated grows upon 
 the feelings of the possessor. When, however, the object is a 
 human being of the age most fitted to act on the tender sus- 
 ceptibilities, we can easily understand how this relationship 
 becomes the crowning instance of intense personal regard. 
 
 The ftdl explanation of maternal love involves the fact of 
 Sympathy, which is distinct from proper Tender feeling, 
 although fusing with it. 
 
 The Paternal relationship contains many of the same 
 elements. There is less of personal contact, but the ideal 
 feelings are no less strong, whUe the influence of contrast and 
 the sentiment of protectorship may be even greater. 
 
244 TEMJEK EMOtlOK. 
 
 8. iThe tektionship Of the Sexes, founded in the pro- 
 oreative constitution, is one of Tenderness. 
 
 The pleasure connected with the intercourse of the sexes 
 is itself a stimulant of tenderness. There is, besides, that dif- 
 ference of personal conformation, which makes the one sex a 
 variety as it were to the other, possessing a distinct order of 
 attractions. There can be no doubt of the extensive working 
 of this principle, which puts a limit to the influence of the 
 most perfect forms, and the highest excellence. The merits 
 that we carry about with us are apt to pall upon Our taste, and 
 the -objects Wat iatei-est us mast foe something differeat, even 
 although inferior. The greatest affinities grow otit of the 
 stronger contrasts ; with this important explanation, that the 
 contrast must not be of hostile qualities, but of supple>inental 
 ones. The one pOTson must not love what the otiier hates, 
 but the two must mutually supply each other's felt deficiencies. 
 Affections grounded on disparity, so qualified, exist between 
 individuals of the same sex. The Platonic friendship was 
 manifested chiefly between men of different ages, and in tiie 
 relation of master and ptipil. But in the two sexes there is a 
 standing ccmtrast, the foundation of a more universal interest. 
 The ideal beauty arising from conformation is on the side of 
 the woman : the interest of the masculine presence lies more 
 in the associations of power. 
 
 The Ben&volent Affeiciions, 
 
 9. In Benevolence, the main constituent is Sympathy, 
 which is not to be confounded with Tenderness. 
 
 It will be seen more ftilly afterwards, that, in Syttlpathy, 
 the essential point is to become possessed of the pains and 
 pleasures of another being. Now, the tender feeling, or love, 
 greatly aids this occnpeitiOn of tnind with- the feelings of 
 others, but is not the sole agent concerned. Another power, 
 of a more intellectual kind, is deinanded. 
 
 10. SyUapaithy not being necessarily a source of plea- 
 sure, the Pleasures of Beinevolence are incidental and in- 
 direct. 
 
 The following considerations are to ho taken into account, 
 in resolving this matter. 
 
 In the nrst place, love or tender feeling, is by its nature 
 pleasurable, but does not necessarily cause us to seek the good 
 of the object farther than is needful to gratify ourselves in the 
 
PLEASURES OF BEM EVOLENCE. 245 
 
 indulgence of the feeling. It is as purely self-seeking aa any 
 other pleasure, and makes no enquiry con,ceriiing the feelings 
 of the beloved personality. 
 
 In thiQ second place, iu a region of the mind quite apart 
 from the tender emotion, arises the principle of Sympathy, or 
 the prompting to take on the pleasures and paina of other 
 beings, and act on them as if they were our own, Instead of 
 being a source of pleasure to us, the primary operation of 
 sympathy is to make us surrender pleasure and to incur pains. 
 
 Thirdly, The engagement of the mind by objects of affec- 
 tion gives them,, in preferencei to others, the benefit of our 
 sympathy ; and hence we are specially impelled to work for 
 advancing their pleasures and alleviating their pains. It does 
 not follow that we are made happier by the circumstance ; on 
 the contrary, we may be involved in painful and heavy labours. 
 
 Fourthly, The reciproeation of sympathy and good offices 
 is a great increase of pleasure on both sides ; being,, indeed, 
 under favourable circumstances, one of the greatest sources of 
 human delight. 
 
 Fifthly, It is the express aim of a well-constituted society, 
 if possible, never to let good ofBces pass unreciprocated. If 
 the immediate object of them cannot or will not reciprocate 
 in ftill, as when we relieve the destitute or the worthless, 
 others bestow upon us approbation and praise. Of course, if 
 benevolent actions, instead of being a tax, were self-rewarding, 
 such acknowledgment would have no relevance. 
 
 Sixthly, There is a pleasure in the sight of happy beings, 
 and we naturally feel a certain elation in being instrumental 
 to this agreeable efiect^ 
 
 11. Compassion, or Pity^ means Sympathy with dis- 
 tress, and usually supposes an infusion of Tender Feeling. 
 
 The effective aid to a sufferer springs from sympathy pro- 
 per, and may be accompanied, or not, with tender manifesta- 
 tions. Many persons, little given to the melting mood, are 
 highly sympathetic in the way of doing services. Others 
 bestow sympathy, in the form of mere tender effusion, with 
 perhaps little else. To be full of this last kind of sympathy 
 is the proper meaning of Sentimentality. 
 
 12. The receipt of favours inspires Gratitude ; of which 
 the foundation is sympathy, and the ruling principle, the 
 complex idea of Justica 
 
 Pleasure conferred upon us, by another human being, im- 
 
246 TENDER EMOTION. 
 
 mediately prompts the tender response. With whatever power 
 of sympathy we possess, we enter into the pleasures and 
 pains of the person that has thus engaged onr regards. The 
 highest form of gratitude, which leads us to reciprocate bene- 
 fits and make acknowledgments, in some proportion to the 
 benefits conferred, is an application of the principle of Justice. 
 
 13. In the Equal relationships of life, .there is room for 
 the mutual play of Benevolence and Gratitude. 
 
 In brotherhood, friendship, co-membership of the same 
 society, occasional iaequalities give room for mutual good 
 offices. In the tenderness thus developed, there is a bond of 
 attraction to counterwork the rivalries and repeUant egotisms 
 of mankind. 
 
 14. The operation of Sympathy renders the mere 
 spectacle of Generosity a stimulant of Tender Feeling. 
 
 This is one great producing cause of the fictitious tender- 
 ness made use of in Pine Art. Sympathy interests us in 
 other beings^ their paias and pleasures become to a certain 
 extent ours ; and the benefits imparted to them can raise a 
 tender wave in us. The more striking manifestations of 
 generosity, as when an injured person or an enemy renders 
 good for evil, are touching even to the unconcerned spectator. 
 
 15. The Lower Animals are subjects of tender feeling, 
 and of mutual attachment. 
 
 Their total dependence forbids rivalry.; while their sen- 
 suous charms, vivacity, their contrast to ourselves, and their 
 services, are able to evoke tenderness and afiection. 
 
 The reciprocal attachment of animals to men, so much 
 greater than they can maintain to their own species, shows 
 that the sense of favours received is able to work in them the 
 genuine tender sentiment. All that the feeling can amount 
 to, in the absence of the totally distiuct aptitude of sympathy, 
 is seen in them, very much as it appears in early human 
 infancy. 
 
 16. There is a form of tenderness manifested towards 
 Inanimate things. 
 
 By associated pleasurable emotion, we come to experience 
 towards our various possessions, and local surroundings, a 
 certain warmth of the nature of an attachment. It is fifom 
 their original power to give pleasure, that, these things work 
 upon the springs of tenderness ; but, as they are unsuited to 
 
INAIIIMATE THINGS, 247 
 
 its proper consnmmation, the indulgence of the feeling is 
 imaginary or fictitions. The personifying impulse here comes 
 to onr aid ; and, by going through some of the forms, we ex- 
 perience the reality, of tender regard. 
 
 Sorrow. 
 
 17. Sorrow is pain from the loss of objects of affection ; 
 the tender feeling becoming a means of consolation. 
 
 Affection supposes a habitaal reference to another person, 
 an intertwining of thoughts, interests, pleasures, and conduct, 
 extensive in proportion to the intimacy of the relationship. 
 To be deprived of such a one, is to lose a main stay of exist- 
 ence ; on the principle of Self-conservation the loss is misery. 
 The giving way of anything that we have been accustomed to 
 depend upon, leaves us in a state of helplessness and wretched- 
 ness, till we go through the process of building up new sup- 
 ports. 
 
 The lower animals are capable of sorrow. The dog will 
 sometimes pine and die of absence &om his master : being 
 unable to endure the privation, or to reconstitute a bond of 
 attachment. 
 
 It is, however, the characteristic of the tender feeling to 
 flow readily, on the prompting of such occasions, and to 
 supply, in its almost inexhaustible fulness, a large measure of 
 consolation. This is the genial and healing side of sorrow. 
 It is a satisfaction not afforded, in the same degree, by other 
 losses, — by failure in worldly aspirations, by the baulking of 
 revenge, or by the incurring of an ill name. 
 
 18. The Social and Moral bearings of tenderness are 
 important, although the best part of the effect is due to 
 the co-operation of Sympathy. 
 
 Anything tending to give us pleasure in other beings 
 makes us court society, and accommodate ourselves to others. 
 The cultivation of the modes and expression of tenderness 
 belongs to the arts of civilized man. ■~~~ 
 
 Admiration and Esteem. 
 
 19. Admiration is the response to pleasurable feeling 
 aroused by Excellence or superiority; a feeling closely 
 allied to love. 
 
 The occasions of admiration are various and compUcated, 
 and will be resumed under the Sublime (.Esthetic Emotions V 
 
248 TENDER EMOTION. 
 
 What we notice here is that the feelbg is one readily passing 
 into tenderness; the reason being not sdely that it is a 
 pleasure, but also that it supposes another sentient being to 
 receive the admiring expression. 
 
 The frequent transition from Admiration to Love shows 
 the community of the two feelings : an admiration without 
 some portion of kindly regard is an exceptional and artificial 
 state, which it takes a certain efiEbrt of mind to entertain ; as 
 in contemplating an Alcibiades or a Marlborough. 
 
 20. Esteem refers to the performance of essential 
 Duties, whose neglect is attended with evil 
 
 Our Esteem is moved by usefol, rather than by shining, 
 qualities. As we are painftilly aware of the consequences of 
 individual remissness in the duties and conduct of life, there is 
 a cheering re-'action in witnessing the opposite conduct. It is a 
 rebound from pain not unmixed with apprehension, and being 
 connected with persons, it falls into the strain of tender feeling. 
 We esteem the prudent man, the just man, the self-sufficing 
 or independent man; and our agreeable sentiment has its 
 spring in the possible efvils from the absence of these qualities, 
 and is greater as our sense of those evils is greater. 
 
 Both Admiration and Esteem are accompanied with 
 Deference, a mode of gratitude to the persons that have 
 evoked those sentiments. 
 
 Veneration — the Beligicms Sentiment. 
 
 21. The Eeligioits Sentiment is constituted by the Tender 
 Emotion, together with Fear, and the Sentiment of the 
 Sublime. 
 
 We must premise that the generic feature of Beligion is 
 Government, or authority; the specific difiference is the 
 authority of a Supematural rule. It may thus be distin- 
 guished from mere Poetic Emotions, which are so largely 
 incorporated with it. 
 
 The composition of the feeling is expressed in the familiar 
 conjunction — ' wonder, love, and awe.' 
 
 (1) The vastness of the presiding power of the world, in 
 so far as it can be brought home, is a source of the elation of 
 the Sublime. The great difficulty here is in connexion with 
 the unseen and spiritual essence, which requires the sensuous 
 grandeurs of the actual world, and the highest stretch of 
 poetic diction, as adds to bring it witiiin the compass of 
 imEigination. 
 
ELEMENTS OF TENEEATION. 249 
 
 (2) Onr position of weakness, dependence, and uncer- 
 tainty, brings us under the dominion of Pear. This feeling 
 varies with our own conscious misdeeds, as compared with 
 the exactions of the supreme Governor. The secondary uses 
 of Bieligion, in the hands of the politician, are supposed to be 
 favoured by the terror-inspiring severity of the creed; a 
 weapon fraught with dangers. The autocrat of Russia was 
 unable to induce even his soldiers to dispense witb the Lenten 
 fasting, during the ravages of cholera. 
 
 In almost all views of Religion, the Sense of Dependence 
 is given as the central fact. 
 
 (3) Love or Tender Emotion enters into the feeling, 
 according as the Deity is viewed in a benign aspect. There 
 is a certain incompatibility between tenderness and fear; 
 indeed, in any close relation between governor and governed, 
 a perfect mutual affection is rare and exceptional ; the putting 
 forth of authority chills tenderness. 
 
 A great and beneficent being might be conceived, and is 
 conceived by many, as bestowing favours without imposing 
 restraints, or inflicting punishments. It is to such a being 
 that tender and adoring sentiment might arise in purity, or 
 without the admixture of fear. The benefactor is in that 
 case separated from the ruler, and the essential character of 
 Religion is no longer present. 
 
 Veneration, in the terrestrial and human acceptation, is a 
 sentiment displayed, not so much to active and present 
 authority, as to power that is now passing or past. It 
 mingles with the conception of greatness the pathos of mor- 
 tality and decay. It is the tribute to the memory of the 
 departed, and is sometimes expressed by rites of a semi- 
 religious character. The followers of Confacius in China, 
 who have no religion, in the proper sense of the term, join in 
 the periodical observances of the Chinese in honour of their 
 departed ancestry. 
 
 Beverence is a name for high admiration and deferential 
 regard, without implying authority. We may express reve- 
 rence and feel deference to a politieiaa, a philanthroprst, or a 
 man of learning or science. 
 
250 EMOTIONS OF SELF. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 EMOTIONS OF SELF. 
 
 1. The term ' Self ' is not used here in any of its wide 
 acceptations, but is a brief title for comprehending two 
 allied groups of Feelings — ^the one expressed by the names 
 Self-gratulation, Self-complacency, Self-esteem, Pride ; the 
 other by Love of Approbation, Vanity, Desire of Fame, or 
 Glory. 
 
 The comprehensive words Selfishness, Self-seeking, Ego- 
 tism, imply the coUective interests of the individual, as ex- 
 cluding, or simply as not including, the interests of others. 
 There are, therefore, many forms of egotism besides what are 
 to be now treated of. For example, the love of Power (not 
 here included) is at the extreme pole of Egotism ; being 
 scarcely, if at aU compatible, with a regard to others. Many 
 feelings are in themselves purely egotistic, but their enjoy- 
 ment is not complete without a social alliance, such as Tender- 
 ness and Sexual feeling ; these are sympathetic by accident,, 
 if not by design. 
 
 SELF-GEATULATION AND SELF-ESTEEM. 
 
 2. This is the feeling experienced when we behold in 
 ourselves the qualities that, seen in others, call forth ad- 
 miration, reverence, love, or esteem. 
 
 Admiration, as above stated, combines the elation of the 
 sublime with tenderness, and is, in favourable circumstances, 
 highly pleasurable. Any fresh display of excellence, of a kind 
 that we are able to appreciate, fills us with delight, part of 
 which may be set down to the indulgence of the admiring 
 sentiment. 
 
 In the present case, we have to consider what change is 
 effected, when we ourselves are the admired personaUty. The 
 pleasure, in such circumstances, is usually much greater. 
 The question arises, is it the same sentiment, with assignable 
 modifications, or is it a new feeling of the mind ? 
 
SELF-COMPLACENCY A MODE OF TENDERNESS. 251 
 
 3. The PHYSICAL side of the feeling presents an ex- 
 pression of marked pleasure, serene and placid, such as 
 might accompany tender feeling. 
 
 There is nothing in this expression to give a clue to the 
 ultimate analysis of the feeling, although quite consistent 
 with the view to be given of it from the mental side. 
 
 4. On the mental side, we may consider self-com- 
 placency as a mode of tender feeling, with self for the 
 object ; the pleasure caused by it, is the pleasure of admir- 
 ing an object of tender affection. 
 
 Let us suppose, first, the case of admiration drawn forth 
 to a beloved person, as when a parent is called to witness the 
 merits, virtues, or charms of a child. There is here obviously 
 a double current of pleasurable excitement ; the admiration 
 wakens the affection iato active exercise, and the aroused 
 affection -quackens the admiration. It is not to be believed 
 that the pleasure of Euimiring one that we are interested in, 
 from other causes, should be only the same as towards a per- 
 son wholly indifferent. 
 
 Now, there are various facts to show, that every human 
 beiug is disposed to contract a habitual self-tenderness, so 
 as to become, each to one's self, an object of affection. 
 
 It is towards other personalities that we have the full and 
 primary experience of the tender feeling, but if it can extend 
 in any form to inanimate things, much more should it arise 
 towards our own personality. When, besides the enjoyment 
 of pleasures, and the pursuit of ends, we direct our attention 
 upon self as the subject of all those pleasures and pursuits, 
 we may be affected with a superadded tender feeling, which 
 wiU in time grow into an affection. The attentions and care 
 of the mother to the child greatly contribute to the strength 
 of her affection ; the sickly child is often the most beloved. 
 A similar round of attentions and care, consciously bestowed 
 on self, have a similar tendency ; we may iu this way, if we 
 indulge ourselves in self-consciousness, become the object of 
 self-tenderness, growing into self-affection (a feeling not to be 
 confounded with what is commonly called self-love). 
 
 It is possible for the regards to take a direction so exclu- 
 sively outward, to be so far absorbed with other personalities, 
 and purely external concerns, as not to become habitual to- 
 wards self. In such a situation, the self-complacent senti- 
 ment would be dried up ; the sight of excellence in certain 
 
252 EMOTIONS OF SELF. 
 
 other persons miglit have a warm and pleasing efficacy, while 
 in self it would awaken but a feeble response. Such a total 
 absence of self-gratnlation may be rare, because the self-con- 
 scious tendency can hardly be nullified by any outward at- 
 tractions ; yet there are wide variations of degree in the feel- 
 ing, as there are great differences in the choice of objects of 
 tender concern. 
 
 If such be the derivation of the sentiment, its characters 
 are plain. It is a pleasure of great amount, allied to the pas- 
 sive side of our being, and possessing all the recommendations 
 of the tender feeling. It may subsist in a condition of weak- 
 ness and prostration ; it is easily sustained and recovered iu 
 the ideal form ; if based on a large emotional nature, it may 
 afibrd a copious well-spring of enjoyment. 
 
 It has the same h^^h iutellectual efficiency as the original 
 form of tenderness ; directing the attention, controlling the 
 thoughts, and inducing beliefs in conformity with itself. 
 
 5. The more usual Specific Forms of the feeling have 
 received names in common language. 
 
 Self-complacency expresses the act of deriving pleasure 
 &om mentally revolving one's own merits, excellencies, pro- 
 ductions, and imposing adjuncts. It also disposes us to court 
 the sympathy and attention of others, by verbal recitals to 
 the same effect. 
 
 Self-esteem and Self-conceit imply a settled opinion of 
 our own merits, followed up with what is implied in esteem, 
 namely, preference to others, on a comparison. This preference 
 is shown most conspicuously in the feature of Self-confidence ; 
 which may be a sober and correct estimate of our own powers, 
 but may also be an estimate heightened by self-tenderness or 
 affection. In some characters, of great natural abundance of 
 energy, active or emotional, the feeling is so well sustained as 
 to dispense with the confirmation of other men's opinions . This 
 is the respectable, but unamiable, quahfy of Self-sufficingness. 
 
 Self-respect and Pride suggest the feeling as a motive to 
 conduct. Having formed a high estimate of self in certain 
 respects, we are restrained from lowering that estimate by 
 inconsistent conduct. The skilled workman has a pride in 
 not sending out an inferior production. The man of upright 
 dealings, if he is consciously proud of his own integrity, has 
 an additional motive for strictness in acting np to it. It is 
 the sense of honour, viewed as self-honour ; and may co-e:^t 
 with regard to the sentiments of others. 
 
HUMIUTT. — SELF-ABASEMENT. 253 
 
 Self-pity — ^being sorry for one's self — ^is a genuine mani- 
 festation of tlie feeling before as. It is nnmistakeable as a 
 mode of tender feeling, and yet it ends in self; being a strong 
 confirmation of the foregoing analysis. 
 
 Emulation, and the feeling of Superiority, express the 
 emotion, as it arises in the act of measuring oueselves with 
 others. Ail excellence reqxdres a comparison, open or im- 
 plied ; when the comparison is openly made, and, when we 
 are distinctly aware of our advantage over another person, 
 and enjoy the pleasure of that situation, the feeling is called 
 sense of Superiority, and the impulse to gain it. Emulation. 
 Envy is the feeling of inferiority, with a malevolent sentiment 
 towards the rival. 
 
 6. Tliere are well-marked forms of Pain, in obverse 
 correspondence to the pleasures now described. 
 
 Most amiable and estimable, on this side, Ls the virtue 
 named Humility and Modesty, which, without supposing self- 
 depreciation, implies that, for the sake of others, we abstain 
 &om indulging self-complacent sentiment. It is a species of 
 geiierosUy, in renouncing a portion of self-esteem, to allow a 
 greater share of esteem to others. 
 
 The sense of positive Worfiilessness or Demerit is the 
 genuine pain of self-tenderness, and is denoted by the names 
 Humiliation and Self-abasement. It is not often that human 
 beings can be made to feel this state ; the regard to self is too , 
 strong to allow it a place. When it does gain a footing in the 
 mind, the anguish and prostration are great in proportion to 
 the joy of the opposite state. It is analogous to tlie discovery 
 (also slow to be made) of demerit in objects of affection, which 
 operates as a shock of revulsion and distress, of the severest 
 kind. Just as the pleasures of tender feeling dififase them- 
 selves over the life, by their ideal self-subsistence, so do the 
 pains of worthlessness in one's own eyes, if they have once 
 taken possession of the mind. 
 
 SeUf-abasement, the consequence of a sense of demerit, is 
 also the first step towards relief ; supposing, as it does, tiiat 
 the person has renounced all pretensions to merit, and ac- 
 quiesced in the penalties of guilt. The penitential state 
 begins with conscious worthlessness, and proceeds to regain 
 the lost position by new endeavours. 
 J ^ Self-reproach is another name applicable to tiie loss of one's 
 good opinion of self. 
 
264 EMOTIONS OF SELF. 
 
 LOVE OF APPEOBATION. 
 
 7. The feeling of being approved, admired,, praised by 
 others, is a heightened form of self-gratulation, due to the 
 workings of sympathy. 
 
 The operation of sympathy will be minntely traced in a 
 subsequent chapter. It is enongh here to assume, that 
 the coinciding expression of another person snstains and 
 strengthens us in our own sentiments and opinions ; there 
 being assignable circumstances that vary the influence exerted 
 by the sympathizer. 
 
 When we are affected with any emotion, the sympathy of 
 another person may increase both the intensity of the feeling, 
 and the power of sustaining it; in either way, adding to 
 the pleasure of whatever is pleasurable. Our admiration oi 
 a work of genius is more prolonged, has a brighter and more 
 enduring glow, when a sympathizing companion shares in it. 
 
 Again, as regards our strength of assurance in our opinions 
 or convictions, we are greatly assisted by the concurrence of 
 other persons. A conviction may be doubled or tripled in 
 force, when repeated by one whom we greatly respect. 
 
 Now, both the circumstaQces named are present in the 
 case of our being commended by others. Our self-complacency 
 is made to burn brighter, and our estimate of self is made 
 more secure, when another voice chimes in unison with our own. 
 
 It is also to be noticed, that a compliment from another 
 person is an occasion for bringing our own self-complacency 
 into action. As our various emotions show themselves only 
 in occasional outbursts from long tracks of dormancy, we are 
 dependent on the occurrence of the suitable stimulants. Now<, 
 as regards self-complacency, one stimulant is some fresh per- 
 formance of our own ; another is a tribute from some one else. 
 Novelty in the stimulation is the condition of a copious out- 
 pouring of any emotion, pleasurable or otherwise. 
 
 To the intrinsic pleasure of Approbation, and the corre- 
 sponding pain of Disapprobation, we must add the associations 
 of other benefits attending the one, and of evils attending the 
 other. Approbation suggests a wide circle of possible good, 
 or the relief from possible calamities, which must greatly en- 
 hance the cheering influence exerted by it on the mind. As 
 influences of Joy on the one hand, and of Depression on the 
 other, the manifested opinions of our fellow-beings occupy a 
 high place among the agencies that control onr happiness. 
 
APPROBATION AND DISAPPEOBATION. 255 
 
 8. The following axe Speciks, or modes, of the feeling 
 of being admired. 
 
 Mere Approbation is the lowest, and the most general, 
 form of expressing a good opinion. It may intimate little 
 more than a rescue from disapprobation, the setting our mind 
 at ease, when we might be under some doubt; as in giving satis- 
 faction to a master or superior. The pleasure in this case is a 
 measure of our dread of disapprobation and its consequences. 
 
 Admiration, and Praise, mean something higher and more 
 stirring to self-complacency. Mattery and Adulation are 
 excess, if not untruth, in the paying of compliments. Glory 
 expresses a high and ostentations form of praise ; the general 
 multitude being roused to join in the acclaim. Reputation or 
 Fame is supposed to reach beyond the narrow circle of an 
 individual hfe, and to agitate remote countries, and distant 
 ages ; an effort of imagination being necessary to realize the 
 pleasure. Future Fame is not altogether empty ; the applause 
 bestowed on the dead resounds in the ears of the living. 
 Honour is the according of elevated position, and is shown by 
 forms of compliment, and tokens of respect. 
 
 The rules of Pohte society include the bestowal of compli- 
 ment with dehcacy. On the one hand, the careful avoidance 
 of whatever is calculated to wound the sense of self-importance, 
 and, on the other hand, the foil and ready recognition of all 
 merit or excellence, are the arts of a refined age, for increasing 
 the pleasures of society and the zest of life. 
 
 9. The varieties of Disapprobation represent the painful 
 side of the susceptibility to opinion. 
 
 Disapprobation, Censure, Dispraise, Abuse, Libel, Reproach, 
 Vituperation, Scorn, Infamy, are some of the names for the 
 infliction of pain by the hostile judgments of others. If we 
 are ourselves conscious of demerit, they add to the load of 
 depression ; if we are not conscious of any evil desert, they 
 still weigh upon us, in proportion as we should be elated by 
 their opposites. As signifying the ferther evils associated 
 with Ul opinion on the pait of society, the intense disappro- 
 bation of our feUow-men, unconnteracted, is able to make life 
 unendurable. 
 
 The pain of Remorse is completed by the union of self- 
 reproach with the reproach of those around us. Many that 
 have little sensibility to the first, acutely realize the last. 
 The feeling of Shame is entirely resolvable into disapproba- 
 tion, either openly expressed, or known to be entertained. 
 
256 EMOTION OF POWER. 
 
 10. Self-complacency and tlie Love of Admiration are 
 motives to personal excellence and public spirit. 
 
 Egotistic in their roots, the tendency of these feelings may 
 be highly social Indeed, so much of social good conduct is 
 plainly stimulated by the rewards and punishments of pubEc 
 opinion, that some el^ical speculators have been unable to 
 discern any purely disinterested impulses in the conduct of 
 
 men. . J • I, 
 
 The unsocial side of these emotions is manifested m the 
 intense competition for a luxury of limited amount. The dis- 
 posable admiration of mankind is too little for the claims 
 upon it. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 EMOTION OF POWEE. 
 
 1. The Emotion of Power is distinct from both the 
 pleasure of Exercise and the satisfaction of gaining our 
 Ends. It is due to a sense of superior might or energy, 
 on a comparative trial. 
 
 We have already seen what are the pleasures connected 
 with muscular Exercise, when there is surplus vigour to dis- 
 charge. There may also be a certain gratifi.cation in intellec- 
 tual exercise, as exercise, under the same condition of abound- 
 ing energy in the intellectual organs. 
 
 In the active pursuit of an End, there is necessarily some 
 pleasure to be gathered, or pain to be got rid of. When our 
 exertion secures our ends, it brings us whatever satisfaction 
 belongs to those ends. 
 
 Neither of these gratifications is the pleasure of Power ; 
 which arises only when a comparison is made between two 
 persons, or between two efforts of the same person, and when 
 the one is found sv/perior to the other. 
 
 The sentiment of superior Power is felt in the development 
 of the bodily and ment^d'frame. The growing youth is pleased 
 at the increase of his strength j every new advance, in know- 
 ledge, in the conquest of ^fficulties, gives a thrill of satis&c- 
 tion, founded essentially on comparison. The conscious 
 decline of our faculties in old age is the inverse fact. 
 
THE EMOTION OF POWER SUBSISTS ON COMPAHISON. 257 
 
 A second modje of comparison lias regard to the greater 
 productiveness ctf onr efforts ; as when we obtain better tools, 
 or work upon a more hopeftd material The teacher is 
 (iheered by a promising pupil. An advanced grade of command 
 gives the same feeling, 
 
 The third mode is comparison with others. In a contest, 
 or coiapetition, the successful combatant has the gratification 
 of superior power. According to the number and the neat- 
 ness of the men that we have distanced in the race, is our 
 sense of superiority. Like all other relative states, the emotion 
 cannot be kept up at the highest pitch without new advances. 
 Long continuance in an elevated position dulls the m.ere sense 
 of elevation (without derogating from the other advantages) ; 
 in proportion as the remembrance of the inferior state dies 
 away, so does the joy of the present superiority. The man 
 that has been in a high position all his life, feels his greatness 
 only as he enters into the state of those beneath him ; if he 
 does not choose to take this trouble, he wiU have little con- 
 scions elation from his own pre-eminence. 
 
 2. The PHYSICAL side of the emotion of Power shows 
 am ereet lofty bearing, and a flush of physical energy, as if 
 from, a sudden increase of nervous power; a frequent 
 accompianiment is the outburst of Laughter. 
 
 Erectness 6f carriage and demeanotir is looked upon as 
 the fitting expression of superior might ; while collapse or 
 prostration is significant of inferiority. If we advert to the 
 moment of a fresh victory, we shall see the proofs of increased 
 vital power in the exuberance and excitement, and in the dis- 
 position for new labours. We are accustomed to contrast the 
 spirits of men beating with the spirits of men beaten. 
 
 There are various causes of the outburst of Laughter, but 
 none more certain than a sudden stroke of superiority, or 
 the Sclat of a telling effect. The evidence is furnished in the 
 undisguised manifestations of childish glee, iu the sports of 
 youth, and in the hilarious outbursts of every stage of life. 
 
 The physical invigoration arising from a sense of superior 
 power is in conformity with the general law of Self-conservar- 
 tion. Conscious impotence is a position of restraint, a con- 
 flict of the forces ; to escape from it is the cessation of a 
 struggle, the redemption of vital energy. 
 
 The l3earing on the WiU is a consequence of the special 
 aUiaace of the state with our activity. By it we are disposed 
 to energy, not merely through its stimulus as pleasure, but 
 
258 EMOTION OF POWEE. 
 
 also throngli its direct influence on the active side of oar con- 
 stitntion. This can be best understood by contrast with the 
 passive tone nnder tender emotion. 
 
 3. On tlie MENTAL side, the feeling of Power is, in 
 Quality, pleasurable ; in Degree, both acute and massive ; 
 in Specidity, it connects itself with our active states. 
 
 The gratification of superior Power falls nnder the com- 
 prehensive class of elating, or intoxicating pleasures, due to a 
 rebound, or relief from previous depression. It is most nearly 
 aUied to Liberty. In both, the active forces are supposed to 
 have been in a state of wasting conflict, from which they are 
 suddenly rescued. 
 
 Intellectually, this pleasure is not of the highest order, if 
 we are to judge from the cost of sustaining it. Being an 
 acute thriU, it may impress the intellect in one way, namely, 
 in the feet of its having been present ; but we do not easily 
 repeat the pleasure ideally, in the absence of the original 
 stimulation. Hence its mere memory would give compara- 
 tively little satisfaction, while it might contain the sting and 
 prompting of desire. In this respect also, it is contrasted 
 with tenderness. As a present feeling, it has power to oc- 
 cupy the mind, to control the thoughts, and to enthrall the 
 beliefs. 
 
 4. Next, as to the Specific forms of the emotion. 
 
 What is vulgarly called ' making a sensation,' is highly 
 illustrative of the rebounding elation of conscious Power. 
 This is the infantile occasion of hilarity and mirth. Any act 
 that gives a strong impression, that awakens the attention, or 
 arrests or quickens the movements of others, reflects the power 
 of the agent, and stimulates the joyous outburst. To cause a 
 shock of fright, or disgust, or anger (not dangerous), is highly 
 impressive, and the actor's comparison of his own power witi^ 
 the prostration of the sufierer occasions a burst of the joyous 
 elation of power ; laughter being a never-failing token of the 
 pleasure. 
 
 The control of Large Operations reflects by comparison the 
 sense of superior efficiency. This is the position of the man 
 in extensive business, the employer of numerous operatives, 
 all working for his behoof. Such a one not merely reaps a 
 more abundant produce^ but also luxuriates in a wide control. 
 
 The exercise of Command or Authority, in all its multitu- 
 dinous varieties, is attended with the delight of power. It 
 
SPECIES OF THE EMOTION. 259 
 
 appears in the headship of a family ; in early ages, a position 
 of ancontroUed despotiism. It is incident to all the relations of 
 master and servant. In some forms of employment, as in 
 military service, it is, for certain reasons of expediency, made 
 very impressive ; the contrast between the airs of the superior 
 and the deferential attitude of the inferior, is purposely ex- 
 aggerated. In the departments of the state, great powers 
 have to be entrusted to individuals, who thereupon feel their 
 own superiority, and make, others feel their inferiority. 
 
 The pleasure of Wealth, especially in large amount, in- 
 volves to a high degree the sentiment of power. Biches buys 
 the command of many men's services, and gives, unemployed, 
 the feeling of ideal power. 
 
 By force of Persuasion, eloquence, counsel, or intellectual 
 ascendancy, any one may have the consciousness of power, 
 without the authority of office. The leader of assemblies, or 
 of parties in the state, enjoys the sentiment in this form. 
 
 The luxury of power attaches to Spiritual ascendancy. In 
 the ministry of religion, a man is conscious of an authority 
 superior to all temporal rule. The preacher is apt to suppose, 
 that his most ordinary composition is raised, by a supernatural 
 a£9atns, to an efficacy far beyond the choicest language em- 
 ployed by other men. 
 
 Even superior Knowledge gives a position of conscious 
 power, although the farthest removed from the influence of 
 force or constraint. In proportion as a man possesses infor- 
 mation of great practical moment, such as others do not 
 possess, he is raised to an eminence of pride and power. 
 
 The love of Influence, Interference, and Control, is so ex- 
 tensive and salient as to be a great fact in the constitution of 
 society, a leading cause of social phenomena. It prompts to 
 Intolerance, and the suppression of individuality. Many are 
 found willing to submit to restraints themselves, provided 
 they can impose the same upon their unwilling neighbours. 
 
 In the disposition to intrude into other people's affairs, and 
 to give opinions favourable or unfavourable on the conduct of 
 mankind generally, there is still the same lurking conscious- 
 ness of power. More openly and avowedly, it shows itself in 
 the various modes of conveying Disapprobation, whether ex- 
 torted by the just sense of demerit, or set on for the plea- 
 sure of raising ourselves by judging and depreciating others. 
 Contempt, Derision, Scorn, Contumely, measure the greatness 
 of the person expressing them, against the degradation and 
 insigniflcance of the person subjected to them. 
 
260 lEASDIBLE EMOTION. 
 
 The feeling of'Po-wer is likelyto abound in the active or 
 energetic tempeiFament, to -which, it. is closely allied. In the 
 form of Ambition, it takes possession of such minds ; who have 
 their crowning satisfaction in becoming tiie masters of man- 
 kind. We need only to refer to the class of men that suc- 
 cessively held tiie throne of Imperial Some. 
 
 The present emotion wiU now be seen to be widely differ- 
 ent from the feelings considered in the foregoing chapter, 
 although fusing readily with these.' Men have often sought 
 powei' at the sacrifice of reputation ; and have enjoyed ascen- 
 dancy accompanied with universal hatred. 
 
 5. Hie pains of Impotence are in all respects the oppo- 
 site of the pleasurable sentiment of Power. 
 
 Being subject to other men's wills, and rendered small by 
 the comparison;, being beaten. in a conflict; being dependei^t 
 on others ; being treated with contumely and contempt ;. being 
 finstrated iu our designs, — all bring home the depressing 
 sense of littleness. A great exertion with a trifling result is 
 the occasion of ridicule and contempt. 
 
 Belongiug to the exercise of power is a form of Jealousy. 
 Any one detracting fijom our sense of superiority, influenoe, 
 command, mastership, — stings us to the quick,; and the resent- 
 ment aroused, to which is given this formidable designation, 
 shows the intensity of our feelings. 
 
 CHAPTEE Vill. 
 lEASCIBLE EMOTION^ 
 
 1. The Irascible Emotion, or Anger, arising in pain, 
 is marked by pleasure derived from the infliction of pain. 
 
 The unmistakeable fact of Anger is that pointed out by 
 Aristotle, the desire to put some one to pain. 
 
 2. The Objects of the feeling are persons, the authors 
 of pain, or injury. 
 
 Inanimate objects may produce pain in us, together with 
 some of the acconapaniments of anger, as for example, the 
 rousmg of the energies to re-act upon the cause of the pain • 
 
PHYSICAL SIDE OF ANGER. 261 
 
 but, witlioiit clothing them in personaKty, we cannot feel 
 proper anger towards these. The old Arcadians, when nnsnc- 
 cessfal in the chase^ showed their resentment by pricking the 
 wooden statue of Pan, their Deity. 
 
 3. The PHYSICAL manifestations of Anger, over and 
 above the embodiment of the antecedent pain, are (1) 
 general Excitement ; (2) an outburst of Activity ; (3) De- 
 ranged Organic functions ;. (4) a characteristic Expression 
 and Attitude of Body ; and (5), in the completed act of 
 Revenge, a burst of exultation. 
 
 (1) A general Excitement of the system foUows any 
 shock, especially if sudden and acute, yet not crushing. The 
 direction that the excitement takes depends on other thingB. 
 
 (2) In Anger, the excitement reaches the centres of Activity, 
 and rouses them to an unusual pitch, sometimes to frenzy 
 bordering on delirium. Herein lies the contrast to Fear, 
 which draws off power from the active organs^ and excites the 
 centres of sensibility and thought. 
 
 (3) The derangement of the Organic ftinctions is pro- 
 bably due solely to the withdrawal of blood and nervous 
 power ; it does not assume any constant form. The popular 
 notion as to ' bile ' being secreted in greater abundance, is nO' 
 feirther true than as implying loss of tone in the digestive 
 organs. 
 
 (4) The Expression of Feature and the Attitude of Body 
 are in keeping with strong active determination, bred by pain. 
 
 (5) In the stage of consummated Retaliation, the joyful 
 attd exulting expression mingles with the whole, and gives a 
 pecuUar set to the features, a complication of all the impulses. 
 
 4 On the mental side, Anger contains an impulse 
 knowingly to inflict suffering upon a,nother sentient being, 
 and a positive gratification in the fact of suJfering in- 
 flicted. 
 
 The first and obvious effect 6f an injury is to rouse us to 
 resist it. We may do more ; we- may, for our more effectual 
 protection, disarm and disable the person that has injured us. 
 All this is volition, and not anger. Under the angry feeling 
 we proceed farther, and inflict pain upon the author of 
 the injury, knowing it to be such, and deriving satisfaction 
 in proportion to the certainty and the amount of the 
 pain. This positive pleasiire of maleiiolemoe is the fact to be 
 resolved. 
 
262 IRASCIBLE EMOTION. 
 
 5. In the ultimate analysis of Anger, we seem to trace 
 these ingredients : — (1) In a state of frenzied excitement, 
 some effect is sought to give vent to the activity. (2) The 
 sight of lodily infiiction and suffering seems to be a mode 
 of sensuous and sensual pleasure. (3) The pleasure of 
 power is pandered to. (4) There is a satisfaction in pre- 
 venting farther pain to ourselves, by inducing fear of us, 
 or of consequences, in any , one manifesting harmful 
 purposes. 
 
 (1) When the state of active excitement is induced, some- 
 thing must be done to give it scope or vent. To be full of 
 energy, and have nothing for it to execute, is an unsatisfactory 
 state to be in. Some change or effect produced on iuanimate 
 things, .wholly irrelevant to the occasion, gives a certaia 
 measure of relief.' Kicking away a chair, upsetting a table, 
 tearing down a bell-rope, are the actions of a man under a 
 mere frenzied or maniacal excitement. The rending of the 
 clothes, among the Jews, would seem intended to signify a 
 great shock and agitation, with frenzied excitement. 
 
 (2) In the spectacle of bodily infliction and suffering, 
 there seems to be a positive fascination. In the absence of 
 countervailing sympathies,, the writhirigs of pain furnish a 
 new variety of iiie sensuous and sensual stimulation arising 
 from our contact with living beings. In the lower races, the 
 delight from witnessing suffering is intense. 
 
 (3) In putting another to pain, there is a glut of the 
 emotion of power or superiority. The felt difference or con- 
 trast between the position of inflicting pain, and the being 
 subjected to it, is a startling evidence of superior power and a 
 soui-ce of joy and exultation. The childish delight in making 
 an effect, or a sensation, is at its utmost, when some person or 
 animal is victimized and shows signs of pain. 
 
 Were it not for our sympathies, our fears, and our con- 
 scientious feelings generally, this delight would be universal ; 
 we should omit ho chance of gratifying it. Now, when an- 
 other person pnts us to pain, or causes us injury, the imme- 
 diate effect is to suspend the feelings of sympathy, respect, 
 and obligation, and to open the way for the other gratifica- 
 tions. It is putting the iujurer under the ban of the empire 
 
 making him an outlaw ; the saoredness of his person is torn 
 away, and he is surrendered to the sway of the passions that 
 find their delight in suffering. It is rare in a civilized com- 
 munity to victimize the harmless and innocent ; let, however, 
 
ANGEE IN THE LOWER ANIMA1& 263 
 
 any man or animal, by their bearing or ill condnct, fhrnisli a 
 pretext for suspending haibeobs corpus in their case, and a mnl- 
 titnde will be ready to join in their destruction. 
 
 (4) In retaliating upon the author of an injury, to the 
 point of effectually deterring from a renewal of the offence, 
 we deliver ourselves from a cause of fear ; which is to enjoy 
 the reaction and relief from a depressing agency. We have 
 this satisfaction in destroying wUd beasts ; in punishing a 
 gang of robbers ; in routing and disarming an aggressive 
 power. 
 
 Considered as a pleasurable gratification, the feeling will 
 vary according to the element that we suppose to prevail. 
 If the chief fact be the glut of sensuality and of power, the 
 feeling is one of great and acute pleasure, and might be de- 
 scribed in part by the language already given with reference 
 to the emotion of power. 
 
 6. The various aspects and Species of Anger may next 
 bs reviewed. 
 
 In the Lower Animals, certain manifestations pass for 
 modes of irascibility. The beasts of prey destroy and devour 
 their victims, with all the frantic excitement of wrath ; while, 
 some herbivorous animals, as the bull and the stag, fight one 
 another to the death. All animaJs possessing courage and 
 energy repel attacks and invasion by positive infiictions ; the 
 poisonous reptiles and insects, when molested, discharge their 
 venom. 
 
 The vehemence in the destruction of prey is nothing more 
 than volition under the stimulus of hunger. So in resisting 
 attacks, the animal is awakened to put forth its active endow- 
 ment, whatever that may be. It is not easy to fix the point 
 where something more than the exertion of energy is con- 
 cerned. An ordinary development of intelligence in discerning 
 the means to ends, would enable an animal to see, in the de- 
 struction of a rival, a step to the satisfying of its own sensual 
 appetites. It is possible that an effect of association might 
 convert this means into an end in itself, like the miser's love of 
 money ; so that even an animal without special wants, in the 
 abundance of surplus energy, might manifest its destructive pro- 
 pensity uncalled for. In bull-fighting and cock-fighting, the 
 active energies are under express stimulation from without, and 
 the ftiry manifested has all the frenzied excitement of rage. 
 StiU, it is not necessary to assume anything beyond a mere 
 rudiment of the proper pleasure of power. Tbe victorious ■ 
 
264 IRASCIBLE EMOTION. 
 
 animal may have sufficient recollection of its own cbeqnered 
 experiences, to enter somewhat into the position of being van- 
 quished, and to feel the difference bet-ween that and success;, 
 amd exactly as this inteUectual and emotional comparison is 
 within the compass of its: powers, will it feel the glut of its 
 own superiority. If we are unable to asfsign to any but the 
 highest animals such an intellectual range as this, we cannot 
 credit animals genearaHy with the developed form of anger. 
 
 By the atudy of Infancy and Childhood, we may expect to 
 see the gradual unfolding of the passion. The earliest ex- 
 periences of pain in the infant lead to a more or less eneargetic 
 excitement of ^ief. After the development of distinct likmgs,' 
 and dislikings, with the accompanying voluntary determina- 
 tions, any strong repugnance wiU lead to a burst of energetic 
 avoidance ; following the law of the will. There will likewise 
 be the manifestation of beating off a rival claimant, as means 
 to an end. Then comes the stage above supposed to be trace- 
 able in the higher animals, the sense of one's own present 
 energy, in comparison with the understood pain and humilia- 
 tion of another. Only the human intellect, can fully, attain 
 such an elevation; but when it is attained, the pleasure -(rf- 
 power has come to birth, and, therewith, genuine anger. 
 The child is not long out of the arms when it reaches this 
 point, and it proceeds rapidly to perfect the acquisition. Side 
 by side with the sense of power over others, will also be 
 shown the venting of active excitement on things inanimate. 
 
 In the irascible feeling, as seen in maturiiy, it has been 
 usual to make a distinction between Sudden, and Deliberate 
 Anger. The Sudden form of Anger is the least complicated, 
 and shows the natural and habitual disposition. ]^citable 
 temperaments, not trained to suppression, are those liable to 
 the sudden outburst. 
 
 In Deliberate Anger, or Revenge, the mind considers all 
 the circumstances of the injury, as well as the measure and the 
 consequences of retaliation. There is implied, in Revenge, the 
 need of retaliation to satisfy the feelings of the offended per- 
 son. According to the amount of the injury, and to the exact- 
 ing disposition of the injured party, is the deioand for ven- 
 geance. When men have been injured on matters that they 
 are deeply ahve to, — ^plundered, cheated, reviled, deprived of 
 their rights, — their resentment attests the magnitude of their 
 sufferings, the value that they set upon their own inviolability. 
 The ordinary measure of revenge, in civilized life, is in some 
 proportion, to the fancied injury ; the barbarian exceeds aU 
 
HATRED. — ANTIPATHY. 265 
 
 proportions, and gluts himself mtli the satisfaction of ven- 
 geance. What are we to expect from him that can take tm- 
 mingled ddight in the sufferings of an xmoffending fellow- 
 Iseing? 
 
 The affection grounded on anger is called Hatred. The 
 sense of some one wrong never satisfied, a supposed harmfnl 
 disposition on the part of another, an obstructive position 
 maintained, — keep up the resentful flame, till it has become an 
 affection, or a habit. Sometimes a mere aversion or dislike is 
 cherished into hatred. Rivalry, superiority in circumstances, 
 the exercise of power or authority, are frequent causes. 
 A familiar example is seen in Party spirit. Men banded 
 together in sects or parties, generally entertain a permanent 
 animosity to their rival sects. It is in this form of the affec- 
 tion that Anger becomes a paramount element of one's life, 
 like Tender Affection, Habitual Anxiety, or Cultivated Taste. 
 Modified by accidental causes, sometimes intensified by special 
 provocation, sometimes neutralized by temporary occasions of 
 sympathy, it is one of the moral forces of tlie human being, 
 imparting pleasure and pain, controlling the attention and 
 thoughts, and swaying the convictions. 
 
 The formidable manifestation named Antipathy, is stronger 
 than Hatred. It owes part of its intensity to an infusion of-. 
 Fear. The violent antipathies towards certain animals, as the 
 poisonous reptile, are in a great measure due to fear. Others 
 offend sensibilities of the aesthetic kind, as when they are asso- 
 ciated with filth and disgust. 
 
 Even towards human beings, the state of Antipathy may 
 arise without the provocation of injury, as in the antipathies 
 of race, of caste, and of creed. The natural or artificial repug- 
 nance thus occasioned wiU inspire, no less than vengeance, a 
 disposition to inflict harm, and to exult over calamity. 
 
 The state of Warfare, Hostility, Combat, brings before us 
 the irascible feeling in its highest activity-. The' elements pre- 
 sent are too obvious to require detail. The potency of opposi- 
 tion, as a stimulant of the active powers, has already been 
 adverted to. A frenzied active excitement is the characteristic 
 fact of hostility, as of anger. Fighting and rage are not two 
 things, but the same thing. 
 
 The different grades and varieties of offence make corres- 
 ponding differences in the spirit and manner of retahation. In 
 the case of Involuntary harm, the wrathful impulse is transi-. 
 tory, unless it be from avoidable carelessness, which is treated 
 as a fe,ult demanding reparation. It is common for person^ 
 
266 IRASCIBLE EMOTION. 
 
 ■without intending harm, to proceed with their own objects, 
 giving no heed to the feelings or interests of others ; as in- 
 tobacco smoking. Lastly, there is the case of maJicions 
 design, which necessarily provokes, to the full, the resentfiil 
 energy of the sufferer. 
 
 Seeing that the wrathful feelings originate in pain, and lead 
 to the risks of a counter resentment, som.e Ethical writers have 
 contended against the reality of a Pleasure of Malevolence. But 
 these attendant pains are oidy a part of the case. It is true that 
 when the sympathies and tender feelings are highly developed, 
 the exercise of resentment may be more painful on th^ whole than 
 pleasurable ; in this case, however, it is suppressed ; a bene- 
 volent mind seldom gives way to revenge. The burden of proof 
 lies upon whoever would maintain that mankind deliberately and 
 energetically aim at a present pain. The fact is known to occur 
 under certain modes of excitement, and possibly, therefore, in the 
 irascible excitement. We have already noticed the influence of 
 fear, in thwarting the ordinary course of the will. But revenge 
 is far too common, too persistent in its exercise, both in hot blood 
 and in cool, to be an insane fixed idea, working nothing but pain. 
 The whole human race cannot be under a mistake on this head. 
 The Homeric sentiment would be echoed by the millions of every 
 age, — Revenge is sweeter than honey. 
 
 When resentment comes to the aid of the moral feelings, 
 as revenge for criminality and wrong, it is termed ' Righteous 
 Indignation.' A positive and undeniable pleasure attends the 
 retributive vengeance that overtakes wrong-doers and the 
 tyrants and oppressors of mankind. The designation ' Noble 
 Bage ' points to a more artistic effect, being the display of 
 anger in striking attitudes, and magniloquent diction, as in a 
 hero of romance — the Achilles of Homer, the Satan of Paradise 
 Lost. 
 
 7. The working of Sympathy gives a great expansion 
 to the irascible feeling ; to whatever degree we enter into 
 the injuries of others, we also participate in their Eevenge. 
 
 Liasmuch as the occurrence of injury is a wide-spread fact,, 
 it makes a considerable part of our interest as spectators of 
 actual Ufe. We receive a shock, more or less painful, when 
 a great wrong is perpetrated before our eyes; and have a 
 corresponding pleasure in the retaliation. The historian can 
 sometimes gratify us by the spectacle of retribution for 
 flagrant wrongs; the romanoist, having the events at com- 
 mand, allows few failures. 
 
 8. In the Sentiment of Justice, when analyzed, there 
 
PUNISHMENT. 267 
 
 may be traced an element of resentful passion ; and the 
 idea of Justice, when matured, guides and limits revenge. 
 
 A main prompting to Justice, in the first instance, is 
 sympathetic resentment. But ia the fnlly developed idea of 
 the Just, there is a regard to the valne of one man as com- 
 pared with another, according to the reasonings and conven- 
 tions of the time. 
 
 9. The infliction of Punishment, by law, although 
 gratifying to the sympathetic resentment of the community, 
 is understood to be designed principally for the prevention 
 of injury. 
 
 The design of punishing offenders by Law is to secure the 
 public safety. Incidental to this is the gratification of re- 
 sentment ; which, however, is stiU to be in subjection to the 
 principal end. Mr J. S. Mill remarks that there is a legiti- 
 mate satisfaction due to our feelings of indignation and re- 
 sentment, inasmuch as these are on the whole salutary and 
 worthy of cultivation, although stiU as means to an end.* 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 EMOTIONS OF ACTION— PURSUIT. 
 
 1. In voluntary activity three modes of feeling have 
 now been considered: — (1) the pleasures and pains of 
 exercise ; (2) the satisfaction of the end (or the pain of 
 missing it) ; and (3) the pleasure of superior (and pain of 
 inferior) power. 
 
 • ' The tenefits whioli criminal law produces are twofold. In the 
 first place, it prevents crime by terror ; in the second place, it regulates, 
 sanctions, and provides a legitimate satisfaction for the passion of revenge. 
 I shall not insist on the importance of this second advantage, but shall 
 content myself with referring those who deny that it is one, to the works 
 of the two greatest English moralists, each of whom was the champion of 
 one of the two great schools of thought upon that subject — Butler and 
 Bentham. The criminal law stands to the passion of revenge in much 
 the same relation as marriage to the sexual appetite.' (J. F. Stephen's 
 Criminal Law, Chap. IV., p. 98.J 
 
268 EMOTIONS OF A.CTION— PPKSUIT. 
 
 There remains the mental attitude under a gr^ualljr 
 approaching end, a condition of suspense, termed Pursuit 
 and Plot-interest. 
 
 In worldiig to some end, as the ascent of a momxtain, or 
 in watching any consnmniation drawing near, as a race, we 
 are in a peculiar state, of arrested attention, which, aB an,, 
 agreeable effect, is often desired for itself. 
 
 2. On the phtsical side, the situation of pursuit is 
 marked hy (1) the intent occupation of some one of the 
 senses upon an object, and (2) the general attitude or 
 activity harmonizing with this ; there being, on the whole, 
 an energetic muscular strain. 
 
 When the pursuit is something visible, we are ' all eye,' as 
 in witnessing a contest ; if the end is indicated by souitd, as 
 in listening to a narrative, we are aU ear. If we are specta- 
 tors or listeners merely, the general attitude ^ows mascnlar 
 tension ; if we are agents, we are sustained in oxir activity by 
 the approach of the end. 
 
 3. On the mental side, Pursuit supposes (1) a motive 
 in the interest of an end, heightened by its steady ap- 
 proach ; (2) the state of engrossment iu object regards, 
 with remission of subject regards. 
 
 Some end is needed to stimulate Has voluntary energies ; 
 and, by the Law of Self-cctftserv^tidn, the gradual approach 
 towards the consummating of the end heightens the energies, 
 and intensifies the pujesuit. 
 
 Now, all muscular exertion is objective (p. 21) ; it throws us 
 upon the object attitude, and takes us oiit of the subject atti- 
 tude. Whatever promotes t&uscular exertion, both as to the 
 intensity of the strain, and the number and the importance of 
 the muscles engaged,, renders ns objective in our regards, and 
 withdraws us from the subject side. More especially are we 
 put in the object position by the energetic action of the exter- 
 nal senses, so extensively and closely allied with the cerebral 
 activity. Hence, whatever keeps up an intent and unremitted 
 muscular strain, involving the higher senses, is an occasion of 
 extreme objectiviiy ; and this is the essential character of pur- 
 suit and plot-int^est. 
 
 The value of the situation is relative to the drcnmstance 
 that we are apt to be too much thrown upon the subject con- 
 sciousness ; which, although essential to enjoyment (for peiv 
 
.OBJECTIVITY IS INDIPFEKENCE. 26& 
 
 feet oljectivity is perfect inaifference) is also the condition of 
 our being aliv,e to suffering, and of our dwelling upon our 
 pleasures till they exhaust- us and pass into the pains of ennui. 
 Subjectivity is apparently more costly to the nervous system ; 
 the objective attitude, if not unduly strained, can be longest 
 endured. As far as actual pleasure is concerned, it is time 
 lost ; but an unremitted pleasurable consciousness is beyond 
 human nature ; tracts of objective indifference seem as neces- 
 sary to enduring life, as the total cessation of consciousness 
 for one-third of oui* time. These objective tracts are found in 
 our periods of activity, and especially the activity of the bodily 
 organs ; but they occur most advantageously when the activity 
 is bringing us near to an interesting goal of pursuit. 
 
 It is Qie nature of the waking mind to alternate froth 
 object to subject states, the one giving as it were a refreshing 
 variety to the other. A highly exciting stimulus, as a stage 
 performance, keeps us in the objective attitude, but not in 
 unbroken persistence or perfect purity ; were it not for our 
 frequent lapses into subjectivity, we should slip out of the pri- 
 mary motive, and submerge the whole of the enjoyment. The 
 transitions are performed with great rapidity ; the same atti- 
 tude may not last above two or three seconds ; while, the 
 longer we are kept in the object strain, the sweeter is the 
 relapse to the subject consciousness, supposing it to be 
 pleasurable. 
 
 4. Chance, or Uncertainty, within limits, contributes 
 to the engrossment of Pursuit. 
 
 Absolute certainty of attainment, being as good as pos- 
 session, does not constitute a stimulus to plot-interest ; in look- 
 ing forward to the payment of an assured debt, there is. no ex- 
 citement. But a certain degree of doubt, with possibHify of 
 feilure, gives so much of the state of terror as excites the 
 perceptive organs to the look-out; in which situation, the 
 steady approach of the decisive termination, either cheers us, 
 by removing the fear, or increases the strength of the gaze, by 
 deepening the doubt. 
 
 The most favourable operation of uncertainty is TVhen 
 there is before us a prospect of something good, such that 
 the attainment is a gain, while failure only leaves us as we were. 
 There is not, in this Case, the depressing terror of impending 
 calamity, but merely the agitation consequent on our hopes 
 beii^ raised, and yet not assured. StiU, i£ the stake be high, 
 the fear of losing it will deprive the situation of the favour- 
 
270 EMOTIONS OF ACTION — PUBSUIT. 
 
 able Btimnlus of plot-interest.' It is by combinirig a, small 
 amount of uncertainty with a moderate stake, that we best 
 realize the proper charm of pursnit. 
 
 As in all other things, Novelty gives zest to pursnit. A- 
 new game, a new player, a different arrangement of parties, 
 will freshen the thoughts, and re-animate the dubiousness of 
 the issue. 
 
 5. The excitement of Pursuit is seen in the Lower 
 Animals. 
 
 An animal chasing its prey puts forth its energies accord- 
 ing to the strength of its appetite. The excitement, however, 
 manifestly becomes greater near the close, when the victim is 
 gradually gained upon, and all but seized. We have here the 
 essentials of the situation ; and the feelings of the animal may 
 be presumed to correspond with its accelerated movementj' 
 and intensified expression. 
 
 6. As regards human experience, we may first take 
 notice of Field Sports. 
 
 In these, the end is, to most men, highly grateful ; being 
 the triumph of skill and force in the capture of some animal 
 gifted with powers of eluding the pursuer. The pursuit is 
 long and uncertain ; the attention is on the alert, and at the 
 critical moments screwed up to a pitch of intensity. To suc- 
 ceed in bringing down the victim after a hot and ardent pur- 
 suit, is to relapse from an objective engrossment, into a 
 subjective flash of sucoessfiil achievement and gratifiSd power. 
 
 The circumstances of the different sports are various, and 
 easily assigned. The most difficult to account for, perhaps, 
 is the interest of Angling ; there being so many fruitless 
 throws against one success. We need to suppose that the 
 Angler has an emotional temperament more copious and self- 
 sustaining than most other men. In the Chase, there are 
 additional excitements of a fiery sort, to make it the acme of 
 the sporting life. The more dangerous sports of hunting the 
 tiger, the elephant, the boar, are ecstasy to the genuine 
 sportsman. 
 
 7. The excitement of pursuit is incident to Contests. 
 The combatant in an equal, or nearly equal contest, has a 
 
 stake and an uncertainty that engages his powers and en- 
 grosses his attention to the highest piteh. His objectivity is 
 strained to the uttermost limits, and if he succeeds, he gains 
 the joys of triumph, after being forcibly withdrawn &om self- 
 consciousness. 
 
CONTESTS. 271 
 
 The excitement of contests has, in all ages, been a favourite 
 recreation. The programme of the Olympic games was a 
 series of contests. Grladiatorial shows, Tonrnaments, Eaces, 
 have had their thousands of votaries. Even the encounters of 
 the intellect — ^in disputation, oratory, wit, — attract and detain 
 a numerous host of spectators. 
 
 In many of the common games, skill and strength ai-e dis- 
 turbed by Chance, which opens up to each player greater 
 possibilities, and therefore quickens the intensity of the object 
 regards. In Cards and Dice, although long-continued play 
 eliminates chance, yet, for a single game, hazard is nearly 
 supreme. 
 
 8. The occupations of Industry involve, more or less, 
 the suspense of Plot-interest. 
 
 Wherever our voluntary energies are engaged, a certain 
 attention is fastened on the end, which has a suspensive or 
 arrestive effect. Hence all industry is, to some degree, anti- 
 subjective, or calculated to take a man out of himself. The 
 prisoner's ennui does not attain its extreme pressure unless he 
 is debarred from occupation. But, where there is great 
 monotony in the execution, together with certainty, as well as 
 absence of novelty, in the result, — for example, in turning a 
 wheel, or unloading a ship, — there is little to stretch the gaze, 
 or arrest the attention. The exciting occupations are those 
 that involve high and doubtful prospects, as war, stock-jobbing, 
 and the more 'lazardous species of commerce. In Agriculture, 
 the seasons supply a succession of ends, with the interest of 
 suspense, often attended with pain and disappointment, but 
 still of a kind to sustain the objective outlook. 
 
 Tn every piece of work that has its beginning, middle, and 
 end, there is an alleviation of tedium by measuring the steps 
 gained, and watching the remainder as it dwindles to nothing. 
 
 9. In the Sympathetic Eelationships, there is the 
 additional interest of plot. 
 
 The gratifying of the tender feelings being an end in life, 
 the progress towards it necessarily inspires the forward look, 
 and the suspensive attitude, from which the relapses into sub- 
 jective consciousness are exciting by alternation. AU the 
 successes, the epochs and turning points in the career of an 
 object of affection, a child or a Mend, give periods of intent 
 occupation, taking one out of self, and out of one's own 
 pleasures. StiU, we are seldom losers by the objective atti- 
 
272 EMOTIONS OP ACTION — PUESUIT. 
 
 tude ; we are made the more aKve to the subjective relapses ; 
 and, if pleasnre be awaiting us, it is all the greater for the 
 diTersion. 
 
 10. The search after Knowledge is attended with plot 
 
 The feehng of knowledge attained being one of the satis- 
 fajctions of life, the gradiaal approach to some interesting dis- 
 closure, or some great discovery, enlivens the forward look 
 and the attitude of suspense. The sense of difficulty to be 
 solved, of darkness to be illuminated, awakens curiosity and 
 search ; and the near prospect of the result has the same effect 
 as in every other engaging pursuit. The art of the teacher 
 and expositor lies first in awakening desire, by a distinct 
 statement of the end to be ga/ined, and then in carrying the 
 pupil forward by sensible stages to the consummation; the 
 attitude' of suspense is identical with earnest attention. 
 
 11. The position of the Spectator contains the essen- 
 tial part of the interest of pursuit. 
 
 Any chase, contest, or pursuit, of a kind to interest us as 
 actors, commands our sympathy as spectators; and the 
 moments of nearing the termination and settling the issue 
 inspire our rapt attention. As with sympathy generally, this 
 circumstance gives a great additional scope to our interest 
 and our feelings. Contests are peculiarly fitted to arrest the 
 gaze of the spectator ; and they have accordingly been adopted 
 into the public amusements of all times. Tht daily business 
 of the world, as, for example, the large affairs of nations, by 
 affecting us either personally, or sympathetically, usually con,' 
 tain a stake, a greater or less unoertainiy, and a final clearing 
 up preceded by a state of suspense. We may also witness 
 with interest, the steps and issues of great (or even small) 
 industrial undertakings, provided their consummation is cal- 
 culated to give us pleasure, and is attained through a progress 
 from uncertainty; 
 
 12. The Literature of Plot, or Story, is the express 
 cultivation of the attitude of suspense. 
 
 A narrative will give the same sympathetic interest as a 
 spectacle. An interesting stake, at first remote and uncertain, 
 IS brought nearer by degrees ; and whenever it is visibly ap- 
 proachjng to the decision, the hearer assumes the rapt atti- 
 tude that takes him out of the subject sphere. Events- going 
 on around us, and past history for the first time made known, 
 
PAINS INCIDENT TO ACTIVITY. 273 
 
 command the elements of the sitaation, and thence derive much 
 of their power of detaining the mind. Bnt, whereas real events, 
 although containing the cironmstanoe of suspense, often dis- 
 appoint expectation, the composer of fiction and romance 
 studies how to work up the interest to the highest pitch. 
 The entire narration in an epic poem, or romance, is con- 
 ceived to an agreeable end, which is suspended by inter- 
 mediate actions, and thrown into pleasing uncertainty ; while 
 minor plots engage the attention and divert the pressure of 
 the main plot. ' 
 
 13. The form of pain, incident to pursuit, is the too 
 great prolongation of the suspense. 
 
 There is a pain in the crossing of our wishes as to the 
 catastrophe. There is also the suffering caused by a high and 
 serious risk. But the form of pain special to the attitude of 
 suspense, is the prolongation or adjournment of the issue. 
 This is merely one of the many forms of the pain of Conflict ; 
 the mind is wrought up to a certain attitude of expectation, 
 to be baulked or disappointed. 
 
 14 The more general pains accompanying activity are 
 connected in various ways with the labour or difficulty of 
 execution. 
 
 Excessive muscular efforts produce the pains of muscle. 
 Baffled attempts, iroia. want of strength or skill, have the 
 dispiriting effect of all thwarted aims, according to the law 
 of Conflict. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 EMOTIONS OF INTELLECT. 
 
 1. The operations of the Intellect may be attended Vith 
 rarious forms of pleasure and pain. 
 
 As mere exercise, the Intellectual trains may give pleasure 
 in a fi«sh condition of the system, and be attended by nervous 
 fatigue when long continued. 
 18 
 
274 EMOTIONS OF INTELLECT. 
 
 2. The working of Contiguity, as in ordinary memory, 
 does not yield any emotional excitement. Laboiired recol- 
 lection brings the usual pain of difficulty or Conflict. 
 
 We derive no emotion from repeating the alphabet or the 
 multiplication table. The pleasures and pains of memory are 
 due to the things remembered, and not to the exercise of 
 remembering. 
 
 Laboured recollection is a case of baffled endeaTOurs, and 
 brings the distress, more or less acute or massive, of that form 
 of Conflict. Of a similar nature are all the pains, both of 
 difficult intellectual comprehension, and of difficult constmc- 
 tiveness. The successive checks sustained by the thinkiag 
 powers, in a work of thought, have the same painful characterj 
 as checks to the muscular powers in a manual enterprise, 
 The student labouring long in vain to understand a problem, 
 the poet dissatisfied with his verses, the man of speculation 
 puzzled and defeated, the military commander undecided as to 
 his tactics, all experience the pains of distraction and conflict. 
 
 3. To complete the painful side of Intellectual exercise, 
 reaction from which is the main source of intellectual 
 pleasure, we may add the pain of Contradiction or Incon- 
 sistency, 
 
 Contradiction or Inconsistency is one of the most obvious 
 forms of Conflict, and, in proportion to its hold on the mind, 
 gives all the characteristic pain of conflict. When our im- 
 mediate interests are concerned, the contradiction is felt in 
 thwarting some end of pursuit ; as when we receive contra- 
 dictory opinions respecting the character of an ailment, or the 
 conduct of a law suit. On subjects that concern others and 
 not ourselves, the pain of the contradiction depends on the 
 strength of the sympathies. With regard to truth generally, 
 or matters of science and erudition, where the applications to 
 practice are not immediately apparent, contradictions produce 
 no impression on the mass of men ■ they are felt only by the 
 more cultured iatellects, who are accustomed to contemplate 
 all the bearings of true knowledge, and who have thereby con- 
 tracted a strong sense of its value. 
 
 4. The pleasure attending strokes of Similarity in 
 diversity may be described generally as an agreeable or 
 exhilarating Surprise. Yet, the largest part of the pleasure 
 is the sudden and unexpected relief from an intellectual 
 burden. 
 
DISCOVEEIES OF SIMILAEITY. 275 
 
 There can be no novelty or freshness in the trains of 
 Contiguity ; but the operation of Similarity in bringing to- 
 gether, for the first time, things hitherto widely apait, makes 
 a flash of novelty and change, the prime condition of emotional 
 effect. The Gh-eeks that conqnered India, nnder Alexander, 
 mnst have been surprised at finding in ti\&t remote region 
 words belonging to their own language. 
 
 It is not, however, the flash of novelty from an original 
 conjunction of ideas, a new intellectual situation, that fills up 
 the charm of original identities ; it is their effect in alleviating 
 or removing the intellectual burdens and toils above described 
 as the pains of inteUeot. When, by a happy stroke of Simi- 
 larity, the difficulties of comprehension and of constructiveness, 
 just alluded to, are cleared away, there is a joyous reaction 
 and elation of the kind common to all forms of relief from 
 conflict and oppression of the faculties. The instances wiU be 
 given under separate heads. 
 
 6. New identities in Science^ — whether classifications, 
 inductions, or deductions — increase the number of facts 
 comprehended by one intellectual effort.. 
 
 This has been abundantly seen in the exposition of Simi- 
 larity. Every great, generalization, as Gravity, the Atomic 
 theory, the Correlation of Force, enables us to include in one 
 statement an innumerable host of particulars. To any one 
 previously endeavouring to, grasp the details,, by .separate acts 
 of attention, the generaliziag stroke that sums all up in a 
 single expression, brings a toilsome march to a glorious and 
 sudden termination. The pleasure is determined by the pre- 
 vious pain, by the sense of difficulty overcome, and by the 
 position of command attained, after being conscious of the 
 fonner position of grovelling inferiority. 
 
 Sometimes a new discovery operates to solve a contradic- 
 tion or anomaly, in which case the result is equally an elation 
 of relief from intellectual pain in the form of distraction or 
 conflict. 
 
 6. Great discoveries of Practice, besides contributing 
 to knowledge, give the elation consequent on the enlarge- 
 ment of human power. 
 
 Such discoveries as the steam-engine, which have the 
 effect of either diminishing human toil, or increasing its pro- 
 ductiveness, minister directly to the sentiment of increased 
 power, as well as of increased resources for all purchasable 
 
276 ■ SYMPATHY; 
 
 enjoyments. In this point of view, the pleasnre is not so 
 milch in the intellect, as in th.e results upon onr other sen- 
 sibiUtiesi 
 
 The strongest part of tte sentiment that attaches us to 
 Tmth is due to the urgency; of practical ends. The True is 
 Something that we can rely upon in the pursuit of our various 
 interests. Whether it be in firing a deadly shot, or in escap- 
 ing a deadly- pestilenee, truth is the same as precision, accu- 
 racy, certJanty, in adjusting the means to the end. The 
 emotion of Truth 'is a feeling of Eelativity or comparison, a 
 rebound or deliverance from the miseries of prEUTtLcal error. 
 
 V. Illustrative Comparisons are another mode of re- 
 mitting intellectual toil 
 
 The happy comparkons or -analogies that illuminate the 
 obscure conoeptioas of ■ science, are pleasing from the same 
 general cause, the lightening of intellectual labour. The 
 celebrated simile of the Cave, in Plato's Brepublic (see Ap- 
 Fendix A), is considered to assist us in viewing the difficult 
 question relating to the nature of Knowledge. 
 
 The -comparisons of poetry introduce another element, not 
 strictly of the nature of intellectual pleasure, namely, the 
 harmony of the feelings. Possibly the ultimate foundation of 
 the pleasure Of harmony is the same, but the difference between 
 the strictly intellectual form, and what enters into Fine Art, is 
 such as to constitute two species in the dassifix^ation of the 
 emotions. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 1. Sympathy is to enter into the feelings of another, 
 and to act them out, as if they were our own. 
 
 Notice has abeady been taken of the disposition to assume 
 the feelings of others, to become alive to their pleasures and 
 pains, to act vicariously under the motive power of those plea- 
 sures and pains. We have seen that Pity is tender emotion 
 Conjoined with sympathy. 
 
FOUNDATIONS OF SYMPATHY. 277 
 
 2. Sympathy supposes (1) one's own remembered ex- 
 perience of pleasure and pain, and (2) a connexion in the 
 mind between the outward signs or expression of the 
 various feelings and the feelings themselves. 
 
 (1) The good retentiveness or memory for our states of 
 pleasure and paia, the intellectual basis of Prudence, is also 
 the basis of Sympathy^ We cannot sympathize beyond our 
 experience, nor up to that experience,, without some power of 
 recalling it to rnind^ The child is unable to enter into the 
 joys and griefs of the grown-up person ; the humble day- 
 labourer can have no fellow-feeling with the cares of, the rich, 
 the great, the idle ; the man without family ties &ils to realize 
 the feehnga of the domestic circle.- 
 
 (2) The various feelings have outward signs or ^rmptoins>, 
 learned for the most part by observation. Noting how we 
 ourselves are outwardly affected under, our various feelibgs, 
 we infer the same feeUngs when we see the same outward 
 display in others. The smile,,the laugh, the shout of joy, con- 
 joined in our own experience with the feeling of deUght, when, 
 witnessed in some one else, are to, us an indication and proof, of 
 that person's being mentally affected,, as we remember our^ 
 selves to have been, when moved to the same manifestations. 
 
 It matters little, so far as concerns reading the emotions, 
 whether the knowledge of the signs of feeling is whoUy 
 acquired, or partly acquired and partly instinctive. There 
 are certain signs of feeling that appear to have a primitive 
 eflfteacy to excite the feeling ; as, for example,, the moistened 
 eye,, and the soft wail of grief. But sympathy is something 
 more than a mere scientific inference that another person has 
 come under a state of tenderness, of fear, or of rage ; it is the 
 being forcibly possessed fiar the time by the very sanie feeUng. 
 In this view, there must be a certain energy of expressiveness, 
 or suggestiveness^in the signs of feeling, which is fevoured 
 by the combination of priOaitive with acquired connexion. 
 
 As examples of the energetic and catching modes of ex- 
 pression, we may mention the sound of clearing the throat, 
 the yawn, laughter, sobbing. Such emotions as Wonder^ 
 Pear, Tenderness, Admiration, Anger, are highly infeetious, 
 when powerfully manifested. 
 
 3. Sympathy is a species of involuntary imitation or 
 assumption, of the displays of feeling enacted in our 
 presence ; which is followed by the rise of the feelingg 
 themselves. 
 
278 SYMPATHY. 
 
 We are supposed to give way to the manifestations of 
 another's feelings, to imitate those manifestations, and as a 
 consequence to be affected with the mental state conjoined 
 therewith. Even when we do not repeat the displays of feel- 
 ing to the ftdl, we have the idea of them, that is, their em- 
 bodiment in the n.ervous carrents, to which attaches the 
 corresponding state of mind. We come Tinder the influence 
 of every pronounced expression of feeling, and if the circnm- 
 stances be favourable, reproduce it in ourselves, and follow 
 out its determinations, the same as if it grew wholly out of 
 ourselves. It is thus that we are affected by an orator, or an 
 actor, or by the enthusiasm of a multitude. 
 
 4, The following are the chief circumstances favour- 
 able to Sympathy. 
 
 (1) Our being disengaged at the time, or fcee from any 
 intense occupation, or prepossession. The existing bent of 
 the feelings and thoughts has always a certain hold or per- 
 sistence, and is a force to be overcome by any new impression. 
 
 (2) Our fiimiliarily with the mode of feeling represented 
 to us. Each one has certain predominant modes of feeling ; 
 and these being the most readily excited, we can synapathize 
 best with the persons affected by them. The mother easily 
 feels for a mother. And obversely, where there is total dis- 
 parity of nature or pursuits, there can be comparatively little 
 sympathy. The timid man cannot enter into the composure 
 of the resolute man^ the cold nature will not understand the 
 pains of the ardent lover- 
 
 (3) Our relation to the person determines our sympathy ; 
 affection, esteem, reverence, attract our attention and observa- 
 tion, and make us succumb to the influence of the manifested 
 feelings. On the other hand, hatred or dislike removes us 
 ialniost from the possibility of fellow-feeling ; the name ' an- 
 tipathy ' is the derivative formed for the negation of sympathy. 
 StUl, it must be distinctly understood, that love is not indis- 
 pensable to sympathy, properly so called ; and that aversion 
 may not wholly extinguish it. 
 
 (4) The energy or intensity of the language, tones, and ges- 
 tures, necessarily determines the strength of the impression 
 and the prompting to sympathy. . 
 
 (5). The clearness or distinctness of the expression is of 
 great importance in inducing the state on the beholder. This 
 is the advantage of persons gifted with the demonstrative 
 constitution ; it is the talent of the actor and the elocutionist, 
 
VICAEIOUS ACTION. 279 
 
 and the groundwork of an interesting demeanour in society. 
 When the remark is made, that to make others feel, we need 
 only to feel ourselves, the power of adequate expression is also 
 implied. 
 
 (6) There is in some minds, more than ia others, a suscep- 
 tibility to the displays of other men's feelings, as opposed to 
 the self-engrossed and egotistic promptings. It is a branch 
 or species of the receptive or sosceptible temperament, the 
 constitution more strongly endowed on the side of the senses, 
 and less strongly in the centres of activity. To this natural 
 difference we may add differences in education and the cpurse 
 of the habits, which may confirm the sympathetic impulses on 
 the one hand, or the egotistic impulses on the other. 
 
 5. The climax or completion of Sympathy is the de- 
 termination to act for another person exactly as for self. 
 
 It is not enough that we become affected nearly as others 
 are affected, through the medium of their manifestations of 
 feeling, to which we surrender ourselves ; sympathy farther 
 supposes that we act vicariously in removing the pain, or in 
 promoting the pleasure, that we thus share in. The precise 
 nature of this impulse, or its foundation in our mental system, 
 is a matter of some subtlety. I have already (Contiguitt, 
 § 13) expressed the opinion that it springs not &om pure 
 volition, but from the agency of the 'fixed idea. That mere 
 volition is not the whole case, may be seen at once by con- 
 sidering, that the short and easy method of getting rid of a 
 sympathetic pain, is .to turn away from the original, as we 
 frequently do when we are unable or indisposed to render 
 assistance. But the fact that we cannot always or easily do 
 this, shows the persisting tendency of an idea once admitted, 
 and the influence it has to work itself out into action, irre- 
 spective of the operation of the will in fleeing pain and grasp- 
 ing pleasure. The sight of another person enduring hunger, 
 cold, fatigue, revives in us some recollection of these states, 
 which are painful even in idea. We couldj and often do, save 
 ourselves this pain by at once averting the view, and looking 
 out for another object of attention ; but the operation is one 
 of some difficulty ; we feel that there is a power to seize and 
 detain us, independent of the will, a power in the expression 
 of pain to awaken our own ideas of pain ; and these ideas 
 once awakened keep their hold, and prompt us to act for 
 relieving the original subject, whose pain we have unwittingly 
 borrowed or assumed. 
 
280 SYMPATHY. 
 
 6. Men in general can sjmipathize with pleasure and 
 pain as such; but in the kinda and varieties of these, 
 our sympathies are limited. 
 
 The mere fact that any one is in pain awakens onr sym- 
 pathy; but, unless the causes and attendant circumstances 
 also come home to us, the sympathy is neither persistent nor 
 deep. Pains that have never afflicted us, that we know 
 nothing of, that are, in our opinion, justly or needlessly 
 incurred, are disnlissed from our thoughts as soon as we are 
 informed pi the facts. The tears shed by Alexander, at the 
 end of his conquests, probably failed to stimulate one respon- 
 sive drop in the most sensitive mind that ever heard his story. 
 
 7. The Sympathy of others lends support to our own 
 feelings and opinions. 
 
 When any feeling belonging to ourselves is echoed by the 
 expression of another person, we are supported and strength- 
 ened by the coincidence. In the case of a pleasurable feeling, 
 the pleasure is increased ; self-complacency, tender affection, 
 the sentiment of power, are all enhanced by the reflexion 
 from others. It seems as if the cost of maintaining the plea- 
 surable tone were diminished to ns ; we can sustain it longer, 
 and with augmented ' intensity. In the case of a painfol 
 feeling, as fear, remorse, impotence, the concurrence of another 
 person has the same deepening efieot ; to increase our pains, 
 however, is not usually considered a part of sympathy. A 
 sympathiidng friend endeavours to counterwork depressing 
 agencies. StUl, the principle is the same throughout; the 
 expressed feelings of a second person are a power in our mind 
 for the time ; they impress themselves upon us, more or less, 
 according to the various circumstances and conditions that 
 give efiect to personal influence. The strength and earnestness 
 of the language used, its expressiveness and grace, our affec- 
 tion, admiration, or esteem of the sympathizer, and our own 
 susceptibihty to impressions from without, are the chief cir- 
 cumstances that rule' the effect. The sympathy of persons of 
 commanding influence, and especially the concurring sym- 
 pathies of a large number, may increase in a tenfold degree 
 the pleasure of the original, or self-bom feeling. 
 
 8. Through the infection of sympathy, each individual 
 is a power to mould the sentiments and views of otherfi. 
 
 This is merely stating the previous proposition in a form 
 suited to make it a text for the influence of society at large 
 
PLEASURES OF THE SYMPATHIZEK, 281 
 
 dri the opiniotiB of its members. If all individualities were 
 equally pronoxmced and equally balanced, the m.utual action 
 would result in an ' as you were ; ' but as there is usually a 
 preponderance of certain sentiments,, opinions, and views, the 
 effect is to compress individuality into uniformity in most 
 societies. Pew persons have the strength of innate impulse 
 to resist the feelings of a majority powerfully expressed ; 
 hence the uniformity, conservatism, and hereditary continu- 
 ance of creeds, sentiments,, opinions, that have once obtained 
 an ascendancy. Even when men form independent judgments, 
 they abstain from expressing them, rather than renounce the 
 support that social sympathy gives to the individual. 
 
 9. Sympathy is, indirectly, a source of pleasure to the 
 sympathizer. 
 
 If the view here taken be correct,, the disposition to sym- 
 pathize with, and to act for, others does not mainly depend 
 on the motives to the will — the pursuit of pleasure, and the 
 revulsion from pain. Hence the sacrifice of self that it leads 
 to is strictly and properly a sacrifice, a surrender or giving 
 up of advantages without consideration of recompense or 
 return.. This position is indispensable to the vindication of 
 disinterested action as a feet of the human mind. The direct, 
 proper, immediate result of sympathy is loss, pain, sacrifice to 
 the sympathizer.. 
 
 Indirectly, however^ the giving of sympathy, as weU as the 
 receiving of it, may be a source of pleasure. What brings 
 this about is reoiprociiy. The person benefited,, or others in 
 his stead, may. make up, by sympathy and good offices re- 
 turned, for all the sacrifice. And it is one of the remarkaWe 
 facts of sympathy, the reason of which has been fiJly given, 
 that the giving and receiving of good offices, and the inter- 
 change of accordant feelings, make up, a large source of plea- 
 sure, and form one of the chief characteristics of civilized man. 
 Even with considerably less than a full reciprocation, the 
 sympathizing and benevolent man may be recompensed for 
 his self-surrender ; but there is no evidence that 
 
 — in \drtuous aetton?, 
 The imdeTtakei finds a full reward, 
 Although conferred upon imlhankful men. 
 
 What gives plausibility to this doctrine is that society at large 
 labours to make up, by benefits and by approbation, for indi- 
 vidual unthankfalness or inability. Failing this world, the 
 fdture life is considered as making good all deficiencies. 
 
282 STMPA.THY. 
 
 10. Sympathy cannot exist upon the extreme of self- 
 abnegation ; the regard to the pleasures and pains of others 
 is based on the regard to our own. 
 
 Without pleasures and pains of our own, we are ignorant of 
 the corresponding experience of onr fellows. But this is not 
 all. We must retain a sufiSoient amount of the self-regarding 
 element to consider happiness an object worth striving for. 
 We learn to value good things first for self; we then transfer 
 this estimate to the objects of our sympathy. Should we 
 cease to evince any interest in our own personal welfare, or 
 treat our own happiness with indifference, we practically lay 
 down the position that happiness is nothing ; the consequence 
 being to render philanthropy absurd and unmeaning. 
 
 11. A wide range of Knowledge of human beings is 
 requisite for large sympathies. 
 
 The carrying out of sympathy, in a career of kind and 
 beneficent action, wants a full knowledge of the sensitive points 
 of others. To note and to keep in remembrance the likings 
 and disUkings, the interests and the needs, of all persons that 
 we are well ^sposed to, will occupy a considerable share of 
 our thoughts and intelligence ; while uniformly to respect all 
 these, in our conduct, involves sympathetic self-renunciation 
 in a like eminent degree. 
 
 12. Imitation, voluntary and involuntary, from its re- 
 semblance to sympathy, is elucidated by a parallel expo- 
 sition. 
 
 In their tendencies and results, sympathy and imitation 
 differ, but in their foundations they have much in cominon. 
 There is an acquired power, one of the departments of our 
 voluntary education, by which we move our own members to 
 the lead of another person ; as when under a master or a ftigle- 
 man. The nearest approach to proper sympathy is a case of 
 involuntary imitation, whereby we contract the gestures, tones, 
 phraseology, and general demeanour of those around us. In 
 aH these points, the activity displayed by others is not merely 
 a guide that we may avail ourselves of if we please, it is a power 
 that we succumb to ; the child is assimilated to the manners 
 prevailing around it, before it receives any express instruction. 
 
 The conditions of imitation are (1) the Spontaneity of the 
 active members, and (2) the Sense of the Effect, that is, of the 
 conformity with the original. As regards the second condition, 
 there is real pleasure in sensibly coinciding with movements 
 
CONDITIONS OF IMITATION. 283 
 
 witnessed and tones heard ; and a certain painfal feeling of 
 discord, so long as the coincidence is not attained. In the case 
 of children, who look np with deference and admiration to the 
 superior powers of their elders, sucoessfal imitation has an 
 intense charm ; it is to them an advance in the scale of being. 
 Many of the amusements of children are imitative; it is their 
 delight to dramatize imposing avocations, to play the soldier, 
 the judge, or the schoolmaster. 
 
 There is also exemplified with reference to Imitation, the 
 same antithesis or contrast of characters ; the susceptible or 
 impressionable on the one hand, as against the self-moved, 
 Belf-orig^ating, on the other. The physical basis of the dis- 
 tinction may be supposed to lie in the distinctive endowment 
 of the sensory and motor centres ; at all events, the greater 
 susceptibility to impressions received, represents the most 
 general condition, alike of sympathy and of imitation. 
 
 The imitator or Mimic must possess facility in the special 
 organs employed, as the voice, the features, the gestures. This 
 is a mode of spontaneity in those organs, with the farther gift 
 of variety, flexibility, or compass. But still more requisite is 
 the extreme susceptibility of sense to the efieets to be imitated. 
 The thorough and entire absorption of these effects by the 
 mind is the guide to the employment of the active organs to 
 reproduce them. The case is exactly parallel to artistic 
 ability — a combination of flexibility of organ with sensibility 
 to the special effect. Indeed, as regards a certain number of 
 the Fine Arts, — Poetry, Painting, Sculpture, — the Artist's 
 vocation is in great part to imitate. And although Imitation 
 is supposed to bend to artistic purpose, yet one of the pleasing 
 effects of art is the fidelity of the imitation itself; and a con- 
 siderable school of Art subordinates ideal beauty to this 
 exactness of reproduction. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IDEAL EMOTION". 
 
 1. The fact that Feeling or Emotion persists after the 
 original stimulus is withdrawn, and is revived by purely 
 mental forces, makes the life in the Ideal. 
 
284 IDEAL EMOTION. 
 
 Much of our pleasure and pain k of this ideal kind ; being 
 due not to a present stimnlus, but to the remembrance of past 
 states, either literally recalled, or shaped into imaginations 
 and forecastings of the future. Eeoollected approbation or 
 censure, the pleasures of affection towards the absent, the 
 memory of a well spent life, are ideal feelings capable of great 
 intensity. 
 
 2. I.— The purely Physical organs and processes affect 
 the self-subsistence of Emotion. 
 
 Enough has been said on the organic processes {SensaMons 
 of Orgamia Life) to show their influence on mental states. Li 
 the vigour of youth^ of health,, of nourishment, the mind is 
 buoyant of its own accord. . Joyous emotion is then persistent 
 amd strong ; ideal pleasure,, the mere recollections of moments 
 of delight^ will possess a high intensity, by the support given 
 to it, under the existing corporeal vigour. In this state of 
 things, the excited brain, attracting to itself the abundant 
 nourishment,, maintains a high pitch of activity, and a like 
 pitch of emotional fervour, whatever be the emotien suggested 
 at the time. So,, in holiday times, all ideal states of genial 
 emotion — self-complacency,, affection,. the sense of power — are 
 more than ordinarily intense and prolonged. 
 
 We may add,, likewise, as a purely corporeal cause-, the 
 agency of the stimulating drugs,, which,, by quickening the 
 brain, disposes a higher degree of emotion. Thus;, alcohol 
 stimulates both the tender emotion,, and the sense of? power, 
 to a notable and ludicrous degree. 
 
 In states of corporeal elation, any pleasing emotion, sug- 
 gested by its proper agent,, bums br^hter ; a compliment is 
 more acutely felt. For the same reason,, the recall of plea- 
 sure by mental suggestion, would be more effective. 
 
 In the powerful and active brain, mental majiifestations in 
 general are stronger and more continuing ;: although there is, 
 iu most cases, a preference for some one mode of activity — 
 reeling, Will, or Intellect. 
 
 3. II. — ^The Temperament may be specially adapted 
 for Emotion. 
 
 There is a physical foundation for this also, an endowment 
 of Brain and other organs, — apparently the glandular or 
 secreting organs , but whether we speculate on ilie physical 
 side or not,, we must recognize the mental fact. Some persons 
 maintain with ease a persistent flow of comparatively strong 
 
THE EMOTIONAL ENDOWMENT. ^85 
 
 Amotion ; others can attain to this only for short intervals. 
 The strength of the system inclines to Peeling, and away from 
 Will and from Intellect ; such persons, unless largely endowed 
 on the whole, are defective either id activity or in intellect. 
 In them, however, emotion is fervid whether actual or ideal ; 
 the recollection of pleasure counts as present pleasure. 
 
 The emotional temperament may not make aU emotions 
 equally strong ; we must allow for specific difierences. But 
 when we find such leading emotions as Wonder, Tender 
 Feeling, Self-complacency, Power, and aU the feelings of re- 
 bound, ia exuberant fuliieBS, we may express the feet by a 
 general tendency, or temperament, for emotion. 
 
 The Emotional Temperament is framed for pleasurable 
 emotion ; it is a mode of strength, of elation, and buoyancy. 
 It does not, therefore, magnify pain as it does pleasure ; on 
 the contrary, it has resources to submerge, and to forget, the 
 painftd feelings. The memory for pains, the ideal life of pain, 
 except in so far as it ministers to prudential forethought, and 
 vicarious sympathies, is a weakness, a defect of the constitu- 
 tion ; showing itself in times of physical weakness, and con- 
 quered by physical renovation. 
 
 4 IIL — ^There may be constitutions endowed for Spe- 
 cial Emotions. 
 
 It is not to be assumed that the emotions aU rise and fall 
 together. Besides the general temperament for emotion, there 
 are constitutions either endowed or educated for the separate 
 emotions. To ascertain which of them may in this way be 
 developed singly, is one use of an mltimate analysis of the 
 feelings. 
 
 Reverting to the fundamental distinction between the 
 ingoing or sensitive side of our nature, and the outgoing or 
 active side, we have reason for believmg that the t-sv* sides as 
 a whole are unequally developed in individuals. Now, as 
 tiiere are emotions belonging to the sensitive or passive side 
 -—Tenderness, for example — and emotions allied to the active 
 Bide, as Power, we may expect specific developments corre- 
 sponding to these emotions. A constitutional Tenderness is a 
 commbn manifestation, even without supposing a large emo- 
 tional temperament on the whole. The persons so endowed 
 ■wOl be distinguished for cherishing afiection ; and, when there 
 are not enough of real objects, the feeling wiU be manifested 
 in ideal forms. 
 
 So the sentiment of Power may be inordinately developed 
 
286 IDEAL EMOTION. 
 
 in particular persons ; and being so, it will sustain itself, in, 
 the absence of real occasions, by persistence in the ideal. 
 The memory, the anticipation, the imagination of great power 
 may give more delight than strong present gratifications of 
 sense ; something of this is implied in the toils of ambition, in 
 the ascetic self-denial that procures an ascendancy over the 
 minds of men. 
 
 The derived emotions, as Complacency, Irascibility, Love 
 of Knowledge, wiU foUow the strength of their constitnent 
 elements ; they also may attain great self-sustaining force, or 
 ideal persistence. The feelings of Eievenge, Antipathy, or 
 Hatred, may bum with almost unremitted, glow in a human 
 being ; the real occasions of it are few, but the system is able 
 to maintain the tremor over a large portion of the waking Ufe. 
 
 In cases of remarkable developmeait. of special emotions, 
 cultivation or habit has usually been superadded to natnre. 
 Any strong natural bent becomes stronger by asserting itself, 
 and acquiring the confirmation of habit ; besides which, edu- 
 cation and influence from without may create a strong feeling 
 out of one not strong originally. 
 
 5. IV. — Of Mental agencies, in the support of idea] 
 emotion, two may be signalized :— (1) The presence ol 
 some Kindred emotion, and (2) the Intellectual forces. 
 
 (1) It is obvious that a, present emotion, of an allied or 
 congenial kind, must facilitate the blazing forth of an ideal 
 feeling. The emotion of Religious reverence is fed and sup- 
 ported by a ritual adapted to stimulate the constituent feelings 
 —sublimity, fear, and tenderness. 
 
 Present sensations of pleasure enable us to support dreams 
 of ideal pleasure. The excitement of music inflames the ideal 
 emotions and pleasures of the listener ; whether love, com- 
 placency, glory, wealth, ambition : the mental tremor is trans- 
 ferred to a new subject. 
 
 (2) The chief intellectual force is Contiguity, or the pre- 
 sence of objects strongly associated with the feeling, as when 
 the tender feeling towards the absent or the departed is main- 
 tained by relics, tokens, or other suggestive circumstances. 
 
 Our favourite emotions are kindled by the view of corre- 
 sponding situations in the lives of other men. Biography is 
 most charming when it brings before us careers ajid occupa-. 
 tions like our own. The young man entering political life is 
 excited by the lives of statesmen : the retired politician can 
 resuscitate his emotions from the same source. 
 
DISADVANTAGES OF PLEASUKES IN THE ACTaAI,. 287 
 
 An element of Belief is an addition to the power of an 
 Ideal Feeling. This is the emotion of Hope, which ia ideality 
 coupled with belief. There are various ways of inducing 
 belief, some being identical with causes already mentioned ; 
 such as the various sources of mental elation. But belief 
 may be aided by purely intellectual forces ; in which case it 
 has still the same effioaoy. 
 
 The foregoing considerations bring before us certain 
 collateral aids to feeling, whether actual or ideal. They 
 enable us to account for the exceptions to the general rule, 
 affirming the superiority of the present or actual, over the 
 remembered or ideal. But before making that, application, we 
 must have before us the following additional circumstance. 
 
 6. v.; — A Feeling generated in the Actual'is liable to 
 be thwarted by the accompaniments of the situation. 
 
 The reality of a success, or a step in life, is more powerful 
 to excite joyous emotion than the dream or idea of it. The 
 presence of a friend, or beloved object, is a happiness far 
 beyond the thought of them in absence. Still, there are 
 disadvantages incidental even to this highest form, of perfect 
 fruition. The reality comes in the course of events, without 
 reference to our preparation of mind for enjoying it to the full. 
 And, what is more, it seldom comes in purity ; it is a concrete 
 situation, and usually has some adjuncts of a detracting, not 
 to say a painful, nature. The hero of a triumph is perhaps 
 ' old, and cannot enjoy it ; solitary, and cannot impart it.' ^ 
 Something is present to mar the splendour of every great 
 success; and even moderate good fortune may not be free 
 from taint. The beloved object in actual presence is a con- 
 crete human being, and not an angelic abstraction. 
 
 Now, in the Ideal, the case is altered. In the £rst place, 
 we do not idealize unless mentally prepared for it ; we uncon- 
 sciously choose our own time, and consult our emotional 
 fitness ; in fact, it is because we are emotionally capable of 
 indulging in a certain reverie of ambition, love, brilliant pros- 
 pects, that we fall into it. 
 
 An,d, in the next place, the Ideal drops out of view the 
 disagreeable adjuncts of tiie reaUty. K we imagiae the 
 delight of attaining some object of pursuit, an office, a fortune, 
 an alliance, we do not at the same time imagine the alloying 
 drawbacks. The predominance of a feeling, by the law of its 
 nature, excludes aU disagreeables. Nothing, but a severe 
 discipline, partaking of the highest rigour of prudential fore- 
 
288 IDEAi, EMOTIOH. 
 
 thonglit, qualifies a man to body forth the concrete sittiation 
 when he anticipates some great pleasure. CsBsar toiled 
 through many a weary march, in all weathers, to obtain his 
 Triumph; but he probably did not forecast the mixture of 
 base elements with his joyftd emotions on that day. 
 
 It is not meant, that the deteacfing elements in every con- 
 crete situation entirely do away with the delights of attaining 
 what we struggle for. Moreover, the after recollection of 
 these bespattered jdys, in suitable moods, will again take the 
 form of ideal purity. The married woman whose lot is for- 
 tunate and temperament -cheerfal, will remember her wedding 
 day without the worry, the heat, and the headache, which a 
 faithful diary would have included in the narrative. 
 
 7. The circumstances now given account for the play 
 and predominance of Ideal Emotion. 
 
 All other things being the same, a feeling in the Actual 
 would surpass a feeUng in the Ideal : the present enjoyment 
 of a good bargain, a piece of music, an evening's convocation, 
 is m.uoh stranger than the remembrance or imagination of 
 that enjoyment. Still, in numerous instances, from the opera- 
 tion of the causes enumerated, one feeling in the ideal may 
 be far stronger than another in the actual. The emotions 
 that predominate in the mind may be quite different from 
 what the occasions of life would of themselves give support to. 
 
 (1) In what is called day-dreaming, we have a large field, 
 of examples. Anything occurring to fire one of the strong 
 emotions, in idrcumstances otherwise &iVonrable, takes the 
 attention and the thoughts away from other things to fasten 
 them upon the Objects -of ihe feeing. The youth inflamed 
 with the story of great ichievements, and bold adventures, 
 forgets his home and his father's house, and dreams of an ideal 
 history of the same exciting character. The intellect minis- 
 ters to the emotion, which without the creation of appropriate 
 circumstances, would not be self-supporting. When, love is 
 the inflaming passion, there is the same obhvionsness to the 
 stimulation of things present ; the life is wholly ideal. 
 
 This is one acceptation of the phrase 'pleasures of 'the 
 Imagination.' They are the pleasures ideally sustained, to 
 which the intellect supplies imagery and ciw!umstances,aiid in 
 that capacity is termed Imagination. The phrase has another 
 meaning in Addison's celebrated Essays, namely, the Pleasures 
 derived from works of Artj in which case ideality is only an 
 incident. In looking at. a picture or a statue, we hp,vo some- 
 
OUTLETS FOE IDEAL EMOTION. 289 
 
 thing that may be called real, and present, although undoubtedly 
 a principal design of works of art is to suggest ideal emotions. 
 Ideality is an almost ' iuseparable accident ' of Art. 
 
 (2) In our Ethical appreciation of conduct we are influ- 
 enced by ideal emotions. Disliking, as we do in practice, 
 severe restraints, and ascetic exercises, we admire them in 
 idea from the great fascination of the sentiment of power. 
 The superiority to pleasure is a fine ideal of moral strength, 
 and we consecrate it in theoretical morality, however little 
 we may care to practise it. 
 
 (3) The Religious Sentiment implies a certain class of 
 emotions incompletely gratified by the realities of the present 
 life. Minds exactly adapted to what this world can supply — 
 the ' worldly-minded,' are the contrast of the ' reUgiously- 
 minded.' The feelings of Sublimity, Love and Fear, in such 
 strength as to transcend the limited sphere of the individual 
 lot, are easUy led into the regions of the unknown and the 
 supernatural. 
 
 8. Ideal Emotion is more or less connected with 
 Desire. 
 
 When a pleasure exists only as the faded memory of a pre- 
 vious pleasure, there accompanies it the consciousness of a 
 padnfol inferiority, with a motive to the will to seek the full 
 reality. This is Desire. If the reality is irrecoverable, the 
 state is called Kegret. Should the ideal feeling be so aided 
 by vividness of recollection, or by collateral supports, as to 
 approach the fulness of a real experience, we accept it as a 
 sufficing enjoyment, and have no desire. In the excitement of 
 conversation, we recall delightfal memories with such force as 
 to fiU up a satisfying cup of pleasure. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 -ffiiSTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 1. The iEsthetic Emotions — indicated by the names, 
 Beauty, Sublimity, the Ludicrous — are a cj^ss of plea- 
 surable feelinp, sought to be gratified by the cowppgitions 
 of Fine Art. 
 19 
 
290 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 In the perplexity attending the question as to the Beantifnl, 
 a clue ought to be foand in the compositions of Mne Art. 
 Such compositions aim at pleasare, but of a pecnliar kind, 
 qualified hy the eulogistic terms 'refined,' 'elevating,' 'en- 
 nobling/ A -contrast is made between the Agreeable and 
 the Beautiful 4 between Utility and Beanty; Industry and 
 Fine Art. 
 
 2. The productions of Fine Art appear to be distin- 
 guished by these characteristics : — (1) They have plea- 
 sure for their immediate end; (2) Jhey have no disagree- 
 able accompaniments ; (3) their enjoyment is not restricted 
 to one or a few persons. 
 
 (1) We assume, for the present, that the immediate end 
 of "Fine Art is Pleasure ; whereas i^e immediate end of eat- 
 ing and drinking is to ward off pain, disease, death. 
 
 (2) In Fine Art, 'everything disagreeable is meant to be 
 excluded. This is one element of refinement ; the loathsome 
 accompaniments of our sensual pleasures mar .their purity. 
 
 (3) The objects of Fine Art, and all objects called aesthetic, 
 are such as may be enjoyed by a great number; some indeed 
 are open to the whole human race. They are exempt from 
 the fatal taint of rivalry and contest attaching to other agree- 
 ables ; they draw men toge&er in mutual sympathy ; and are 
 thus eminently social and humanizing. A picture or a statue 
 can be seen by millions ; a great poem reaches all that under- 
 stand its language ; a fine melody may spread pleasure over 
 the habitable globe. The sunset and the stars are veiled only 
 from the prisoner and the blind. 
 
 It will now be seen why many agreeable and valuable 
 things, the ends of industry, can be distinguished from Fine 
 Ai't. Food, clothing, houses, medicine, kw, armies, are all 
 useful, but not necessarily (although sometimes inciden- 
 tally) beautiful. Even Science, although remarkable for the 
 absence of monopoly (3), is not aesthetic ; its immediate end 
 is not pleasure (1), although remotely it brings pleasures and 
 avoids pains 5 and it is too much associated with disagree- 
 able toil in the acquisition (2). 
 
 Wealth is. obviously excluded from the sBsthetic class. So 
 also is the delight of Power, which is not only a monopolist 
 pleasure, but one that implies, in others, the opposite state of 
 impotence or dependence. The pleasure of Affection is also 
 confined in its scope ; being, however, less confined, and less 
 hostile to the interests of o&ers, than power. 
 
SENSUAL ELEMENTS IN IDEA. 291 
 
 3. The Eye and the Ear are the aesthetic senses. 
 
 The Muscular feelings, the Organic sensibilities, the sen- 
 sations of Taste, Smell, and Touch, cannot be multiplied or 
 extended like the effects of light and sound ; their objects are 
 engrossed, if not consumed, by the present user. The con- 
 sideration of monopoly would be decisive against the whole 
 class, while many have other disqualifications. But pleasures 
 awakened through the eye and the ear, in consequence of the 
 diffusion of light and of sound, can be enjoyed by countlefs 
 numbers. There is a faint approach to this wide participation 
 in the case of odours ; but the difference, although only in 
 degree, is so great as to make a sufficient line of demarcation 
 for our present purpose. 
 
 4. The Muscular and the Sensual elements can be 
 brought into Art by being presented in the idea. The 
 same may be said of Wealth, Power, Dignity and 
 Affection. 
 
 A painter or a poet may depict a feast, and the picture 
 may be viewed with pleasure. The disqualifying circum- 
 stances are not present in ideal delights. So Wealth, Power, 
 Dignity, Affection, as seen or imagined in others, are not ex- 
 clusive. In point of fact, mankind derive much real pleasure 
 from sympathizing with these objects. They constitute much 
 of the interest of surrounding life, and of the historical past ; 
 and they are freely adopted into the compositions of the 
 artist. 
 
 It may be objected here, that to permit, without reserve, the 
 ideal presentation of sensual delights, merely because of its being 
 a diffused and not a monopolized pleasure, is to give to Art an 
 unbounded licence of grossness; the very supposition proving 
 that the domain of Art is not su£Bciently circumscribed by the 
 three facts above stated. The reply is, that the subjects of Pine 
 Art are limited by considerations that axe very various in different 
 countries and times, and are hardly reducible to any rule. The 
 pourtraying of sensual pleasures is objected to on moral and pru- 
 dential grounds, as overstimulating men to pursue the reality; 
 but there is no fixed line universally agreed upon. It is evi- 
 dently within the spirit of Fine Art, as implied in the conditions 
 above given, to cultivate directly and indirectly the sources of 
 pleasure that all can share in, that provoke sympathy, instead of 
 rivalry. Hence tales that inflame either the ambition or the sen- 
 suality of the hiuuan mind, in their consequences, inspire what 
 are termed the laser passions, properly definable as the passions 
 involving rivalry and hostility, because their objects are such as 
 the few enjoy, to the exclusion of the many. 
 
292 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 It is ia the same spirit that Art is considered to occupy its 
 proper province when inspiring sympathy and benign emotions, 
 and lulling angry and hateful passion. Hence it allies itself with 
 Morality, being in fact almost identified with the persuasive part 
 of Morality, as opposed to the obligatory or compulsory sanction. 
 
 5. The source of Beauty is not to be sought in any 
 single quality, but in a Circle of Effects. 
 
 The search after some common property applicable to all 
 things named beautiftil ia now abandoned. Every theorist 
 admits a pluralily of causes. The common attribute resides 
 only in the emotion, and even that may vary considerably 
 without passing the limits of the name. 
 
 Among terms used to express essthetio qualities — Sob- 
 limity, Beauty, Grace, Picturesqueness, Harmony, Melody, 
 Proportion, Keeping, Order, Ktness, Unity, Wit, and Hu- 
 mour — there are a number of synonyms ; but a real distinction 
 is marked by the names Sublimity, Beauty, the Ludicrous 
 (with Humour). The most comprehensive of the three 
 designations is Beauty ; the problem of what are the charac- 
 teristics of Fine Art is chiefly attached to it. Sublimity and 
 the Ludicrous, which also enter into aesthetic compositions, 
 have certain distinctive features, and are considered apart. 
 
 The objects described in these various phrases may occur 
 spontaneously in nature ; as, for example, wild and impres- 
 sive scenery : they may spring up incidental to other effects, 
 as when the contests of nations, carried on for self-protection 
 or supremacy, produce grand and stirring spectacles to the 
 unconcerned beholders, and to after ages ; or when the struc- 
 tures, designed for pure utility, rise to grandeur from their mere 
 magnitude, as a ship of war, or a vast building : and lastly, 
 they may be expressly produced for their own sake, in which 
 case we have a class of Fine Arts, a profession of Artists, and 
 an education of people generally in elegance and Taste. 
 
 6. The objects and emotions of Fiae Ait, so far as 
 brought out in the previous exposition of the mind, may 
 be resumed as follows : — 
 
 I. — The simple sensations of the Ear and the Eye. 
 
 The pleasurable sensations of sound and of sight come 
 within the domaia of Fine Art. This view, maintained by 
 Koight in his Essay on Taste, is strongly opposed by Jeffrey, 
 who denies that there are any intrinsic pleasures due to these 
 eensations. On such a point, the appeal must be made to the 
 
SENSE AND INTELLECT. 293 
 
 experience of mankind. We have, in discussing theee senses, 
 classified and enumerated their sensations, affirming the in- 
 trinsically pleasurable character of a large part of them ; as, 
 for example, voluminous sounds, waxing and waning sounds, 
 mere light, colour, and lustre. If these are admitted to be 
 pleasurable for their own sake (and not for the sake of certain 
 suggested emotions), their pretensions to be employed in Art 
 are based on their complying with the criteria of the Artistic 
 emotions. The pleasures arising from them are sometimes 
 called sensuoKS, as contrasted with the narrow or monopolist 
 pleasures of the other senses, called sensual. 
 
 7. II. — Intellect, co-operating with the Senses, fur- 
 nishes materials of Art. 
 
 Muscular exercise and repose seen or contenuplated, as in 
 the spectacle of games, would be regarded as an aesthetic 
 pleasure. The pleasures of the monopolist senses, when pre- 
 sented in idea by the painter or the poet, attain the refinement 
 of art. 
 
 The sensations of bodily health and vigour are in them- 
 selves exclusive and sensual ; in their idea, as when we con- 
 template the outward marks of health, they are artistic. The 
 actual enjoyment of warmth or coolness is sensual, the sug- 
 gestion of these in a picture is refined and artistical. Pleasant 
 odours are frequently described in poetry. The feeling of soft 
 warm touch ideally excited is a feeling of art. • 
 
 The intervention of language (an intellectual device) is a 
 means of overcoming the disagreeable adjuncts of our senses, 
 and of rendering the sensual pleasures less adverse to artistic 
 handling. There are ways of alluding to the ofiensive pro- 
 cesses of organic Ufe, that deprive them of half their evil, by 
 removing ^1 theii" grossness. This is the purpose of the 
 Bihetorical figure, called Euphemism ; it is a mode of refine- 
 ment describable as the purification of pleasure. 
 
 8. III. — The Special Emotions, either in their 
 actuality, or in idea, enter largely into Fine Arts. 
 
 This has been already pointed out. The first class, the 
 Emotions of Relativity — Wonder, Surprise, Novelty — are 
 sought in Art, as in other pleasures not artistic. The emotion 
 of Fear is of itself painful, and would be excluded by the 
 artist, but for its incidentally contributing to artistic pleasure. 
 Tender emotion in actuality is too narrow, but in idea it is 
 very largely made use of as a pleasure of Art ; the objects that 
 
294 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 inspire tender emotion, that rouse ideal affection, are Tiniver- 
 sally denominated beautiful. According to Burke, tenderness 
 is almost identified with beauty: and in the Association 
 theory of Alison and Jeffrey, the power to suggest the warm 
 human affections is placed above all other causes ; the feminine 
 exterior being considered beautiful as bodying forth the graces 
 and amiability of the character. The egotistic group of 
 emotions — Self-complacency, Love of Approbation, Power, 
 Irascibility — even ideally viewed, are adverse to the spirit of 
 Art, unless we can sympathize with the occasions of them, 
 in which case their manifestation gives us pleasure. The 
 situation of Pursuit, in idea, is eminently artistic ; plot- 
 interest enters into most kinds of poetry. The Emotions of 
 Intellect would be aesthetic, &om their broad and liberalizing 
 character, and from their not containing, either directly or 
 indirectly, the element of rivalry ; but the province of Truth 
 and Science, in which they appear, is, for the most part, 
 too arduous to be a soui'ce of unmixed pleasure. 
 
 9. IV. — Hakmont is an especial source of artistic 
 pleasure. 
 
 It was noted (Classification of Emotions, § 2), that 
 emotional states are produced from sensations, through Har- 
 mony and Conflict; Harmony giving pleasure, and Conflict 
 pain. It is in the works of Pine Art, that the pleasures of 
 Harmony* are most extensively cultivated. The illustration 
 of this position in detail would cover a large part of the 
 field of Esthetics. The law that determines the pleasure of 
 Harmony and the pain of Conflict, is a branch or application 
 of a higher law, the law of Self-conservation ; in harmony, we 
 may suppose that the nerve currents are mutually supporting ; 
 in conflict, that there is opposition and loss of power. 
 
 10. The pleasurable Sensations of Sound, and their 
 Harmonies, constitute a department of Fine Art. 
 
 In Music, we have, first, all the pleasing varieties of simple 
 sound — sweet sounds, voluminous sounds, waxing and waning 
 sounds ; and next, the combinations of sound in Melody and 
 in Harmony, according to laws of proportion, now arith- 
 metically determined. 
 
 The musical note is a sound of uniform Pitch, or of a con- 
 stant number of beats per second. In this uniformity, there is 
 a source of pleasure ; it contains the element of harmony. The 
 regularity of the beats is more agreeable than irregularity. 
 
HAEMOIIT. 295 
 
 The same fact enters into a mnsical air or melody, and re- 
 appears in the harmonies and proportions of visible objects. 
 
 Harmony is the concurrence of two or more sounds re- 
 lated, as to number of vibrations and beats, in a simple ratio. 
 The Octave is the most perfect harmony, the numbers being as 
 two to one. In this concord, every second beat of the higher 
 note coincides with every beat of the lower ; and, between 
 these coinciding and doable beats, there is a solitary beat. The 
 intervals, therefore, are equal, but the beats unequal ; a double 
 and a single alternating. This is the first departure from 
 uniformity towards variety, and the effect is more acceptable, 
 probably on that ground. In the concord of a Mfth, every 
 third vibration of the higher note coincides with every second 
 of the lower ; and between these two coincidences, there are 
 three single beats (two in one note and one in the other) at 
 intervals varying as 1, ^, |, 1 respectively. In the concord of 
 a Fourth, every fourth vibration of the higher note coincides 
 with every third of the lower ; and between the two coinci- 
 dences, there are five single beats (three in one note and two 
 in the other), at intervals of 1, |, f, f, ^, 1. In these two 
 last mentioned concords, there is a mixture of different sets 
 of equal intervals ; the coinciding or double beat, and the 
 single beats recurring in the same order of unequal but pro- 
 portioned intervals. 
 
 The element of Time, in music, is probably the same -effect 
 on the larger scale. Besides allowing harmonies to be 
 arranged, the observance of time in the succession of notes is 
 a kind of concord between what is past and what is to come 
 — a harmony of expectation — and the violation of it is a jar or 
 discord, and is painful according to the sensitiveness of the ear. 
 
 The varying Emphasis of music, properly regulated, adds 
 to the pleasure, on the law of Relativity, or alternation and 
 remission, as in light and shade. According as sounds are 
 sharp and loud, is it necessary that they be remitted and varied. 
 The gradations of pitch have respect to variety, as well as to 
 harmony and melody. Since a work of Art aims at giving plea- 
 sure to the utmost, it courts variety in every form, only not 
 to produce discords, or to miss harmonies. 
 
 Cadence is an effect common to music and to speaking, 
 and refers, in the first instance, to the close or fall of the 
 melody. An abrupt termination is unpleasing, partly from 
 breach of expectation, and partly because, on the principle of 
 relativity, the sudden cessation of a stimulus gives a shock 
 analogous to the sadden commencement. Cadence farther 
 
296 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 includes, by a natural extension, the Tariation of empliasis and 
 pitch, ; the gentle commencement, the gradaal rise to a height 
 or climax, and the ending fall ; there being a series of lesser 
 rises and fells throughont the piece. Alternation or variety is 
 the sole gcdde to this effect, which enters alike into musical 
 performance, and into oratorical pronunciation. 
 
 There is, in Music, a superadded effect, namely^ the imita^ 
 tion of emotional expression, by which various emotions may 
 be directly stimulated, as Tenderness, Devotion, the Exulta- 
 tion of Power. 
 
 This imitation is effected by varying the sounds them- 
 selves, but still more through the pace, or comparative 
 rapidity and emphasis of the notes ; the very same rule go- 
 verning music and poetry. 
 
 ll. The pleasurable Sensations of Sight, with their 
 Harmonies, are a distinct source of the Beautiful in Art. 
 
 Mere light is pleasant in proper limits and alternation ; 
 whence the art of Light and Shade. The employment of 
 colour is regulated by harmony ; there is a mutual balance of 
 the colours, according to the proportions of the solar spec- 
 trum. Bed, yellow, and blue are accounted the primary 
 colours. The eye, exposed for some time to one colour, as 
 red, desiderates some other colour, and is most of all de- 
 lighted with the complementary colour ; thus red harmonizes 
 with green (formed out of yellow and blue) ; blue with orange 
 or gold (a mixture of red and yellow) ; yellow with violet 
 (red and blue). Colour Harmony is the maximum of stimu- 
 lation of the optic nerve, with the minimum of exhaustion. 
 
 The influence of Lustre has been already described. It is 
 the outburst of sparkles of light on a ground of comparative 
 sombreness. 
 
 In the muscular susceptibility of sight, the elementary 
 pleasurable effect is the waxing and waning motion, and the 
 Curve Line, the two being in character the same. This has 
 always been a conspicuous part of the beauty of Form. 
 
 The Harmonies of Sight are exemplified by movements, 
 as the Dance, where also there is observance of Time. 
 
 In still life, there are harmonies of Space. In arranging 
 objects in a row, equality of intervals has a pleasing effect, on 
 the principle already quoted. The equality may be combined 
 with variety, by introducing larger breaks, also at equal in- 
 tervals, which gives subordinate gradations, with a unity ia 
 the whole. 
 
HAEMONIES OF SPACK 297 
 
 The subdivision of lines or spaces shoald be in simple 
 proportions, as halves, thirds, fonrths; these simple ratios 
 constitute the beauty of oblong and triangular figures, and 
 the proportions of rooms and buildings. An oblong, having 
 the length three times the width, is more agreeable to the 
 observant eye than if no ratio were discernible. A room, 
 ■whose length, width, and height foUow simple ratios, as 4 to 
 3, or 3 to 2, is well proportioned. Equality of angles, in 
 angular figures, is preferable to inequality ; and the angles of 
 30 , 45°, or 60°, being simple divisions of the quadrant, are 
 more agreeable than angles that are incommensurate. 
 
 In Straight Porms, the laws of proportion determine 
 beauty, subject to considerations of Fitness, to be presently 
 noticed. In Curved Forms, the primitive charm of the curve 
 line may be combined with proportions and with pleasing 
 associations. The circle, and the oval, contain an element of 
 proportion. Besides these effects, there is in the curved out- 
 line the suggestion of ease and abandon. The mechanical 
 members of the human body, being chiefly levers fixed at the 
 end, naturally describe curves with their extremities ; it is 
 only after a painful discipline that they can draw straight 
 lines. Hence straightness, in certain circumstances, is sug- 
 gestive of restraint, and curvature of ease. The beauty of the 
 straight form, when it is beautiful, will arise partly from 
 proportion, and partly from the obvious utility of order in 
 arrangement. The straight furrows of a ploughed field are 
 agreeable, if our mind is occupied with the ploughman's 
 labour, not on the side of its arduousness, but on the side of 
 its power and skill. 
 
 In the dimension of up and down, form or outline is inter- 
 woven with the paramount consideration of sustaining things 
 against the force of gravity ; in other words, we have to deal 
 with Pressure and Support. The evils of loss of support are 
 so numerous, so pressing, so serious, that adequacy on this 
 score is one of our incessant solicitudes, a real ' affection of 
 Fear.' The mere suggestion of a possible catastrophe from 
 weakness of support is a painful idea ; and the existence of 
 such pains renders the appearances of adequate support a kind 
 of joyffll relief. When a great mass has to be supported, we 
 gaze with satisfaction upon the firmness of the foundaiions, 
 the width of the base, the tenacity of the columns or other 
 supports. The pyramid and the well-buttressed wall are 
 objects that we can think of with comfort, when more than 
 usually oppressed with examples of flimsiness and insecurity. 
 
298 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 SnfSciency of apparent support does not exhaust the in- 
 terest of the counteraction of gravity. Next to doing work 
 adequately, is doing it with the least expenditure of means or 
 labour. It gratifies the feeling of Power, and is an aspect of 
 the Snblime, to see great effects produced with the appearance 
 of Ease on the part of the agent. The pyramid, although 
 satisfactory in one point of view, is apt to appear as gross, 
 heavy, clumsy, if used merely to support its own mass. 
 We obtain a superadded gratification, when we see an object 
 raised aloft without such expenditure of material and such 
 width of base. In these respects, the obelisk is a refinement 
 on the pyramid. The column is a still greater refinement ; for 
 in a row of columns, we discern a satisfactory, and yet light, 
 support to a superincumbent mass. Another modification of 
 support for smaller heights is the pilaster, which is diminished 
 near the bottom, and also near the top, retaining breadth of 
 base, and a resisting thickness in the middle ; there being an 
 opportunity also for the curved outline. Vases, drinking 
 cups, wine glasses, and other table ware, combine adequate wKIl 
 easy support, while availing themselves of proportions and the 
 curved form. The tree, with its spreading roots and ample 
 base, its slender and yet adequate stem, supporting a volu- 
 minous foliage, is an example of support that never ceases to 
 afford gratification. 
 
 The beauty of Symmetry is in some cases due to propor- 
 tion, and in others to adequacy of support. When the two 
 sides of a human face are not alike, there is a breach of pro- 
 portion ; a wasted limb is both disproportioned and inadequate 
 for support. 
 
 The beauties of Visible Movement might be expanded in 
 a similar detaU. The curve movement is a beauty — that is, a 
 refined pleasure in itself. Upward movements, being against 
 gravity, suggest power ; so also rapid projectile movements, 
 as the cannon ball. The spectacle of a dance combines a 
 number of effects already recognized. 
 
 12. In the Fine Arts, there are Complex Harmonies ; 
 as when Sound, Colour, Movement, Form, are in keeping 
 with each other, and with the intention of the work as a 
 whole. 
 
 There is no intrinsic suitability of a sound to a colour, or 
 of a colour to a form ; a voluminous sound is not more in har- 
 mony with red than with blue. But the moods of mind 
 generated by sensation may have a certain community; at 
 
COMPLEX HAEMONIES. 299 
 
 one time, the prevailing key may be pungent excitement, at 
 another time, voluminous pleasure. Through this community, 
 glare and sparkle chime in with rapid movements ; sombre 
 light and shade with slow movements. There is the same 
 adaptation of musical measures to the state of the mind as 
 determined by spectacle, or by emotion. The dying fall in 
 masic harmonizes with the waxing and waning movement, or 
 the curved line. 
 
 13. A wide department of the Beautiful is expressed 
 under the Fitness of means to ends. 
 
 This has been already brought into view in the discussion 
 of Support, which is the fitness of machinery to a mechanical 
 end, namely, the counteraction of gravity. On account of the 
 pleasure thus obtained, we erect structures that have no other 
 end than to suggest fitness. In all kinds of mechanism, where 
 po wer is exerted to produce results, there is a like feeling. 
 When anything is to be done, we are sympathetically pained 
 in discovering the means to be inadequate ; and being often 
 subject to such pains, there is a grateful reaction in contem- 
 plating a work where the power is ample for its end. There 
 is a farther satisfaction in seeing ends accomplished with the 
 least expenditure of means. The appearances of great labour, 
 effort, or difficulty, are unpleasant ; a man bending beneath a 
 load, a horse sticking in the mud, give a depressing idea of 
 weakness. The noise of friction in machinery, and the sight 
 of roughness and rust, suggestive of friction, are calculated to 
 pain our sensibilities. On the other hand, all the indications 
 of comparative ease in the performance of work, even although 
 illusory, are a grateful rebound of sympathetic power. The 
 gentle breeze moving a ship, or a windmill, gives us this 
 illusory gratification. Clean, bright tools are associated with 
 ease and efficiency in doing their work. 
 
 The beauties of Ordee may consist of merte proportion, but 
 they are still oftener the efiects conducive to the attainment 
 of ends. In a well kept house, or shop, everything is in its 
 place; there are fit tools and facilities for whatever is to be 
 done ; all the appearances are suggestive of such fitness and 
 facility: although it may happen that the reality and the 
 appearance are opposed. The arts of cleanliness, in the first 
 instance, are aimed at the removal of things injurious and 
 loathsome ; going a step farther, they impart whiteness of sur- 
 face, lustre and brilliancy, which are sBsthetic qualities. The 
 neat, tidy, and trim, may be referred to Order; even when going 
 
300 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 beyond what is necessary for usefnl ends, neatness snggosts' 
 a mind alive to the orderly, which is a means to the useful. 
 
 14. The feeling of Unity in Diversity, considered as a 
 part of Beauty, owes its charm principally to Order, and 
 to Intellectual relief. 
 
 The mind, overburdened with a multitude of details, seeks 
 relief in order and in unity of plan. The successful reduction 
 of a distracting host of particulars to simple and general 
 heads, as happens through great discoveries of generalization, 
 gives the thrill of a great intellectual relief. In all works 
 abounding in detail, we crave for some comprehensive plan, 
 enabling us to seize the whole, while we survey the parts. A 
 poem, a history, a dissertation, in science, a lecsture, needs to 
 have a discernible principle of order or unity throughout. 
 
 16. It is a principle of Art, founded in the nature of 
 the feelings, to leave something to Desire. 
 
 To leave something to the finagiuation is better than to 
 express the whole. What is merely suggested is conceived in 
 an ideal form and colouring. Thus, in a landscape, a winding 
 river disappears from the sight ; the distant hazy mountains 
 are realms for the fancy to play in. Breaks are left in. a 
 story, such as the reader may fill up. The proportioning and 
 adjusting of the expressed and the suggested, would depend 
 on the principles of Ideal Emotion. 
 
 16. Under so great a variety of exciting causes, a cer- 
 tain latitude must be allowed in characterizing the feeling 
 of Beauty. 
 
 Experience proves, that all these different efiects are not 
 merely modes of pleasure, but congenial in their mixture. 
 The common character of the emotion may be expressed 
 as refined pleasure. Even when not greak in degree, it has 
 the advantE^e of "durability. The many confluent streams of 
 pleasure run into a general ocean of the pleasurable, where 
 their specialities are scarcely distinguishable. 
 
 When Beauty is spoken of in a narrow sense, as excluding 
 Sublimity, it points to the more purely passive delights, 
 exemplified in sensuous pleasures, harmonies, tender emotion. 
 Burke's identification of delicacy (as in the drooping flower) 
 with beauty, hits the passive delights, as contrasted with the 
 active. The boundary is not a rigid one. Much of the 
 beauty of fitness appeals to the sentiment of power, the basis 
 of the Sublime. 
 
THE SUBLIME. 301 
 
 17. The Sublime is the sympathetic sentiment of 
 superior Power in its highest degrees. 
 
 The objects of sublimity are, for the most part, such 
 aspects and appearances as betoken great might, energy, or 
 vastness, and are thereby capable of impartiog sympathetically 
 the elation of superior power. 
 
 Human might or energy is the literal subUme, and the 
 point of departure for sublimity in other things. Superior 
 bodily strength, as indicated either by the size and form of 
 the members, or by actual exertion, hfts the beholder's mind 
 above its ordinary level, and imparts a certain degree of 
 grateful elation. The same may be said of other modes of 
 superior power. Greatness of intellect, as in the master 
 minds of the human race, is interesting as an object of mere 
 contemplation. Moral energy, as heroic endurance and self- 
 denial, has inspired admiration in all times. Great practical 
 skill in the various departments of active life awakens the 
 same admiring and elevating sentiment. The spectacle of 
 power in organized multitudes is still more imposing, and 
 reflects an undue importance on the one man that happens to 
 be at the head. 
 
 The Sublime of Inanimate things is derived or borrowed, 
 by a fictitious process, from the literal sublimity of beings 
 formed like ourselves. So great is our enjoyment of the 
 feeUng of superior power, that we take dehght in refierring 
 the forces of dead matter to a conscious mind ; in other words, 
 personification. Starting from some known estimate, as in 
 the physical force of an average man to move one hundred- 
 weight, we have a kind of sympathetic elation in seeing many 
 hxmdredweights raised with ease by water or steam power. 
 "When the spectacle is common, we become indifferent to it ; 
 and we are re-awakened only by something different or 
 superior. 
 
 The Sublime of Support is of frequent occurrence. It 
 applies to the raising of heavy weights ; to the upward pro- 
 jection of bodies ; and to &e sustaining of great masses at an 
 elevation above the surface, as piles of building, and moun- 
 tains. All these ■effects imply great upheaving power, equiva- 
 lent to human force many times multiplied. The more upright 
 or precipitous the elevated mass, the greater the apparent 
 power put forth in sustaining it. SubUmity is thus con- 
 nected with height ; from which it derives its name. 
 
 Tie SnbUme of Active Energy, or power visibly at work, 
 is seen in thunder, wind, waves, cataracts, rivers, volcanoes, 
 
302 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 steam power, ordnance, accumulated animal or human force. 
 Movement in the actual is more impressive than the quiescent 
 results of movement. 
 
 The Sublime of Space, or of Largeness of Dimensions, is 
 partly owing to the cii:cnmstance that objects of great power 
 are correspondingly large. The ocean is voluminous. As 
 regards empty space, great extent implies energy to traverse 
 it, or mass to occupy it. 
 
 An Extended Prospect is sublime from the number of its 
 contained objects, each possessing a certain element of im- 
 pressiveness. There is also a sense of intellectual range or 
 grasp,as compared with the confinementof a narrow spot; which 
 is one of the many modes of the elation of superior power. 
 
 The Great in Time or Duration is Sublime ; not mere 
 duration in the abstract, but the sequence of known trans- 
 actions and events, stretching over many ages. In this too, 
 there is an intellectual elevation, and a form of superior 
 might. The far past, and the distant Aiture, to a mind that 
 can people the interval, arouse the feeling of the sublime. 
 The relics of ancient nations, the antiquities of the geological 
 ages, inspire a sublimity, tinged with melancholy and pathos, 
 from the retrospect of desolation and decay. 
 
 There is an incidental connexion of the Sublime with 
 Terror. Properly, the two states of mind are hostile and 
 mutually destructive ; the one raises the feeling of energy, 
 the other depresses it. In so far as a sublime object gives us 
 the sense of personal, or of sympathetic danger, its sublimity 
 is frustrated. The two effects were confounded by Burke in 
 his Theory of the Sublime. 
 
 18. The foregoing principles might be tested and exem- 
 plified by a survey of Natural Objects. It is sufficient to 
 advert to Human Beauty. 
 
 The Mineral world has its essthetic qualities, chiefly colour 
 and form. In Vegetable nature, there are numerous effects, 
 partly of colour and form, partly of support, and partly of 
 quasi-human expression. The beauties of scenery — of moun- 
 tains, rocks, valleys, rivers, plains — are referable, without 
 much difficulty, to the constituent elements above indicated. 
 The Anim al Kingdom contains many objects of aesthetic in- 
 terest, as well as many of an opposite kind. The approach 
 to humanity is the special circumstance ; the suggestion of 
 feeling is no longer fictitious, but real ; and the interest is little 
 removed from the human. 
 
BEAUTY OP NATURAL OBJECTS. 303 
 
 As regards Humanity, there are first the graces of the 
 Exterior. The efieots of colour and brilliancy, — in the skin, 
 the eyes, the' hair, the teeth, — are intrinsically agreeable. The 
 Figure is more contested. The proportions of the whole are 
 suited for sufficient, and yet light support ; while the modifi- 
 cations of foot and limb are adapted for forward movement. 
 The curvature of the outline is continuous and varying (in the 
 ideal feminine figure), passing through points of contrary 
 flexure, from, convex to concave, and, again resuming the 
 convex. 
 
 The beauties of the Head and Pace involve the most difficult 
 considerations. In so far as concerns the symmetry of the 
 two halves, and the curved outlines, we have intelligible 
 grounds ; but the proportional sizes of the face, features, and 
 head, are determined by no general principles. We mnst 
 here accept from our customary specimens a certain standard 
 of mouth, nose, forehead, &c., and refine upon that by bring- 
 ing in laws of proportion, curvature, and the susceptibility to 
 agreeable expression. This is the only tenable mean between 
 the unguarded theory of Buffier and Reynolds, who referred 
 all beauty to custom, and the attempts to explain everything 
 by proportion and expression. A Negro or a Mongol sculptor 
 would be not only justified, bnt necessitated, to assume an 
 ideal type different from the Greek, although he might still 
 introduce general aesthetic considerations, that is to say, pro- 
 portions, curves, fitness, and expression, so as not to be the 
 imitator of any one actual specimen, or even of the most com- 
 mon variety. The same applies to the beauties seen in 
 animals. The prevailing features of the species are assumed, 
 and certain considerations either of universal beauty, or of 
 capricious adoption, are allowed to have weight in determin- 
 ing the most beautiful type. 
 
 The graces of Movement, as such, are quite explicable. In 
 the primitive efiects of movement are included the curve line 
 and the ' dying fall.' The movements, as well as attitudes, of 
 a graceful form, can hardly be other than graceful. 
 
 The suggestion of Tender and of Sexual Feeling is con- 
 nected with Colour, with Form, and with Movements. The 
 tints of the face and of the surface generally are associated with 
 the soft warm contact. By a link of connexion, partly natural 
 (the result of a general law), the rounded and tapering form 
 is suggestive of the living embrace ; lending an interest to the 
 hard cold marble of the statuary. The movements that excite 
 the same train of feelings are known and obvious. 
 
304 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 On all theories of Beauty, much is allowed to the Ex- 
 pression of pleasing states of mind. The amiahle expression 
 is always cheering to behold ; and a cast of features per- 
 manently suited to this expression is beautiful. 
 
 When we inquire into what constitutes beauty in the 
 human character, or the mental attributes of a human being, we 
 find that the foundation of the whole is self-surrender. This 
 is apparent in the virtues (also called ^^races) of generosity, 
 affection, and modesty or Jinmility; all which imply that the 
 individual gives up a portion of self for others. 
 
 THEORIES OP THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 It is usual to carry back the history of the question of Beauty 
 to Sokrates and Plato. 
 
 The question of Beauty is shortly touched upon, in one of the 
 Sokratic canversations reported in the Memorabilia. Sokeates 
 holds that the beautiful and the good, or useful, are the same ; a 
 dung-basket, if it answers its end, may be a beautiful thing, 
 while a golden shield, not well formed for use, is an ugly thing. 
 (Memcyraiilia III. 8.) 
 
 In the Dialogue of Plato, called Hippiaa Major, there is a dis- 
 cussion on the Beautiful. Various theories are propounded, and 
 to aU of them objections, supposed insuperable, are made by the 
 Platonic Sokrates. First, The Suitable, or the Becoming, is said 
 to constitute beauty. To this, it is objected, that the suitable, or 
 becoming, is what causes objects to appear beautiful, not what 
 makes them really beautiful. Secondly, The Useful or Profit- 
 able. Much is to be said for this view, but on close inspection 
 (says Sokrates) it will not hold. Thus Power, which when em- 
 ployed for usefiil purposes is beautiful, may be employed for evil, 
 and cannot be beautiful. If you qualify by saying — ^Power em- 
 ployed for good — you make the good and the beautiful cause and 
 effect, and therefore different thmgs, which is absurd. Thirdly, 
 The beautiful is a particular variety of the Agreeable or Pleasur- 
 able, being all those things that give pleasure through sight and 
 hetxring. Sokrates, however, demands why these pleasures should 
 be so much distinguished over other pleasures. He is not satisfied 
 to be told that they axe the most innocuous and the best; an 
 answer that (he says) leads to the same absurdity as before ; the 
 beauttful being made the cause, the good the effect ; and the two 
 thereby accounted different things. 
 
 Turning now to the BepuUia (Book VII.), we find a mode of 
 viewing the question, nxore in accordance with the mystic and 
 transcendental side of Plato. Speaking of the science of Astro- 
 nomy, he says (in summary): — 'The heavenly bodies are the 
 most heauUfal of aU visible bodies, and the most regular of oil 
 visible movements, approximating most nearly, though still with 
 a long interval of iiuEerioiity, to the ideal figures and movements 
 
THEORIES OF BEAOTT— p!tATO. 305 
 
 of genuine and self-existeiit Forma — quiokness, slowness, number, 
 figure, &e., as they are in themselves, not visible to the eye, but con- 
 ceivable only by reason and intellect. The movements of the 
 heavenly bodies ar6 exemplifications, approaching nearest to the 
 perfectioii of these ideal mov^ements, but stUl falUng greatly short 
 of them. They are like visible circles or triangles drawn by some 
 very exact artist; which, however beautiful as works of art, are 
 tax from answering to the conditions of the idea and its definition, 
 and from exhibiting exact equality and proportion.' All this is 
 in accordance with the Ideal theory of Plato. Ideas are not only 
 the pre-existing causes of real thmgs, but the highest and most 
 delightful objects of human contemplation., 
 
 It is remarked by Mr. Grrote th^ the Greek to koKov includes, 
 in addition to the ordinary meanings of beauty, the^ne, the hon- 
 ourable, the exalted. 
 
 AeIstotle alludes to the nature of Beauty, in connexion with 
 Poetry. Tie beauty of animals, or of any objects composed of 
 parts, involves two things — orderly arrangement and a certain 
 magnitude. Hence an animal may be too small to be beautiful ; 
 or it may be too large, when it cannot be surveyed as a whole. 
 The object should have such magnitude as to be easily seen. 
 
 Among the lost writings of St. Attqustin was a large treatise 
 on Beauty ; and it appears from incideiifal allusions in the extant 
 •works, that he laid especial stress on ITnity-, or the relation of the 
 parts of a work to the whole, in one comprehensive and har- 
 monious design; 
 
 In Shaitesbitrt'S Characteristics, the Beautiful and the Good 
 are combined in one lofty conce^ption, and a certain internal sense 
 ("the Moral Sense) is assiiined as perceiving both alike. 
 
 In the celebrated Essays of Aj)DIS01T, on The Pleasures of the 
 Imagination, the sssthetio effects are resolved into Beauty, 
 Sublimity, and' Nbvelty ; but scarcely any attempt is made to pur- 
 sue the analysis of either Beauty or Sublimity. 
 
 Htttcheson' maintains the existence of a distinct internal sense 
 for the perception of Beauty. He still, however, made a resolu- 
 tion of the qualities of beautiful objects into oombiuations of 
 variety with uniformity ;: but did not make the obvious inference, 
 that the sense of beauty is, therefore, a- sense of variety; with mii- 
 formity. He discarded the considerations of fitness, or the second- 
 ary aptitudes of these qualifies., 
 
 Ill the article 'Beaii,' in the Vreiich. Ericyclopidie, the author', 
 DiDEEOt, announced the doctrine that ' Beaii^ consists • in the 
 perception of Belations.' This is adinitted on all hands to be too 
 wide atid too vague. . , 
 
 PEitE Btjt^iee. Pere Buffier identified Beauty •sfith tte ty^ 
 of each species ; it is the form at once most common and most 
 rare. Among faces, there is but one beautiful form,. the others' 
 being not beautiful. But while only a few are modelled after the 
 ugly forms, a great many are laodelled after the beautiful form. 
 Beauty, while itself rare, is the model to which the greater' num- 
 20 
 
306 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS, 
 
 ber conform. Among fifty noses we may find ten wellrmade, all 
 after the same model ; whereas out of the other forty, not above 
 two or three will be found of the same shape. Haniiome people 
 have a greater family likeness than ugly people. A monster is what 
 has least in common with the human figure ; beajity is what has 
 most in common. The true proportion of parts is the most com- 
 mon proportion. !Prom this it might be concluded that beauty is 
 simply what "^^ are most accustomed to, OfOd therefore arbitrary 
 — a conclusion that Buffler does not dispute. At least, hitherto, 
 he thinks, the essential character of beauty has not been discovered. 
 If there be a true beauty, it must be that which is most common 
 to all nations. 
 
 Sot JosflXTA Eetnohjs, in his theory of beauty, has followed 
 P&e Buffier. The deformed is what is uncommon; beauty_ is 
 what is above ' aU. singular forms, local customs, particularities, 
 and details of every kind.' He gfives, however, a turn to the doc- 
 trine, in meeting the objection that there are distinct forms of 
 beauty in the same species, as those represented by the Hercules, 
 the Gladiator, and the Apollo. He observes that each of these is 
 a representation, not of an individual, but of a class, within the 
 class man, and is the central idea of its class. Not any one gives 
 the ideal beauty of the species man ; ' for perfect beauty in any 
 species must combine all the characters which are beautiful in 
 that species.' 
 
 Hogarth, in his Anah/sis of Beauty, enumerates six elements 
 as variously entering into beautiful compositions. (1) Fitness of 
 the part? to the, design for which the object was formed. Twisted 
 columns are elegant; but, as they convey an idea of weakness, 
 they displease when required to bear a great weight. Hogarth 
 resolves pr<q)ortion (which some consider an independent source of 
 beauty) into fitness. The proportions of the parts are determined 
 by the purpose of the whole. (2) Farieiy, if it do not degenerate 
 into confusion, is a distinct element of beauty. The gradual 
 lessening of the pyramid is a kind of variety. (3) Uniformity or 
 symmetry is a source of beauty only when rendered necessary by 
 the requirements of fitness. The pleasure arising from the 
 symmetry of the two sides of the body, is really produced by the 
 taiowledge that the correspondence is intentional and for use. 
 Painters always avoid regularity, and prefer to take a building at 
 an angle rather than in front. IJniformity is often necessary to 
 give stability. (4). Bimplicity (as opposed to complexity), when 
 joined with variety, is pleasing, because it enables the eye to enjoy 
 the variety with ease ; but, without variety, it is whoUy insipid. 
 Compositions in sculpture are generally kept within the boundary 
 of a cone or pyramid, on account of ijke simplicity or variety of 
 those figures. (5) Intricacy is pleasing because the unravelling of 
 it gives the interest of pursuit. "Waving and serpentine lines are 
 beautiful, because they ' lead the eye a wanton kind of chase.' 
 (6) Magnitude contributes to raise our admiration. 
 
 Hogarth's best known views refer to the beautiful in Lines. 
 
THEOKIES OF BEAUTY— BURKE. 307 
 
 Waving lines are more beautiful than straight lines, because they 
 are more varied; and among waving lines, there is but one 
 entitled to be called the Line of Beauty, the others bulging too 
 much, and so being gross and clumsy, or straightening too much, 
 and thereby becoming lean and poor. But the most beautiful line 
 is the serpentine line, called, by Hogarth, the Line of Grace. This 
 is the line drawn once round, from the base to the apex, of a long, 
 slender cone. As contrasted with straight lines, the lines of beauty 
 and grace possess an intrinsic power of pleasing. Hogarth pro- 
 duced numerous instances of the beauty of those forms, and in- 
 ferred that objects were beautiful according as they could be ad- 
 mitted into composition. This doctrine,, although' denied by Alison, 
 contains a portion of the truth. 
 
 BlTREE's theory, contained in his Essay on the Sublime and 
 Beautiful, is couched in a material phraseology. He says that 
 beautiiul objects have the tendency to produce an agreeable relaxa- 
 tion of the fibres. Thus, ' smooth things are relaxing ; sweet things, 
 which are the smooth of taste, are relaxing too; and sweet smells, 
 which bear a great affinity to sweet tastes, relax very remarkably.' 
 ' We often apply the quality of sweetness metaphorically to visual 
 objects ; ' and following out this remarkable analogy of the senses, he 
 purposes 'to call sweetness the Seautiful of the taste.' 
 
 His theory leada him to put an especial stress on the beauty of 
 smoothness, a quality so essential to beauty, he says, that he cannot 
 recollect anything beautiful but what is smooth. ' In trees and 
 flowers, smooth leaves are beautiful; smooth slopes of earth in 
 gardens ; smooth streams in landscapes ; smooth coats of birds and 
 beasts in animal beauty ; in fine women, smooth skins ; and, in 
 several sorts of ornamental furniture, smooth and polished sur- 
 faces.' The one-sidedness of this view was obvious enough. 
 Smoothness is one element of beauty, in certain circumstances, and 
 for obvious reasons. The smootlmess and the softness of the 
 animal body are connected with the pleasure of touch. The 
 smoothness of polished surfaces is the condition of their brilliancy ; 
 an effect enhanced by sharp angles, although Burke alleges that 
 he does not find any natural object that is angular, and at the 
 same time beautiful. The 'smooth, shaven green' of well kept 
 lawns is associated with the fit or the useful ; it suggests the in- 
 dustry, attention, or art, bestowed upon it by the opulent and 
 careful owner. The same smoothness and trim regularity, Stewart 
 observes, would not make the same agreeable suggestions in a 
 sheep walk, a deer park, or the neighbourhood of a venerable ruin. 
 Again, in the moss-rose, the opposite of smoothness is beautiful. : 
 It has been remarked by Price (and Dugald Stewart concurs in 
 the remark) ' that Burke's general principles of beauty — smooth- 
 ness, gradual variation, delicacy of make, tender colours, and such 
 as insensibly melt into each other — are strictly applicable to female 
 beauty.' Even in treating of the beauty of Nature, says Stewart, 
 Burke's imEigination always delights to repose on her softest and 
 most feminine features ; or, to use his own language, on ' such 
 
308. ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 qualities as induce' in us a sense of tenderness and affection, or 
 some other passion the most nearly resembling them.' 
 
 Alisoji's -work on Taste was published in 1790. The Eirst 
 Part of it is occupied with an analysis of what we feel when under 
 the emotions of Beauty or Sublimity. He endeavours to show 
 that this effect is something quite different from Sense, being in 
 fact, not a Simple, but a Complex Emotion, involving (1) the pro- 
 duction of some Simple Emotion; or the exercfae of some moral 
 affection, and (2) a peculiar exercise of the Imagination. 
 
 The author occupies many pages in describing the nature of 
 this peculiar exercise of Imagination, which must go along with 
 the simple pleasure. "When any object of sublimity or beauty is 
 presented to the mind, every man is conscious, he says, of a tr^un 
 of thought being awakened analogous in character to the original 
 object ; and unless such a train be awakened, there is no aesthetic 
 feeling. He illustrates the position by supposing first the case 
 where something occurs to prevent the outgoing of the imagi- 
 nation, as when the mind is occupied with some incompatible 
 feeling, for example, pain or grief, or a purely intellectiml en- 
 grossment of attention. So, there may be characters wholly 
 Tinsuited to this play of imagination, as there are others in whose 
 minds it luxuriates. Again, there are associations that increase 
 the exercise of imagination, and also the emotion of beauty. 
 Such are the local associations of each one's life, and the historic 
 associations whereby the interest of places is enhanced — ^Runny- 
 mede, Aginoourt, to an Englishman; also the efBect of poetry, 
 music, and works of art in adding to the interest of natuml 
 objects and of historic events. The effect called Picturesqneness 
 operates in the same direction, whether the occurrence of pic- 
 turesque objects in a sceae — an old tower in a deep wood — or the 
 picturesque descriptions of poetry. 
 
 It is necessary to enquire farther into the distinctive nature of 
 tiiose trains of Imagination ; or., wherein they differ from other 
 trains. The author resolves the diCFerence into these two circum- 
 stances : 1st, the nature of the Ideas or Conceptions themselves, 
 and 2udly, the Law of their Succession. On the first head, he 
 remarks, that, while th& great mass of our ideas excite no emotion 
 whatever, the ideas of Beauty excite some ACfection or Emoti6n 
 — Gladness, Tenderness, Kty, Melancholy, Admiration, Power, 
 Majesty, Terror; whence they may be termed ideas of emotion. On 
 the second head, — ^the Law of Sticcession, — the ideas of imagination 
 have an emotional character allied to the original emotion; the 
 emotional keeping is preserved throughout. 
 
 "Hie author adds a series of illustrations of the influences that 
 further, or that arrest; the development of Sensibility and Taste, 
 all tendlng-to establish his two positions above given. On these 
 positions, it may be remarked, that they evade, rather than 
 explain) whatever difBculty may be on the subject; and that 
 their value consists in illustrating the really important point that 
 Imagination involves, as a part of its nature, the predominance of 
 
THEORIES OF BEAUTY--ALISON. 309 
 
 some emotion. Wlien he says, that unless the imagmatioti be 
 free to operate, Ho feeling of beauty •will arise in the presence of 
 a beautiful object, he means only that we cannot be awakened to 
 beauty, if the mind is preoccupied by some incompatible state ; 
 the possibility of imagination is the possibility of feeling. 
 
 He also assumes, without sufEcient grounds, that the state of 
 reverie is necessary to the emotion of beauty; that the mind 
 cannot confine its thoughts to ihe original object, but must 
 wander in quest of other objects oapabte of kindling the same 
 emotion. Kow, although this is a very natui:al and frequent 
 effect of being once aroused to a strong emotion, there is no 
 absolute necessity for it; nor would the emotion be excluded from 
 the aesthetic class, although the thoughts were to be detained 
 upon the beautiful object. 
 
 Such being his general doctrine, Alison applies it to explain 
 the Sublimity ^id Beauty of the Matmal Wcrld. He starts with 
 affirmin g positively that matter in itselfy or as perceived by the 
 senses, is unfit to produce any Idnd of emotion ; the smell of a 
 rose, the colour of scarlet, the taste of a pine-apple, are said to 
 produce agreeable Sensations, but not agreeable Emotions. But 
 the sensible qualities may form associations with emotions or affections^ 
 and become the signs for suggesting these to the mind. The author 
 enumerates various classes of associations So formed. (1) The 
 signs of Useful qualities, or the forms and colours of objects of 
 utility, as a ship, suggest the pleasure of Utility. (2) The marks 
 of Design, Wisdom, or Skill, suggest the emotions corresponding 
 to those qualities. (3) Material appearances, — as the countenanoCi 
 gesture, or voice of a human being, — suggest the hiunan attributes^ 
 Power, Wisdom, Fortitude, Justice, BMievolence, &c>, and the 
 pleasurable emotion that their contemplation inspires. (4) There 
 are appearances that suggest mental quahties by metaphorical 
 or personifying resemblance ; whence we speak of the Strength 
 of the Oak, the Delicacy of the Myrtle, the Boldness of a Bock, 
 the Modesty of the Violet. So there is some analogy between an 
 ascending path and Ambition, a descending and Decay ; between 
 sunshine and Joy, darkness and Sorrow, silence and Tranquillity^ 
 morning and Hope, soft colouring and Gtentleness of Character^ 
 sleSnderness i>f iorm and Delicacy of Mind. 
 
 He then discusses the Sublimity and Beauty of Sound. As 
 regards simple sounds, he allows no intrinsically pleasing effect, 
 and attributes all their influence to associations, of which he cites 
 numerous examples. He considers, however, that the leading dis- 
 tinctions of sound, — ^Loud and Low, Grave and Acute, Long and 
 Short, Increasing and DiBunishing,— have general associations^ 
 the result of long experience of the conjoined qualities : thus 
 loud sound is connected with Power and Danger, and so on. 
 
 Under Compound Sounds, he has to consider Music. He still 
 resolves the pleiastire of musical composition into associations. 
 Each musical Key suggests a characteristic emotion, by imitating 
 as nearly as possible t£e expression of that emotion. He allows 
 
310 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 that music cannot very specifically Set forth any one passion ; the 
 assistance of Poetry is requisite to distinguish Ambition, Fortitude, 
 Pity, &c. As to elaborate compositions and harmonies, their 
 superiority over a simple air ■consists in suggesting the Skill, 
 Invention, or Taste of the composer, and the pwf ormer. 
 
 The Beauty of Gohmrs is also exclusively referred to their 
 associations wiHi a number of pleasing qualities. For example, 
 White, the c(dour of Day, expresses cheerfuhiess and gaiety. 
 Blue, the colour of the Heavens in serene weather, expresses 
 serenity of mind; Green, the colour of the Earth in Spring, is 
 associated with the delists of that season. These are general 
 and prevailing associations. Others are more accidental, as 
 Purple, the dress of Idngs, with royal authority; Eed_, in this 
 country the uniform of the soldier, with military functions and 
 prowess. 
 
 The author gives a more detailed explanation of the Sublimity 
 and Beauty of Forms. Denying, as before, all intrinsic ^pleasure 
 in any one form, he quotes a series of examples of their derived 
 effects. Thus, the forms of bodies dangerons or powerful, as the 
 weapons and insignia of war, are sublime. The forms of Trees 
 are sublime as expressive of strength; still more so the rocks 
 that have stood the storms and convulsians of ages. The sublimest 
 of mechanical arts is Architecture, from the strengtSi and durability 
 of its productions; and the most sublime result of Architecture is 
 the Gothic castle, which has resisted alike the desolations of time 
 and the assaults of war. The sublime of Magnitude generally is 
 referable to strength ; while magnitude in height expresses Ele- 
 vation and Magnanimity; in depth. Danger and Terror; in 
 length, Vastness and Infinity; and in breadth. Stability. 
 
 In the Beauty of Forms, account must be taken (1) of angular 
 lines, and (2) of winding or curve Unes. The first are chiefly con- 
 nected with bodies possessing Hardness, Strength, or Durability; 
 the second (seen in the infancy and youth, both of plants and 
 of animals) are expressive of Infancy, Tenderness, and Delicacy; 
 and also the very important circumstance of Base, as opposed to 
 constraint, being the beauty of the bending river, of the vine 
 wreathing itself about the elm, and so on. 
 
 From Simple Forms, he proceeds to Complex, which involve 
 new considerations. In the first place, complex arrangements 
 must have some general character [a feeble and inadequate mode 
 of stating the condition of Harmony], in which he quotes largely 
 from landscape Gardening. H« applies the same rule to Complex 
 Coloitts, which are beautiful only by their Expression ; the beauty 
 of Dress, for example, being altogether relative to the wearer and 
 the drcumstances. 
 
 Inthe next place, Composite Forms afford wide scope for the 
 exhibition of Design, Fitness, and Utility. The beauty of Design 
 he expounds at great length, and with indiscriminate application 
 to the_ Useful Arts and to the Fine Arts. He descants upon the 
 opposing demands for Uniformity and for Variety, tiie one a sign 
 
THEORIES OF BEAUTY — ALISON. 311 
 
 of TTnity of Design, the other a sign of Elegant, or embellished 
 Design. Beautiful compositions must include both. By Fitness, 
 is meant the adaptation of means to Ends, also a source of beauty. 
 He explains Proportion purely by reference to Fitness, and dis- 
 cusses the Orders of Architecture under this view. The beauty 
 of architectural proportions is (1) the expression of Fitness of 
 Support, (2) the expression of Ktness to the Character of the 
 apartment, and (3) the Fitness for the particular purpose of the 
 building. Utility also contributes to beauty, as in a clock or 
 watch ; this is our satisfaction at the attainment of valuable ends. 
 He then considers the Sublimity and Beauty of Motion, which 
 he resolves into the expression of Power. Great power, able to 
 overcome obstacles, is sublime ; gentle, moderate, diminutive 
 power inspires Tenderness, or Affection. Bapid motion, as indi- 
 cating great power, is sublime ; slow motion, by indicating gentle 
 power, is beautiful. Motion in a Straight Line, if rapid, is sub- 
 lime ; if slow, beautiful. Motion in an Angular Line, expresses 
 obstruction and imperfect power, and, considered in itself, is un- 
 pleasing, although in the case of Lightning, the impressiveness 
 of the phenomenon redeems it. Motion in Curves is expressive 
 of Ease, of Freedom, of Playfulness, and is beautiful. 
 
 The Beauty of the Human Countenance and Form is discussed 
 at length. As regards the Countenance, the first point is Colour 
 or Complexion. On general grounds, whiteness expresses Purity, 
 Fineness, Gaiety ; the dark complexion. Melancholy, Gloom, or 
 Sadness. Clear and uniform colours suggest Perfection and Con- 
 sistency ; mixed and mottled complexions. Confusion and Imper- 
 perfection. A bright Eye is significant of Happiness ; a dim and 
 turbid eye, of Melancholy. Colour has also an efficacy as suggest- 
 ing Health or Disease ; and a farther efficacy in expressing Dis- 
 positions of Mind ; dark complexions being connected with 
 Strength ; fair complexions with Cheerfulness and Delicacy. The 
 variable colours, or the changes of complexion, are stUl more 
 decisively connected with states of mind ; the blush of Modesty, 
 the glow of Indignation, and so on. That there is no intrinsic 
 power in colour seems to be shown by our being at one time 
 pleased, and another time displeased with the same colour, as with 
 the blush of modesty and the blush of guilt. 
 
 A like reasoning applied to the Forms of the Countenance, or 
 the Features, points to the conclusion that their beauty depends 
 on the expression of character and passion ; we have one set of 
 forms for the beauty of infancy and youth, another set for mature 
 age ; and so with the variable expression of states of feeling. 
 
 Tti reference to the Human Form, he argues against the prin- 
 ciple of Proportion, and rests the beauty first, upon its Fitness as 
 a machine ; and secondly, on its Expression of mind and character. 
 The account of Beauty of Attitude and of Gestiu:e, on the same 
 principles, follows and concludes the work. The closing summary 
 is in these words : — ' The Beauty and Sublimity which are felt in 
 the various appearances of matter, are finally to be ascribed to 
 
312 JJSTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 their Expreesioiii of ^ini ; or to their being, either directly or Jn- 
 direotly, ;l^e signs of those qualities of mind which ate fitted, 07 
 the constitution of our nature, to affect us -with pleasing or in- 
 teresting emotions.' 
 
 Jeffrey, in the article ' Beauty,' in the Encyclopsedia Brxtan- 
 nica, adopts substantially the theory of Alison._ He states the 
 theory thus :^' Our sense of beauty depends entirely on our pre- 
 vious experience of simpler pleasures or emotions, and consists in 
 the suggestion of agreeable or interesting sensations with which we 
 had formerly been made familiar by the direct and intelligible 
 agency of our common sensibilities ; and that vast variety of 
 objects, to which we give the common name of beautiful, beconie 
 entitled to that appellation, merely because they all possess the 
 power of recalling or reflecting those sensations of which they 
 have been the accompaniments, or with which they have been 
 associated in our imagination by any other more casual bond of 
 connexion.' He takes exception, however, to Alison's statement 
 that the existence of a connected train or series of ideas, is an 
 essential part of the perception of beauty; remarking that the 
 effect of a beautiful object may be instantaneous and immediate, 
 and that a train of ideas of emotion may accompany the percep- 
 tion of ugliness. 
 
 In answer to the question — ^What are the primary affections by 
 whose suggestion we experience the feeling of beauty ? — J«fi&:ey 
 answers, all pleasing sensations and emotions whatsoever, and 
 many that are, in their first incidence, painful. Every feeling 
 agreeable to experience, to recall, or to witness, may become the 
 source of beauty in any external thing that reminds us of that 
 feeliug. 
 
 It follows that we never can be interested in anything but the 
 fortunes of sentient beings ; that every present emotion must refer 
 back to some past feehng of some mind. We may be actuated in 
 the first instance by a pure organic stimulus ; the pleasure at that 
 stage is not beauty, it becomes so only by recollection, or mental 
 reproduction. 
 
 The author gives a variety of examples of his doctrine. 
 Female beauty is explained by being the signs of two sets of 
 qualities ; the first, youth and health : the second, innocence, 
 
 faiety, sensibility, intelligence, ddicacy or vivacity. A common 
 Inglish landscape is beautiful through the picture of human hap- 
 piness presented to the imagination by a variety of signs. A 
 Highland, scene of wild and rugged grandeur has for its leading 
 impressions', romantic seclusion; and primeval simplicity; the 
 sense of the Mighty Power that piled up the cliffs and rent the 
 mountains ; the many incidents of the life of former inhabitants ; 
 and the contrast of perishable humEtnity with enduring nature. 
 The beauty of Spring is the renovation of life and joy to all ani- 
 mated beings. 
 
 After adducing, in support of the theory, examples of the 
 arbitrary beauties of natui-al tastes and fashions, he follows Alison 
 
THEORIES OF BEAUTY-^JEFFREY. 313 
 
 in adverting -to the influence of similarity or analogy in giving 
 interest to objects ; which explains much of the interest of Poetry. 
 He then notices the objection that, if beauty be only a reflexion 
 of love, we should confound the two feelings under one name, 
 and answers first, that beauty really does affect us in a manner 
 not very different from love ; secondly, the fact of being reflected, 
 and not primitive, gives a character to the feelings in question ; 
 and thirdly, there is always present a real and direct perception, 
 imparting a liveliness to the emotion of beauty. 
 
 Jefflrey argues strongly against Payne Knight's doctrine of the 
 intrinsic beauty of colours. Even as regards the harmony and 
 composition of colours, so much insisted on by artists and con- 
 noisseurs, he suspects no little pedantry and jargon; the laws of 
 colouring will have their effect onjy with trained judges of the 
 art, and through the force of associations. Apart from associa- 
 tion, he will not admit that any distribution of tints or of light 
 or shade bears a part in the effect of picture. He has the same 
 utter scepticism as to tiie intrinsic pleasure of sounds, or the mere 
 musical arrangement of sounds. 
 
 As inferences from the theory, Jeffrey specifies the substantial 
 identity of the Sublime, the Beautiful and the Picturesque; and 
 also the essentially relative nature of Taste. For a man himself, 
 there is no taste that is either bad or false ; the only difference is 
 between much and little. The following sentence is a clue to the 
 author's own individuality : — ' Some who have cold affections, 
 sluggish imaginations, and no habits of observation, can with 
 difficulty discern beauty in anything ; while others, who are full 
 of kindness and sensibility, and who have been accustomed to 
 attend to all the objects arovmd them, feel it almost in every- 
 thing.' 
 
 DlTGAliD Stewaet has devoted to the discussion of Beauty a 
 series of Essays, making a large part of a volume, entitled Philo- 
 sophical £ssays, published in 1810. He agrees with the greater 
 part of Alison's views on the influence of association in deter- 
 mining the beauty of Colour, Form, and Motion, but maintains, 
 against Alison, a primitive organic pleasure of colour. As to the 
 curve line, or line of beauty according to Hogarth, he admits only 
 ' that this line seems, from an examination of many of Nature's 
 most pleasing productions, to be one of her most favourite forms.' 
 He gives examples of Order, Fitness, Utility, Symmetry, &c., 
 constituting beauty. He discusses at length the Picturesque, in 
 criticising the theory of Price. With reference to the view that 
 would restrict beauty to mind, and make it exclusively a mental 
 reflexion from primitive effects of matter, he repeats his claim for 
 the intrinsic beauty of objects of sight : the visible object, if not 
 the physical cause, is the occasion of the pleasure ; and it is on the 
 eye alone that the organic impression is made. He strongly re- 
 pudiates any idea or essence of Beauty, any one fact pervading all 
 things called beantiftrf, as savouring of t^e e3j)loded theory of 
 general' Ideas, 
 
314 -ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 Stewart's theory of the Sttblime principally takes account of 
 the element of Height, the efBcacy of which he traces to a con- 
 tinued exercise of actual power to counteract gravity. To this he 
 adds the associations of Height with the rising and setting of the 
 heayenly bodies, and also with the position assigned by all nations 
 to their Divinities. He supposes that the idea of the Terrible may 
 add to the sublimity, and speaks of the ' silent and pleasing awe' 
 experienced in a Gothic cathedral. The sublimity of Horizontal 
 Extent arises entirely from the association between a commanding 
 prospect and an elevated position ; extent of view being, in fact, 
 a measure of height. The sublime of Depth is increased by the 
 awfulness of the situation. The celestial vault owes its sublimity 
 to the idea of architectural support ('this majestical roof), 
 enhanced by the amplitude of space and the sidereal contents. 
 The Ocean combines unfathomable depth with symtpathetic dread, 
 and the power of its waves and waters; there being numerous 
 superadded associations. 
 
 Mr. EusKnf, in his Modkrn Painte/ra, vol. ii., has discussed the 
 principles of Beauty. He puts forward as the leading attributes 
 of what he calls Typical Beauty (opposed to Vital Beauty), 
 Infinity, Unity, Eepose, Symmetry, Piiiity, Moderation. There 
 are superadded, in Vital Beauty, all the considerations relative 
 to function, or the adaptation to ends. The author raises Art to 
 a kind of rdigion ; every one of these attributes is connected with 
 the Deity: Infinity, the Type of Divine Incomprehensibility; 
 Unity, the Type of the Divine Comprehensiveness ; Eepose, tiie 
 Type of Divine Permanence ; Symmetry, the Type of Divine Jus- 
 tice; Purity, the Type of Divine Energy; Moderation, the Type 
 of Government by Law. It is in detached and incidental observa- 
 tions, rather than in the systematic exposition, that Mr. Euskin 
 adverts to the ultimate analysis of Beauty. He defends the 
 aesthetic character of the two senses— Sight and Hearing — on the 
 grounds of their permanence and self-sufficiency ; and as regards 
 the pleasures of Sight, he takes notice of their unselfishness, to 
 which he adds purity and spirituality. He contests Alison's 
 theory, without being aware that many of his own explanations 
 coincide with that theory. His view of association is that it 
 operates more in adding force to Conscience, than in the sense of 
 beauty. He contends for the intrinsic and even exclusive beauty 
 of curvature in Form ; and holds that the value of straight lines 
 is to bring out the beauty of curves by contrast. The curve is a 
 type of infinity. Something analogous belongs to the gradation 
 of shades and colours, which gradation is their infinity. 
 
 The general tendency of Mr. Buskin's speculations in Art is 
 towards a severe asceticism, a kind of moral <^de, for which his 
 only conceivable justification is the tendency of Art to cultivate 
 pleasures free from the taint of rivalry and selfishness. To make 
 this object perfect, no work of Art should ever inspire even ideal 
 longings for sensual or other monopolist pleasures ; an elevation 
 both impossible and futile. Where to draw the line between the 
 
CAUSES OF LAUGHTER. 315 
 
 mteresting and the elevated, in the above meaning, must be a 
 matter of opinion, 
 
 THE LUDICROUS. 
 
 1. The Ludicrous is connected with Laughter. 
 
 The ontbnrst, termed Laughter, has many causes. N"ot 
 to dwell upon purely physical influences, — as cold, tickling, 
 hysteria, — the exuberance of mere animal spirits chooses this 
 among other violent manifestations, from which we may con- 
 clude that it is an expression of agreeable feeling. Any great 
 and sudden accession of pleasure, in the vehemence of the 
 stimulation, chooses laughter as one outlet; the great in- 
 tensity of the nervous wave is marked by respiratory con- 
 vulsions, which are supposed (by Spencer) to check the 
 ingress of oxygen, and thus moderate the excitement. The 
 outbursit of Liberty in a young fresh nature, after a time of 
 restraint, manifests itself in wild uproarious mirth and glee. 
 The emotion of Power, suddenly gratified, has a special ten- 
 dency to induce laughter. 
 
 2. The most commonly assigned cause of the Ludicrous 
 is Incongruity ; but all incongruities are not ludicrous. 
 
 Inequality of means to ends, discord, disproportion, false- 
 hood, are incongruous, but not necessarily ludicrous. An 
 idiot ruling a nation is highly incongruous, but not laughable. 
 The incongruity that leads to laughter is a peculiar sort, 
 marked by a quality that deserves to be accounted the generic 
 fact, and not a mere qualification of another fact. 
 
 3. The occasion of the Ludicrous is the Degradation of 
 some person or interest possessing dignity, in circum- 
 stances that excite no other strong emotion. 
 
 When any one suddenly tumbles into the mud, the spec- 
 tator is disposed to laugh, unless the misery of the situation 
 causes pity instead. Should the victim, by pretentious attire, 
 or pomposity of manner, or from any other reason, inspire 
 contempt or dislike, the laughter is uncontrolled. Putting 
 one into a fright, or into a rage (if not dangerous), giving 
 annoyance by an iU smell, attaching filth in any way, are 
 common modes of laughable degradation. An intoxicated man 
 is ludicrous, if he does not excite pity, or disapprobation. 
 
 In the Dunciad, a ludicrous effect is aimed at by de- 
 scribing the flagellation of the criminals in Bridewell as 
 happeninfg after morning service at chapel. To most minds, 
 
31fi ESTHETIC EMOTIONS. 
 
 the Indicronsness of the conjnHction womld be overborne by 
 another sentiment. 
 
 Amid the various theories of Laughter, this pervading fact is 
 more or less recognized. According to A-ristotle, Comedy is an 
 illustration of WOTthless characters, not, indeed, in reference to 
 every vice, but to what is mean ; the laughable has to do with 
 what is deformed or mean ; it must be a deformity or meanness 
 not painful or destructive (so as to produce pity, fear, anger, or 
 other strong feelings). He would have been nearer the mark if 
 he had expressed it as causing something to appear m.ean that was 
 formerly dignified ; for to depict what is already under a settled 
 estimate of meanness, has Uttle power to raise a laugh : it can 
 anferdy be an occasion of reflecting our own dignity by compari- 
 son. Some of Quintilian's expressions are more happy. ' A say- 
 ing that causes laughter is generally based on false reasoning 
 (scnne play upon words) ; has always something low in it ; is often 
 purposely sunk into buffoonery; is never honourahle to the subject q^ 
 it.' ' Eesemblances give great scope for jests, and, especially, re- 
 semblance to something meaner or of less comideroiion.' Campbell 
 ■{Philosophy of Bhetarie), in reply to Hobbes, has maintained that 
 laughter is associated with the perception of oddity, and not 
 necessarily with degradation or contempt. He produces instances 
 of the laughable, and challenges any one to find anything con- 
 temptuous in them. 'Many,' he says, ' have laughed at the 
 queemess of the comparison in these lines, — 
 " For Ayme the tudder is of verses, 
 With which, like ships, they steer their courses." 
 
 who never dream't that there was any person or party, practice 
 or opinion, derided in them.' Now, on the contrary, there is 
 an obvious degradation of the poetic art; instead of working 
 under the mysterious and lofty inspiration of the Muse, the poet 
 is made to compose by means of a vulgar mechanical procesSa 
 
 In the theory of Hobbes, ' Laughter is a sudden glory arising 
 from sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by com- 
 parison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly," 
 In other words, it is an expression of the pleasurable feeling of 
 superior power. Now, there are many cases where this will 
 afibrd a complete explanation, as in the laugh of victory, ridicule, 
 derision, or contempt, against persons that we ourselves have 
 humiliated. But we can also laugh sympathetically, or where 
 the act of degrading redounds to the glory of some one else, as in 
 the enjoyment of comic literature generally, where we have no 
 part in causing the humihation that we laugh at. Moreover, 
 laughter can be exdted against classes, parties, systems, opinions, 
 institutions, and even inanimate things that by personification 
 have contracted associations of dignity ; of which last, the couplet 
 of Hudibras upon sunrise, is a sufficient example. And, farther, 
 the_ definition of Hobbes is still more imsuitable to Humour, 
 which is counted something genial and loving, and as far re- 
 
RELEASE FROM CONSTRAINT. 317 
 
 moved as may be, from self-glorification and proud exultation at 
 other men's discomfiture. Not, however, that there is not even 
 in the most genial humour, an element of degradation, but that 
 the indignity is disguised, and, as it were, oiled, by some kindly 
 infusion, such as wotdd not consist with the unmitigated glee of 
 triumphant superiority. 
 
 Kant makes the ridiculous to arise from the sudden col- 
 lapse of a long-raised and highly- wrought expectation. He 
 should have added, supposing the person not affected with 
 painful disappointment, anger, fear, or some other intense 
 emotion. 
 
 4. The pleasure of degrading something dignified may 
 be referred (1) to the sentiment of Power, direct or sym- 
 pathetic, or (2) to the release from a state of Constraint. 
 
 In the deepest analysis, the two facts are the same ; there 
 is in both, a joyful elation of rebound or relief from a state of 
 comparative depression or inferiority. In such cases as have 
 been described, the more obvious- reference is to the sentiment 
 of Power or superiority. In another class of cases, we may 
 best describe the result as a release from Constraint. 
 
 Under this last view, the Comic is a reaction from the 
 Serious. The dignified, solemn, and stately attributes of 
 things reqjiire a certain portion of rigid constraint ; and if we 
 are suddenly relieved from this position, the rebound of 
 hilarity ensues, as with children set free from school. The 
 Serious in life is made up of labour, difficulty, hardship and 
 all the necessities of our position, giving rise to the severe and 
 constraining institutions of government, law, morality, educa- 
 tion, religion. Whatever strikes awe or terror into men's 
 minds is serious ; whatever prostrates, even for a moment, 
 an awe-striking personage, is a delightful relief. A degrading 
 conjunction may have the effect, as when Lucian vulgarizes 
 the gods by mean employment. But then we must have 
 ceased to entertain a genuine homage for the dignities thus 
 prostrated ; or we must be willing to forego for a moment 
 our sentiment of regard. The Comic is fed by false or faded 
 dignities ; by affectation and hypocrisy ; by unmeaning and 
 hollow pomp. Carlyle's Teufelsdrockh was convulsed; with 
 laughter once in his life, and the occasion was Kichter's sug- 
 a cast-iron Mng. 
 
 The MlDKAi Sexsb is discussed under Ethics, Part I. 
 Chap. in. 
 
BOOK lY. 
 
 THE WIIL. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 PEIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION. 
 
 1. The Primitive Elements of the Will have been 
 stated to be (1) the Spontaneity of Movement, and (2) 
 the Link between Action and Feeling, grounded in Self- 
 conservation. In the maturing or growth of the WiU, 
 there is an extensive series of Acquisitions, under the 
 law of Retentiveness or Contiguity. 
 
 THE SPONTANEITY OP MOVEMENT. 
 
 2. Spontaneity expresses the fact that the active organs 
 may pass into movement, apart from the stimulus of Sen- 
 sation. 
 
 This doctrine has been already explained, and supported 
 by a series of proofs (p. 14). The impulse is not stimulaticm, 
 but a certain condition of the nervous centres and the muscles, 
 connected with natural vigour, nourishment, and rest. The 
 exuberant movements of young and active animals are refer- , 
 able to natural spontaneity, rather than to the excitement of 
 sensation. The movements of delirium and disease have no 
 dependence whatever on sensation, but on the morbid con- 
 gestion of the nerve centres. In the example of parturition, 
 the uterus is prepared by the growth of muscular fibres, 
 which, on reaching their maturity, contract of their own 
 accord, and expel the foetus ; there is no special stiinulation 
 
ISOLATION OP SPONTAMEOUS DISCHAEGES. 319 
 
 at the moment of birth, but merely the ripening of the 
 active mechanism. 
 
 3. The muscles are distinguished into local groups, or 
 Eegions. 
 
 It is convenient to study the operation of spontaneity in 
 the separate groups of muscles. 
 
 The Locomotive Apparatus is in every animal the largest 
 muscular department. In vertebrate animals, this involves 
 the limbs, with their numerous muscles, and the trunk of the 
 body, which chimes in with the movements of the extremities. 
 When the central vigour of the system is copious, it overflows 
 in movements of locomotion; the infant can throw out its 
 legs and ariiis, and swing the trunk and head. 
 
 An important group is connected with the movements of 
 the Month and Jaw. The Tongue is distinguished for 
 flexibility and for independence, and we may consider its 
 muscles as forming a group. The muscles of the Larynx, or 
 voice, are also grouped. Vocal spontaneity is a weU-marked 
 fact ; there being numerous occasions when vocal outbursts 
 have no other cause but the exuberant vigour. Other groups 
 are found in the Abdomen and Perinseum. 
 
 4. It is necessary for the commencement of voluntary 
 power, that the organs to be commanded separately, should 
 be capable of Isolation from the outset. 
 
 The grouping of the muscles is shown by the parts being 
 moved in company, as when the fingers are simultaneously 
 closed or extended. It is necessary, however, that this group- 
 ing should not be rigid or absolute, otherwise no separate 
 movement could ever be acquired. Through distinctness of 
 nervous connexions, there must be a possibility of spontaneous 
 impulses afiecting one without the others. A remarkable, 
 instance of primitive isolation, such as to prepare the way for 
 voluntary command, is seen of the forefinger ; the child, from 
 the first, moves it apart, while the three others go together. 
 The isolation of the thumb is less than of the forefinger, and 
 greater than of the other fingers. There is very little isolation 
 of the toes ; yet their grouping is not inseparable, as we may 
 see from the instances of acquired power to write and perform 
 other operations by the feet. The limbs are grouped for the 
 locomotive rhythm ; but they are also spontaneously moved in 
 separation. The upper limbs, or arms, in man, have a certain 
 tendency to common action, together with tendencies to indi- 
 
320' PaiMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITIOIJ'. 
 
 vidual action. The two sides of tlie face are moved together 
 in a very powerful conjmiction, yet not ■v^ithout occasional 
 spontaneous separation, so as to give a starting point for volun- 
 tary separation. The chief example of indissoluble union is 
 the two eyes. Also, there is a tendency in the different parts 
 6i the face to go together in characteristic expressions — eye* 
 brows, month, nose^but not without tbat occasional isolation 
 through, which we can acquire a separate control of each part. 
 
 Thatspontaneons impulses should'be directed, in occasional 
 isolation, upon all these various organs, separately controlled 
 iB. the maturity of the will, is thus the first step in our volun- 
 tary education. The spontaneity of the moving system, at ihe 
 outset, is various and apparently capricious ; at one time,, it 
 overtakes a large number of muscles, at other times, a smaller 
 number ; it does not always unite in the same combinations : 
 and out of this variety, we can^ snatch the. beginnings- of 
 isolated control. 
 
 In parts where there are no spontaneous movements at 
 the beginning, there can never arise voluntary movementSi 
 Such is the case with the two ears, which are rarely com- 
 manded by human beings. In them the failure to acquire 
 voluntary control must be ascribed to the immobility of the 
 parts, and not inerely to the absence Of isolalnng spontaneity. 
 
 5. It is requisite to stow iu wHat way tlie spontaneous 
 discharges may vary in degree, through the wide compass 
 attained by our voluntary^ energies. 
 
 Gur command of tiie voluntary orga;ns involves a great 
 range of gradation, rising to a violent sudden blow, almost 
 like an explosion. In order to' account for these violent 
 exertions, by the hypothesis of spontaneity converted into 
 will, we have to show that there may be corresponding 
 energy in the spontaneous discharges. 
 
 (1)' The Natural vigour of the System, nurtured' and pent 
 up, leads to outbursts of very considerable energy. We see 
 this in the daily expierience of robust children and youth. The 
 explosiveness of the boy or girl relieved from constraint is of 
 the' kind suited to any violent effort. To leap ditches, to 
 throw down barriers, and displace heavy boclies, are what the 
 system, in its mere spontaneity, is adequate to achieve. 
 
 (2) The vigour may be greatly increased by Excitement ; 
 that is, an unusual flow of blood' to the active organs, through 
 what are termed Stimulants. We usually give this name to 
 drugs, such as alcohol, but the most usual and the readiest 
 
SPONTANEOUS DISCHAEGES VAKY IN DEGREE. 321 
 
 Btimtilation is mere exercise, and especially rapid movemenfs 
 continued for a little time. The exertion of any part deter- 
 mines an increased flow of blood to that part, at the expense 
 of other organs ; a quick run makes the circulation course 
 to the muscles, away from the stomach, brain, and other parts. 
 When the accumulation of blood is at its maximum, there is 
 a corresponding energy of the movements. 
 
 (3) Stimulation may arise through mental causes, as 
 pleasure and pain : it being understood that these are not 
 abstractions, but embodiments. According to the law of 
 Self-conservation, an access of pleasure is an access of vital 
 power, shown in some of the forms of increased activity, 
 m.uscular movement being one of the most usual. An acute 
 and sudden thrill of pleasure, — as in the overthrow of a rival, 
 the conquering of a difficulty, the view of an imposing spec- 
 tacle, — is physically accompanied with elation of body ; the 
 robust frame dances with joy. The profuse expenditure at 
 that moment is equal to the requirements of a great occasion. 
 He that has overcome one barrier, in the flash of success, is 
 stronger for the next. 
 
 The pleasure of exercise, to a fresh and vigorous system, 
 supplies a new stimulus. 
 
 (4) Although, by the law of Conservation, pain is accom- 
 panied by a lowering of energy, yet in the exceptional form 
 of the acute and pungent smart, not crushing or severe, a 
 painful application may increase the active energies for a 
 time. The nervous currents awakened by a pungent stimulus, 
 as the smart of a whip, find no adequate vent except in mus- 
 cular activity, and to that they tend. 
 
 It is well known that Opposition may act as an efficacious 
 stimulant. An invincible resistance indeed both stops pro- 
 gress, and suspends the motive to proceed ; but a small con- 
 querable opposition provokes a reaction, with augmentation of 
 power. The efiect is a complex one. Part of it is due to the 
 stimulus of the shock of obstruction, which operates Uke an 
 acute smart ; and part to the flush consequent on a successful 
 struggle. The feelings connected with our desires, and the 
 emotions of pride, humiliation, and anger, complete the in- 
 fluence of the situation. 
 
 These various circumstances are adduced as a sufficient 
 explanation of the flexibility and compass of our spontaneity. 
 The rise of one or other of these various stimulations pro- 
 duces, in the first instance, an outburst of active energy ; and 
 among the associations constituting the mature will, tiiere are 
 21 
 
322 PRIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION. 
 
 formed links of connexion between strong exertions and the 
 occasions for them. The yotmg horse needs the spur and 
 whip to prepare him for a leap ; after a time, the sight of the 
 harrier or the ditch is enough to evoke the additional impetns. 
 One of the aptitudes most signally absent in infancy is the 
 power of increasing the efforts so as to overcome a difficulty. 
 
 It should be remarked that although, in our mature voli- 
 tion, we can, on demand, originate a very rapid movement, as 
 in preventing a breakage, we cannot suddenly exert a very 
 great momentum, as in .striking a heavy blow. A little time 
 must be allowed to work up the system to a higher pitch of 
 .activity. Mere association cannot command, in a moment, a 
 massive expenditure ; we m.ust £rst resort to the stimulants 
 of active power, and chiefly to the exciting agency of a con- 
 tinuing effort, as in making a run before jumping a high bar. 
 Combatants strike their heaviest Jblows after the fight has 
 lasted for some time. 
 
 LINK OiP PEELING AND ACTION. 
 
 ■6. As Spontaneity is not necessarily preceded by 
 Feeling, there must be some medium for uniting it with 
 our feelings. The requisite Link is believed to be given 
 under the Law of Self-conservation. 
 
 The doctrine connecting pleasure with increased, and pain 
 with diminished, vitality, gives a starting point for the union 
 of action and feeling. A state of pleasure, by its connexion 
 with increased vitaHty in general, involves increased muscular 
 activity in particular. A shock of pain in lowering the col- 
 lective forces of the system, saps the individual force of mus- 
 cular movement. 
 
 7. From the one mental root, named Self-conservation, 
 there grow two branches, which diverge widely, and yet 
 occasionally come together. The first branch includes the 
 proper manifestations or Expression of Emotion. 
 
 The Emotional manifestations have been already described 
 as consisting in part of movements of all degrees of force or 
 intensity ; thus affording at least one connexion between feel- 
 ing and action. Under pleasure, we put forth a variety of 
 gesticulations ; and under pain, we collapse into a more or 
 less passive condition (the exceptional operation of acute pain 
 being left out of account). But these effects of movement, 
 although distinct from spontaneity, are not of a kindred with 
 
MOVEMENTS ARISING IN EMOTION. 323 
 
 volition. The movements of expression under pleasure 
 appear to be selected according to a law pointed out by Mr. 
 Herbert Spencer, namely, the natural priority of muscles small 
 in calibre and often exercised, as in the expression of the face, 
 the breathing, the voice, &c. ; whereas the movements selected 
 in volition are such as promote pleasure or abate pain. 
 
 It is a proper question to consider whether these emotional 
 movements are not of themselves sufficient to account for the 
 beginning of volition, without our having recourse to Spontaneity, 
 or action unpreoeded by any feeUng. The answer is, first, that 
 spontaneous movements being established as a fact, are already in 
 the field for the purpose. Secondly, in them, and not in the 
 emotional movements, do we most readily obtain the isolated 
 promptings that'are desiderated in the growth of the wUl. The 
 emotional wave almost invariably affects a whole group of move- 
 ments. Still, it is possible that these movements of emotion may 
 occasionally come into the service. 
 
 8. The second branch or outgoing of Self-conservation 
 is more directly suited for the growth of Volition. Move- 
 ments being supposed already begun by Spontaneity (or 
 in other ways), and to concur with pleasure ; the effect of 
 the pleasure, on its physical side, is to raise the whole 
 vital energy, these movements included. 
 
 It is necessary to show that this (with the obverse) is a 
 law of the constitution, operating all through life, as well as 
 at the commencement of the education of the Will. 
 
 It is known that any tasted delight urges us, by an imme- 
 diate stimulns, to continue the movements that have procured 
 it. Moving from the cold towards an agreeable warmth, our 
 pace is quickened as of its own accord. We do not deliberate 
 and formally resolve to go on ; we are at once laid bold of by 
 what seems a primordial link of our mental system, and move 
 to the increasing pleasure. The act of eating is another 
 example. The relidi of the food, by an immediate response, 
 adds energy to mastication. Animals and children, who have 
 departed least from the primary, cast of nature, conspicuously 
 exhibit the augmented activity following on a tasted pleasure. 
 
 An apparent exception to the law occurs in the sedative 
 effect of some pleasures, chiefly such as are massive rather 
 than acute. A voluminous and agreeable warmth soothes 
 down an activity already begun, and inclines as to repose and 
 to sleep. But in such cases, the law is disguised merely, and 
 not suspended. The warmth reaUy promotes the activity 
 suited to its own fruition, as soon as that activity is singled 
 
324 PRIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION; 
 
 out and connected with the pleasure ; which activity consists 
 in maintaining a rigid and quiescent attitude. The occupant 
 of a position of comfortable snugness may seem to be quies- 
 cent and passive ; let any one, however, attempt to dispossess 
 him, and he will put forth energy in resistance. Still, the 
 fact must be admitted that the voluminous pleasures are 
 quieting and serene ; they do not provoke unbounded Desire 
 and pursuit, like the more acute enjoyments, but rather lull 
 to indolence. And the explanation appears to be, that the 
 physical state corresponding to them, is inimical to vehement, 
 intense, or concentrated activity. 
 
 Another exception to the rousing efiBcacy of pleasure is 
 the exhaustion of the strength. All voluntary pursuit sup- 
 poses a certain freshness of the active organs, as a concurring 
 requisite. In the extremity of fatigue, the most acute plea- 
 sure will fail as a motive. 
 
 The obverse position is equally well supported by our ex- 
 perience. Allowing for the exception of the acute smart, the 
 ordinary effect, or collateral consequence of pain, is cessation 
 of energy. If any present movement is bringing us pain, 
 there is a self-acting remission or suspension of the damaging 
 career. The mastication is arrested, in the fuU sway of its 
 power, by a bitter morsel turning up. The most effectual 
 cure of over-action is the inflicting of pain. 
 
 Hence, whenever the cessation of a movement at work is 
 the remedy for pain, the evil cures itself by the general ten- 
 dency of self-conservation. The point is to explain how pain, 
 in opposition to its nature, initiates and maintains a strenuous 
 acti^ty for procuring its abolition. In this case, the operat- 
 ing element may be shown to be, not the pain, but the rdief 
 from pain. When in a state of suffering, there occurs a 
 moment of remission, that remission has all the elating and 
 quickening effect of pleasure ; as regards the agency of the 
 will, pleasure and the remission of pain are the same thing. 
 Relief in fact or in prospect, is the real stimulant to labour for 
 vanquishing pain and misery. 
 
 It is an undoubted fact, that in a depressed tone of mind, 
 with no hope or prospect of relief, we are indisposed to active 
 measures of any sort. This represents the proper tendency of 
 pain. The activity begins with some conscious amelioration, 
 and is maintained and increased, as that amelioration in- 
 creases. 
 
PROCESS OF VOLUNTARY ACQUIREMENT. 325 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 GROWTH OF TOLUNTAEY POWER. 
 
 1. The elements of voluntary power being assumed as 
 (1) Spontaneity and (2) Self-conservation, we have to 
 exemplify the connexion of these into the matured will, 
 by a process of education. 
 
 The distinctive aptitude of the mature will is to select at 
 once the movements necessary to attain a pleasure or relieve 
 a pain, as when we raise to the nostrils a sweet violet, or 
 move away from something malodorous. There is no such 
 power possessed by us at birth. 
 
 2. The process of acquirement may be described 
 generally as follows : — At" the outset, there happens a 
 coincidence, purely accidental, between a pleasure and a 
 movement (of Spontaneity) that maintains aud increases 
 it ; or between a pain and a movement that alleviates or 
 removes it ; by the link of Self-conservation, the movement 
 bringing pleasure, or removing pain, is sustained and 
 augmented. Should this happen repeatedly, an adhesive 
 growth takes place, through which the feeling can after- 
 wards command the movement. 
 
 To exemplify this position, we will now review, in order, 
 the primitive feelings, and the volitions grafted upon them. 
 
 Commencing with the Muscular Feelings, we may remark 
 upon the pleasures of Exercise. Spontaneous movements 
 occurring in a fresh and vigorous system give pleasure ; and 
 with the pleasure there is an increased vitality extending to 
 the movements, which are thereby sustained and increased ; 
 the pleasure as it were feeding itself. Out of the primitive 
 force of self-conservation, we have the very effect that charac- 
 terizes the will, namely, movement or action for the attain- 
 ment of pleasure. 
 
 The pains of Fatigue give the obverse instance. The 
 immediate effect of pain being abated energy, the movements 
 will suffer their share of the abatement and come to a stand ; 
 a remedy for the evil as effectual as any resolution of the 
 mature will. 
 
326 GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER. 
 
 These instances do not indicate any progress in onr volun- 
 tary education. Let us next take the pains of Muscular Re- 
 straint, or of Spontaneity held in by obstacles, as when an 
 animal is hedged into a narrow chamber. Various writhings 
 are the natural consequence of the confined energies ; at last 
 some one movement takes the animal to an opening, and it 
 bolts out with explosive vehemence. When this experience 
 is repeated several times, an association will be formed be- 
 tween the state of constraint and the definite movements that 
 lead to a release ; so that the proper course shall be taken at 
 once, and without the writhings and uncertainties attending 
 the first attempts. As soon as this association is complete, 
 we have a step in the career of voluntary acquirement. 
 
 Proceeding now to the Sensations proper, we begin with 
 Organic Life. Among organic acute pains generally, we may 
 single out the instructive case of a painful contact, as with a 
 hot or a sharp instrument. The remedy is to retract the 
 member ; and people are apt to suppose, erroneously, that we 
 do this by instinct. Now, it is true that a painful pinch will 
 induce, by a reflex process, a convulsive movement of the 
 part ; while, as a part of tiie emotional wave, there will be 
 a stir over tiie whole body. But there is no certainty that 
 the reflex movement would be the remedial one ; it might be 
 the very opposite. Supposing the limb contracted, the reflex 
 stimulus would probably throw it out ; and if the sharp 
 point lay in the way, there might be a much worse injury. 
 The process of education would be this. Some one move- 
 ment would be found to concur with diminished pain ; that 
 movement would be sustained by the general elation of relief ; 
 other movements increasing the pain would be sapped and 
 arrested. A single experience of this kind would go for little ; 
 a few repetitions of the suitable coincidence would initiate a 
 contiguous association, gradually ripening into a fiill coher- 
 ence ; and the one single movement of retraction would be 
 chosen on the instant the pain was felt. That may appear an 
 uncertain and bungling way of attaining the power of ridding 
 ourselves of a hot cinder ; and the more likely course would 
 seem to be the possession of an instinct under the guise of a 
 reflex action. But if we have an instinct for one class of 
 pains, why have we not the same for others ? For example, 
 the pain of cramp in the leg, suggests to us no remedy. Only 
 after many fruitless movements, does there occur the one that 
 alleviates the suffering. The fair interpretation is that we 
 have too little experience of this pain to acquire the proper 
 
VOLITIONAL GEOWTHS IN THE SENSATIONS. 327 
 
 mode of dealing witli it ; while the painful contacts with the 
 skin are so mimerons from the beginning of life, that our 
 education is forced on and is early completed. 
 
 The Sensations of the Lungs may be referred to. Ee- 
 spiration is a reflex act, under voluntary control. The pain- 
 ful sensation of most frequent occurrence is that arising from 
 deficient or impure air. The primitive effect of paiu is the op-' 
 posite of the remedy ; for, instead of collapsing into inactivity, 
 the lungs must be aided by increased breathing energy. How 
 is this attained in the first instance ? The only assignable 
 means is some accidental exertion of the respiratory muscles 
 followed by relief, and maintained by the new power accruing 
 to the general system. The infant is in all likelihood unequal 
 to the effort of forced breathing. This is perhaps one of the 
 deficiencies of the uneducated will of childhood^ rendering 
 life more precarious at its early stages. 
 
 The augmented energy from pure air, suddenly encoan- 
 tered, would directly lead to an augmented respiration. The 
 voluntary acquisition of the coinmand of the lungs would, in this 
 case, be a more apparent offshoot from the primary instinct. 
 
 Every sentient creature contracts many volitional habits 
 in connexion with Warmth and Chillness. Animals soon 
 learn to connect the crouching attitude with increased 
 warmth. Other devices are fallen upon, as lying close to- 
 . gether, and creeping into holes and shelters, I cannot say 
 how far even the intelligent quadrupeds associate relief from 
 chiUness with a quick run. The lesson is one very much 
 opposed to the primary effect of the sensation, which, in its 
 character of massive pain, damps and depresses the energies. 
 
 The sensations of the Alimentary Canal are rich in volun- 
 tary associations. Sucking is said to be purely reflex in the 
 new-born infant ; swallowing is performed by . involuntary 
 muscles, and is always reflex. The child put to the nipple 
 commences to suck by a reflex stimulus of voluntary muscles ; 
 the act being one of considerable complication, involviug a co- 
 operation of the mouth (which has to close round the nipple), 
 the tongue (which applies itself to the opening of the nipple, 
 making an air-tight contact), and the chest (which performs 
 an iucreased inspiration, determining the fljpw of the milk 
 when the tongue is pulled away). Being a conscious effect, 
 operated by muscles aU voluntary, it comes immediately under 
 the fundamental law we are considering ; the stimulus arising 
 from the nourishment heightens the activity, until the point 
 of satiety is reached, when a new and depressing sensibility 
 
328 GROWTH OE VOLUNTABY POWEK. 
 
 comes into play, and induces cessation. Two powers, how- 
 ever, are at work ; the nourishment received permanently 
 increases the active vigour ; the sensation of satiety has to 
 counterwork this, by the temporary depression due to stom- 
 achic fulness. Probably at first infants glut the stomach too 
 much before the depression arrests their sucking activity, in 
 the face of the general stimulation brought about by the 
 nourishment ; very frequently they are withdrawn from the 
 breast before ceasing of themselves. So far we have a reflex 
 act controlled by the power of self-conservation; the only 
 supposable education is the giving over at the extreme point 
 of satiety. But in the next stage, there is room for volun- 
 tary acquirements of a high order. The applying the mouth 
 to the breast under the sensation of hnnger is a somewhat 
 complex a:i3'angement ; it involves an association with the 
 sight of the breast and the nipple, as well as with movements 
 for approaching it. In fact, we have here a branch of our 
 education in perceiving distance, or in connecting visible 
 magnitudes with approaching and receding movements ; an 
 education that doubtless commences in the most interesting 
 cases, and extends itself gradually over the whol0 sphere of 
 action. 
 
 In Mastication, the progress of voluntary power may be 
 stated to advantage. The powerful sensations of relish and 
 taste, concurring with the spontaneity of the tongue (pro- 
 bably the most moveable and independent member of the 
 whole system), and prompting a continuing movement, would 
 be the beginning of a connexion, soon ripened, between the 
 contact of a morsel of food and the definite acts of pressing it 
 to the palate, and moving it about. The infant is unable to 
 masticate : a morsel put into its month at first usually 
 tumbles out. But if there occur spontaneous movements of 
 the tongue, mouth, or jaw, giving birth to a strong relish, 
 these movements are sustained, and begin to be associated 
 with the sensations ; so that after a time there grows up a 
 firm connexion. The favouring circumstances arg. these : — 
 the sensations are powerful ; and the movements are remark- 
 able for various and isolated spontaneity: the tongue and 
 the mouth are the organs of all others prone to detached and 
 isolated exertions. 
 
 The operation of a sour or bitter taste presents the case from 
 the other side. The primary efiect is to suspend the action 
 of the organs ; the mere in&nt can do no more. The spitting 
 out of a nauseous morsel is a complex and a later acquisition. ' 
 
VOLinONAI, URGENCY OF SOFT TOUCH. 329 
 
 The voluntary command of the lower extremity of the 
 alimentary canal is wanting in infancy, and must be preceded 
 by an artificial sensibility in favour of the retention of the 
 excreta. 
 
 The pleasurable and painful sensations of Smell come into 
 relationship with the inhalation and exhalation of air by the 
 nostrils. The initiatory coincidence is not with the action of 
 the lungs alone, but with the closure of the mouth also. Such 
 coincidences are necessarily rare, and all acquirements that 
 pre-suppose them are tardy. The act of sniffing is probably 
 not attained before the third or fourth year, and often thea 
 by the help of instruction. It would be interesting to ascer- 
 tain the period of this acquirement in the dog. 
 
 The sensations of Touch serving as antecedents in volition 
 are numerous and important. The greater number, however, 
 are of the class of intermediate sensibilities, as in the in- 
 dustrial arts ; smoothing a surface, for example. The two 
 great ultimate sensibilities of Touch, are the pleasure of the 
 soft and warm contact, and the pain of pungent irritation of 
 the skin. Both these are operative as volitional guides and 
 stimuli, and, in both, connexions with definite movements, un- 
 formed at first, arise in the course of our voluntary education. 
 
 In the human infant, and in the infancy of the lower 
 animals, the feeling of the warm contact with the mother is 
 unquestionably a great power; the transition from the ab- 
 sence to the presence of the state is second only to the 
 stimulus of nourishment; the rise of vital activity corre- 
 sponding to it is, in all likelihood, very great. Whatever 
 movements tend to bring on or heighten this state, may 
 expect to be encouraged by the consequent elation of tone. 
 Now, these m.ovements are part of the locomotive group, 
 which spontaneity brings into frequent play : and coincidences 
 wUl readily arise between them and the attained delight of 
 contact; the young quadruped succeeds by locomotion, the 
 infant by thrusting out its limbs at first, and afterwards by 
 more diffioult movements, as turning in bed. If there were 
 any one definite movement that on all occasions determined 
 the transition from the cold naked state to the warm touch, 
 a very few spontaneous concurrences with that movement 
 would cement an efiiectual connexion. There is, however, 
 scarcely any movement of this kind, suitable to all positions. 
 One or two modes of attaining warmth are tolerably uniform, 
 and therefore soon acquired ; as bringing the limbs close to 
 the body. A somewhat complicated adjustment is needed in 
 
330 GKOWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWEB, 
 
 most circumstances, involving the external perception of the 
 eye — namely, moving up to the warm body of the mother : 
 the young quadruped learns the lesson in a short time; 
 the bird is even more precocious; while the human in&nt 
 is very backward, a.nd occupies weeks or months in the 
 acquisition. 
 
 The pungent ajid painftil sensations of Touch include the 
 case already touched on, the retraction of any part from the 
 shock of pain. This remedy being a simple and nearly 
 uniform action, of a kind ready to occur in the course of 
 spontaneity, we may expect, to find it associated with the 
 painM feeling at a comparatively early date. So early do 
 we find it, that we are apt to regard it as an instinct. The 
 same class of sensations includes the discipline of the whip. 
 As an acutely painful feeling, the smart of the whip has two 
 conflicting effects ; it irritates the nerves, causing spasmodic 
 movements, and it depresses vital power on the whole. If the 
 stimulation of the smart predominates in a vigorous animal, 
 the effect of the whip would be to increase activity in general; 
 hence if the animal is running, its speed is quickened. If the 
 crushing effect of the pain predominates, the existing move- 
 ments are arrested. Such are the primitive tendencies of an 
 acute smart ; and even in the educated animal, the application 
 of the whip is best understood if in harmony with these. To 
 quicken a laggard, the acute prick, not severe, is the most 
 directly efficacious course ; to quiet down a too active or 
 prancing steed, a shock amounting to depression of power is 
 more useful ; the curb has this kind of efficacy. To make 
 the animal fell into a particular pace, the whip is used with 
 the effect of stimulating m.ovements, in the hope that a varia- 
 tion may occur, and not merely an increase of degree : if the 
 desired movement arise, the torment ceases ; the animal 
 being supposed to connect mentally the movement with the 
 cessation. A certain age must be attained before a horse 
 will answer to discipline by changing its movements under 
 the whip, and abiding by the one that brings immunity. It 
 must have passed several stages beyond the instinctive situa- 
 tion to arrive at this point. An interval has elapsed, during 
 which the animal has learnt rxmsciously to seek an escape 
 from pain ; in point of fact to generalize its experiences of 
 particular pains and particular movements ot relieti and to 
 connect any pam with movements and the hope of relief. A 
 certain progress, both physical and intellectual, is requisite to 
 this consummation. 
 
rOLLOWING A LIGHT. 331 
 
 The pleasures and pains of Sound have Httle peculiarity. 
 If a pleasant sound is heard, some movements will be found 
 favourable to the effect, others adverse ; the first are likely to 
 be sustained, the others arrested. An animal, with the power 
 of locomotion, runs away from a painful sound ; the retreat 
 being guided by the relief from the pain. A child learns to 
 become still under a pleasant sound; there is a felt increase 
 in the pleasure from the fixed attitude, and a felt diminution 
 from restlessness. 
 
 In Sight, we have a remarkable example of sensations 
 uniformly influenced by movements. The pleasure of light 
 is very strong ; at all events, the attraction of the eye for a 
 light is great. Indeed, this is a case where the stimulus given 
 to the active members appears to exceed the pleasure of the 
 sensation ; the eye is apt to remain fixed on a light even when 
 the feeling has passed into pain, being a kind of aberration 
 from the proper course of the will. Now, when the infant, 
 gazing on a flame, is deprived of the sensation, by the motion 
 of the light to one side, being at first unable to follow, for 
 want of an established connection between the departing sen- 
 sation and the requisite turn of the head, it must wait on ran- 
 dom spontaxieiiy for a lucky hit. Should a chance movement 
 of the head tend to recover the fiame, that movement will be 
 sustained by the power of the stimulation ^ movements that 
 lose the light would not be sustained, but rather arrested. 
 And, inasmuch as the same movement always suits the same 
 case — the taking of the light to one side, being a definite 
 optical effect, and the motion of the head for regaining it 
 being always uniform — the ground is clear for an early and 
 rapid association between the two facts, the optical experience 
 and the muscular movement. The situation is a very general 
 one, applying to every kind of interesting spectacle, and in- 
 volving a comprehensive volitional aptitude, the command of 
 the visual organs at the instigation of visual pleasures. I 
 have supposed the rotation of tiie head to be the first attained 
 means of recovering objects shifted away from direct vision ; 
 but the movements of the eyes themselves wUl sooner or later 
 come into play. It is evident enough, however, from the 
 observation of children, that the power of recovering a visible 
 thing is not arrived at during the first months. 
 
 This example is instructive in various ways. The con- 
 nexion of a pleasurable stimulus with heightened power has 
 been hitherto assumed as not restricted to muscular move- 
 ment; but as comprising, in undefined proportions, both 
 
S32 GROWTH OF VOLUNTAKY POWER. 
 
 muscular power and the organic functions. The acute smart, 
 in its first or enlivening stage, may be affirmed with certainty 
 to increase muscular energy, and to diminish the healthy vital 
 functions. Perhaps the pungent stimulus of light is mainly 
 expended on muscular augmentation ; which alone is of service 
 in the forming of the will. 
 
 Connected with sight is another case of great interest, the 
 adjnstment of the eye to changes of distance. The guiding 
 sensation in this case is the distinctness of the image ; the 
 infant must be aware of the difference between confused and 
 clear vision, and must derive pleasure in passing from the one 
 to the other. Under any theory of vision, Berkeleian or other, 
 some time must elapse ere this difference be felt ; everything 
 at the outset being confused. As soon as the sense of a clear 
 image is attained, the child may enter on the conrse of con- 
 necting the spontaneity of the adjusting muscles with the 
 agreeable experience ; as in other cases, a confirming associa- 
 tion may be expected to follow soon, the movements con- 
 cerned being few and uniform. 
 
 The foregoing review of the Sensations comprises several 
 of the Appetites — Exercise, Repose, and Hunger. The feelings 
 of approaching Sleep are very powerful, but the state is one 
 that provides for itself, by pure physical sequence, without 
 special education. The resistance offered when one is pre- 
 vented from going to sleep, or is reluctantly awakened, is not 
 a primitive manifestation ; the child only manifests discomfort 
 by the appropriate emotional expressions. 
 
 3. The second step in the growth of the Will is the 
 uniting of movements with intermediate Ends. 
 
 This supposes that a sensation, in itself indifferent, can 
 awaken interest, by being the constant antecedent of some 
 pleasure. Thus the sight of the mother's breast is indifferent 
 as mere visual sensadon ; but very soon allies itself in the 
 infant mind with the gratification of being fed. This is a case 
 of the contiguous transfer of a feeling, and is exempUfied in 
 all our powerful sensations and feelings. The lower animals 
 are excited to their utmost activity by the sight of their food 
 or their prey; they are sufficiently intellectual to have a 
 recollection of their own feelings, and to have that awakened 
 by some associated object. Granting the possession of these 
 transferred sensibilities, which make the acquirement of what 
 is only a means, as exciting to the activities as the final end, 
 the process of connecting these with the movements for attain- 
 
INTERMEDIATE ENDS. 333 
 
 ing them is precisely the same as before. Thus the act of 
 lifting a m.orsel to the mouth is urged in obedience to an inter- 
 mediate end, and is urged with a degree of energy propor- 
 tioned to the acquired force of that end. The infant is, after 
 a time, excited to warm manifestations by the mere approach 
 of a spoonful to its mouth. There is an ideal fruition in the 
 very sight of the spoon coming nearer, with a corresponding 
 elation of tone and energy ; and when the young probationer 
 is attempting the act for itself, there is a support given to 
 saccessful movements, and a tendency to sink under obvious 
 failure. The carrying of a morsel to the mouth is one of those 
 definite and uniform movements so favourable to the process 
 of volitional growth. It is, nevertheless, comparatively late, 
 owing no doubt to the length of time occupied in the pre- 
 paratory associations. 
 
 4. Movements that have become allied with definite 
 sensations, are thereby brought out, and made ready for 
 new alliances. 
 
 Spontaneity is supposed to be the earliest mode of bring- 
 ing forward movements to be connected with feelings ; but 
 when a number of connexions have been once formed, the 
 connected movements are of more frequent occurrence, and 
 are discovered to have new influences over the feelings. 
 Locomotion, at first spontaneous, is rapidly allied with the 
 animal's wants, and, being called out on the corresponding 
 occasions, may coincide with new gratifications. Connected, 
 in the early stages, with the search for food, it may be passed 
 on to the alliance with shelter, with companionship, with 
 safety, and other agreeables. Introductions are constantly 
 made to new connexions, thus overcoming the initial diflB.culty 
 of obtaining the necessary coincidences. 
 
 5. Volition is enlarged, and made general, by various 
 acquirements ; and first, the Word of Command. 
 
 Instead of proceeding by detailed or piece-meal associa- 
 tions with ends, or with pleasures and pains, the individual 
 takes a higher step by forming connexions between all possible 
 modes of movement, and a certain series of marks or indica- 
 tions, through which the entire activity of the system may be 
 amenable to control. 
 
 The first of these methods is the "Word of Command. In 
 the discipline and training, both of animals and of human 
 beings, names are applied to the difiereut actions, and, even- 
 
334 GROWTH OF VOLUNTAltY POWER. 
 
 tnally, become the medium of evoking them. The horse is 
 made to hear the word for halting, and at the same time is 
 drawn in with the bridle ; in no very great number of repe- 
 titions, the word alone suffices to cause the act. So in iufants. 
 By uttering names in connexion with their various move- 
 ments, a means is given of evokiug these movements at plea- 
 sure. The child is told to open its mouth ; at first it does 
 not know what is wished ; some other means must be used 
 for bringing on the movement, which movement is then 
 coupled in the mind with the name. The primordial urgency 
 of pleasure and pain, — the one to promote, the other to arrest 
 movement, — is the motive power at the outset ; and a name 
 may become suggestive of these urgencies to the recollection, 
 rendering them operative in the ideal form. The dog made 
 to halt in the chase, by a word, is mentally referred by the 
 word to the deterring pain of the whip. Also, in children, 
 pain and pleasure, the first associates with actions, can have 
 their motive force transferred to language, which is hence- 
 forth a distinct power in singling out desired movements. 
 
 6. Another instrumentality for extending volition is 
 Imitation. 
 
 It has often been alleged, and is perhaps commonly be- 
 lieved, that Imitation is instinctive. The fact is otherwise. 
 There is no ability to imitate in the new-bom infant ; the 
 power is a late and slow acquisition, and one especially fa- 
 vourable for testing the general theory of the growth of will. 
 Imitation (of what is seen) implies a bond of connexion be- 
 tween the sight of a movement executed by another person, 
 and the impulse to move the same organ in ourselves ; as in 
 learning to dance. For vocal imitation, the links are between 
 sensations in the ear, and movements of the chest, larynx, 
 and mouth. The acquirement of articulate speech may be 
 observed to take place thus. Some spontaneous articulation 
 is necessary to begin with ; the sound impresses the ear, and 
 possibly communicates an agreeable stimulus, the tendency of 
 which would be to sustain the vocal exertion. At aU events, 
 there is the commencement of an association between an arti- 
 culating efibrfc or movement, and an effect on the ear. Every 
 repetition strengthens the growing bond ; and the progress is 
 accelerated when other persons catch up, and continue the 
 sound. The attempt may now be made to invert the order, 
 to make the articulating exertion arise at the instigation of 
 the sound heard. This will not succeed at first ; an associa- 
 
IMITATION. 335 
 
 tion nmst be very firm in order to operate in the inverted 
 sequence. But on some chance occasion, after repeated urgency, 
 the spontaneity comes round, and it being preceded by the 
 characteristic sensation, the associating link is strengthened 
 according to the imitative order ; and very soon the adhesion 
 is complete. This process is gone through with several other 
 articulations, and, in the meantime, the voice becomes more 
 ready to burst out at the hearing of articulate sounds, so that 
 the trials are multiplied ; the correcting power being the felt 
 coincidence with the sound proposed for imitation. The 
 chUd told to say ta, will perhaps say na, ma ; at this period, 
 however, it understands the tones of dissatisfaction expressed 
 by others, if not aware of the discrepancy between its own 
 performance and the model. After a time, it will become 
 aUve to the success of the coincidence. The primordial stimuli 
 of pleasure and pain, are still the agency at work ; spontaneity 
 must precede ; association in time completes the connexion ; 
 and an entirely new and distinct means is gained for deter- 
 mining specific actions. 
 
 The imitation of Pitch, the groundwork of the art of 
 singing, goes through the same routine. A note spontaneously 
 uttered impresses the ear with its pitch ; and an association 
 is commenced between the special tension of the vocal muscles 
 and that sensation ; which association goes on strengthening 
 until the sound heard brings on the muscular effect. How 
 rapid and complete this acquirement shall be, depends on the 
 endowment of the ear, and on other circumstances already 
 described. 
 
 The imitation of Movements at sight comprises a large 
 part of our early voluntary education. The course is still the 
 same. Movements, from natural spontaneity, — of the arms, 
 hands, fingers, and other visible parts, — must occur and be 
 seen ; the active muscular impulses are united with the visible 
 or ocular appearances; eventually, the appearances (as 
 manifested by others) can evoke the active impulses. If any 
 pleasure attends the feeling of successful coincidence, or if any 
 pain is made to go along with the insufficient reproduction of 
 the model, there is an appeal to the fundamental motives, for 
 continuing the successful, and abandoning the unsuccessful 
 acts. The child is urged to clap hands ; some movements are 
 made, but not the proper ones ; the depression of ill-success 
 leads to their cessation. Perhaps no others take their place 
 on that occasion ; at another time, a more successful attempt is 
 made, and the coincidence is agreeable ; the bent is sustained. 
 
336 GKOWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER. 
 
 and an. associating lesson given, under the stimnlus (so favour- 
 able to contiguons adhesion) of a burst of the elation of 
 success. 
 
 The volitional links, constituted in the acquirements of 
 Imitation, are very numerous. They should have to be 
 reckoned by hundreds, if not by thousands. A certain 
 amount of Imitativeness belongs to animals. The young of 
 many species are guided by the old in their early attempts. 
 The characteristic of gregariousness follows the imitative 
 power ; there could be no community of action without this 
 ■aptitude. 
 
 7. A farther extension of the voluntary acquirements 
 leads to the power of Acting iipon the Wish to move. 
 
 We can rise up, stretch forth the hand, sound a note, fipom 
 the mere wish to perform these acts, without the considera- 
 tion of any ultimate end of pleasure sought or pain avoided. 
 Not that such movements occur without some reference to the 
 final ends of human action. We do not go through the pro- 
 cess called wishing, unless instigated by some motive, that 
 is, in the last resort, some pleasure or pain. Moreover, we 
 very seldom perform movement merely for the sake of moving ; 
 we may show our ability to aoiy one denying it, and then the 
 motive is either the pleasure of power or the pain of humilia- 
 tion — both highly ef&cacious as springs of action. Most 
 usually when we move to a wish, it is the wish to gain, some 
 end, tiie action being the means ; as when thirsty, and passing 
 a spring of water, we will or wish to perform the movements 
 for drinking. 
 
 The link of association formed in order to confer voluntary 
 power in this particular form, is the link between our idea of 
 the movement and the movement itself; between the idea of 
 raising the hand, and the act of raising it, there being a motive 
 or urgency towards some end. The growth of this link is a 
 step in advance of the imitative acquirement, and precisely in 
 the same direction ; imitation supposes a connexion between 
 a movement and the sight of that movement performed by 
 another person, as the drill-master; acting from a wish to move 
 is to perform the movement on the thought, idea, or recol- 
 lection or the appearance of the movement ; the guiding cir- 
 cumstance is the coincidence of the actual movement as seen 
 with the ideal picture of it ; when we raise the hand to a cer- 
 tain height, we know that we have conformed to the idea 
 given in our wish. 
 
MOVEMENT TO THE IDEA OF THE EFFECT. 337 
 
 This farther aoqaisitibn, the following out of imitation, 
 involves a large stock of ideal representations of all possible 
 movements, gained during our own performance of these move- 
 ments, and our seeing others perform, them. We have ideas of 
 opening and closing the hand, spreading the fingers, grasping 
 and letting loose ; of putting the arms in all postures, and 
 through varying degrees of rapidity. In acquiring those ideas 
 we acquire also the links or connexions between them and the 
 actual putting forth of the movements themselves ; and but 
 for these acquired links, voluntary power in its most familiar 
 exeroise.would be entirely wanting. "We have ideas also of the 
 motions of our legs and feet ; we form the wish to give a kick, 
 and the power to fulfil the wish implies a link of association 
 between the idea of the action, as a visible phenomenon, and 
 the definite muscular stimuli for bringing the movement to 
 pass. If no observation had ever been bestowed on the lower 
 extremities, so as to arrive at this piece of education, the wish 
 formed would be incompetent to create the act, notwithstand- 
 ing the existence of a motive. 
 
 8. Voluiitaiy power is consummated by the association 
 of movements with the idea of the Effect to be produced. 
 
 When we direct our steps across the street to a certain 
 house, the antecedent in the mind is the idea of our entering 
 that house. When we stir the fire, the antecedent is the idea of 
 producing the appearance of a blazing mass, together with the 
 sensation of warmth. When we carry the hand to the mouth, it 
 is by virtue of a connexion between the movements and the 
 idea of satisfying hunger and thirst. In writing, the idea of 
 certain things to be expressed is connected directly with the 
 required movements of the hand. 
 
 Here we have a still more advanced class of associations. 
 In accordance with the usual course of our progressive ac- 
 quirements, intermediate links disappear, and a bridge is formed 
 directly between what were the beginning and the end of a 
 chain. The thing that we are bent on doing is what properly 
 engages our attention; success in that is the pleasurable 
 motive, failure the painfiil motive ; exertion is continued 
 until we succeed ; and an association is formed between the 
 actions producing the end and the end itself. We come to a 
 shut door ; the idea in the mind accompanied with the state of 
 feeling that makes the motive, — a present want, .prospective 
 relief, — is the idea of that door open. Instead of thinking 
 first of the movement of the hand in the act of opening, and 
 22 
 
338 GKOWTH OF VOLUNTAEY POWEE. 
 
 proceeding from that to lie action itself, we are carried at 
 once from, the idea of the open door to execute the movement 
 of tnming the handle. 
 
 The examples recently dwelt on have been chiefly move- 
 ments guided by Sight and ideas of sight. It is scarcely 
 necessary to do more than allude to the case of Hearing. 
 Vocal Imitation is the association of sounds heard with move- 
 ments of the organs of voice. Vocalizing to a Wish involves 
 a sufficient adhesion between a vocal exertion and the idea 
 or recollection of the sound so produced, as when a musician 
 pitches a note and commences an air; or when a speaker 
 gives utterance to words. These adhesioas enter into the 
 education of the individual in singing and in speaking, and 
 are necessarily very numerous in a cultivated man or woman. 
 Lastly, the associations are bridged over, and a link formed 
 at once between movements of the voice and the idea of some 
 end to be gained by its instrumentality ; as in raising the 
 voice to the shrill point for calling some one distant ; or as 
 when, without having in mind the idea of the words ' right 
 face,' the officer of a company gives the word of command 
 merely on the conception of the effect intended. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 CONTROL OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS. 
 
 1. As our voluntary actions consist in putting forth 
 muscular power, the control of Feeling and of Thought is 
 through the muscles. 
 
 Hitherto we have seen, in the operation of the will, the 
 exerting of definite, select, and, it may be, combined move- 
 ments for the gaining of ends. We have spoken only of 
 muscular intervention in the attainment of our wishes. We 
 have not even entertained as questions, whether the blood can 
 circulate more or less rapidly, or the digestion accommodate 
 itself, in obedience to pleasure and pain. In an emotional 
 wave, there is a participation of organic change. A shock of 
 pain deranges the organic functions ; pleasure, by the Law of 
 Conservation, is accompanied with organic, no less than with 
 
VOLUNTARY CONTKOL OPEKATES THilOUGH MUSCLES. 339 
 
 muscular, vigour. So far as concerns the fundamental link 
 expressed by this law, there might be an association of 
 organic, as well as of muscular, changes with states of plea- 
 sure and with states of pain; and often to the same good 
 purpose : the augmentation of respiratory or of digestive 
 vigour would directly heighten pleasure and abate pain. 
 Notwithstanding all which facts, the muscular energies are 
 alone selected for those definite associations with states of 
 feeling which constitute the will. The power of movement 
 stands alone in possessing the flexibility, the isolation, the inde- 
 pendence, necessary for entering into the multifarious unions 
 above detailed; and when we speak of voluntary control, 
 we mean a control of the muscles. An explanation has, 
 therefore, to be furnished of the stretching out of this control 
 to feeling and to thought, which are phenomena more than 
 muscular. 
 
 CONTEOL OP THE FEELINGS. 
 
 2. The physical accompaniments of a feeling are (1) 
 diffused nerve currents, (2) organic changes, and (3) 
 muscular movements. The intervention of the will being 
 restricted to movements, the voluntary control of the 
 feelings hinges on the muscular accompaniments. 
 
 Muscular diffusion being only one of three elements, we 
 have to learn from experience whether it plays a leading, or 
 only a subordinate part. There are various alternative sup- 
 positions. The movements may be so essential, that their 
 arrest is the cessation of the conscious state. Or the case 
 may be that the other manifestations are checked by the 
 pefasal of the muscles to concur. Lastly, the movements may 
 be requisite to the fall play of the feeling, but not to its 
 existing in a less degree, or in a modified form. 
 
 Referring to the arbitration of experience, we find such 
 facts as these. First, In a comparatively feeble excitement, 
 the outward suppression leads, not immediately, but very 
 soon, to the cessation of the feeling. There is at the outset 
 a struggle, but the refasal of the muscular vent seems to be 
 the extinction of the other effects. The feehng does not 
 cease at once with the suppression of the movements, showing 
 that it can subsist without these ; but the stoppage of the 
 movement being followed soon by the decay of the feeling, 
 we infer that the other accompaniments, and especially the 
 nerve currents, are checked and gradually extinguished under 
 ^the muscular arrest. A shock of surprise, for example, if not 
 
340 CONTKOL OF FEELINGS AOT) THOUGHTS. 
 
 very powerfa], can soon be quieted by repressing all the 
 movements of expression. It is to be observed, however, 
 that this is an emotion peculiarly mnscular in its difiFnsion ; 
 the remark being far less tme of the emotions that strongly 
 affect the organic functions, as fear, tenderness, and pains 
 generally. 
 
 Secondly, In strong feelings, the muscular repression 
 appears not merely to fail, but to augment the consciousness 
 of the feeling, as if the nervous currents were intensified by 
 resistance. A certain impetus has been given, and must find 
 a vent, and, if restrained outwardly, it seems to be more 
 violent inwardly. We are familiar with such sayings as the 
 mind ' preying upon itself' for want of objective display, the 
 need of an outlet to the surcharged emotions, the venting of 
 joy, or grief, and the like. 
 
 The analogy of the weaker feelings makes it probable that, 
 even with the stronger, muscular resistance would ultimately 
 quell the interior currents of the brain, together with the 
 mental excitement. The difficulty is to find a motive sufficient 
 to overcome the stimulus of a strong emotion. It may seem 
 better to give way at once than to make an ineffectual resist- 
 ance... A burst of anger might be suppressed by a strong 
 ilinscular effort ; but Qie motive must be either powerful in 
 itself, or aided by a habit of control. 
 
 Thirdly,' There is a certain tendency in the muscular 
 expression of a feeling to induce the feeling, through the con- 
 nexion established, either naturally or by association, between 
 this and the other portions of the physical circles of effects 
 (Sympathy, § 2). This supposes that there is no intense pre- 
 occupation of the brain and mind; we could not force hilarious 
 joy upon a depressed system. Besides, it may be our wish 
 merely to counterfeit, before others, an emotion that we do 
 not wish to feel, as happens more or less with the player on 
 the stage. 
 
 3. The voluntary command of the muscles, as attained 
 in the manner already described, is adequate to suppress 
 their movements under emotion. 
 
 When the will has reached the summit of general com- 
 mand, as indicated in the preceding chapter, it is fit for any 
 mode of exertion that can be represented to the mind ; the 
 mere visible idea of the movement to be effected will single 
 out the reality. The mature volition is thus competent to 
 whatever efforts may be necessary for directing any of thfe 
 
EDUCATION m THE SUPPRESSION OF FEELINGS. 341 
 
 muscles to move, or for restraining tHeir movement; all 
 which, is applicable to the present case. 
 
 But long prior to this consummation, an education for 
 suppressing the feelings, or at least the manifestation of them, 
 is usually entered on. It is desired, for example, to cause a 
 child to restrain inordinate crying, at an age when few volun- 
 tary links have been forged, and when recourse must be had 
 to the primitive starting point of all volition. In the very 
 early stages, the absence of definite connexions between the 
 pleasurable feeling and the suppression, and between the 
 painful feeling and the indulgence, will lead to a great many 
 fruitless attempts, as in all the beginnings of volition. A few 
 snccessfal coincidences will go far to fill up the blankness of 
 the union between the motive impulses and the feelings in 
 the special case ; and the progress may then be rapid. The 
 remaining difficulty will be the violence of the emotional 
 wave, which may go beyond the motive power of available 
 pleasure or admissible pain, even although the link of con- 
 nexion between these and the definite impulses is sufficiently 
 plain. This, however, is the difficulty all through life, in the 
 control of the more intense paroxysms of emotion, and has 
 nothing to do with the immaturity of the volitional links 
 between pleasurable or painful motives and the actions sug» 
 gested for securing the pleasure and banishing the pain. 
 
 The case is precisely analogous to the breaking in of 
 colts, or the training of young dogs ; the want of determinate 
 connexions gives much trouble in the commencing stages; 
 and as the deficiency is made up, the education proceeds 
 apace. 
 
 COMMAND OF THE THOUGHTS. 
 
 4 It has been already considered (Compound Asso- 
 ciation, § 8) in what way the will can influence the 
 train of thoughts. The effect is due to the control of 
 Attention. 
 
 We cannot, by mere will, command one set of ideas to 
 arise rather than another, or make up for a feeble bond of 
 adhesion ; the forces of association are independent of voli- 
 tion. But the will can control some of the conditions of 
 intellectual recovery: one of which is the directing of the 
 attention to one thing present rather than to another. In 
 solving a geometrical problem, it is necessary to recall various 
 theorems previously learnt ; for that purpose, the attention is 
 kept fixed upon the diagrammatic construction representing 
 
342 CONTROL dF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS. 
 
 the problem, and is turned away from all other things; in 
 which attitude, the ideas suggested by contiguity and by 
 similarity, are geometrical ideas more or less allied to the 
 case in hand. 
 
 The case now supposed is an exercise of voluntary atten- 
 tion upon the muscles that guide the exercise of vision. The 
 turning the eyes upon one part of the field of view, and not 
 upon another, is a mode o£ voluntary control in no respect 
 peculiar. 
 
 5. The command of the Attention passes beyond the 
 senses to the ideas or thoughts. Of various objects com- 
 ing into recollection, we can ponder upon one to the 
 neglect of the rest. The will has power over muscular 
 movements in idea. 
 
 It is a fact, that we can concentrate mental, no less than 
 bodily, attention. When memory brings before us a string of 
 facts, we can detain one and let the rest drop out of mind. 
 Reviving our knowledge of a place, we are not obliged to go 
 over the whole of it at an equal rate ; we are able, and are 
 usually disposed, to dwell upon some features, and tiiereby to 
 stop the current of farther resuscitation. 
 
 In all this, the will seems to transcend the nsnal limits 
 assigned to it, namely, the prompting of the voluntary 
 muscles. Indeed, the fact would be wholly anomalous and 
 inexplicable, but for the local identity of actual and of ideal 
 movements (Coutiguitt, § 11) ; and even with that local 
 identity, it is only from experience that we could be aware 
 that voluntary control could enter the sphere of the ideal. 
 When we are tracing a mountain in recoUeotion, we are, in 
 everything but the muscular contractions of the eye or the 
 head, repeating the same currents, and re-animating the same 
 nervous tracks, as in the survey of the actual mountain ; and, 
 on the spur of a motive, we detain the mental gaze upon the 
 top, the sides, the contour, the vegetation, exactly as in the 
 real presence. 
 
 6. This part of voluntary control has its stages of 
 growth, like the rest ; and enters as an all-important 
 element into our intellectual or thinking aptitudes. 
 
 Two courses may be assigned for the acquisition of this 
 higher control. It may follow, at some distance, the command 
 of the corresponding actual movements ; or it may have to 
 pass through an independent route, beginning with spon- 
 
VOLUNTAEY CONTBOL OF THE THOUGHTS. 343 
 
 taneity, and gnided by the influence of pleasure and pain, 
 under the Law of Conservation. In all probability, the first 
 supposition is the correct one. We seem gfradually to con- 
 tract the power of mental concentration, after having attained 
 the command of the senses, — the ability to direct the eye 
 wherever we please, or to listen to one sound to the disregard 
 of others. Having the full outward command, a certain share 
 abides with us, when we pass from realities to ideas, from the 
 sight of a building to the thought of it. The ability thus 
 possessed is doubtless strengthened by exercise in the special 
 domain of the ideal ; a wide difference exists between the 
 man that has seldom put forth the power of mental concentra- 
 tion, and him that has been in the constant practice of it. 
 
 Howsoever attained, the use of this power in iutelleotnal 
 production is great and conspicuous. Profuse reproduction, 
 the result of observation and retentiveness, is of little avail 
 for any valuable purpose, whether scientific, artistic, or prac- 
 tical, unless there be a power of selection, detention, and con- 
 trol, on the spur of the end to be achieved. By such power 
 of fixing attention, both on actual objects, and on the ideas 
 arising by mental suggestion, we can make up for natural 
 deficiencies, and, both in acquirements and in production, can 
 pass over more highly gifted, but less resolute competitors. 
 When the motives are naturally strong, and fortified by habit, 
 we do not allow the attention, either bodily or mental, to 
 wander, or to follow the lead of chance reproduction, as in a 
 dream or reverie ; our definite purpose, whether to lay up a 
 store of words, to master a principle, to solve a problem, to 
 polish a work of taste, to construct a mechanical device, or to 
 reconcile a clash of other men's wills, keeps the mind fixed 
 upon whatever likely thoughts arise, and withdraws us at once 
 from what is seen to have no bearing on the work. 
 
 When what is meant by ' plodding industry,' ' steadiness,' 
 'application,' 'patience,' is opposed to natural brilliancy, 
 facility, or abundance of ideas, it is, in other words, force of 
 will £splayed in mental concentration, as against the forces 
 of mere intellectual reproduction ; two distinct parts of our 
 constitution, following difierent laws, and unequally mani- 
 fested in difierent individuals. 
 
 7. The voluntary command of the Thoughts has been 
 formerly shown to enter into Constructive Association. 
 
 In the illustrations under the preceding head, ' construc- 
 tiveness' has been involved ; but it deserves a more special 
 
34i COKTKOL OF MEI4NGS AND THOUGHTS. 
 
 mention. The distingaisMng feature of the process is a 
 voltmtury selection, adaptation, and combination, to suit some 
 end; the motive force of this end is the active stimulus, 
 and the agreement with it, the guide or touchstone of all 
 suggestions. In verbal constructiveness, for example, a cer- 
 tain meaning is to be conveyed to another person ; a number 
 of words spring up by memory, related to that meaning, but 
 demanding to be selected, arranged, qualified, in order to 
 suit it exskctly. i?he revival of past trains of language 
 through, contiguity and similarity, or a combination of con- 
 tiguities and similarities, provides the separate elements ; the 
 will puts them together, under the sense of suitability; so 
 long as that sense is dissatisfied, selection and adjustment 
 must go on ; when the satisfying poiut is reached, the con- 
 structive efforts cease. 
 
 8. The command of the Thoughts is an adjunct in the 
 control of the Feelings. 
 
 The command over the thoughts is an exceedingly power- 
 ful adjunct in the control of the Feelings ; being probably 
 more e£B.caoions than the voluntary sway of the muscular 
 manifestations. Our emotions are more or less associated, 
 with objects, circumstances, and occasions, and spring up 
 when these are present either in reality, or in idea ; affection 
 is awakened at the sight or thought of what is lovely, or 
 endeared to us ; fear is apt to arise when perils are brought to 
 view. In this connexion lies the power of the orator and the 
 poet to stir up the emotions of men. Now, we may ourselves, 
 by force of wiU, entertain one class of thoughts, and disregard, 
 or banish another class. When a person has roused our anger 
 by an injury, we can turn our thoughts upon the same per- 
 son's conduct on other occasions, when of a nature to inspire) 
 love, admipatiipn, or esteem ; the consequence of such a diver- 
 sion of the ideas will be to suppress the angry feeling by its 
 opposite. 
 
 A fit of hilarious levity is difB.cult to quench by mere 
 voluntary suppression of the musoxdar movements ; the more 
 so that the diaphragm is a muscle not so well under command 
 as the muscles of the limbs. A more powerful instrument in 
 such a case would be the turning of the thoughts upon some 
 serious or indifierent matter; and especially a painftil or 
 depressing subject. Persons guilty of levity during a religious 
 address are usually reminded of the terrors of the unknown 
 world. 
 
COMMAND OP THE FEELINGS THEOUGH THE THOUGHTS. 345 
 
 The conquering of one strong feeling by exciting anotherj 
 was designated by Thomas Chalmers, ' the expulsive power 
 of a new affection,' and was much descanted on by him as an 
 instrumentality of moral improvement. When a wrong taste 
 was to be combated, he recommended the process of displacing 
 it by the culture of something higher and better ; as in sub- 
 stituting for the excitement of the theatre, or the alehouse, 
 intellectual and other attractions. 
 
 Without the assistance of a new emotion, we may subdue 
 or modify a present feeling, by carrying the attention away 
 from all the thoughts or trains of ideas that cluster about it, 
 and give it support. K we have strength of motive enough 
 for diverting the mind from the thoughts of an alarming 
 danger to some entirely different subject, the state of terror 
 win subside. 
 
 The command of the thoughts requisite for such diversions 
 is a high and uncommon gift or attainment, one of the most 
 distinguishing examples of force of will, or of power of motive. 
 There is a limit to the control thus exercised ; no amount of 
 stimulus will so change the current of ideas as to make joy at 
 once supervene upon a shook of depression. Still, by a not 
 unattainable strength of motive, and the assistance of habit, 
 one can so far restrain the outbursts of emotion, as to make 
 some approach to equanimity of life. 
 
 9. The reciprocal case — the power of the Feelings to 
 command the Thoughts — is partly of the nature of Will, 
 partly independent of the will. 
 
 When under a pleasurable feeling, we cling to all the 
 thoughts, images, and recollections that chime in with, and 
 sustain it — as in a fit of affection, of self-complacency, or of 
 revenge — the case is one of volition pure and simple. By the 
 direct operation of the fundamental power of self-conservation, 
 every activity bringing pleasure is maintained and increased ; 
 and the exercise of attention, whether upon the things of 
 sense or upon the stream of thought, is included in the prin- 
 ciple. So, on the obverse side, a painful feeling ought to 
 banish all the objects and ideas that tend to cherish it, just as 
 we should remove a hot iron or a stinging nettle from the 
 naked foot; and this, too, happens to a great extent: a self- 
 complacent man banishes from his mind aU the incidents that 
 discord with his pretensions; an engrossed lover will not 
 entertain the thought of obstacles and inevitable separation. 
 In both these cases, the law of the will is fairly and strictly 
 
346 MOTIVES, OK ENDS. 
 
 exemplified. And if there were no other influence at work, if 
 the feelings had no other mode of operating, we should find 
 ourselves always detaining thoughts, according as they give 
 us pleasure, and turning our back upon such as produce pain, 
 with an energy corresponding to the pain. 
 
 But we have formerly remarked, and must presently notice 
 BtiU more particularly, that the feelings have another property, 
 the property of detaining every idea in alliance with them, 
 whether pleasurable or painful, in proportion to their intensity ; 
 so that states of excitement, both painful and neutral, cause 
 thoughts and images to persist in the mind by a power apart 
 from the proper course of the will. A disgusting spectacle 
 cannot be at once banished from the recollection, merely 
 because it gives pain ; if the vyill were the only power in the 
 case, the object would be discarded and forgotten with promp- 
 titude. But the very fact that it has caused an intense or 
 strong feeling gives it a persistence, in spite of the will. So 
 any powerfal shock, characterized neither by pleasure nor by 
 pain, detains the mind upon the cause of it tor a considerable 
 time, and engrains it as a durable recollection, not because the 
 shock was pleasurable, but merely because it was strong. The 
 natural course of the will is pursued at the same time ; it co- 
 operates in the detention of the pleasurable, and in reducing 
 the persistence of the painful ; but it is not the sole or the 
 dominant condition in either. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 MOTIVES, OE ENDS. 
 
 1. From the nature or definition of Will, pure and 
 proper, the Motives, or Ends of action, are our Pleasures 
 and Pains. 
 
 In the Feelings, as formerly laid out, if the enumeration 
 be complete, there ought to be found all the ultimate motive 
 or ends of human action. The pleasures and pains of the 
 various Senses (with the Muscular feelings), and of the 
 Emotions, — embracing our whole susceptibility to happiness 
 or misery, — are, in the last resort, the stimulants of our 
 
MOTIVES FEOM OUE PLEASUKES AND PAINS. 347 
 
 activity, the objects of pursuit and avoidance. The actual 
 presence of any one of the list of pleasures, set forth under 
 the different departments of Feelings, urges to action for its 
 continuance ; the presence of any one of the included pains 
 is a signal to action for its abatement. The final classification 
 of Motives, ttierefore, is the classification, of pleasurable and 
 painfol feelings. 
 
 If we were to recapitulate what has been gone over, under 
 the Senses and the Emotions, we should refer to the pleasures 
 of Muscular Exercise and Kepose, and the pains of Fatigue 
 and of Restrained action ; the great variety of pleasurable 
 and painful susceptibilities connected with Organic Life — in- 
 cluding such powerful solicitations as Thirst, and Hunger, 
 and the whole catalogue of painful Diseases, with the re- 
 actionary condition named Health ; the numerous stimulations, 
 pleasurable and painful, of the Five Senses — Tastes, Colours, 
 Touches, Sounds, Sights ; the long array of the Special 
 Emotions, containing potent channs and dread aversions — 
 Novelty, Liberty, Tender and Sexual Emotion, Self-com- 
 placency and Approbation, with their opposites ; the elation 
 of Power and the depression of Lnpotence and Littleness, the 
 Interest of Plot and Pursuit, the attractions of Knowledge, 
 and the variegated excitements of Fine Art. 
 
 2. The elementary pleasures and pains incite us to 
 action, when only in prospect ; which implies an ideal per- 
 sistence approaching to the power of actuality. 
 
 The property of intellectual or ideal retention belongs 
 more or less- to all the feelings of the mind ; and has been 
 usually adverted to in the description of each. The pain of 
 over-fatigue is remembered after the occasion, and has a 
 power to deter from the repetition of the actual state. 
 
 The circumstances regulating the ideal persistence of 
 pleasures and pains, so as to give them an efficacy as motives, 
 are principally these : — 
 
 (1) Their mere Strength, or Degree. It is a law of our 
 intellectual nature that, other things being the same, the 
 more vivid the present consciousness, the more it will persist 
 or be remembered. This apphes to pleasures, to pains, and 
 to neutral excitement. A strong pleasure is better remembered 
 than a weak ; a greater pain is employed in punishment, be- 
 cause a less, being insufficiently remembered, is ineffectual to 
 deter from crime. Our labours are directed, in the first place, 
 to the causes of our great pleasures and our great pains, be- 
 
348 MOTIVES, OE ENDS, 
 
 cause these are more tenacionsly held in the memory, and 
 less liable to be overborne by the pressure of the actnaJ. 
 The acute sensual pleasui-es, affection, praise, power, sesthetio 
 charm, are strongly worked for, because strongly felt, and 
 strongly remembered ; the more intense pains of disease pri- 
 vation, disgrace, have an abiding efficacy because of their 
 strength. 
 
 (2) Continuance and Eepetition. The longer a pleasure is 
 continued, and the oftener it is repeated, the better is it retained 
 in absence as a motive to the will. It is the same with emo- 
 tional states as it is with intellectual — with pain as with 
 language, iteration gives intellectual persistence. A single 
 attack of acute pain does not leave the intense precautionary 
 motive generated by a series of attacks. Age and experience 
 acquire moral wisdom, as well as intellectual ; strength of 
 motive as well as extent and clearness of intellectual vision. 
 After repeated failures, we give up a chase, in- spite of its 
 allurements ; not merely because our hopes are weakened, but 
 also because our recollection is strengthened, by the repeti- 
 tion. Pleasures seldom tasted may not take their proper rank 
 with us, in our habitual pursuits ; we do not work for them in 
 proportion to what we should actually gain by their fruition. 
 
 It necessarily happens that distance of time allows the 
 memory of pleasure and pain to fade into imbecility of motive. 
 A pleasure long past is deprived of its ideal enticement ; a 
 pain of old date has lost its volitional sting. 
 
 (3) Intellectual Bank. The feelings havea natural scale 
 of intellectual persistency, commencing from the organic or 
 physical sensibilities, and rising to the higher senses, and the 
 more refined emotions. The sensations of hearing and 
 sight ; the pleasures of tender feeling, of complacency, of 
 intellect, of Fme Art ; the pains of grief and of remorse, — are 
 in their nature more abiding as motives than muscular exer- 
 cise, or occasional indigestion. 
 
 (4) Special Endowment for the memory of Pleasure and 
 Pain. It is a fact that some minds are constituted by nature 
 more retentive of pleasures and pains than others; just as 
 there are differences in the memory for language or for spec- 
 tacle. A superior degree of prudence, under circumstances 
 in other respects the same, is resolvable into this fact. 'No 
 one is unmoved by a present delight, or a present suffering ; 
 but when the realily is vanished, the recollection will be 
 stronger in one man than in another — that is, will be more 
 powerful to cope with the new and present Tirgencies that 
 
EEMEMBERED FEELINGS. 349 
 
 put to the proof our memory given motives. The paius of 
 incautious living are, in Bome minds, blotted out as soon as 
 they are past ; in others, they are retained with almost un- 
 diminished force. Both Prudence, and the Power of Sym- 
 pathy with others, presuppose the tenacious memory for 
 pleasures and pains ; in other words, they are fully accounted 
 for by assuming that speciality. Virtue, although not Know- 
 ledge, as Sokrates maintained, reposes on a property allied to 
 Intellect, a mode of our Retentiveness, the subject matter 
 being, not the intellectual elements commonly recognized, 
 but pleasures and pains. 
 
 It is not easy to refer this special mode of Bietentiveness 
 to any local endowment, as we connect the memory for 
 colour with a great development of the optical sensibility. 
 Most probably, the power is allied to the Subjectivity of the 
 character, the tendency to dweU. upon subject steites, as 
 opposed to the engrossment of objectivity. 
 
 Prudential forethought and precaution in special things 
 may be best referred to the greater strength and repetition 
 of the feelings ; as when a man is careful of his substance 
 and not of his reputation ; or the converse. On whatever 
 subjects we feel most acutely, we best remember our feelings, 
 and yield to them as motives of parsuit and avoidance. It 
 is unnecessary to invoke, for such diEFerences, a general 
 retentiveness for pleasures and pains. 
 
 (5) In the effective recollection of feelings, for the pur- 
 poses of the will, we are aided by collateral associations. 
 Any strong pleasure gives impressiveness to aU the acts and 
 sensations that concurred with it; and these having their 
 own independent persistency, as actions or as object states, 
 aid in recovering the pleasure. Every one remembers 
 the spot, and the occupation of the moment, when some 
 joyful news was communicated. The patient in a surgical 
 operation retains mentally the indelible stamp of the room 
 and the surgeon's preparations. One part of the complex 
 experience, so impressed, buoys up the rest. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add that the motive power of a 
 feeling of recent occurrence partakes of the effectiveness of 
 the actuality. 
 
 3. We direct our labours to many things that, though 
 only of the nature of Means, attain by association all the 
 force of our ultimate ends of pursuit. Such are Money, 
 Bodily Strength, Knowledge, Formalities, and Virtues. 
 
350 MOTIVES, OE ENDS. 
 
 When any one object is constantly associated with a 
 primary end c£ life, it acqnires in our mind all the importance 
 of the end; fields, and springs of water, are prized with 
 the avidity belonging to tiie necessities of life. The great 
 comprehensive means, termed wealth or Money, when its 
 powers are nnderstood, is aimed at according to the sum 
 of the gratifications that it can bring, and of the pains that 
 it can ward ofi^, to ourselves and to the sharers in our, sym- 
 pathies. Such at least is the ideal of a well-balanced mind ; 
 for few persons follow this or any other end, mediate or 
 ultimate, according to its precise value. 
 
 We have seen that a memory unfaithfiil to pleasure and 
 pain misguides us in our voluntary pursuit of ends ; not merely 
 allowing the present to lord it over the future, but evincing 
 partialify or preference as between things equally absent and 
 ideal. The intervention of the associated ends leads to new 
 disturbances in our estimate, and in the corresponding pur-i 
 suit. The case of Money exemplifies these disturbing causes. 
 In itj we have the curious fact of a means converted into a 
 final end. 
 
 When anything has long been an object of solicitude from 
 its bearing on the ultimate susceptibilities of the mind, the 
 pleasure of its attainment corresponds to its influence on those 
 susceptibilities. Without proceeding to realize the purchas- 
 able delights of money, we have already a thrill of enjoyment 
 in the acquisition of it ; the more so if we have felt such 
 paias as physical privation, toil, impotence, indignity, tastes 
 forbidden, with the aggravation of multiplied fears. The 
 sense of being delivered from all this incubus, is a rebound, 
 delightful in itself, before proceeding to convert the means 
 into the final ends. Many {deal pains are banished at once by 
 the possession of the instrument unused. There arises in 
 minds prone to the exaggeration of fear, a reluctance to part 
 with this wonderfial sense of protection ; which alone would 
 suggest the keeping, rather than the spending, of money. 
 When we add the feeling of superiority over others attaching 
 to the possession and the 'possible employment of money, and 
 farther the growth of a species of affection towards what has 
 long occupied the energies, and given thrills of delight, we 
 shall understand the process of inversion whereby a means 
 becomes a final end. We should also take into account, in 
 the case of money, its definite and numerical character, giving 
 a charm to the arithmetical mind, and enabling the poBsesser 
 to form a precise estimate of his gains and his total. 
 
ASSOCIATED ENDS. 351 
 
 Similar observations apply to the other associated ends. 
 Health is nothing in itself; it is a great deal as a means to 
 happiness. To this extent, and no farther, the rational mind 
 will pursne it ; we should only be losers, if, in seeking health, 
 we surrendered the things that make life agreeable. The pre- 
 vailing error, however, is the other way. The retentiveness 
 for the pains and discomforts of ill-health, and for the enjoy- 
 ments 'Uiereby forfeited, is not good enough in the mass of 
 men ; and needs to be re-inforced by inculcation and reflection. 
 
 Like Money, EJiowledge is liable to become an end in 
 itself. Principally valuable as guidance in the various opera- 
 tions of life, as removing the stumbling blocks, and the terrors 
 of ignorance, it contracts in some minds an independent 
 charm, and gathers round it so many pleasing associations as 
 to be a satisfying end of pursuit. The knowledge of many 
 Languages is an immense toil and an incumbrance ; but the 
 sense of the end to be served gives them a value, which some 
 minds feel in an exaggerated degree. 
 
 The Formalities of Law, of Business, and of Science are 
 indispensable as means, worthless as ends. Not unfrequently, 
 persons become enamoured of them to such an extent as to 
 sacrifice the real ends on their account. The explanation is 
 much the same as already given for the love of money. 
 
 Justice and Truth are generally held to be ends in them- 
 selves ; but when we enquire more minutely into their bearings, 
 we find that their importance is sufficiently justified by their 
 instrumentality to otiier ends. If Justice were perfectly in- 
 different to human happiness, no nation would maintain 
 Judges and Law Courts ; and if Truth were of no more service 
 than falsehood, Science would be unknown. But as both these 
 qualities are entwined with haman welfare at every turning, 
 it being impossible for the human race to exist without some 
 regard to them, we cannot wonder that they attract our 
 solicitude, and that we have a lively satisfaction in contem- 
 plating their triumph. The emotion of terror attaches us 
 strongly, perhaps even in an exaggerated degree, to the 
 Security conferred by Justice, among other good social 
 arrangements ; and we sometimes cling to a mere figment 
 because it once represented this great attribute. 
 
 4. The Motives to the Will are swayed and biassed by 
 the Persistence of Ideas. 
 
 Allusion has repeatedly been made to the intellectual pro- 
 perty of all feelings, whereby they persist in the mind, and 
 
352 MOTIVES, OB ENDS. 
 
 give persistence to the ideas and objects related to them. 
 According to the degree of the excitement, and irrespective of 
 its quality — as pleasure, pain, or neutral feeling — is the hold 
 that it tsJtes of the present consciousness, and imparts to the 
 thoughts allied with it. The germ of the property is seen in 
 the stimulation of the senses, more particularly sight, as when 
 we involuntarily keep the eye fixed upon a light, even pain- 
 fully intense. The infatuation of the moth is the crowning 
 instance of the cower of sensation, as such, to detain and con- 
 trol the movements ; for although the distant flame may not 
 be painfiilly intense, the singed body ought to neutraJize any 
 pleasure that the light can give. 
 
 A pleasurable feeling, besides moving the will, detains the 
 thoughts, not simply as pleasure, but as excitement. This 
 -would be all right, if every such state were purely and solely 
 pleasurable. But when we examine closely our very best 
 pleasures, we find that, in all of them, more or less, the drops 
 of pure delight are mingled with a quantity of mere excite- 
 ment. Any great pleasure is sure to leave behind it an 
 enduring state of neutral feeling,' the pleasurable part of the 
 wave subsiding long before the genraal tremor has ceased. 
 But while there is excitement, there is detention and occu- 
 pation of mind, and the exclusion of unrelated subjects and 
 ideas. In an agreeable marvel, there is a small burst of 
 genuine pleasure, but a still wider and more lasting state of 
 excitement. 
 
 Hence our pleasurable emotions are all liable to detain the 
 mind unduly, as regards our proper gratification. Thus, the 
 pleasures of the tender emotion, if at aU strong, are sur- 
 rounded with an atmosphere of still stronger excitement ; and 
 the objects of our affection are apt to persist in the mind 
 beyond the degree of the pleasure they give us, although in 
 some proportion to that pleasui-e. The mind of the mother 
 is arrested and held pardy by the strong pleasures of mater- 
 nity, and partly by the ' Fixed Idea ' consequent on the stiU 
 greater amount of agitation that she passes through. In the 
 sexual feelings, there is the like mixture of pleasure and 
 fixed idea, carrying the mind beyond the estimate of pleasure 
 and pain, to the state named 'passion.' The pleasures of 
 Power and Ambition are liable to the same inflammatory and 
 passionate mixturei A man may be highly susceptible to the 
 debghts of power, without being passionately so, if he is 
 m.oved solely by the strict value of tiiat pleasure, and not by 
 the engrossing power of the excitement so apt to invest any 
 
thk rational pubsuit of ends thwakted. 353 
 
 real plea,sure. The gra^tificatiou of revenge is a real pleasure, 
 but tbe allied excitement is eomething stUl Btronger ; the 
 idea of the revenge possesses the mind so strongly, that, to 
 act it out, we will sacrifice more than the value of the pleasure 
 accruing from it. In this passion especially, our happiness 
 would often lie in forgetting the whole Qircumstances ; but 
 under excitem.ent, the balancing of good and evil is inipos- 
 sible. We must execute whatever thought the mind at that 
 moment, in the heat of feeling, exclusively entertains. 
 
 The operation is seen in still bolder relief iu the painful 
 feelings. As already remarked, the proper action of the will, 
 having regard to our greatest good, would banish the thought 
 of a disgust, or a blow, or a discord ; hut the excitement 
 engendered is a force to detain the disagreeable subject. We 
 are often haunted for life by some great and painful shock 
 persisting in the memory in virtue of its intensity. 
 
 The extreme instance of irrational and morbid persistence 
 is shown in Fear. It is the nature of that passion to take an 
 excessive hold of the intellectual trains ; everything that has 
 ever been accompanied with the perturbation of fear has 
 conti-acted an undue persistence, bafBing and paralyzing the 
 operation of the will. Our greatest pleasures are liable to 
 plunge us into fears ; the pleasurable emotions above named, 
 as for example the maternal feeling, have their moments of 
 serious alarm and their protracted states of solicitude. 
 
 The rational piorsuit of ends is thus liable to many 
 thwartings. The imperfect recollection of pleasures and 
 pains, the tendency to substitute the means for the ends, the 
 undue persistence of objects through emotion — are aU against 
 us. To these circumstances, we must add some others. 
 First, our insufficient experience of good and evil, especially 
 in early years, disqualifies us from judging of the comparative 
 value of different objects of pursuit; the youthful predi- 
 lections for this or that profession must needs be founded on 
 a very inexact estimate. In the second place, many kinds of 
 good and evil are only probable in their advent ; such as the 
 attainment of an office, the success of an enterprise, good or 
 iU health. This introduces a totally new consideration to 
 complicate the operation of our motives. The beau ideal of 
 rationality consists in pursuing all objects with reference to 
 the probability of their attainment ; but probability is liable 
 to t^e fluctuating estimates of hope and fear; states that 
 are governed partly by the intelligence and partly \}j the 
 feelings. 
 
 23 
 
354 CONFLICT OF MOTIVES. 
 
 In the last place, onr Habits are often opposed to the 
 rational estimate of good or evil. Not merely what we term, 
 bad habits, which are irrational impulses confirmed by repe- 
 tition, but conduct at first well calcidated for our interests 
 may, through change of circumstances, operate against onr 
 happiness on the whole ; just as laws, originally good, may 
 be continued when they have become noxious. The habit of 
 saving may deprive us, in old age, of essential comforts ; the 
 habit of deference to others may prove hostile to our comfort 
 when we come to a position of command. 
 
 These various considerations are of special importance in 
 preparing the way for the great ethical question as to the 
 existence of disinterested motives in the human mind. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE CONFLICT OF MOTIVES. 
 
 1. When two pleasures concur, the result is a greater 
 pleasure ; when a pleasure concurs with a pain, the greater 
 wiU neutralize the less, leaving a surplus. 
 
 As mere emotions, concurring pleasure and pain neutralize 
 each other ; and in this way, pain is frequently stifled before 
 acting as a motive to the wUl. To procure an assuaging plea- 
 sure is a way of dealing with a pain, no less effectual than 
 removing the cause by voluntary exertions. In one class of 
 minds, the pains of life are met by tenderness, grief, sorrow, 
 sympathy, by venting them in language, and by other 
 emotional manifestations ; and not by measures of prevention 
 or extirpation. Such minds are the profusely emotional ; and 
 are in marked contrast with another class, the active or 
 volitional, whose peculiarity it is to take active proceedings 
 to cut off the sources of the evil. 
 
 2. The natural Spontaneity of the system may come 
 into conflict with the proper Motives to the Will. 
 
 Spontaneily is a power all through life. The times of re- 
 newed vigour, after rest and nourishment, are times when the 
 system is disposed to active exertion ; when this is refused, 
 there ensues a conflict. The young, being most exuberant in 
 
CONFLICT WITH SPONTANEITY. 355 
 
 activity, burst out incontinently at those moments, nnless 
 withheld by very powerful motives. This is one of the 
 impulses that require a severe discipline, in the shape of strong 
 counter-motives. The force of the spontaneity and the force 
 of the counter-motives are then measured against each other, 
 and we call the one that succeeds stronger, having no other 
 criterion of comparative strength. 
 
 When the activity is unduly stimulated, as by drugs, by- 
 pungent sensations, or by quick movements, it is so much the 
 greater a power, and needs a greater motive to curb it. We 
 see this in the restlessness of children in their violent sports ; 
 the natural activity is heightened by stimulation, and made 
 harder to resist ; quiescence is doubly repugnant. 
 
 A periodical tendency to action, the result of habit, would 
 operate in the same way ; as this is sometimes in opposition to 
 the other motives, there is conflict, and the successful side is 
 called the stronger. 
 
 3. Exhaustion, and natural inaction of the powers, are 
 a bar to the influence of Motives. 
 
 This is the same fact in obverse. When the system is 
 exhausted or physically indisposed, — its spontaneity and avail- 
 able energy past, — a more than ordinary motive is required to 
 bring on exertion. The jaded horse needs more spurring. 
 The exhausted mountain guide can be got to proceed only by 
 the promise of an extra fee. Napoleon took his men across the 
 Alps by plying them with the rattle of the drums when every- 
 thing else failed. 
 
 4 In the conflicts of Opposing Volitions, properly so 
 called, we may consider first the case of two Motives in 
 the Actual. 
 
 Two actual pains or pleasures sometimes incite in opposite 
 ways. An animal may be fatigued and also hungry ; the one 
 state prompting to rest, the other to exertion. We judge of the 
 stronger motive by the result. A person may feel the pain of 
 indoor confinement, but may decline the disagreeable alterna- 
 tive of cold and wet. In company, we may be sohoited by 
 spectacle, by music, by conversation ; one gains the day, and 
 is pronounced the greater pleasure, or at least the stronger 
 motive. 
 
 One might continue, without end, to cite these conflicts of 
 actual sensation or emotion, appending the uniform conclusion 
 that the upshot is the test of the stronger motive. The instrnc- 
 
356 CONFLICT OF MOTIVES. 
 
 tion derivable from each observation of this kind is a fact in 
 the diaraeter of the person, or the animal, observed ; we find 
 out the preferences, or comparative susceptibility of different 
 persons, or of the same person at different times. 
 
 We are to presume, in the absence of any indications to 
 the contrary, that the stronger motive in the shape of actual 
 and present sensation or emotion, is the greater pleasure, or 
 the smaller pain. Pleasure and pain, in the actual or real ex- 
 perience, are to be held as identical with motive power. If a 
 man is laid hold of and detained by music, we must suppose 
 that he is pleased to that extent. The disturbances and 
 anomalies of the will scarcely begin to tell in the actual feel- 
 iug. Any one crossing the steeet direct, through dirty pools, 
 is inferred to have less pain from being splashed than from 
 being delayed. 
 
 This remark is of importance in famishing us with a clue 
 to the pleasures and pains of other beings. The voluntary 
 preferences of individuals, when two actual pleasures or pains 
 are weighed together, show which is the greater in their case. 
 An object that weighs as nothing in stimulating the will for 
 attaimnent, is to be held as giving no pleasure ; if, on the 
 other hand, it never moves to aversion or avoidance, it is not 
 a source of pain. The pleasures and pains of men and of 
 animals are indicated with considerable fidelity by their volun- 
 tary conduct, and especially when the comparison is made 
 upon the present or the actual experience. We have few 
 means of judging of the feelings of the lower animals ; they 
 have but a narrow range of emotional expression ; and we are 
 driven mainly to the study of their actions in pursuit or 
 avoidance. We can see that a dog relishes a meal, and 
 runs from a whipping. The lower we descend, the more do 
 we lose the criterion of emotional expression, and depend 
 upon the preference of action. There may be a certain am- 
 biguity even in this test ; the influence of light, for example, 
 works to the extent of fascination, and so may other feel- 
 ings. Probably this is an exceptional case ; at aU events, if 
 the test of the wiU is invalid, we have nothing beyond it to 
 appeal to. 
 
 There are certain allowances that we can easily make in 
 the application of the will as a test of strength of feeling. 
 We should observe the influence of a motive under all variety 
 of states, as to vigour, rest, nourishment, so as to eUmiaate 
 difference in the active organs. We should weigh each 
 motive agaiast every other, and thus check our estimate by 
 
PAINS AND PLEASUBES IN THE ACTUAL. 357 
 
 cross comparisons ; in this way, we can establish for each 
 individual a scale of preferences, and obtain a diagnosis of 
 emotional character. 
 
 The comparison of one person with another requires an 
 estimate to be made of the active disposition as a whole, or the 
 proneness to active exertion generally. This may be gathered 
 from the spontaneity, from the disposition to act for the sake 
 of acting, and from aU cases where we have an independent 
 elue to the strength of a motive, as pleasure or pain. Two 
 persons may be equally pained by an acnte ailment ; while 
 the one bestirs himself for relief and the other remains idle. 
 If we except a greater proneness in some organs than in 
 others, as vocal exuberance combined with general sluggishness, 
 the active disposition is a single fact, a unity or totality ; the 
 feelings are many and xmequal. One statement wiU give the 
 volitional character as a whole ; the estimates of the motives 
 are as numerous as our distinct sensibilities. 
 
 5. When the conflict is between the Actual and the 
 Ideal, the result depends on the more or less vivid recol- 
 lection of pleasure and pain. 
 
 This opens up a much wider sphere of conflict. Our 
 voluntary determinations are most frequently the preference 
 of an actual feeling to an ideal one, or the converse. We 
 refiise a pleasurable relish, because of subsequent organic pains 
 abiding in the recollection. An ideal motive owes its power 
 not to the strength of the original feieling alone, but to that 
 coupled with aU the circumstances tending to make it persist 
 in the memoiy. A young man and an old may be equally 
 pained by an overdose of alcohol, but the elder has the best 
 recollection of the pain, while the younger has the farther 
 disadvantage of a keener present delight- Yet, when the 
 natural endowment favours tiie retentiveness of pain and plea- 
 sure, we shall find youth temperate, and age a victim to pre- 
 sent allurement. In this class of examples, the conditions are 
 various and often perplexing. Suppose the case of a thief by 
 profession, whose prospects in life are infamy and penal ser- 
 vitude. There are the following alternative explanations of 
 his choice. His mental peculiarities may be assumed to be, 
 the usual liking for the common enjoyments of life ; an aver- 
 sion to industry ; a small ideal estimate of the yet unexperi- 
 enced pains of punishment ; and perhaps, also, a sanguine 
 temperament that under-estimates the probabihties of capture. 
 Suppose ^liTn to pass through a first imprisonment. A new 
 
358 CONFLICT OP MOTIVES. 
 
 and powerful motive is now introduced, an ideal repugnance, 
 which ought to have great strength, if the punishment has 
 told upon him. Should he not be reformed by the experience, 
 we must assume the motives abeady stated at a still higher 
 figure. We must also suppose, what is probably true of the 
 criminal class generally, a low retentiveness for good and 
 evil — the analytic expression of Imprudence; perhaps the 
 most radically incurable of all natural defects. 
 
 The theory of Prison Discipline is based on such con- 
 siderations as the following. In short imprisonments, the 
 pains should be acute, so as to abide in the memory, and en- . 
 gender an intense repugnance. Loss of liberty, solitude and 
 seclusion, reg^ar work, and unstimulating food can be borne, 
 for a short period, if there is little sense of the indignity and 
 shame of going to jail. A brief confinement is the mild cor- 
 rective suited to a first ofience ; which failing, there is needed 
 an advance in severity. Recourse should next be had to the 
 acute inflictions ; which are principally whipping and mus- 
 cular pains. The muscular pains are administered in various 
 forms ; as the tread wheel, the crank, extra drill, shot drill, 
 and a newly devised punishment, introduced into the Scotch 
 prisons, and said to be very deterring — the guard bed. With 
 a view to increase the impressiveness of these severe applica- 
 tions, they should not be continued daily, but remitted for a 
 few days ; the mind having leisure in the interval to contem- 
 plate alike the past and the fiiture, while the body is refreshed 
 for the new inflaction. 
 
 Long imprisonment and penal servitude are made deterring 
 chiefly through the deprivation of liberty ; to which are added, 
 the withdrawing of the subject fi-om the means of crime, and 
 the inuring to a life of labour. Perhaps the defect of the 
 system is the too even tenor of hfe, which does not impress 
 the imagination of the depraved class with sufficient force. 
 Occasional acute inflictions, would very much deepen the 
 salutary dread of the condition ; and are not uncalled for in 
 the case of hardened criminals. The convict's yearly or half- 
 yearly anti-holiday, would impart additional horror and gloom 
 to his solitary reflections, and might have a greater influence 
 on the minds of the beginners in crime. 
 
 6. The Intermediate Ends — Money, Health, Know- 
 ledge, Power, Society, Justice, &c. — enter, as motives, 
 into conflict with the ultimate ends, Actual or Ideal, and 
 •with one another. 
 
MOTIVE FORCE OF INTERMEDIATE ENDS. 359 
 
 It has been seen what circumstances govern the motive 
 force of the intermediate ends ; the value of the ultimate plea- 
 sures and pains involved being only one, although the pro- 
 perly rational, estimate of their worth. These ends have all 
 a certain motive power in every intelligent mind, sometimes 
 too little and sometimes too great. When present ease and 
 gratification is confronted with prospective wealth, or know- 
 ledge, or position, we see which is the stronger. Great relish 
 for actual ease and pleasure ; great repugnance to money-get- 
 ting exertion ; a feeble memory for the pleasures that money 
 can purchase, or the pains it can relieve ; the absence of 
 occasions of fear and solicitude in connexion with penury ; no 
 affectionate interest contracted with wealth, through the pur- 
 suit of it — would constitute a character too little moved to 
 the acquisition of money fortune,- as a reversed state of the 
 motives might lead to an excessive pursuit. 
 
 It is a rule, easily explicable on the principles laid down, 
 that intermediate ends, — Wealth, Health, Knowledge, &c. — 
 are too weak in early life, while in advancing years, they be- 
 come too strong, in fact superseding the final ends. One 
 reason of this last effect is that the iiltimate pleasures of 
 sense count for less in later life, while ideal gratifications, 
 original or acquired, count for more ; money and knowledge, 
 having contracted a factitious interest of the ideal kind, 
 are still sought for that, when the primary interests have 
 ceased ; and the more so, that the active pursuit in their 
 service, has become a habit, and a necessity. 
 
 7. The Persistence of Ideas, througii emotional excite- 
 ment, counts in the conflict of Motives, and constitutes a 
 class of Impassioned or Exaggerated Ends, 
 
 Undue persistence of ideas is most strongly exemplified in 
 Fear. Any evil consequence that has been able to rouse our 
 alarms, acquires an excessive fixity of tenure, and overweighs 
 in the conflict of motives. This has been seen to be one of 
 the exaggerating conditions of avarice. So, from having 
 been a witness of revolutions, a susceptible mind takes on a 
 morbid dread of anarchy and a revulsion to change. The 
 care of health may assume the character of a morbid 
 fixed idea, curtailing liberty and enjoyment to an absurd 
 degree. The apprehensions of maternal feehng are apt to be 
 exaggerated. 
 
 Vaniiy, Dignity, love of Power, are often found in the im- 
 passioned form, in weak minds. The extreme case of the fixed 
 
360 DELIBERATION. — KESOLDTION.-^KFFORT. 
 
 idea ill general, and of the mofbid predominance of these 
 ideas in parfciciilar, ocottrs in the insane. 
 
 Sympathy, in its pure and fundamental character, is the 
 possession iof an idea, followed out iirespeetive of pleasure or 
 pSiiiij although these are more or less attached to its tisnal 
 exercise. In the conflict of motives, this principle of action 
 pliays aii important part ; its predominance is the foremost 
 motive to virtuous conduct. It subsists upon a vivid percep- 
 tion of the paiii or misery of others ; a perception more or 
 less acute by nature or by education, land susceptible of being 
 inflamed by oratory. The sympathies of individuals are gene- 
 rally parti^ or select ; powerful to some modes of misery and 
 inert to Others. The conflicts of sympathy are with the purely 
 egotistic pleasures of each individual ; these last, when un- 
 naturally strong, as in the child, are unequally met by the 
 sympathetic impulsed. 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 DELIBBEATION.—KESOLUTION.— EFFORT. 
 
 1. In the prolonged weighing of motives, termed 
 Deliberation, the suspense is a voluntary act, prompted 
 by the repiembered pains of acting too quickly. 
 
 Among our paLnfol experiences^ is the evil efiect of acting 
 hastily on the first motive that arises. At an early stage of 
 education, we gratify hunger with whatever looks like food ; 
 We give to hitol that asketh, and believe whatever any one 
 tells us. After a little time, we discover that the fruit of such 
 impulses id often bad; that other motives, such as might 
 change our dondnct, would iirise to our minds if We refi^ined 
 from imiiiediate action, and gave time to the intelledt to 
 suggest them. A deterring motive of the Intermediate class 
 is thus ere£ited, and at its instigation, we fall into the attitude 
 Called Deliberation, which Consists in pausing, waiting, tn- 
 minating, till other Considerations rise to the view, and are 
 Con'fronted with one another, and with the first impulse. ' 
 
 We have, in this case, a conflict between some present 
 impulBe, some pleasure or pain, actual or ideal, that has i^sea 
 before the mind, and the highly intellectual Or ideal pain con- 
 
EVILS OF PRECIPITATE ACTION, 361 
 
 stituted by former experience of the pains of immediately 
 giving way to a motive stimulus. The deliberating impulse 
 is the creature of education, growing with repeated examples 
 of mischief, and at last triumphant in all conflicts with hasty 
 protnptings. 
 
 The same experience that induces delay, to give time for 
 all the motives that arise, farther urges us not to protract the 
 Suspense too long. We know what amount of deliberation 
 will ordinarily suffice to get out both sides of a case ; to allow 
 less and to allow more are misehievous, and the prospect of 
 the mischief deters from the one and from the other. Most 
 people defer answering an important letter, for at least one 
 day; perhaps the case is so complicated that more time is 
 required; which being given, the evils of protracting the 
 decision come iato play ; action then ensues on the side where 
 strength of impulse prevails. 
 
 Another source of evil is the undue impressiveness of the 
 motive last suggested. Every consideration occurring to the 
 mind is strongest at the moment of being first presented ; if 
 we act at that moment, we are apt to give too much weight to 
 the new and too little to the old. Aware, by experience, of this 
 danger also, we hold back till every motive has cooled down, 
 as it were, from the first heat, and nntil all are nearly on an 
 equal footing. In proportion as we are impressed, by experi- 
 ence, with this evil, does it abide with us, as a deterring 
 motive, leadibg to voluntary suspense. A sudden thought, 
 bursting on the view, has something of the dangerous pre- 
 dominance of an actual pleasure or pain ; we are, however, 
 taught the painful consequences thence arising; and if our 
 memory for evil is adequate and just, we bridle in the mis- 
 taken activity that we are impelled to. 
 
 When opposing m.otives are numerous, it is a matter of 
 real difficulty for the coolest mind to estimate them correctly. 
 As an artificial help in such an emergency, Franklin, in a 
 letter to Priestley, recommends the writing them down in two 
 columns, so as to balance them piecemeal. When one, on one 
 side, is felt to be about equal to one or two on the other, these 
 are strock out, the complication being to that extent lessened. 
 The repetition of this neutralizing and deleting process leaves 
 the opposing sides at last so much reduced, that the comparison 
 is safe and easy. 
 
 Another artificial precaution of some value in deliberating 
 on a Complicated matter. Consists in keeping the deliberation 
 ©pen for a, l^igth of time, say a month, and recording the imr 
 
362 DELIBERATION. — EESOLUTION.— EFFOET, 
 
 pression of every day. At the end of the time, the decisions 
 on each side being summed up, the majority would testify, in 
 all probability, to the strongest on the whole. The lapse of 
 time would allow all considerations within our reach to come 
 forward and have their weight, while the matter would be 
 viewed under a considerable variety of circumstances and of 
 mental temper. 
 
 A farther difficulty also suggested to the man of experi- 
 ence and reflection, and influencing the deliberative process, 
 is the inability to judge of untried situations. What one has 
 gone through needs only to be fairly remembered; but what 
 is absolutely strange demands a carefiil constructive operation. 
 Although the young cannot be made to see this, it comes home 
 to advancing years. The sense of the resulting mistakes is a 
 prompting of the nature of Ideal pain, to take the precau- 
 tions of interrogating others, and referring to our own experi- 
 ence in the situations most nearly analogous. Choosing a 
 profession, entering into a partnership, emigrating to another 
 country, contracting the matrimonial tie, are all more or less 
 haphazai-d in their consequences ; they are less so, according 
 as the individual has been taught by good and ill fortune how 
 to deliberate. 
 
 2. The Deliberative process is ia conformity with the 
 theory of the Will, contained in the previous chapters. 
 
 In Deliberation, there is no suspension of the action of 
 motives, but merely the addition of a new motive, the ideal 
 evil of hasty action. Every pleasure or pain bearing on the 
 occasion has its full weight, in accordance with the circum- 
 stances already described ; and the action is always strictly 
 the result of the total of motives. 
 
 It is in the deliberative situation that we are supposed to 
 exert that mysterious power called the ' freedom ' of the will, 
 ' free choice,' 'moral liberty.' The only real fact underlying 
 these expressions is the circumstance that we seldom act out 
 a present motive. One may feel hunger, but may not follow 
 out the prompting on the instant. Each human being has a 
 large reserve, a permanent stock of motive power, being the 
 totalized ends of life ; a total that operates along with every 
 actual stimulation, and quashes a great many passing motives. 
 This reservoir of ideal ends is sometimes spoken of as the 
 'self' or 'ego' of the individual, the grand controlling prin- 
 ciple ; when it has full course we are said to be ' free ;' when 
 it is baffled by some transitory impulse or passion, we are said 
 
DELIBEEATION AND FREE WIIX. 363 
 
 to be • enslaved.' Now, Deliberation has the effect of bringing 
 us ander the sway of our interests on the whole, but does not 
 thereby make us act without a motive. There is no interven- 
 ing entity to determine whether the motive shall bring forth 
 the act; a motive may be arrested, but only through the 
 might of a stronger. 
 
 In metaphysical theory, it is often taken for granted that 
 deliberation, or choice, is the type, representative, or essential 
 feature of the WUl. This is not the fact. The most general and 
 essential attribute of the will, is to act at once on a motive, as 
 when one seeks shelter from a shower ; it is an exception, 
 although of frequent occurrence, to stop and deliberate, that 
 is, to suspend action, until an intellectual process has time 
 given to it, to bring forward ideal motives which may possibly 
 conflict with the actual, and change the result. 
 
 3. When the action suggested by a motive, or a con- 
 currence of motives, cannot immediately commence, the 
 intervening attitude is called Eesolution. 
 
 Besides the deliberate suspense, necessary for avoiding 
 the known evils of precipitate volition, there may be a farther 
 arrest of action. Many of our voluntary decisions are come 
 to, before the time for acting commences. We deliberate 
 to-day, what shall be done to-morrow, or next week, or next 
 year. A name is required to indicate this situation of having 
 ceased to deliberate without having begun to act. We call it 
 Kesoltjtion. If action followed at once on motive, there 
 would be neither Deliberation nor Kesolution ; if it followed 
 after such adequate comparison and balancing of motives, as 
 experience testifies to be enough for precaution against haste, 
 there would be no Kesolution. 
 
 The state thus denominated is not a state of absolute 
 quiescence or indifference. There is an activity engendered at 
 once, the preliminary to the proper action; an attitude of 
 waiting and watching the time and circumstances for com- 
 mencing the course decreed. We are moved by health and 
 pleasure to contrive a holiday ; we know that to rush off at 
 once under these very strong motives would probably entail 
 misery. We suspend and delibei'ate ; after allowing sufficient 
 space for all motives to assemble and be heard, the result is 
 in favour of the first suggestion. The interval that still 
 divides us from the actual movement, is the interval of 
 resolution, or preliminary volition. 
 
 In the state of resolution, we are liable to changes of 
 
364 DELIBEKATION. — EESOLUTION.— EWOBT. 
 
 motive, induciiig ns to abandon the course resolved on. We 
 have not, perhaps, at the time of ceasing to deliberate, had 
 the motives fully before us ; we may not have counted 
 sufficiently with the toil and opposition and inconveniences 
 that we should encounter, all which may come to the view 
 afterwards, and reverse our decision. Hence we often 
 abandon our resolutions either before action commences, or 
 after commencing and grappling with the real difficulties. 
 All this only shows that the deliberative process had been 
 too hnrriedly concluded. IrresolTition is a sign either of 
 want of deliberation, or of undue susceptibility to a pre- 
 sent and actual motive. The resolate man is he that, in 
 the first place, allows an ample deliberative suspense, amd, 
 in the second place, is under the power of the permanent 
 or ideal motives, which is what we mean by steadiness of 
 purpose. 
 
 We make resolutions for our whole lives, which neces- 
 sarily run matiy risks of being broken. It is not merely 
 through insufficient deliberation and infirmity of purpose, 
 that we depart from such resolutions, but also from the 
 occurrence of new motives, better insight, and altered 
 eircuinstances. 
 
 We exist from day to day nnder a host of resolutions. 
 Few of our actions are either i^ro re nata, or the result of a 
 deliberation at once executed. We go forth every morning 
 to fulfil ' engagements,' that is, carry out resolutions. The 
 crepiture of impulse is he that does not retain the permanent 
 motives embodied in his engagements or resolutions, but 
 gives way to the spur of the occasion, as when the boy sent 
 on an errand, loiters to play marbles. 
 
 For the same reason as above stated, with regard to 
 deliberation, namely, familiarity of occurrence, we are apt to 
 consider resolution as, not an incident, but an essential of 
 the Will. In both cases, it is the faUacia aacidetiMs, setting 
 up an occasional property as the main property of a thing. 
 The typical wiU neither deliberates nor resolves, but passes, 
 without interval, from a motive state to an action. The 
 superior intelligence of the higher beings induces upon this 
 primitive link a series of artificial suspenses, not exceptions 
 to the general law of the will, but complications of it ; and 
 the complicated modes are so common, and moreover so 
 prominent and noticeable, that we fancy at last, that they are 
 necessary to the very existence — a paai;, if not the whole 
 essence, of will. 
 
EFFORT NOT ESSENTIAX TO THE WILL. 365 
 
 4. If, with a strong motive, there is weakness or 
 insufficiency of the active organs, we have the peculiar 
 consciousness, named Effokt. 
 
 When we are moved to aa exertion that we are fully equal 
 to, we have a muscular feeling that is pleasurable or else in- 
 different ; ia either case, we say that the act costs no effort. 
 As we approach the limits of our strength, the feeling 
 gradually inchnes to pain. The interval between easy per- 
 formance and total inabihty, is marked by the presence of 
 this familiar experience ; the greater the pain, the greater is 
 said to be the effort. As all pain is a motive to desist from 
 whatever exercise is causing it, we should not contiaue to 
 act, but for the pressure of some stUl stronger motive. In 
 Buch cases, there is the necessity for an increasing stimulus, 
 as the pain of the action increases. The state of effort, 
 therefore, may be described as a muscular pain joiued to the 
 pain of a conflict of motives. On occasion of excessive 
 exercise, and during spasm, we may have the organic pain of 
 muscle besides. 
 
 , 5. The consciousness of Effort, like Deliberation and 
 Resolution, is an accident, and not an essential, of the 
 
 wm. 
 
 It is the nature of a voluntary act to be accompanied with 
 consciousness. The feeling that constitutes the motive is one 
 form ; to which is added the consciousness of active exertion, 
 which varies with the condition of the organs as compared 
 with the demand made upon them ; one of its phases being 
 the state of effort. We are not entitled to include, in the 
 essence of Will, the consciousness of Effort, any more than 
 we can include the deUght of exercise when the organs are 
 fresh.* 
 
 * It has been maintained (Herachell's Astronomy, chap, viii.), that 
 the consciousness of effort accompanying volantary action is the proof 
 that mind is the real source of vohmtary power, and, by analogy, the 
 source of all the powers of nature — as gravity and all other prime movers. 
 This doctrine is liable to very strong objections. 
 
 First, As now stated, the consciousness of effort does not accompany 
 all voluntary actions, but only that class where the active power is not 
 fully equal to the work. 
 
 Secondly, Although some kind of consciousness accompanies volun- 
 tary power, there are also present a series of physical changes, and a 
 physical expenditure, corresponding in amount to the work to be done. 
 A certain amount of food, digested, assimilated, and consumed, is de- 
 manded for every voluntary exertion, and in greater quantity as the 
 exertion is greater. In a deficiency of food, or in an exhausted condition 
 
366 DESIRE. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 DESIEE. 
 
 1. Desire is the state of mind where there is a motive 
 to act — some pleasure or pain, actual or ideal — without 
 the ahUity. It is thus another of the states of interval, or 
 suspense, between motive and execution. 
 
 When a pleasure prompts us to work for its continuance 
 or increase, and when we at once follow the prompting, there 
 is no place for desire. So with pain. Groing out into the 
 open air, we encounter a pain£il chiU ; we turn back and put 
 on extra clothing; the pain has induced a remedy by the 
 primordial stimulus of the will, guided by our acquired apti- 
 tudes. WaUdug at a distance from home, the air suddenly 
 cools to the chilling point. We have no remedy at hand. 
 The condition thus arising, a motive without the power of 
 acting, is Desire. 
 
 2. In Desire, there is the presence of some motive, a 
 pleasure or a pain, and a state of conflict, in itself painful. 
 
 The motive may be some present pleasure, which urges to 
 action for its continuance or increase. It may be some plea- 
 sure conceived in idea, with a prompting to attain it in the 
 reality, as the pleasure of a summer tour. It may be a pre- 
 sent pain moving us to obtain mitigation or relief; or a 
 
 of the active members, the most intense oonsoiousneas, whether of effort 
 or any other mode, is unable to bring forth voluntary or mechanical 
 energy. With abundance of food, and good material conditions of the 
 system, force will be exerted witii or without the antecedent of con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 Thirdly, The animal frame is the constant theatre of mechanical 
 movements that are entirely withdrawn from consciousness. Such are 
 the movements of the lungs, the heart, and the intestines ; these the 
 consciousness neither helps nor retards. 
 
 Fourthly, When voluntary actions become habitual, they are less and 
 less associated with consciousness : approaching to the condition of the 
 reflex or automatic actions last noticed. 
 
 Thus, whenever mind is a source of power, it is in conjunction with a 
 material expenditure, such as would give rise to mechanical or other 
 energy without the concurrence of mind ; while, of the animal forces 
 themselves, a considerable portion is entirely dissociated from mind or 
 consciousness. 
 
CONTENTMENT. 367 
 
 pending but fixture pain, ideally conceived, witli a spnr to pre- 
 vent its becoming actual. So far as the motive itself is con- 
 cerned, we may be under either pleasure or pain. But in so far 
 as there is inability to obey the dictates of the motive, there ia 
 a pain of the nature of conflict ; which must attach to every 
 form of desire, although in certain cases neutralized by plea- 
 surable accompaniments. 
 
 3. There are various modes of escape from the con- 
 flict, and unrest, of Desire. 
 
 The first is forced quiescence / to which are given the 
 familiar names — endurance, resignation, fortitude, patience, 
 contentment. 
 
 This is a voluntary exertion prompted by the pain of the 
 conflict. It means the putting forth of a volition to restrain 
 the motive force of desire, to deprive the state of its volitional 
 urgency. If the motive is a present pleasure, the wUl can 
 oppose the urgency to add to it, and so bring on the condition 
 of serene and satisfying enjoyments ; if a present pain, the 
 restraint of the motive urgency ends in the state called en- 
 durance, patience, resignation; a remarkable form of con- 
 sciousness, where pain, by a neutralizing volition, is reduced 
 to the state of a feeling possessed of only emotional and in- 
 tellectual characteristics. 
 
 The self-restraint, implied under endurance, coerces all 
 
 the movements and inward springs of movement, that, but 
 
 for such coercion, would be exerted with a view to relief, even 
 
 although finitless. The same volition may likewise suppress 
 
 the difiusive manifestations and gesticulative outburst of strong 
 
 feeling. Both are comprised in the renowned endurance of 
 
 the old Spartan, or of the Indian under torture. As a remedial 
 
 operation, such a vigorous suppressive effort, in the case of 
 
 physical pain, can directly do little but save the muscular 
 
 organs fi:om exhaustion ; indirectly it wUl stamp the pain on 
 
 the memory by leaving the present consciousness to taste its 
 
 utmost bitterness ; so that the present endurance in that form 
 
 may be favourable to future precaution. When the pain is 
 
 ideal or imaginary, or the result of artificial stimulation, as 
 
 when one frets at not having the good fortune of others 
 
 around, the forced quiescence eventually works a cure. Also, 
 
 in the case of pleasure craving for increase, the suppressive 
 
 volition is of aidmirable ef&cacy ; it takes away the marring 
 
 ingredient from a real delight, which is then enjoyed in purity. 
 
 In these two last instances, we can understand the value of 
 
368 DESIRE. 
 
 contentment, q. forced state of mind prompted by the conflict 
 of desire, and, by repetition, confirmed into a habitual frame 
 of mind, favourable to happiness. 
 
 Seeing that Desire may he viewed as so much pain, we may, 
 as in the case of any other pain, assuage it by the application of 
 pleasure. When children are seized -with longings that cannot be 
 gratified, they may be soothed by something agreeable. They 
 may also be deterred from pursuing the vain illusion by the threat 
 of pain. 
 
 Another resource common to desire with other pains, is a 
 diversion of the thoughts, by some new object ; a mode especially 
 applicable to the ideal painjg, and vain illusions of unbridled fancy. 
 Change of scene, of circumstances, of companions, if not disagree- 
 able, can effect a diversion of morbid intellectual trains, by intel- 
 lectual forces. 
 
 4. A second outlet for Desire is ideal or imaginary 
 action. 
 
 If we are prevented from acting under the stimulus of our 
 feelings, we may at least indulge in ideal acting, One con- 
 fined to bed desires to be abroad with the crowd, apd, unable 
 to realize the fact, resorts, in imagination, to favourite haunts 
 and pursuits. There is in such an exercise a certain amount 
 of ideal gratification, which, in peculiar and assignable circum- 
 stances, may partly atone for the want of the actual. 
 
 With the bodily pains and pleasures, imagined activiiy 
 entirely fails. The setting out in thought on the search of 
 food is nothing to the hungry man ; the idea of breaking out 
 of prison must often occur to the immured convict, but 
 without alleviating the misery of confinement. 
 
 It is different with the higher senses and emotions^ whose 
 ideal persistence is so great as to approximate to the grateful 
 tone of the reality. We may have a desire to visit or re-visit 
 Switzerland; Being prohibited from the reality, we may 
 indxdge in an ideal tour, which is not altogether devoid of 
 satisfaction. If we are helped, in the effort of conception, by 
 some vivid describer of the scenes and the life of the country, 
 the imagined journey will give us considerable pleasure. The 
 gratification afforded by the literature of imagination testifies 
 to the possibility of such a mode of delight. There would 
 still survive a certain amount of desire, from the known 
 inferiority of the imagined to the real ; but a discipline of 
 suppression might overcome that remaining conflict, and 
 leave us in the possession of whatever enjoyment could spring 
 from ideal scenes and activity. 
 
DESIRE LEADS TO IDEAL ACTION. 369 
 
 In this way, pleasing sights and sounds, forbidden to the 
 senses, may still have a charm in imagination ; and the ideal 
 pursnit of them wonld enhance the pleasure. Still more are 
 the pleasures of afieotion, complacency, power, revenge, know- 
 ledge, fit to be the subject of ideal longings and pursnit. 
 These emotions can all be to some extent indulged in absence, 
 so as to make us feel something of their warmth and elation. 
 It is not in vain, therefore, that we sustain an ideal pursuit 
 in favour of some object of love, some future of renown, some 
 goal of accomplishment, some inaccessible height of moral 
 excellence. The day-dreamer, whose ideal emotions are well 
 supported, by the means formerly described, has moments of 
 great enjoyment, although still liable to the pains of conflict, 
 and to the equally painful exhaustion following on ideal 
 excitement. 
 
 If a pleasure in memory or in imagination were as good 
 as the reality, there would be no pursuit either actnal or 
 ideal, and no desire. Or if the reality had some painfiil 
 experiences enough to do away with the superiority of the 
 actual, we should be free from the urgency of motives to the 
 will. Many occasions of pleasure exemplify one or other of 
 these two positions; evenings in society, public entertain- 
 ments, dignified pursuits, and the like. We may have a 
 pleasure in thinking of places where we have formerly been, 
 with a total absence of desire to return. 
 
 The spur of an ideal pleasure consists, partly in the 
 perennial tendency of pleasure to seek for increase, and 
 partly in the pain arising from a consciousness of the in- 
 feriority of the ideal to the actual. This pain is at_ its 
 maximum in regard to the pleasures of organic life and of 
 the inferior senses ; and at its minimum in the pleasures 
 termed elevating and refined. 
 
 5. The Provocatives of Desire are, in the first place, 
 the actual wants or deficiencies of the system, and secondly, 
 the eofperience of pleasure. 
 
 The first class correspond with the Appetites, and with 
 those artificial cravings of the system generated by physical 
 habits. We pass through a round of natural wants, for food, 
 exercise, &c., and when each finds its gratification at hand, 
 there is no room for desire. An interval or delay brings on 
 the state of craving or longing, with the alternative outlets 
 now described. 
 
 If we set aside the Appetites, the main provocative of 
 24 
 
370 DESIRE. 
 
 Desire is the experience of pleasure. When any pleasure has 
 once heen tasted, the recollection is afterwards a motive to 
 regain it. The infant has no craving but for the breast; 
 desire comes in with new pleasures. It is from enjoying 
 the actual, that we come to desire the pleasures of sound, of 
 spectacle, and of all the higher emotions. Sexuality is 
 founded on an appetite, but the other pleasing emotions are 
 brought, by a course of experience, to the longing pitch. In- 
 tense as is the feeling of maternity, no animal or human being 
 preconceives it. The emotions of wonder, of complacency, 
 of ambition, of revenge, of curiosity, of fine art, must be 
 gratified in. order to be evoked as permanent longings. Ex- 
 perience is necessary to temptation in this class of delights. 
 A being solitary from birth would have no craving for society. 
 
 Even as regards Appetite, experience gives a definite aim 
 to the longings, directing them upon the objects known as the 
 means of their gratification. We crave for certain things 
 that have always satisfied hunger, and for a known place 
 suited to repose. This easy transition, effected by association, 
 misled Butler into supposing that our appetites are not selfish j 
 they do not go direct to the removal of pain and the bestowal 
 of pleasure, but centre in a number of special objects. 
 
 A higher complication arises when we contetoplate the 
 appearances of enjoyment in others, and are led to crave for 
 participation. We must still have a basis of personal know- 
 ledge ; but when out of a very narrow experience of the good 
 things of life, we venture to conceive the happiness of the 
 children of fortune, our estimate is likely to be erroneous, and 
 to be biassed by the feelings that control the imagination. 
 How this bias works, is explained by the analysis of the ideal 
 or imaginative faculty (Book II., chap, iv., § 15). 
 
 6. As all our pleasures and pains have the volitional 
 property, that is, incite to action, so they aU give birth to 
 desire ; from which circumstance, some feelings carry the 
 fact of Desire in their names. Such are Avarice, Ambition, 
 Curiosity. 
 
 This has very generally led to the including of Desire, as 
 a phenomenon, in the classification of the feelings. In every 
 desire, there is a pleasure or pain, but the fact itself is pro- 
 perly an aspect of volition or the Will. 
 
 7. As in actual volition, so in Desire, we may have the 
 disturbing effect of the Fixed Idea. 
 
DESIKE NOT NECESSAEY TO VOLITION. 371 
 
 Nothing is more common than a persistent idea giving 
 origin to the conflicts, and the day dreams, and all the out- 
 goings of Desire. The examples already given of the fixed 
 idea in the motives of the will, have their prolongation and 
 expansion in ideal longings, when pursuit is impossible. Such 
 are the day-dreams of wealth, ambition, aflfeotion, future 
 happiness. 
 
 8. Desire is incorrectly represented as a constant and 
 necessary prelude of volitioa 
 
 Like Deliberation and Resolution, the state of Desire has 
 now been shown to be a transformation of the will proper, 
 undergone in circumstances where the act does not imme- 
 diately follow the motive. There remains a farther example 
 of the same peculiarity, forming the subject of the next 
 chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BELIEF. 
 
 1. The mental state termed Belief, while involving 
 the Intellect and the Feelings, is, in its essential import, 
 related to Activity, or the Will, 
 
 In believing that the sun will rise to-morrow, that next 
 winter will be cold, that alcohol stimulates, that such a one is 
 to be trusted, that Turkey is ill-governed, that free trade in- 
 creases the wealth of nations, that human life is full of 
 vicissitudes, — in what state of mind are we ? a state purely 
 intellectual, or intellectual and something besides ? In all 
 these afSrmations there is an intellectual conception, but so 
 there is in many things that we do not believe. We may 
 understand the meaning of a proposition, we may conceive it 
 with the utmost vividness, and yet not believe it. We may 
 have an exact intellectual comprehension of the statement that 
 the moon is only one hundred miles distant from the earth ; 
 but without any accompanying belief. 
 
 It is next to be seen, if a feeling, or emotion, added to the 
 intellectual conception, will amount to the believing state. 
 Suppose us to conceive and contemplate the approaching sum- 
 
372 BELIEF. 
 
 mer as beautifal and genial beyond all the sunimers of tie 
 century, we shonld have much pleasure in this contemplation, 
 but the pleasure (although, as mil be seen, a predisposing cause) 
 does not constitute the belief. There is, thus, nothing either 
 in Intellect or in Feeling, to impart the essence of Belief. 
 
 In the practice of every day life, we are accustomed to test 
 men's belief by action, 'faith by works.' If a politician 
 declares free trade to be good, and yet mil not allow it to be 
 acted on (there being no extraneous barriers in the way), 
 people say he does not believe his own assertion. A general 
 affirming that he was stronger and better entrenched than the 
 enemy, and yet acting as if he were weaker, would be held as 
 believing not what he affirmed, but what he acted on. A 
 capitalist that withdraws his money from foreign governments, 
 and invests it at a smaller interest in the English funds, is 
 treated as having lost faith or confidence in the stability of the 
 foreign powers. Any one pretending to believe in a future 
 life of rewards and punisbments, and acting precisely as if 
 there were no such life, is justly set down as destitute of belief 
 in the doctrine. 
 
 2. The relation of 'Belief to Activity is expressed by 
 saying, that what we Relieve we act wpon. 
 
 The instances above given, point to this and to no other 
 conclusion. The difference between mere conceiving or imagia- 
 ing, with or without strong feeling, and belief, is acting, or 
 being prepared to act, when the occasion arises. The behef 
 that a sovereign is worth twenty shillings, is shown by the 
 readiness to take the sovereign in exchange for the shilhngs ; 
 the belief that a sovereign is light is shown by refusing to 
 "take it as the equivalent of twenty shillings. 
 
 The definition will be best elucidated by the apparent ex- 
 ceptions. 
 
 (1) We often have a genuine belief, and yet do not act 
 upon it. One may have the conviction strongly that absti- 
 nence from stimulants would favour health and happiness, and 
 yet go on taking stimulants. And there are many parallels 
 in the conduct of human beings. The case, however, is no 
 real exception. Belief is a motive, or an inducement to act, 
 but it may be overpowered by a stronger motive — a present 
 pleasure, or relief from a present pain. We are inclined to 
 act where we believe, but not always with an omnipotent 
 strength of impulse. Belief is an active state, with different 
 degrees of force; it is said to be strong or to be weak. It is 
 
BELIEF GROUNDEP IN ACTION. 373 
 
 strong when it carries ns ap^ainst a powerful counter impulse, 
 weak when overpowered by an impulse not strong. Yet if it 
 ever induces us to act at all, if it vanquishes the smallest re- 
 sistance, it is belief. The believer in a future life may do very 
 little in consequence of that belief j he may never act in the 
 face of a strong opposition ; but if he does anything at all that 
 he would not otherwise do, if he incurs the smallest pKssent 
 sacrifice, he is admitted to have a real,, though feeble,, belief. 
 
 (2) The second apparent exception is famished by the 
 cases where we believe things that we never can have any 
 occasion to act upon. Some philosophers of the present day 
 believe that the sun is radiating away his heat,- and will in 
 some inconceivably long period cool down far below zero of 
 Fahrenheit. Any fact more completely out of the active 
 sphere of those philosophers could not be suggested to the 
 human mind. It is the same with the alleged past history of 
 the universe, sidereal and geological. An astronomer has 
 many decided convictions in connexion with the remote 
 nebulsB of the firmament. Even the long past events of 
 human hmtory^ the exploits of Epaminondas,. and the invasion 
 of Britain by the Romans, are beyond our sphere of action, 
 and are yet believed by us. And as regards the still existing 
 arrangements of things, many men that will never cross the 
 Sahara desert,. beUeve what is told of its surfEice, of its burning 
 days and chilling nights. 
 
 It is not hard to trace a reference to action in every one 
 of these beliefs. Take the last-named first.. When we believe 
 the testimony of travellers as to the Sahara, we view that tes- 
 timony as the same in kind with what we are accustomed to 
 act upon. A traveller in Africa has also passed through 
 ^France, and has perhaps told us many things respecting that 
 country, and we have acted on his information. He has also 
 told us of Sahara, and we have fallen into the same mental 
 attitude in this case, although we may not have the same occa- 
 sion to act it out. We express the attitude by saying, that if 
 we went to Africa, we would do certain things in consequence 
 of the information. 
 
 As regards the past, we believe history in two ways. The 
 first use is analogous to what has been stated, namely, when we 
 put the testimony to historical events on the same footing as the 
 testimony that we now act upon. Another way, is when we 
 form theories or doctrines of human affairs, reposing in part 
 on those past events, and carry these doctrines into operation 
 in our present practice. 
 
374 BELIEF. 
 
 The belief in sidereal phenomena immeastirably remote in 
 space and in time, is a recognition of the scientific method em- 
 ployed upon these phenomena. The navigator sails the seas 
 npon the faith of observations of the same nature as those 
 applied to tiie distant stars and nebnlsB. If an astronomer 
 propounded doctrines as to the nebulae, founded upon obser- 
 vations of a kind that would not be trusted in navigation or 
 in the prediction of eclipses, we should be in a perceptibly 
 different state of mind respecting such doctrines, and that 
 state of mind is not improperly styled disbelief. 
 
 (3) In many notorious instances our belief is determined 
 by the strength of our feelings, which may be alleged as a 
 proof that it is grounded on the emotional part of our nature. 
 The fact is admitted, but not the inference. It will be after- 
 wards seen in what ways the feelings operate upon the belief, 
 without themselves constituting the state of believing. 
 
 (4) Very frequently, belief is engendered by a purely in- 
 tellectual process. Thus, when a proposition in geometry is 
 first propounded to us, we may understand its purport with- 
 out believing it; but, by going through a chain of reasoning 
 or demonstration, an operation wholly of the intellect, we pass 
 into a state of entire conviction. So with the thousands of 
 cases where we are led into belief by mere argument, proof, or 
 intellectual enlightenment ; in all which, there is the appear- 
 ance of an intellectual origin of belief. 
 
 The same conclusion is suggested by another set of facts, 
 namely, our believing from, the testimony of our senses, or 
 personal experience ; for perception by the senses is admitted 
 to be a function of the intellect It is by such an operation 
 that we believe in gravity, in the connexion of sunrise with 
 light and heat, and so on. 
 
 So, when we receive and adjudicate on the testimony of 
 others, we are performing a fanction strictly intellectual. 
 
 Led seemingly by such facts as these, metaphysicians 
 have been almost, if not altogether, unanimous in enrolling 
 Belief among the intellectual powers. Nevertheless, it may 
 be affirmedj that intellect alone will not constitute Belief, any 
 more than it will constitute Volition. The reasonings of the 
 Gieometer do not create the state of belief, they merely bring 
 affirmations under an already-formed belief, the belief in the 
 axioms of the science. Unless that belief can be shown to be 
 an intellectual product, the faith in demonstrative truth is not 
 based in intellect. The precise function of our intelligence in 
 believing will be shown in what follows. 
 
BELIEF SUPPOSES INTERMEDIATE ACTIONS. 375 
 
 3. Belief is a growth or development of the WiU, under 
 the pursuit of intermediate ends. 
 
 Wten a voluntary action at once brings a pleasure or dis- 
 misses a pain, as in masticating food in the mouth, we expe- 
 rience the primitive course of the will ; there is an absence 
 ahke of deliberation, of resolution, of desire, aud of belief. 
 By a fiction, one might maintain that we are believing that 
 the mouthful of food is pleasant, just as one might say that we 
 choose, desire, and resolve to masticate and swallow the bolus ; 
 but in point of fact, such designations would never have come 
 into existence had all voHtion been of this primordial type. 
 It is the occurrence of a middle or intermediate state between 
 the motive and the felt gratification that makes these various 
 phases to appear. 
 
 Belief is shown when we are performing intermediate or 
 associated actions. When we put forth the hand to seize an 
 orange, peel it, and bring it to the mouth, we perform a num- 
 ber of actions, in themselves barren and unprofitable, and 
 stimulated by a pleasure to follow, which pleasure at present 
 exists as the ideal motive. In this situation, there is a fact 
 or phenomenon, not expressed by any of the other names for 
 what fiUs the void of a suspended volition ; there may be pre- 
 sent deliberation, resolution, and desire ; yet something still 
 remains. For example, in taking these steps to enjoy the 
 sweetness of the orange juices, we may have passed through 
 the phase of Desire ; previous experience of the pleasure has 
 given us an idea of it, accompanied by longing for perfect 
 fruition. We may also have passed through a Deliberation 
 and a Kesolution. But what is not yet expressed, is our assum- 
 ing that the actions now entered on will bring the state 
 desired, and our maintaining a degree of voluntary exertion as 
 energetic as if the pleasure were actually tasted. When we 
 act for an intermediate end, as strongly as we should for the 
 actual end, we are in a very peculiar situation, not implied in 
 desire, however strong, nor in deliberation, nor in resolution, 
 and deserving to be signalized by a name. The principal 
 designation is Belief; the synonymes are faith, trust, credit, 
 credence, confidence, assurance, security, reliance, certainty, 
 dependence, anticipation, expectation. 
 
 The state is known to vary in degree. Having formed a 
 desire, and having, if need be, deliberated and resolved, we 
 may pursue the intermediate ends, either with all the energy 
 that the ultimate consciouBness would prompt, or, what is very 
 
376 BELIEF. 
 
 common, with less than that energy; perhaps -with three- 
 fonrths, with one-half, or with one-fonrth the amonnt. This 
 difference need have no connexion with the intensity of desire, 
 or with the processes of deliberation or of resolution ; it re- 
 lates to a fact that has a separate standing in the mind ; and 
 the circumstances affecting it call for a special investigation. 
 4. Belief always contains an intellectual element ; 
 there being, in its least developed form, an Association of 
 Means and End. 
 
 The very fact of working for an intermediate end, with the 
 view to some remote or final end, implies an intellectual con- 
 ception of both, and the association of the one with the other. 
 The Iamb running to its ewe mother for milk and warmth, 
 has an intellectual train fixed in its mind — an idea of warmth 
 and repletion associated with the idea or characteristic picture 
 of its mother. AH the actions of human beings for remote 
 ends are based on the mental trains connecting the inteiv 
 mediate with the final. 
 
 We may properly describe these trains as a knowledge of 
 natural facts, or of tfie order of the world, which all creatures 
 that can do one thing for the sake of another, must possess to 
 some degree. Every animal with a home, and able to leave 
 it and to return, knows a little geography. The more exten- 
 sive this knowledge, the greater the power of gaining ends. 
 The stag knowing ten different pools to drink fi:om, is so much 
 better provided than when it knew but one. 
 
 Experience of nature, therefore, laid up in the memory, 
 must enter into every situation where we exert belief. Nay, 
 more. Such experience is, properly speaking, the just ground 
 of believing, the condition in whose absence there ought to 
 he no belief; and the greater the experience, the greater 
 should be the believing energy. But if we find, in point of foot, 
 ^hat belief does not accord with e:;^erience, we must admit 
 that there is some other spring of confidence than the natural 
 conjunctions or successions, repeated before the view, and 
 fixed in the mind by the force of contiguous association. 
 
 5. The mental foundations of Belief are to be sought 
 (1) in our Activity, (2) in the Intellectual Associations of 
 bur Experience, and (3) in the Feelings. 
 
 It is here affirmed, not only that Belief in its essence is 
 an active state, but that its foremost generating cause is the 
 Activity of the system, to which are added infinences Intel- 
 lectual and Emotional. 
 
ACTION CARRIES BELIEF TILL WE ARE CHECKED. 377 
 
 (1) "The Spontaneity of the moving organs is a source of 
 action, the system being &esh, and there being no hindrance. 
 Secondly, the additional Pleasure of Exercise is a farther 
 prompting to activity. Thirdly, the Memory of this plea- 
 sure is a motive to begin acting with a view to the 
 fruition of it; the operation of the will being enlarged by 
 an intellectaal bond. These three facts sum up the active 
 tendency of volition; the two first are impulses of pure 
 activity ; the third is supported by the retentive function of 
 the intellect. 
 
 Under these forces, one or more, we commence action, 
 and, BO long as there is no check, we continue tiU overtaken 
 by exhaustion. "We have no hesitation, doubt, or uncer- 
 tainty; while yet ignorant of what belief means, we act 
 precisely like a person in the highest state of confidence. 
 Behef can do no more than produce nnhesitating action, and 
 we are already placed at this point. 
 
 Suppose now that we experience a check, as when our 
 activity brings us pain. This is an arrest upon our present 
 movements ; and the memory of it has also a certain deterring 
 efiect. We do not again proceed in that track with the full 
 force of our spontaneous and volitional urgencies ; there is 
 an element of repngnance that weakens, if it does not destroy, 
 the active tendency. The young animal at first roams every- 
 where; in some one track it falls into a snare, and with 
 difficulty escapes ; it avoids that route in future ; but as 
 regards all others, it goes on as before. The primitive ten- 
 dency to m.ove freely in every direction is here broken in 
 upon by a hostile experience ; with respect to which there is 
 in future an anticipation of danger, a state of belief in coming 
 evil. Repeated experiences wonld confirm this deviation 
 from the rule of immunity ; but before any experience, the 
 rule was proceeded on. 
 
 We can now undei-stand what tJiere is instinctive in the 
 act of believing, and can account for the natural or primitive 
 credulity of the mind. The mere disposition to act, growing 
 out of our active endowments, carries belief with it; ex- 
 perience enlightening the intellect, does not create this active 
 disposition, bnt merely causes it to be increased by the 
 memory of attained fruition. A stronger natural spontaneity 
 would make a stronger belief, experience remaining the same. 
 Whatever course is entered on is believed in, nntil a check 
 arise ; a repeated check neutralizes the spontaneous and 
 voluntary agency, destroying alike action and belief. 
 
378 BELIEF. 
 
 The phenomena of credulity and mistaken beliefs are in 
 accordance with the active origin of the state. We strongly 
 believe that whatever has been in the past wiU always be in 
 the fiiture, exactly as we have found it in an unbroken 
 experience, however small ; that is, we are disposed to act in 
 any direction where we have never been checked. It does 
 not need a long-continued iteration, amounting to indis- 
 soluble association, to generate a belief: a single instance 
 under a motive to act is enough. The infant soon shows a 
 belief in the mother's breasts ; ajid if it could speculate on 
 the future, it would believe in being fed in that manner to 
 all eternity. The belief begins to be broken through when it 
 gets spoon meat ; and the anticipation is now partitioned, 
 but still energetic in holding that'the future will resemble the 
 past in the precise manner already experienced. 
 
 There is thus generated, from the department of our 
 Activity, a tendency, so wide as to be an important law of the 
 mind, to proceed upon any unbroken experience with the 
 whole energy of our active nature, and, accordingly, to believe, 
 with a vigour corresponding to our natural activity, that 
 what is uncontradicted is universal and eternal. Experience 
 adds the force of habit to the inborn energy, and hence the 
 tenacity of all early beliefs. Human nature everywhere 
 believes that its own experience is the measure of all men's 
 experience everywhere and in every time. Each one of us 
 believes at first that every other person is made, and feels, 
 like ourselves; and it takes a long education to abate 
 the sweeping generalization, which in no one is ever en- 
 tirely overcome. If belief were generated by the growth of 
 an intellectual bond of experienced conjunctions, we should 
 not form any judgment as to other men's feelings, until old 
 enough to perform a difB.cult scientific operation of analogical 
 reasoning ; we should say absolutely nothing about the distant, 
 the past, and the future, where our experience is null : we 
 might believe that the water from a known well slakes our 
 thirst, but we should not believe that the same water would 
 slake the thirst of other persons who had not tried it, nor 
 that any other water would slake our own thirst. It is the 
 active energy of the mind that makes the 'anticipation of 
 nature' so severely commented on by Bacon, as the parent 
 of all error. This anticipation, corrected and reduced to the 
 standard of experience, is the belief in the uniformity of 
 nature. 
 
 We labour under a natural inability or disqualification to 
 
BELIEF PASSES BEYOND EXPERIENCE. 379 
 
 conceive anything different from onr most limited experience ; 
 but there is no necessity that we should still persist in 
 assuming that what is absolutely unknown is exactly like what 
 we know. Such intrinsic forwardness is not a quality of the 
 intellect, it is the incontinence of our active nature. As we 
 act first and feel afterwards ; so we believe first and prove 
 afterwards ; not to be contradicted is to us sufScient proof. 
 The impetus to generalize is born of our activity, and we are 
 fortunate if we ever learn to ' apply to it the corrections of 
 subsequent experience. An ordinary person, by no means 
 unintelligent or uncultivated, happening to know one French- 
 man, would unhesitatingly attribute to the whole French 
 nation the mental peculiarities of that one individual. As 
 regards many of our convictions, the strength is in the 
 inverse ratio of the believer's experience. 
 
 6. (2) The second source of Belief is Intellectual Asso- 
 ciation. 
 
 The frequent experience of a succession leaves a firm 
 association of the several steps, and the one suggests readily 
 all the rest. This enters into belief, and augments in some 
 degree the active tendency to proceed in a certain course. 
 The successive acts of plucking an apple, putting it in the 
 mouth, and chewing it, are followed by an agreeable sensa- 
 tion : and the whole train is by repetition firmly fixed in the 
 mind. The main source of the energy shown in these inter- 
 mediate acts is still the activity — partly spontaneous, partly 
 volitional under the ideal motive of the sweetness. Yet the 
 facility of passing intellectually from, one step to another, 
 through the strength of the association, counts as an addition 
 to the strength of the impetus that carries us along through 
 the series of acts. On a principle already expounded, the 
 idea of an act has a certain efficacy in realizing it ; and a 
 secure association, bringing on the ideas, would help to bring 
 on the actions. It may be safely maintained, however, that no 
 mere association of ideas would set the activity in motion, or 
 constitute the active disposition, called belief. A very strong 
 association between 'apple' and 'sweetness,' generated by 
 hearing the words often joined together (as from the ' dulce 
 pomum ' of the Latin Grammar), would make the one word 
 suggest the other, and the corresponding ideas likewise sug- 
 gest each other; but the taking action upon them still 
 requires an active bent of the organs, growing out of the 
 causes of our activity — spontaneity and a motive ; and, until 
 
380 BELIEF. 
 
 these are brouglit into play, there is no action and no active 
 disposition, or belief. 
 
 When we have been disciplined to consnlt observation and 
 experience before making affirmations respecting things dis- 
 tant in place or time, instead of generalizing haphazard, we 
 import very extensive intellectnal operations into the settle- 
 ment of our beliefs; but these intellectual processes do not 
 constitute the attitude of believing. They are set agoing by 
 motives to the wUl — by the failures and checks encountered 
 in proceeding on too narrow grounds; and when we have 
 attained the improved knowledge, we follow it out into prac- 
 tice by virtue of voluntary determinations, whose course has 
 been cleared by the higher flight of intelligence ; yet there is 
 nothing in mere intellect that would make us act, or contem- 
 plate action, and therefore nothing that makes us believe. 
 
 It is illustrative and interesting to note who are the 
 decided characters in life — the men prompt and unhesitating 
 in action on all occasions. They are men distinguished, not 
 for intelligence, but for the active endowment ; a profuse spon- 
 taneity lending itself to motives few and strong. Intelligence 
 in excess paralyzes action, reducing it in quantity, although no 
 doubt improving it in quality — ^in successful adaptation to ends. 
 
 7. (3) The third source or foundation of Belief is the 
 Feelings. 
 
 We have already taken account of the influence of the 
 Feelings in generating belief, and we need only to re-state in 
 summary the manner of the operation. 
 
 We may first recall the two tests of belief — (1) the energy 
 of pursuit of the intermediate ends, the final end not being in 
 the grasp, and (2) the elation of mind through the mere pros- 
 pect of the final end (when that is something agreeable). In 
 both these aspects, belief is affected by feeling. 
 
 If the fin^ end is a pleasure, and strongly realized in idea, 
 the energy of pursuit is proportionably strong, and the con- 
 viction is strong, as shown by the obstacles surmounted not 
 merely in the shape of resistance, but in the shape of total 
 want of evidence. An object intenisely desired is followed out 
 with excessive credulity as to the chances of attainment. 
 
 There is another mode of strengthening the believing 
 attitude by pleasure. Irrespective of the contemplation of 
 the end, which is necessarily pleasure (whether direct, or indi- 
 rect, as relief fi-om pain), there may be other causes of plea- 
 sure operating at the moment to impart elation or buoyancy 
 
INrLUENCE OF THE FEELINGS. 381 
 
 of tone. Such, elation strengthens the believing temper, with 
 respect to whatever is in hand. A traveller in quest of new 
 regions is subject to alternations of confidence according to 
 the states of mind that he passes through, from whatever 
 cause. He is more sanguine when he is refreshed and vigorous, 
 when the day is balmy, or the scenery cheerful, there being no 
 real accession of evidence through any of these circumstances. 
 That a higher mood of enjoyment should be a higher mood 
 of beUef is evident on both aspects of belief. In the first place, 
 whatever action is present is more vigorously pursued, with 
 which vigour of pursuit the state of confidence is implicated. 
 And, in the second place, as regards the cheering ideal fore- 
 taste of the final end, anything that improves the elation of 
 tone has the very same effect as the improved prospect of 
 the end would have, such improved prospect meaning a stronger 
 belief. What we want from a strong assurance is mental 
 comfort, and if the comfort arises concurrently with the belief, 
 we have the thing wished, and the belief is for the moment 
 made up by an adventitious or accidental mixture. 
 
 in some forms of Belief, as in Religion, the cheering cir- 
 cumstance is the prominent fact. Such belief is valued as a 
 tonic to the mind, like any form of pleasure ; the belief and 
 the elation are convertible facts. Hence, when the belief is 
 feeble, any accession of a joyful mood wiU be seen to 
 strengthen the belief, while the opposite state will be supposed 
 to weaken it ; the fact being that the two influences conspire 
 together, and we may, if we please, put both to the account of 
 one, especially if the source of the other is hidden or unseen. 
 
 The cultivation of these last named beliefs is purely 
 emotional, and consists in strengthening the associations of 
 feeling in the mind ; the case is in all respects identical with 
 the growth of an afiection. With any strong afiection, there 
 is implicated a corresponding strength of belief. 
 
 Mere strength of excitement, of the neutral kind, will con- 
 trol belief as it controls the will, by the force of the persisting 
 idea. Whatever end very much inflames the mind, will be 
 impressed according to the strength of the excitement, and 
 irrespective of the pleasure or the pain of it, and; in deter- 
 mining to action, will constitute belief in whatever appears as 
 the intermediate instrument. A very slight and casual asso- 
 ciation will be taken up and assumed as a cause. The mother 
 having lost a child will conceive a repugnance to a certain 
 thing associated in her mind with the child's death ; she will 
 keep aloof from that thing with the whole force of her will to 
 
382 BELIEF. 
 
 save her other children ; which is tantamotint to believing m 
 a connexion of cause and effect between the two facts. The 
 influence of the feelings thus serves to confirm an intellectnal 
 link, perhaps only once experienced, into a strong associa- 
 tion, such as a great many counter experiences may not be 
 able to dissolve. 
 
 Lastly, the power of the feelings to command the presence 
 of one class of thoughts, and banish all of a hostile kind from 
 the view, necessarily operates in belief as in action. A fidght 
 fastens the thoughts upon the circumstances of alarm, and 
 renders one unable to hold in the view such as could neutralize 
 the terror. There are considerations within reach that would 
 prevent us believing in the worst, but they cannot make their 
 appearance ; the well-timed reminder of them by the agency 
 of a friend, is then an invaluable substitute for the paralyzed 
 operation of our own intelligence. 
 
 8. The Belief in the order of the World, or the course 
 of Nature, varies in character, in different persons, accord- 
 ing to the relative predominance of the three causes 
 enumerated. 
 
 All belief implicates the order of the world ; or the con- 
 nexion between one thing and another thing, such that the 
 one can be employed as a means to secure the other as an end. 
 We believe that a rushing stream is a prime mover; that 
 vegetation needs rain and sunshine ; that animals are pro- 
 duced from their own kind ; that the body is strengthened 
 by exercise. 
 
 The chief source of belief is unobstructed activity. A 
 single experiment is enough to constitute belief; what we 
 have done successfully once, we are ready to do a^ain, with- 
 out the smallest hesitation. Repetition may strengthen the 
 tendency, but five repetitions do not give five times the con- 
 viction of one ; it would be nearer the mark to say, that, apart 
 from our educated tests of truth, fifty repetitions might per- 
 haps double the strength of conviction of the first. We are 
 all faith at the outset ; we become sceptics by experience, that 
 is, by encountering checks and exceptions. We begin with 
 unbounded credulity, and are gradually educated into a more 
 limited reliance. 
 
 Our belief in the physical laws is our primitive spontaneity 
 coniraMed to the bounds of experience. Of this kind, is our 
 faith in gravity, heat, light, and so on. Our trials are greatly 
 simplified by the guidance of those that have gone before us. 
 
BELIEF IN THE OKDKK OF NATURE. 383 
 
 As regards the more ordinary phenomena, we soon fall into 
 the right channels of acting ; an animal learns in a short time 
 from what height it can jnmp with safety. 
 
 The long catalogue of perverted, extravagant, erratic 
 beliefs, can in most instances be accounted for by some 
 unusual degree of feeling, whether pleasure, pain, or mere 
 excitement. We are hard to convince that anything we like 
 can do us any mischief; this is strength of pleasurable feeling, 
 operating through desire, and barring out from the thoughfa; 
 the hostile experience. We believe in the wisdom and other 
 merits of the persons that we love or admire ; another of the 
 many instances of the power of feeliug. We have at first un- 
 limited faith in testimony ; whatever is told us is presumed, 
 as a matter of course, to be true, just as what we find on a 
 first trial, is expected to hold always. Experience has to limit 
 this sweeping confidence ; and if likings and dislikings are 
 kept under, and remembered facts are alone trusted to, 
 we acquire what is called a rational belief in testimony, 
 namely, a belief proportioned to the absence of contradictory 
 facts. 
 
 Our belief is influenced by our fellow beings in obvious 
 ways. Sympathy and Imitation make us adopt the actions 
 and the feelings of those about us ; and the effect of society 
 does not stop here, but goes the length of compulsion. By 
 these combined influences, we are educated in all beliefs that 
 transcend our own experience, and swayed even in what falls 
 under our observation. 
 
 A mere iutellectual statement, often repeated, disposes us 
 to credence, but does not amount to the state of belief, till we 
 have occasion to take some action upon it ; and the real force 
 of the state arises when our action receives some confirmation. 
 We are in a very loose state of mind as regards many floating 
 doctrines, such as the recondite assertions of science, and the 
 higher mysteries of the supernatural. Should we make a 
 single experiment for ourselves, and find it accord with what 
 has been affirmed, we are at once elevated into confidence, 
 perhaps even beyond the actual truth ; the untutored mind 
 knowing nothing of the repetitions and precautions necessary 
 to establish a fact. 
 
 The superstitious beliefs of unenlightened ages, — astrology, 
 alchemy, witchcraft, — and the perversions of scientific truth 
 in early philosophy from the various strong emotions, are all 
 explicable upon the influence of feeling in the originators, with 
 the subsequent addition of authority and imitation. . 
 
384 BELIEF. 
 
 9. Belief is opposed, not by Disbelief, but by Doubt. 
 As mental attitudes, Belief and Disbelief are the same. We 
 
 cannot believe one thing -without disbelieving some other 
 thing ; if we believe that the stin is risen, we must disbelieve 
 that he is below the horizon. 
 
 When we are nnable to obtain a conviction, one way or 
 other, we are said to doubt, to be in a state of uncertainty, or 
 suspense. If the thing concerns us little, we are indifferent 
 to tills absence of the means of conviction. The condition of 
 doubt is manifested in its true character, as a distressing ex- 
 perience, when we are obliged to act and are yet uncertain as 
 to the course. The connexion of means and end does not com- 
 mand our belief or assurance ; there are opposing suggestions 
 or appearances, more or less evenly balanced ; or there is no- 
 thing to go upon in either way. Hence we are in danger of 
 being baulked in our ends ; and, in addition, have all the 
 vacillation of a conflict. In matters of great import, doubt is 
 the name for unspeakable misery. 
 
 Doubt and Fear, although distinguishable, run very closely 
 together. Doubt, in its painiul and distressing form, is pre- 
 cisely the state of Pear. A cause of fear deepens the condi- 
 tion of doubt ; circumstances of doubt will intensity fear. 
 The same temperament is victorious alike over doubt and fear; 
 the active disposition has been seen to be a spring of courage. 
 
 10. The opposing designations Hope and Despond- 
 ency signify phases of BeUef. 
 
 Hope expresses belief in its cheering or elating aspect, 
 being the confidence in future good, the belief that some 
 agreeable end is more or less certain in its arrival. It farther 
 denotes something less than total or complete assurance, or 
 rather it is considered as ranging in compass from the smallest 
 degree of confidence that can have any elating effect, up to 
 the highest point when prospect is on a level witii possession. 
 Hence, in expressing hope, we usually append an epithet of 
 degree; we have good hopes of a prosperous commercial 
 year, we have faint hopes of the next harvest. 
 
 The opposite of Hope is not Fear, but Despondency, the 
 belief in coming evil, a condition of mind the more depressing 
 as the belief is stronger. An army over-matched is despon- 
 dent; that is, believes in impending defeat. The state of 
 Fear very readily supervenes ; but there may be despondency, 
 with the absence of fear proper. The extreme of Despondency 
 is Despair. 
 
CONDITIONS OF MORAL ACQtriEEMENTS. 385 
 
 WHen the hope or the despondency can be based on cer- 
 tain evidence, or on probable evidence as entertained by a 
 highly disciplined judgment, they are comparatively little 
 affected by extraneous agencies of elation or depression. But 
 in matters of probable evidence, and in minds of little sta- 
 bility, the state of hope or despondency fluctuates with the 
 influences that raise or depress the general tone. Every thing 
 already said, of Belief in general, is true of belief under the 
 name of Hope. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE MORAL HABITS. 
 
 1. The Moral Habits are the acquirements relating to 
 Feelings and Volitions. 
 
 Besides the intellectual acquirements properly so called, 
 as Language, Science, &c., we have a series of growths con- 
 sisting in the increase or diminntion of the feelings, and in 
 modifications of the strength of the will, whereby some 
 motives gain and others lose in practical efficacy. We speak 
 of habits of Courage, Fortitude, Command of Temper, mean- 
 ing that thbse qualities have attained, through education, a 
 degree not attacMng to them naturally. 
 
 2. The Moral Acquirements come under the general 
 conditions of Eetentiveness. 
 
 In heightening, or in detracting from, the natural strength 
 of feelings and volitions, we are aided by all the circumstances 
 enumerated in regard to the attainmente of the intellect. 
 
 Tn the first place, a certain repetition is necessary, greater 
 or less according to the change that has to be affected, and to 
 the absence of other favouring dfcumstances. The moral 
 education seldom reaches maturity till a late period of life. 
 
 Tn the second place, the mind may be more or less con- 
 centrated on the acquisition. Apart from the amount of repe- 
 tition, moral progress depends greatly on the bent of the 
 learner towards tiie Special acquisition. If we are stnAdng 
 can amore to attain any important habitude, such as the Com- 
 mand of the Attention, the cuirents of the brain are excln- 
 25 
 
386 THE MOEAL HABITS. 
 
 Bively set in this one direction, instead of being divided with 
 other engrossments. A less efficient, although still a powerful, 
 Btimnlns, is the application of pain. 
 
 In the third place, individuals differ in the power of 
 Eetentiveness or Adhesiveness, as a whole ; rendering them 
 apt as learners generally. 
 
 There are also local endowments leading to a special 
 retentiveness in matters of knowledge; as when the good 
 natural ear brings about rapid musical attainments. It might 
 be over-refining to attempt to carry this supposition into the 
 domain of the feelings. 
 
 3. The conditions special to the Moral Acquirements 
 are, first, an Initiative, and, secondly, a Gradual Exposure 
 in cases of conflict. 
 
 As a large and important branch of moral acquisition 
 consists in strengthening one power to overcome another, it 
 is of great advantage to have an uninterrupted series of suc- 
 cesses : which can only be secured by strongly backing at 
 first the motive to be strengthened, and by never giving it 
 too much to do. Defeats should be avoided, especially in the 
 early stages. 
 
 4. We may begin the detail by adverting to the 
 voluntary control of Sense and Appetite. 
 
 We have seen, in the conflict of Motives, the sensations 
 and the appetites resisted by ideal considerations, that is, by 
 good and evil in the distance. Now, this control depends, at 
 first, on the relative strength of Appetite and of the Memory 
 of good and evil ; eventually, however, repeated action in one 
 way, either in indulging or in thwarting the appetite, brings 
 into play Betentiveness, or habit, as an additional force on 
 the prevailing side. 
 
 Take, as an example, the endurance of cold, for purposes 
 of healthy stimulation, as in habitual cold bathing and ex- 
 posure to weather. There is a conflict of volition between 
 present sensation, and good and evil in the distance. The 
 ideal motive may be at first too weak, and may need 
 strengthening ; for which end, it is desired to superadd the 
 force of habit. The commencement demands an Initiative. 
 Some cause fi-om without should induce the regular and 
 systematic exposure of the body to cold water and cold air. 
 At the early stages, there may be felt a. revulsion at the 
 process. Bepetition, if steady, has a twofold effect ; it lowers 
 
CONTKOL OF SENSE AND APPETITE. 387 
 
 the painful sensibility, and increases the tendency to perform 
 the actions as the appointed time comes round. Now, with a 
 view to the more speedy attainment of these two ends, there 
 should never be any intermission, or giving way ; and the 
 shock encountered should not be of such an extreme kind, as 
 would make an insurmountable aversion. Hence, an ade- 
 quate initiative should concur with a graduation of the 
 exposure ; with these two conditions, the progress of the 
 habit is steady and sure. The subject of the experiment can, 
 after a time, be left to the ordinary motives ; the moral edu- 
 cation being complete. 
 
 A parallel illustration applies to the whole department of 
 Temperance or control of Appetite. 
 
 Under the present head, we may notice the Command of the 
 Attention, as against the diversions and solicitations of out- 
 ward things. The infant is at the mercy of every sight and 
 every sound, and has no power of consecutive attention, unless 
 under some one sensation stronger than any of the rest. 
 Early education has to reclaim the wandering and volatile 
 gaze. The child is set to a short lesson, in the first instance, 
 under a suflBlcienfc pressure from without to maintain the atten- 
 tion during that tune, and in spite of casual diversions. The 
 demand for concentration is increased slowly, never exceed- 
 ing what the combined force of the initiative and the acquired 
 bent can achieve. 
 
 Belonging to various situations and occupations is the 
 habit of becoming indifferent to noise and to the distraction of 
 spectacle, as in the bustle of towns and places of business. 
 The ability to seclude the attention in the midst of noise may 
 be acquired, if the conditions can be complied with. There 
 must be to commence with some power sufficient to divert the 
 mind from the noise for certain periods of time ; during every 
 such period a lesson is taken, and, by sufficient repetition, the 
 power of indifference may become complete for all circum- 
 stances. The inuring process, while succeeding in most in- 
 stances, entirely fails in some ; the reason being that the sensi- 
 tiveness cannot by any influence be sufficientiy overcome to 
 make a beginning. If these susceptible minds, instead of 
 being at once immersed in the uproar, could be subjected to a 
 steadily increasing noise, they might be hardened at last. 
 
 5. Culture applied to the Special Emotions may em- 
 brace (1) the Emotional susceptibility on the whole, and 
 (2) the Emotions singly. 
 
388 THE MOKAL HABITS. 
 
 (1) There is in each person a ceiH^in Emotional constitu- 
 tion, or natural proneness to Emotion generally ; shown in 
 the amount- of emotional fervour and display. This may be 
 increased or diminished by cnltivationj at the expense of the 
 two other departments of the mind; By sympathy, stimula- 
 tion, and encouragement, by occupying the mind with emo- 
 tional exercises^ the department acquires more than its natural 
 dimensions, whUe Volition and Intellect are proportionably 
 shrivelled. If, besides the positive encouragement of the emo- 
 tional side; there are poMtive disconragements to exerting 
 Will and Intelligence, the work of re-adjustment will go on 
 still faster. 
 
 There are nations whose character is highly emotional in 
 comparison with others ; at the head of the scale in Europe, 
 we miay place the Italians, after which come the French, Ger- 
 mans, English. An English child domesticated in Rome or 
 Florence, would contract something of the Italian fervour ; an 
 Italian chUd, feared in the north of Scotland, would be ren- 
 dered more volitional or intellectual, and less emotional. 
 
 The leading displays of Emotion generally are, the sus- 
 ceptibility to Atnusement, great Sociability, devotion to Fine 
 Art, the warmer modes of Religious sentiment, and an emo- 
 tional coloming impressed on scientific doctrines. 
 
 (2) Any single emotion may be made more or less 
 copious. Much important discipline is involved in the en- 
 conriagefiient or repression of individual emotions. 
 
 For example, the pleasure of Liberty, with the pain of Con- 
 straint, needs to be surmounted in many ways, being opposed 
 to IndnBtry, to Obedience or submission, and to the checks 
 and obstructions of one's lot. No better example can be givfen 
 of ihe pow'er of habituation ; while the manner of attaining it 
 is in ftdl accordance with the general rules. The dislike to 
 restraints may be completely overcome, and with it the plea- 
 surable rebound of liberty. When this is the case, we shall 
 find that the initiative has been all-powerful to secure un- 
 broken submission. In every well-ordered mind, there are 
 numerous instances of restraints, at first painful, now utterly 
 indifferent ; scarcely any pletisure would be felt in bre&king 
 out from them. The old soldier has contracted a punctuality 
 and an obedience, so thorough as to be mechanical; he 
 neither feels the pang of constraint, nor would he rejoice in 
 being set free from the obligation. 
 
 We have, ia Hie case of Terror, a valuable illustration of 
 the miperative nature of a gradual habituation. With a view 
 
CULTURE AND SUPPKESSIQN 01 EMOTIONS. 389 
 
 to iiupart a certain degree of courage to a timid constitution, 
 it is above all things necessary to avoid a severe fright. A 
 gentle and graduated exposure to occasions of alarm, might do 
 much to establish courage by habit, all other cironmstances 
 being favourable ; a single giving way is a serious loss of 
 ground. 
 
 The developments of the Tender Feeling include an ex- 
 tensive course of habituation. Irrespective of the associations 
 that connect it with special objects, constituting the affections, 
 the indulgence of tender feeling increases the powpr of the 
 emotion as a whole. 
 
 The Emotion of Self-tenderness, or Self-complacency, 
 being a special direction of the general feeling, is amenable 
 to culture or restraint. The initiative in the case must be 
 the individual's own volition, it being impracticable for others 
 to control, otherwise than by example or moral suasion, an 
 emotion that works xmseen. 
 
 The Emotion of Approbation, Praise, Glory, may be 
 repressed by control, and its repression rendered habitual. 
 It is a part of every one's experience to share ia unnjprited 
 reproaches : and public men more especially have to contract 
 a settled indifference to abuse. This is one of the cases 
 where the system adjusts itself by the operation of Relativity. 
 As praise and censure are felt in their highest force only 
 while fresh, they are dependent on the occurrence of new 
 occasions. 
 
 It is almost, if not altogether, a contradictory aim to 
 become indifferent to blame, while fostering the pleasure of 
 praise. We may acquire by habit a certain amount of in- 
 difference to other men's opinions, favourable or unfavourable, 
 surrendering the pleasure as well as surmounting the pain. 
 There is another course somewhat less sweeping: namely, 
 to acquire a settled disesteem, or contempt, of certain indi- 
 viduals, whose censure thereby loses its force ; while we retain 
 a susceptibility to the opinion of others disposed to praise 
 more than to blame us. 
 
 The Emotion of Power, being in its unbridled gratification 
 so mischievous, is subjected to control on moral grounds. 
 To attain habits of moderation in regard to this craving, a 
 man must be himself impressed with the evils of it, go as to 
 put forth a commanding vpUtion, and thereby initiate a habitual 
 coercion. 
 
 The outbursts of Irascibility have to be cheeked by 
 voluntary control confirmed into habit. The education of 
 
390 THE MOKAL HABITS. 
 
 the young comprises this department. The value of the 
 initiative is fully manifested in this case. External influence, 
 according to an ideal mixture of firmness and conciliation, is 
 most happily employed in restraining the childish ebullitions 
 of temper, so as to mature an early habit of coolness and 
 suppression. It is more difficult to reach the deep-seated plea- 
 sure of malevolence than to check the incontinent paroxysms 
 most usually identified with irascibility. A man may be 
 exacting, jealous, revengeful, without showing fits of ill temper. 
 
 The department of Plot-interest may be pandered to by 
 incontinent amusement, or restrained by self-command and 
 by early discipline. A great indulgence in the amusements 
 described under this head is a test of the Emotional nature 
 aa a whole. 
 
 The Emotions of Intellect are cherished or suppressed by 
 the same causes as the intellect itself. 
 
 On the cultivation of Taste there is nothing new to be 
 said. The transformation of a human being, bom with a defi- 
 cient sensibility, into an artistic nature, expresses perhaps the 
 very utmost stretch that culture can effect, every circumstance 
 being supposed favourable. There must be a great starving 
 down of the predominating elements of the character, to bring 
 forward this single feature from its low, to a high, estate. 
 
 The Moral Peelings exemplify in the most interesting 
 case of all, the same general considerations. When the 
 elements of the moral sentiment are known, the manner of its 
 development and its confirmation into habit are sufficiently 
 plain ; but the importance of the subject deserves a separate 
 chapter. 
 
 6. Certain Habits may be specified under tbe Activity 
 or the Will 
 
 (1) In connexion with the active organs, we contract 
 habits of invigoration and endurance, as the result of prac- 
 tice. Whatever organ is steadily employed — the arm, the 
 hand, the voice — attains greater strength and persistence, 
 provided the habituation is gradual, and the demands never 
 too great. Still, we must not forget, that such a strengthen- 
 ing process, if carried far, will usurp so much of the nutrition 
 of the system, as seriously to impair other functions either 
 bodily or mental. As regards physical expenditure, the 
 intellect is our most costly function. 
 
 To evolve a larger quantity of spontaneous action than 
 belongs to the constitution by nature, is one of the possible 
 
CONTEOL OF THE INTELLECTUAL TKAINS. 391 
 
 ways of re-distribnting the powers of the system. A langnid, 
 inactive temperament may be spurred up to greater energy, 
 by surrendering some other point of superiority ; as when a man 
 whose forte is intelligence enters the army, or other active 
 profession. 
 
 (2) The habit of Endurance, as connected with Desire, 
 nught be advantageously dwelt -ftpon. There are instances, 
 where endurance is made habitual, under an outward initia- 
 tive, as in apprenticeship to work. In other cases, it is tJie 
 will's own resolution, under motive's of good and evil. If a 
 certain degree of steadiness can be maintained in bearing up 
 against any endurable pain, the reward will follow in abate- 
 ment of the effort or struggle. 
 
 7. The Toluntary control of the Intellectual trains may 
 pass into Habit. 
 
 There are two special modes of voluntary control of the 
 trains of thought, and, in both, practice leads to habit. 
 
 (1) Mental concentration, as against digressions, wander- 
 ings, reveries, may be commanded by motive ; and, if initiated 
 adequately and maintained persistently, may acquire the ease 
 that habituation gives. 
 
 (2) The power of dismissing a subject from the mind is 
 an exercise of will in opposition to intellectual persistence, and 
 is difficult according as that persistence is inflamed by feeling. 
 At first a severe or impracticable effort, it is eventually com- 
 manded by men trained to intellectual professions, and is 
 essential to the despatch of multifarious business. 
 
 It is important to repeat, that many of the acquisitions, 
 detailed in this chapter, are vast changes, amounting almost 
 to a reconstruction of the human character ; and that, to ren- 
 der them possible, the conditions of plastic growth must be 
 present in an unusually favourable degree. Bodily health and 
 nourishment, exemption from fatigues, worry and harass- 
 ment, absence of heavy drafts upon the plastic power by other 
 acquisitions, together with the special conditions more par- 
 ticularly urged in this chapter, must conspire with a consti- 
 tutional endowment of Ketentiveness, to operate these great 
 moral revolutions. 
 
392 PBUDBNOE. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 PEUDENCE.— DUT"?.— MOEAL INABILITY. 
 
 1. Human Pursuit, as a whole, is divided, for im- 
 portant practical reasons, into two great departments. 
 
 The first embraces the highest and most comprehensive 
 regard to Self; and is designated Prudence, Self-Love, 
 the search after Happiness. It is opposed or thwarted 
 mainly by the urgency of present good or evil, and by 
 fixed ideas. 
 
 . Happiness is made up of the total of oar pleaanres, 
 diminished by the total of onr pains ; and the endeavonr after 
 it resolves itself into seeking tiie one and avoiding the other. 
 There is a Qomplicated mixture of good and evil always in the 
 distance, and even in the absence of moral weakness, we 
 shonld find the problem of our greatest happiness on the 
 whole, one of considerable perplexity. 
 
 The influences on the side of Prudence are these : — 
 
 (1) The natural aptitude, so often alluded to, for remem- 
 bering good and evil, by which the future interests are 
 powerfully represented in the conflict with present or actual 
 
 I pleasure and pain. 
 
 (2) The influences brought to bear upon the mind, 
 especially in early years, in the way of authority, example, 
 warning, instruction ; all which, if happily administered, may 
 both supply motives and build up habits, such as to counteract 
 the strong solicitations of present appetite or emotion. 
 
 (3) The acquired knowledge, referring to the good and 
 evil consequences of action. A full acquaintance with the 
 laws of our own bodies and minds, with the ongoings of 
 society, and with the order of nature generally, counts, on the 
 side of prudence by making us aware of the less obvious ten- 
 dencies of conduct. 
 
 (4) The floating opinion of those around us, the public 
 inculcation of virtuous conduct, and the whole literature of 
 moral suasion, backed by the display of approved examples, 
 go a great way to form die prudential character of the mature 
 individual. 
 
INFLUENCES IS FATOUE OF DUTY. 393 
 
 Although the proper function of public opinion is to mould 
 us to duty, as contrasted with mere prudence, yet in no 
 country, has society refrained from both teaching and even 
 compelling prudential conduct, according to approved stand- 
 ards. 
 
 (5) The reflections of the individual mind, frequently and 
 earnestly turned upon what is best in the long run, are a 
 powerfal adjunct to the building up of a prudential character. 
 The more we allow ourselves to dwell upon past errors, the 
 more we increase their deterring force in the fature. More- 
 over, a certain deliberative habit is necessary to carrying out 
 •wisely any end of "pursuit, and most of all the pursuit of the 
 end that includes ajid reconciles so many ends. 
 
 2. The second department of pursuit comprises the 
 regard to others, and is named Duty. It is warred against 
 not only by the forces inimical to Prudence, but also occa- 
 sionally by Prudence itself. 
 
 That, in the pursuit of our happiness, we shall not in- 
 fringe on the happiness of others, is Duty, in its most impera- 
 tive form. How far we shall make positive contributions to 
 the good of our fellows is less definitely settied. 
 
 The following are the prominent influences in favour of 
 Duty. 
 
 I. — ^The Sympathetic part of our nature has already been 
 pointed out as the chief fountain of disinterested action. By 
 virtue of sympathy, we are restrained from hurting other sen- 
 tient beings ; and the strotger the sympathy, the greater the 
 restraint. In many instances, we abandon pleasures, and 
 incur pains, rather than give pain to some one that has en- 
 gaged our sympathy. 
 
 Sympathy is, in its foundation, a natural endowment, very 
 feebly manifested in the lower races. It differs greatiy among 
 individuals of the same race ; and may be much improved by 
 education. Its main condition is the giving heed or attention 
 to the feelings of others, instead of being wholly and at all 
 times absorbed with what concerns ourselves alone ; and this 
 attention may be prompted by instructors and confirmed into 
 habit. 
 
 n. — No amount of sympathy ever yet manifested by human 
 beings would be enough to protect one man from another. 
 The largest part of the check consists in the application of 
 Prudential or self-regarding motives. 
 
 (1) Punishment^ or the deliberate infliction of pain, in the 
 
394 DUTY. 
 
 name of the collective mass of beings making a society, is the 
 foremost incentive to Duty, considered as abstinence from in- 
 JTiring others. Not only is this the chief deterring instru- 
 ment, it is also the means of settling;i and defining what dnty 
 is. Society prescribes the acts that are held to be injurious, 
 and does not leave the point to the option of the individual 
 citizen. Our own sympathies might take a different direction, 
 inducing us to abstain from what the society enjoins, and do 
 what society forbids ; but we are not permitted to exercise 
 our own discretion in the matter. Hence duty is the line 
 chalked out by public authority, or law, and indicated by 
 penalty or punishment. 
 
 The penalties of law are thus of a two-fold importance in 
 the matter of duty ; they both teach and enforce it. The fre- 
 quent practice of abstaining from punishable acts generates 
 the most important of all our active states, the aversion to 
 whatever is forbidden in this form. Such aversion is Con- 
 science in its most general type. 
 
 (2) The sense of our personal interest in establishing a 
 systematic abstinence from injury on the part of one man to 
 another; is a strong motive of the prudential kind. A very 
 little reflection teaches us that unless each person consents of 
 his own accord to abstain from molesting his neighbour, he is not 
 safe himself; and that the best thing for all is a mutual under- 
 standing, or compact of non-interference, observed by each. 
 No society can exist unless a considerable majority of its mem- 
 bers are disposed to enter into, and to observe, such a com- 
 pact. Punishment could not be applied to a whole com- 
 munity ; it is practicable only when the majority are volun- 
 tary in their own obedience, and strong enough to coerce the 
 breakers of the compact. 
 
 It may be fairly doubted whether the most enlightened 
 prudence would be enough of itself to maintain social obedi- 
 ence. At aU events, self-love wiU do little or nothing for 
 improving the condition of society ; to the pure self-seeker, 
 posterity weighs as nothing. Nor would self-love easily allow 
 of that temporary expenditure that is repayed by the affection 
 of others ; a certain amount of natural generosity is necessaiy 
 to reap this kind of gratification. 
 
 The average constitution of civilized man is a certain mix- 
 ture of the prudential and the sympathetic; both elements 
 are present, and neither is very powerful. Individuals are to 
 be found prudential in the extreme, with little sympathy, and 
 sympathetic in the extreme with little prudence ; but an or- 
 
MOEAL INABILITY. 395 
 
 dinary man has a moderate share of both. The performance 
 of duty is secured in part by the self-regarding motives, and 
 in part by the sympathetic or generous impulses, which propipt 
 a certain amount of abstinence from injury and of self- 
 sacrifice. 
 
 3. The supporting adjuncts of prudence are also 
 applicable to strengthening the motives of Duty. 
 
 The arts of moral discipline and moral suasion, in other 
 words, the means of inculcating the conduct prescribed by 
 society as binding on all citizens, are numerous and well 
 known. Early inculcation, and example, together with the 
 use of punishment ; the force of the public sentiment concur- 
 ring with the power of the magistrate ; the systematic re- 
 minders of the religious and moral teacher ; the insinuating 
 lessons of polite literature ; and, not least, the mind's own 
 habits of reflection upon duty; — aie efficacious in bring- 
 ing forward both the sympathetic and the self-regarding 
 motives to abstain from the conduct forbidden by the social 
 authority. 
 
 4. Moral Inability expresses the insufficiency of 
 ordinary motives, but not of all motives. 
 
 The child that cannot resist the temptation of sweets, the 
 confirmed drunkard, the incorrigible thief, are spoken of as 
 labouring under moral inability to comply with the behests of 
 prudence and of duty. The meaning is, that the motives on 
 one side are not adequately encountered by motives on the 
 other side. It is not impUed that motives might not be found 
 strong enough to change the conduct in all cases. Still less 
 is it implied that the link of uniform causation in the case of 
 motive and action is irregular and uncertain. 
 
 There are states of mind, wherein all motives lose their 
 power. An inability to remember or realize the consequences 
 of actions ; or a morbid delusion such as to pervert the trains 
 of thought, will render a human being no longer amenable to 
 the strongest motives ; the inability then ceases to be moral. 
 This is the state of insanity, and irresponsibihty. 
 
 There is a middle condition between the sane and the pro- 
 perly insane, where motives have not lost their force, but 
 where the severest sanctions of society, although present to the 
 mind, are unequal to the passion of the moment. Such pas- 
 sionate fits may occur, under extraordinary circumstances, to 
 persons accounted sane and responsible for their actions ; if 
 
396. LIBEBTT AND NKCESSITY. 
 
 ihey occur to any one frequently, and under pUgtt provocation, 
 they constitnte a degree of moral inability vergmg on the 
 irresponpil)le, ., , .. 
 
 In criminal procedure, a man is accomited rewpsible, it 
 motives stiU continue to have power over him. There w no 
 other general rule. It is requisite, in order to sustain the 
 plea of irresponsibDity or insanity, that the accused should 
 not only be, but appear to the world generaDy to be, beyond 
 the influence pf mptiyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LIBEKTT AND NEOBSSITT. 
 
 1. The exposition of the Will has proceeded on the 
 Uniformity of Sequence between motive and action. 
 
 Throughout the foregoing chapters, it is either openly 
 afi&rmed or tacitly supposed, that the same motive, in the 
 same circumstances, will be followed by the same action. 
 The uniformity pf sequence, admitted to prevail in the phy- 
 sical world, is held to exist in the mental world, although the 
 terms of the sequence are of a different character, as involving 
 states of the subjective consciousness. Without this assump: 
 tlon, the whole superstructure pf the theory of volition would 
 be the baseless fabric of a vision. In so far as that theory 
 has appeared to tally with the known facts and experience of 
 human conduct, it vouches for the existence of law in the 
 department of voluntary action. 
 
 Apart from the speculations and inductions of mental 
 science, the practice of mapkind, in the furtherance of their 
 interests, assumes the principle of uniformity. No one ever 
 supposes, either that human actions arjse without motive, or 
 that the same motives operate differently in the same circum- 
 stances. Hunger always impels to the search for food ; tender 
 
PKEDICTION or HUMAN CONDUCT. 397 
 
 feeling seeks objects of affection; anger leads to acts of 
 revenge. If there be any interruption to these sequences, it 
 is not put down to failure of tiie motives, but to the co- 
 existence of others more powerful. 
 
 The operations of feade, of government, of human inter- 
 course generally, wotdd be impracticable without a reign of 
 law in the actions of human beings. The master has to 
 assume that wages wiU secure service ; the sovereign power 
 would have no basis but for the deterring operation of 
 punishment. Such a thing as character, or the prediction of 
 a man's future conduct from the past, would be unknown. 
 We could no more subsist upon uncertainty in the moral 
 world, than we could live on a planet where gravitation was 
 liable to fits of intermission. 
 
 If it be true that by the side of all mental phenomena 
 there runs a litie of physical causation, the internlption of the 
 mental sequences would imply irregularity in the physical. 
 The two worlds must stand or fall together. 
 
 The prediction of human conduct is not less sure than the 
 prediction of physical phenomena. The training of the mind 
 is subject to no more nncertainty than the training of the 
 body. The difficulty in both cases is the same, the com- 
 plication and obscurity of the agents at work ; and there are 
 many instances where the mental is the more predicable of 
 the two. 
 
 The universality of the law of causation has been denied both 
 in ancient and in modem times; but the denial has not been 
 restricted to the domain of mind. Sokrates divided know- 
 ledge into the divine and the human. Under the divine, he 
 tanked Astronomy and Physical Philosophy generally, a depart- 
 ment that was beyond the reach of human study, and reserved by 
 the gods for their own special control, it being a profanity on the 
 part of human beings to enquire by what laws, or on what prin- 
 ciples, the department was regulated. The only course permitted 
 was to approach the deities, and to ascertain their will and plea- 
 sure, by oracles and sacrifices. The human department included 
 the peculiarly Sokratic enquiries respecting just and unjust, 
 honourable and base, piety and impiety, sobriety, temperance, 
 courage, the government of a state, and such like matters ; on all 
 these things, it was proper and imperative to make observations 
 and ^quiries, and to be guided in our conduct by the conclusions 
 of our own intelligence. 
 
 A modem doctrine, quaUfying the law of universal causation, 
 is seen in the theory of a particular providence expounded by 
 Thomas Chalmers and others. It is maintained that the Deity, 
 while observing a strict regularity in all the phenomena that are 
 
398 UBEETT AND NECESSITY, 
 
 patent and understood, as the motions of the planets, the flow of 
 the tides, the descent of rivers, may in the unexplained mysteries 
 introduce deviations, as in. the vicissitudes of the weather, the 
 recovery of a sick man, or in turning the scale of a complicated 
 deliberation of the mind. 
 
 In such theories, it is to be observed, that the exception to 
 law is not confined to the mental world, but embraces, to an 
 equal, if not to a greater, extent, the physical world. 
 
 2. The perplexity of the question of Pree-will is 
 mainly owing to the inaptness of the terms to express the 
 facts. 
 
 The idea of ' freedom' as attaching to the human wiU ap- 
 pears as early as the writings of the Stoics. The virtuous man 
 was said to he free, and the vicious man a slave; the intention 
 of the metaphor being not to explain voluntary action, but to 
 attach an elevating and ennobling attribute to virtue. So- 
 krates had used the same figure to contrast the inquirers 
 into what he considered the proper departments of human 
 stady (justice, piety, &o.), witb those that knew nothing of 
 such subjects. 
 
 The epithets ' free' and ' slave,' as applied the one to the 
 virtuous, the other to the vicious man, occur largely in the 
 writings of Philo Judseus, through whom they probably ex- 
 tended to Christian Theology. As regards appropriateness in 
 everything but the associations of dignity and indignity, no 
 metaphors could have been more unhappy. So far as the idea 
 of subjection is concerned, the virtuous man is the greater 
 slave of the two ; the more virtuous he is, the more he sub- 
 mits himself to authority and restraints of every description ; 
 while the thoroughly vicious man emancipates himself from 
 every obligation, and is only rendered a slave at last when his 
 fellows will tolerate him no longer. The true type of free- 
 dom is an unpunished villain, or a successful usurper. 
 
 The modern doctrine of Eree-wiU, as opposed to Neces- 
 sity, first assumed prominence and importance in connexion 
 with the theory of Original Sin, and the Predestinaiian views 
 of St. Augustin. In a later age, it was disputed between 
 Arminians and Calvinists. 
 
 The capital objection to Free-will, is the unsuitahiHty, 
 irrelevance, or impropriety of the metaphor ' freedom ' in the 
 question of the sequence of motive and act in volition. The 
 proper meaning of ' free ' is the absence of external compulsion ; 
 every sentient being, under a motive to act, and not interfered 
 with by any other being, is to all intents free ; the fox impelled 
 
INAPTNESS OF THE TEEM EEEE-WILL. 399 
 
 by hunger, and proceeding unmolested to a poultry yard, is a 
 free agent. Free trade, free soil, free press, have all intel- 
 ligible significations ; but the question whether, without any 
 reference to outward compulsion, a man in following the bent 
 of his own motives, is free, or is necessitated by his motives, 
 has no relevance. If necessity means that every time a wish 
 arises in the mind, it is gratified without fail ; that there is 
 no bar whatever to the realizing of every conceived pleasure, 
 and the extinction of every nascent pain ; such necessity is 
 also the acme of freedom. The unfaltering sequence of 
 motive and act, of desire and fulfilment, may be called 
 necessity, but it is also perfect bliss ; what we term freedom 
 is but a means to such a consummation. 
 
 The speciality of voluntary action, as compared with the 
 powers of the inanimate world, is that the antecedent and the 
 consequent are conscious or mental states (coupled of course 
 with bodily states). When a sentient creature is conscious 
 of a pleasure or pain, real or ideal, and follows that up with 
 a conscious exercise of its muscles, we have the fact of 
 volition; a fact very different from the motion of running 
 water, or of a shooting star, and requiring to be described in 
 phraseology embodying mental facts as well as physical. 
 But neither ' freedom ' nor ' necessity ' is the word for ex- 
 pressing what happens. There are always present two dis- 
 tinct phenomena, which have to be represented for what they 
 ' are, a phenomenon of mind conjoined with a fact of body. The 
 two phenomena are successive in time ; the feeling first, the 
 movement second. Our mental life contains a great many 
 of these successions — pleasures followed by actions, and pains 
 followed by actions. Not unfrequently two, three, or four 
 feelings occur together, conspiring or conflicting with one 
 another ; and then the action is not what was wont to follow 
 one feeling by itself, but is a resultant of the several feelings. 
 Practically, this is a puzzle to the spectator, who cannot 
 make due allowances for the plurality of impulses ; but it 
 makes no more difference to the phenomenon, than the differ- 
 ence between a stone falling perpendicular under the one 
 force of the earth's gravity, and the moon impelled by a con- 
 currence of forces calculable only by high mathematics. 
 
 We do not convert mental sequences into pure material 
 laws, by calling them sequences, and maintaining them (on 
 evidence of fact) to be uniform in their working. Even, if 
 we did make this blundering conversion, the remedy would 
 not lie in the use of the word ' free.' We might with equal 
 
400 UBEETT AND NECESSITY. 
 
 appropriateness describe the stone as free to fall, the moon 
 as free to deviate nnder solar disturbance ; for the stone 
 might be restrained, and the moon somehow compelled to 
 keep to an ellipse. Such phraseology would be obviously un- 
 meaning and absurd, but not a whit more so, than in the 
 application to the mental sequence of voluntary action.* 
 
 3. On the doctrine of the uniform sequence of motive 
 and action, meanings can be assigned to the several terms 
 — Choice, Deliberation, Self-Determination, Moral Agency, 
 Responsibility. 
 
 These terms are supposed to involve, more or less, the 
 Liberty of the Will, and to be inexplicable on any other theory. 
 They may all be explained, however, without the mysticism 
 of iPree-wiU. 
 
 Choice. When a person chooses one thing out of several 
 presented, the choice is said to involve liberty or freedom. 
 The sinlple fact is that each one of the objects has a certain 
 attraction; while that fixed upon is presumed to have the 
 greatest attraction of any. There are three dishes before one 
 
 • As it may seem an unlikely and overstrained hypothesis to represent 
 men of the highest enlightenment as entangled in a mere verbal inac- 
 curacy, a few parallel cases may he presented to the student. 
 
 The Eleatic Zeno endeavoured to demonstrate the impossihility of 
 motion. He said that a hody must move either in the place where it is, 
 or in the place where it is not ; hut in neither case is motion possible ; 
 for on the first supposition the body leaves its place, and the second ia 
 absurd. Here is a plain fact contradicted by what has seemed to many 
 an unanswerable demonstration. The real answer is that the language 
 contradicts itself; motion is incompatible with the phrase in a place; the 
 fact is properly expressed by change of place. Introduce this definition 
 knd the puzzle is at an end ; retain the incompatible expression in a place, 
 and there is an insoluble mystery. By a similar ingenuity in qmbbling 
 upon the word Infinite, the same philosopher reasoned that if AcUlles and 
 a Tortoise were to begin a race, AchiUes would never beat the tortoise. 
 
 In the Philehus of Plato, there is a mystical theory wrought up 
 through the application of the terms ' true' and ' false' to pleasures and 
 pains. Truth and falsehood are properties belonging only to afSrmatlonB 
 or beliefs ; their employment to qualify pleasure and pain can only pro- 
 duce the nonsensical or absurd. As well might a pleasure be called round 
 or square, wet or dry. 
 
 Many absurd questions have arisen through misapplying the attri- 
 butes of -the Extended or Object World, to the Subject Mind. If we 
 were to ask how many pure spirits could stand on the point of a needle, 
 or be contained in a cubical space, we should be guilty of the fallacy of 
 irrelevant predication. The schoolmen debated whether the mind was in 
 every part of thebody, or only in the whole ; the question is insoluble, 
 because unreal. It is not an intelligible proposition, but a jargon. 
 
DELIBERATION. — SELF DETEBMINATION. 401 
 
 at table ; the one partaken of is what the individual likes best 
 on the whole. This is the entire signification of choice. 
 Liberty of choice has no meaning or application, nnless with 
 reference to some prohibition from without ; the child who 
 is not allowed to eat but of one dish, has no liberty of 
 choice. In the absence of prohibition, the decision follows the 
 strongest motive ; being in fact the only test of strength of 
 motive on the whole. One may choose the dish that gives 
 least present gratification, but if so, there must be some other 
 motive of good or evil in the distance. Any supposition of 
 our acting without adequate motive leads at once to a self- 
 contradiction ; for we always judge of strength of motive by 
 the action that prevails. 
 
 Deliberation. This word has already been explained at 
 length, on the Motive theory of the Will. There is nothing 
 implied under it that would countenance the employment of 
 the unfortunate metaphor ' freedom.' When we are subjected 
 to two opposing motives, several things may happen. We 
 may decide at once, which shows that one is stronger than the 
 other ; we come upon three branching roads, and follow the 
 one on the right, showing a decided preponderance of motive 
 in that direction. This is simple choice without deliberative 
 suspense. The second possibility is suspended action. This 
 shows either that the motives are equally balanced, causing 
 indecision, or that the deliberative veto is in exercise, whose 
 motive is the experienced evils of hasty action in cases of dis- 
 tracting motives. After a time, the veto is withdrawn, the 
 judgment being satisfied that sufficient comparison of opposing 
 solicitations has been allowed; action ensues, and testifies 
 which motive has in the end proved the strongest. 
 
 There is no relevant application of the term 'freedom' in 
 any part of this process, unless on the supposition of being 
 driven into action, by a power from without. A traveller 
 with a brigand's pistol at his ear has no liberty of deliberation, 
 or of anything else. An assembly surrounded with an armed 
 force has lost its freedom. A mind exempt from all such com- 
 pulsion is under the play of various motives, and at last de- 
 cides ; some one or more of the motives is thereby demon- 
 strated superior to the others. 
 
 Self -determination. There is supposed to be implied in 
 this word some peculiarity not fully expressed by the 
 sequence of motive and action. A certain entity called ' self,' 
 irresolvable into motive, is believed to interfere in voluntary 
 action. 
 
 26 
 
402 LIBEKTY XSD NECESSITY. 
 
 But, as with the other terms, self-determination has no in- 
 telligible meaning, except as opposed to compulsion from, 
 without. If a man's conduct follows the motives of his own 
 mind, instead of being dictated by another man, he possesses 
 self-determination in the proper sense of the word. It is not 
 requisite that he should act otherwise than from sufficient 
 motives, in order to be self-determined. ' Self,' in the 
 matter of action, is only the sum of the feelings, pleasurable 
 and painful, actual and ideal, that impel the conduct, together 
 with the various activities impelled. 
 
 Self-determination may be used to indicate an important 
 difference in our motives, the difference between the perma- 
 nent interests and the termporary solicitations. He that submits 
 to the first class is considered to be more particularly self-deter- 
 mined, than he that gives way to the temporary and passing 
 motives. The distinction is real and important, and has been 
 fully accounted for in the exposition of the WiU. To neutralize, 
 by internal resources, the fleeting actualities of pleasure and 
 pain, is a great display of moral power, but has no bearing 
 upon the supposed 'freedom' of the will. It is a fact of 
 character, exactly expressed by the acquired strength of the 
 ideal motives, which strength is shown by the fact of superi- 
 ority to the present and the actual. , Biigorous constancy is 
 the glory of the character ; the higher the constancy, the pre- 
 dictability, of the agent, the higher the excellence attained. 
 
 The collective ' I' or 'self' can be nothiug different from 
 the Feelings, Actions, and Intelligence of the individual; 
 unless, indeed, the threefold classification of the mind be in- 
 complete. But so long as human conduct can be accounted for 
 by assigning certain Sensibilities to pleasure and pain, an Active 
 machinery, and an Intelligence, we need not assume anything 
 else to make up the 'I' or 'self.' When ' I' walk in the fields, 
 there is nothing but a certain motive, founded in my feelings, 
 operating upon my active organs ; the sequence of these two 
 portions of self gives the whole fact. The mode of expression 
 ' I walk ' does not alter the nature of the phenomenon. 
 
 Self-determination may put on an appearance of evading 
 or contradicting the sequence of the wiU; as when a man 
 departs from his usual Ime of conduct in order to puzzle or 
 mystify spectators. It is, however, very obvious that the 
 suspension of the person's usual conduct is still not without 
 motive ; there is a sufficiency of motive in the feelings of pride 
 or satisfaction, in baulking the curiosity, or in overthrowing 
 the calculations, of other persons. 
 
MORAL AGENCY. — ^ACCOUNTABILITY. 403 
 
 The word ' Spontaneity' is a synonym for self-determina- 
 tion, but comes no nearer to a justification of the absurd 
 metaphor. We have seen one important meaning of the word, 
 in the doctrine of the inherent activity of the animal system, 
 as contrasted with the activity stimulated by sense. The more 
 common meaning is the same as above described, and has a 
 tacit reference to the absence of compulsion, or even of sug- 
 gestion or prompting, from without.. The witness of a crime, 
 in giving information without being summoned, acts spon- 
 taneously. 
 
 Moral Agency. The word 'moral' is ambiguous. As 
 opposed to physical or material, it means mental, belonging 
 to mind ;. in which signification, a moral agent is a voluntary 
 agent, a being whose actions are impelled by its feelings. 
 
 It is no part of moral agency, in this sense, that there 
 should be any suspension of the usual course of motives ; it is 
 necessary only that the individual being should feel pleasure 
 and pain, and act with reference to those feelings. Every 
 creature possessing mind is a moral agent. 
 
 In the second meaning, moral is opposed to immoral, or 
 wrong, and is the same as ' right.' This is a much narrower 
 signification. When Moral Philosophy is restricted to mean 
 Ethical philosophy, or Duty,. 'Moral' means appertaining to 
 right and wrong, to duty, morality. 
 
 In this sense, a moral agent is one that acts according to 
 right or duty, or else one whose actions are made amenable 
 to a standard of right and wrong. The brutes are not moral 
 agents in this signification, -although they are in the preced- 
 ing ; no more are children, or the insane. 
 
 The circumstances that explain moral agency, in the 
 narrower and more dignified application of the word, 
 appear best in connexion with the word next to be com- 
 mented on. 
 
 Responsibility, AccountabUHy. A moral agent is usually 
 said to be a responsible or accountable agent. The word re- 
 sponsibility is, properly speaking, figurative ; by what is called 
 'metonymy,' the fact intended to be expressed is denoted by 
 one of the adjuncts. A whole train of circumstances is sup- 
 posed, of which only one is named. There are assumed (1) 
 Law, or Authority, (2) actual or possible Disobedience, (3) 
 an Accusation brought against the person disobeying, (4) the 
 Answer to this accusation, and (5) the infliction of Punish- 
 ment, in case the answer is deemed insufllcient to purge the 
 accusation. 
 
404 LIBEKTT AND NECESSITY. 
 
 It is hard at a first glance to see wliat connexion a sup- 
 posed fi^eedoin of action has to do with any part of this pro- 
 cess. According to the motive theory of the will, all is plain 
 and Straightforward. Assume the existence of Law, and 
 everything foUows by a natural course. To ensure obedience 
 to law th^re must be some pain inflicted on the disobedient, 
 sufficient, and no more than sufficient, to deter from dis- 
 obedience. Whoever is placed under the law, is liable to the 
 penalty of disobeying it ; but in all countries, ever so little 
 civilized, certain forms are gone through to ensure the guilt 
 oJF every one accused of disobedience, to which the words 
 Responsibility, Accountability, are strictly applicable; affcer 
 these forms are satisfied, and the gmlt established, the penalty 
 is inflicted. 
 
 Endless puzzles are foisted into a very simple proofess, the 
 moment the word 'freedom' is mentioned. It is said, that it 
 would not be right to punish a man unless he were a free 
 agent ; a truism, if by freedom is meant only the absence of 
 outward compulsion ; in any other sense, a piece of absurdity. 
 If it is expedient to place restrictions upon the conduct of 
 sentient beings, and if the threatening of pain operates to 
 arrest such conduct, the case for punishment is made out. 
 We must justify the institution of Law, to begin with, and the 
 tendency of pain to prevent the actions that bring it on, in 
 the next place. The first postulate is Human Society ; the 
 second is the connexion (which must be uniform) between 
 pain and action for avoiding it. Granting these two postu- 
 lates, Punishability (carrying with it, in a well constituted 
 society, Responsibili^), is amply vindicated. 
 
 Whatever be the view taken of the ends of Punishment, 
 it supposes the theory of the will as here contended for, 
 nantely, a uniform connexion between motive and act. Unless 
 pain, present or prospective, impels human beings to avoid 
 whatever brings it, and to perform whatever delivers from 
 it, punishment has no relevance, whether the end be the 
 benefit of the society, or the benefit of the offender, or both 
 together.* 
 
 * The queetion has been debated, 'Is a man responsible for lus 
 Belief;' in other words, Is society justified in punishiDg men for their 
 opinions ? The two criteria of punishability wSl indicate the solution. 
 In the first place, ought there to be Laws declaring that all citizens shall 
 believe certain things ? Secondly, will pains and penalties influence a 
 man's belief, in the same way that they can influence actions ? The 
 answer to the first question, is another question, ' Shall there be Tolera- 
 tion of all opinions ?' The answer to the second is, that penalties fce 
 
IS A MAN THE AOTHOR OF HIS CHARACTER? 405 
 
 Another factitious diffioulty originated in relation to pun- 
 ishment is the argument of the Owenites, ' that a man's 
 actions are the result of his character, and he is not the author 
 of his character : instead of punishing criminals, therefore, 
 society should give them a better education.' The answer to 
 ■which is, that society should do its best to educate all citizens 
 to do right ; but what if this education consists mainly in 
 Punishment ? Withdraw the power of punishing, and there 
 is left no conceivable instrument of moral education. It is 
 true that a good moral discipline is not wholly made up of 
 ' punishment ; the wise and benevolent parent does spmething,. 
 by the methods of allurement and kindness, to form the vir- 
 tuous dispositions of the child. Still, we may ask, was ever 
 any human being educated to the sense of right and wrong 
 without the dread of pain accompanying forbidden actions r 
 It may be affirmed, with safety, that punishment, or retribu- 
 bution in some form, is one-half of the motive power to virtue 
 in the very best of human beings, while it is more than three- 
 fourths in the mass of mankind. 
 
 Another awkward form of expression connected ynih the 
 subject is, that ' we can improve our character if we will.' 
 This seems contradictory to the motive theory of the Will, 
 which makes man, as it were, the creature of circumstances. 
 There is in thp language, however, merely an example of the 
 snares that we may get ourselves into, through seizing a ques- 
 tion by the wrong end. Our character is improvable, when 
 there are present to our minds motives to improve it ; it is 
 not improvable without such motives. No character is ever 
 improved without an apposite train of motives-^either the 
 punishment renounced by the Owenite, or certain feeUngs of 
 another kind, such as affections, sympathies, lofby ideals, and 
 so on. To present these motives to the mind of any one is to 
 employ the engines of improvement. To say to a man, you 
 can improve if you will, is to employ a nonsensical formula ; 
 under cover of which, however, may lie some genuine motive 
 power. For the speaker is, at the same time, intimating his 
 own strong wish that his hearer should improve ; he is pre- 
 eentiag to the hearer's mind the idea of improvemjent : and 
 probably, along with that, a number of fortifying considera- 
 tions, all of the nature of proper motives. 
 
 able to control 'belie£s, \nth a slight qualification. They can put a stop 
 to the profeaaion of any opinion ; and in matters of doubtful speculation, 
 they can so dispose the course of education and enquiry, th^t the mass of 
 mankind shall firmly believe whatever the State dictates. 
 
406 LIBEKTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 The word ' will,' in sucli expressions as the ahove, is a fic- 
 tion thrust into the phenomenon of volition, like the word 
 ' power" in cause and effect generally. To express causation 
 we need only name one thing, *the antecedent, or cause, and 
 another thing, the effect ; a flying cannon shot is a cause, the 
 tumbling down of a wall is the effect. But people sometimes 
 aUow themselves the use of the additional word ' power' to 
 complete, as they suppose, the statement; the cannon ball in 
 motion has the ' power' to batter walls ; a pure expletive, or 
 pleonasm, whose tendency is to create a mystical or fictitious 
 agency, in addition to the real agent, the moving ball. 
 
 To say we can be virtuous if we like, is about the worst 
 way of expressing the simple fact, namely, that virtuous acts 
 and a virtuous character are the consequence of certain appro- 
 priate motives or antecedents. Whoever wishes to make an- 
 other person virtuous can proceed direct to the mark by sup- 
 plying the known antecedents, not omitting penalties ; who- 
 ever wishes -to make himself virtuous, has, in the very act of 
 wishing, a present motive, which will go a certain way to pro- 
 duce the effect. 
 
 The use of the phrase ' you can if you will,' besides acting 
 as a cover for real motives, is a sort of appeal to the pride or 
 dignity of a human being, and in that circumstance, may not 
 be without some Rhetorical efficiency ; insinuated praise is an 
 oratorical weapon. As Rhetoric, the language may have some 
 justification ; the disaster is that the Rhetoric should be taken 
 for good science and logic. The whole series of phrases con- 
 nected with WilKFreedom, Choice, Deliberation, Self-Deter- 
 mination, Power to act if we will-are -contrived to foster in 
 us a feeling of artificial importance and dignity, by assimilat- 
 ing the too humble sequence of motive and act to the illus- 
 trious functions of the Judge, the Sovereign, the Umpire. 
 
 HISTORY OP THE FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY. 
 
 Plato makes the distinction of voluntary and involuntary 
 (&ou<riot and uKovmog) ; hti, he does not ask whether the will is 
 self-determined or whether it is necessitated. 
 
 Aristotle's doctrine of the Voluntary and Involimtary, as 
 contained in the Nicomachean Ethics, Book III., is fully given ia 
 the abstract of that work (Ethical Systems, Aristotle). The 
 misleading terms— Iiiberi;y and Necessity— had not in his time 
 found their way into the subject; and he discusses the motives 
 to the will from a practical and inductive point of view. 
 
 The Stoics and EpicuiiEAlfS, like Aristotle, can hardly be 
 regarded as contributing to the history of the proper Free-wil] 
 
FEEE-WILL CONTEOVEESY-^THE FATHEES. 407 
 
 controversy, and their views are best given in connexion ■with 
 their ethical doctrines (Ethical Ststkms, The Stoics, and The 
 Epicureans). 
 
 From Plotinus we learn how the problem of freedom was 
 understood by the Neo-Platonists. Will (6l\ij(ric) is not a 
 faculty of the soul, but its essential attribute. It is not the same 
 thing as liberty. Voluntary action (ri iKovaiov) is power to act 
 accompanied by a consciousness of what is done. Liberty is when 
 the power to act is not impeded by any external restraint. Thus 
 killing a man unconsciously is a free act, but not voluntary. 
 Liberty in man. consists in being able to live a pure and perfect 
 life, conformably to the nature of the soul. The nature of every 
 creature tends necessarily towards its good ; whatever diverts it 
 from this end is involuntary ; whatever leads it thither is volun- 
 tary. Freedom is thus made to consist in independence of ex- 
 ternal causes. Plotinus does not therefore touch the peculiar 
 problem of the will, whether the will is necessarily determined by 
 motives ; but merely expands the popular notion that freedom is 
 to follow persistently what is good, and slavery to foUow what is 
 bad. We speak of slaves to sin, more rarely of slaves to holiness ; 
 yet, from the point of view of necessity, both expressions are 
 equally correct, or equally incorrect. 
 
 The Christian Apologists of the second century insist strongly 
 on what they call the freedom of the will. In opposition to the 
 fatalism of the Stoics, and the apathy of the Epicureans, they laid 
 great stress upon man's power to judge and act for himself. 
 Justin Maktyb, (a.d. 150) attacks the Stoical doctrine of Fate. 
 It is opposed to their own moral teaching, and overlooks the 
 power of the demons. It is by free choice that men do right or 
 wrong, and it is by the power of the demons that earnest men, 
 like Sokrates, suffer, while Sardanapalus and Epicurus live in 
 abundance and glory. ' The Stoics maintained that all things took 
 place according to the necessity of Fate. Justin pointed out the 
 dilemma in which this doctrine held them. If everything be 
 derived from fate, wickedness is, and so God or fate is the cause 
 of sin. The alternative is, that there is no real difference between 
 virtue and vice, which is contrary to aU sound sense and reason. 
 
 Tkptt tt.t.tait (160-220) in his paper against Marcion, vindi- 
 cates the freedom of the will. Coiild not Grod have prevented the 
 entrance of sin ? And if he could, why did he not ? Tertullian 
 answers that evil arose, not from God, but from man. Man was 
 left free to choose good or evil, life or death. But should not 
 God have withheld this fatal gift ? Nay, in bestowing liberty, 
 was he not responsible for the consequent fall? Tertullian 
 answers very rhetorically, what could be better than to make man 
 in the image of God ? It would be strange if man, the lord of 
 others, should himself be a slave. This argument illustrates the 
 use that the theory of free-will has been put to by theologians. 
 It has been regarded as a door of escape from the awful dilemma 
 that, in all ages, staggers piety, and strikes reason dumb : If God 
 
408 LIBEKTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 was ■willing that evil should be, he is not good ; if he was unwill- 
 ing, then he is not Almighty. This imports into the discussion 
 an apparently insoluble contradiction, and necessarily leads to be- 
 wilderment and jnystery. Admitting that our volitions are sub- 
 ject to the law of causation, it is possible and easy to vindicate 
 human justice ; it is possible even, to a certain extent, to vindicate 
 divine justice. For since we are imperfect and in need of moral 
 discipline, we must see that punishment is eminently calculated to 
 effect our improvement. Why we were not made perfect at once, 
 why the pursuit of happiness shotdd be so airduous — ^it belongs not 
 to any theory of the wUl to explain. 
 
 St. Augttstin, Bishop of Hippo (333-429), is as warm as Ter- 
 tuUian on the other side. He is the author of a complete scheme 
 of Predestiuation that contiaued with little variation to the close 
 of the theological discussion of Free Will. His views underwent 
 several changes in the course of his Ufe, but the shape they finally 
 took remains identified with the doctrine of Predestination. The 
 foundation of his views was his theory of grace and faith. He 
 affirmed the total inability of man to accomplish any good works. 
 Good works, the smallest as well as the greatest, come wholly from 
 God. Grace attracts the corrupt will of man, and with an irre^tible 
 necessity awakens him to the need of redemption and to faith. 
 This grace is bestowed not for merit, but of "S-od's free gift. The 
 will is determined and controlled by the agency of God, in conse- 
 quence of what he has foreordaiaed. The Elect were chosen, not 
 because it was foreseen that they woxild believe and become holy 
 (as most of the earlier fathers held), but in order that they might 
 be made holy. Augustin thus clearly distinguishes his doctrine 
 from that of mere foreknowledge. He holds that some were 
 chosen to eternal Hfe, and others were predestiaed to everlasting 
 punishment. ' Whom he teaches, he teaches of his mercy ; whom 
 he does not teach, he does not teach because of judgment.' This 
 doctrine seems to make God unjust. He foreordains that a 
 man shall sin, and for this sin ponsigns him to eternal torments. 
 Augustin's solution of the difficulty turns upon the doctrine of 
 original sin. In Adam all men sinned, and rendered themselves 
 justly liable to endless punishment. Adam's sin was the sin ojE 
 every one of us. But Adam had free-will ; it was in his own 
 power to fix his destiny; he chose evil and death, and by his 
 choice we aU are irrevocably oomcmitted. God is not therefore the 
 cause of that sin and consequent ruin ; he cannot be accused of 
 injustice in leaving us in the state to which we have constructively, 
 as lawyers would say, brought ourselves. The origin of evil is 
 thus placed in the feee-wiU of Adam, not in the decree of God. 
 As this reasoning, even if conclusive, seems more fitted to silence 
 than to convince, Augustin feels the necessity of advancing a step 
 farther. In his tract on Grace and Free-will, he observes, that 
 God moves men's hearts towards good works of his mercy ; to- 
 wards bad, according to their deserts, by a judgment in part made 
 known, in part mysterious, but always just. He does not elect 
 
FEEE-WILL CONTKOVEESY — AQUINAS. 409 
 
 men according to any merit they possess, but according to a Iiid- 
 den judgment. Let not injustice be attributed to God, who is the 
 fountain of wisdom and justice. When he permits m.en to be 
 seduced or hardened, believe that it is on account of their demerits ; 
 in those whom he mercifully saves, behold the grace of God ren- 
 dering good for evil. 
 
 while Augustin's doctrine of Predestination seems to have 
 left no place for free-will, we yet find warnings that in defend- 
 ing grace, free-will must not be given up, nor in defending free- 
 will must grace be given up. It seems difficult to attribute any 
 meaning to free-will in such passages. How is the existence of 
 irresistible grace compatible with free self-determination ! Again, 
 he teUs us that by the fall man lost both himself and his free 
 will ; that the will is truly free, when it is not the slave of vice or 
 sin. Also, free-will is given to man, so that punishment for sin, 
 both by divine and human law, is just. Neander observes 
 that Augustin has confounded the conception of freedom, as a 
 certain stage of moral development, and freedom from the de- 
 termination of motives — a faculty possessed by all rational nunds. 
 Mozley says, after carefully examining the language of Augustin, 
 that free-will means, with him, mere voluntary action, such as 
 is admitted by all necessitarians ; that the will (except perhaps 
 Adam's) has no self-determining power, but is determined to evB 
 and to good respectively, by original sin and by grace. 
 
 Aqtjinas. Aquinas is a follower of Augustin in the doctrines 
 of original sin, irresistible grace, and predestination. ' Prsescien- 
 tia meritorum non est causa vel ratio prsedestinationis.' The docr 
 trines of the church were to the schoolmen, what the acts of the 
 legislature are to lawyers. They were subjects of deduction and 
 argument, but not themselves to be questioned. But there is 
 endless opportunity for ingenious interpretation in reconciling the 
 doctrines with truth, or the l^ws with justice. It is, therefore, in- 
 teresting to observe how Aquinas endeavoured to evade the con- 
 sequences of a doctrine that he was not permitted to deny. 
 
 (1) In the first place, the number of the reprobate was made 
 as small as possible, as though that would lighten the difficulty. 
 Perhaps, he says, the angels that did not fall with Satan, were 
 more numerous than all the damned — ^men and devils together. 
 
 (2) The difference between eternal happiness and misery per- 
 haps amounts merely to degrees of good. According to Aquinas, 
 there are two kinds of happiness ; one is natural, and attainable 
 by mere human effisrt ; the other is spiritual. There is a corres- 
 ponding distinction in virtue. There is a goodness in the world 
 sufficient to attain natural happiness, as well as grace to attain 
 spiritual happiness. Those kinds of goodness have their source re- 
 spectively in Eeason, and in God. The difference between those 
 conditions is not one of good and evil, but of higher and lower 
 good. Aquinas does not venture, further than by hints, to apply 
 this theory of happiness to predestination and reprobation, except 
 in one case. In favour of infants dying in original sin, he endea-' 
 
410 LIBERTY ASD NECESSITY. 
 
 voTirs, by an ingenious feat of interpretation, to extract the sting 
 from eternal punishment. _ 
 
 (3) Infants dying in original sin, are under the divine -wrawi 
 due to that sin. However hard this conclusion may seem, it is 
 unavoidable ; infants are condemned not for actual, but for con- 
 structive, sin. But Augustin had said that the punishment of 
 infants in hell was the mildest possible — omnium esse mUiidmam. 
 Aquinas then asks, if it was a sensille (or corporeal) punishment ? 
 No, for then it would not be the mildest possible. Did it involve 
 affliction of soul ? No, for that cotdd arise only either from ciilpa 
 or from posna. If it arose from culpa, that implied the presence 
 of an accusing conscience, and it would not be the mildest. Nor 
 could it arise fronx pcena, which implied actual sin, or a will in 
 opposition to the wiU of God. What then was the punishment of 
 infants ? It was the want of Divine Vision — ^the object that the 
 supernatural faculties sought. ' In the other goods to which 
 nature tends upon her own principles, those condemned for ori- 
 ginal sin will sustain no detriment.' The only difficulty now was 
 a saying of St. Chrysostom's, that the loss of Divine Vision was 
 the severest part of the punishment of the damned. Aquinas 
 answers, that it is no pain to a well-ordered mind to want what 
 its nature is not adapted to, provided the want does not arise 
 from any fault of its own. The infants will rejoice in then- 
 lot, not repining because they are not angels. "Iliis reasoning, 
 though confined by Aquinas to the case of infants, yet applies logi- 
 cally to the good, moral man, whose fault is substantially (unless a 
 very technical view of sin be adopted) the sin of our first parents.* 
 
 Calvin popularized the predestinarian views of St. Augastin. 
 He accepts them in all their rigour, excluding every softening 
 modification. He rejects the subtlety of Thomas Aquinas, that 
 God predestinates man to glory, accor(Kng to his merit, inas- 
 much as he decreed to bestow upon him the grace by which he 
 merits glory. He held that God foreordained some to heaven, 
 and others to hell, not for any merit or demerit, but simply 
 because it was his will so to do. The fall of Adam was not to be 
 attributed to free will, but to the divine decree. 
 
 The opponent of Augustin was Pelagifs, who claimed for man 
 complete freedom of self-determination and ascribed to God only 
 
 * Mozley's Aagustinian Doctrine of Predestination, p. 302. We may 
 suhjoin Bome distinctions taken in regard to Freedom and Necessity. 
 Peter Lombard says that three kinds of liberty must be discriminated : — 
 (1) Freedom from neoeasity, which is possessed by God, since he cannot 
 be coerced, and which, in man, is not affected by the fall ; (2) freedom 
 from sin, which was lost by the fall ; (3) freedom from misery. Thomas 
 Aquinas marks the following kinds of necessity: — (1) Natur^ Absolute, 
 or Intrinsic Necessity — that which cannot but be — ^is either material {e.g. 
 quad omne compositum ex contrariis necesse est corrumpi) or formal {e.g. that 
 the ang;lea_ in a triangle are equal to two right angles). (2) Extrinsic 
 Necessity is either of means to ends (as that food is necessary to life), or of 
 compulsion, which last alone excludes will. Aquinas makes much of the 
 
FEEE-WILL CONTKOVEESY — HOBBES. 411 
 
 foreknowledge of what men, 'per liberae vohmtatis wrUtrium,' 
 would elect to do. After the time of Calvin, at the beginning of 
 the 17th century, this view was again strongly advocated by 
 Aemznitts in Holland; and thenceforth the opposed tenets, in the 
 theological phase of the question, have passed under the names of 
 Calvinism and Arminianism. 
 
 _ The philosophical aspect begins to be more exclusively considered 
 with the names that f oUow. 
 
 HoBBES. Hobbes's opinion on the Pree-wiU controversy is 
 given very clearly and concisely in a short tract on ' Liberty and 
 Necessity,' written in answer to another by Bishop BramhaU. He 
 gives first his opinion, under several heads, and afterwards assigns 
 his reasons. 
 
 (1) When it occurs to a, man to do or not to do a certain 
 action, and he has no time, or no occasion, io deliberate, ' the doing 
 it or abstaining necessarily foUow the present thought he hath of 
 the_ good or m? consequence thereof to himself.' In anger, the 
 action follows the idea of revenge, in fear that of escape. Such 
 actions are voluntary; for a voluntary action is one that follows 
 immediately the last appetite (Hobbes's phrase for volition). 
 Bash actions are strictly voluntary, and therefore punishable, 
 ' For no action of a man can "be said to be without deliberation, 
 though never so sudden, because it is supposed he had time to 
 deliberate all the precedent time of his Uf e, whether he should do 
 that kind of action or not.' 
 
 (2) Seliberation means considering whether it would be better 
 to do the action or abstain, by imagining the consequences of it, 
 both good and evil. This alternate imagination of good and evil 
 consequences is the same as alternate hope and fear, or alternate 
 appetite to do or quit the action. 
 
 (3) In deliberation, that is, the succession of contrary appetites, 
 the last is the Will, and immediately precedes the doing of the 
 action. All the appetites, prior to the last, are mere intentions 
 or inclinations. 
 
 (4) An action is voluntary, if done upon deliberation, that is, 
 upon choice and election. The meaning of free, as applied to a 
 voluntary agent, is that he has not made an end of deliberating. 
 
 (5) 'Liberty is the absence of all the impediments to action that 
 are not contained in the nature of the agent.' [This means free- 
 difference between judicium and ratio. Brutes have not freedom ; the 
 sheep avoids a wolf, not ex coUatione quadcmi rationis, but by natural 
 instinct. But man has ratio, and ratio in contingent matters is concerned 
 with opposites, and is not bound to follow any one. Inasmuch as man 
 has ratio, he is not tied to one course. Will is related to free-will as 
 intellectm is to ratio. Intellectus involves a mere apprehension of any- 
 thing, as where principles are known of themselves without any eollatio ; 
 hut to reason is devenire ex uno in oognitionem alterius. In like manner, will 
 [veUe) is simply the desire of anything for its own sake ; free-will {eligere) 
 is the desire of anything as a means to an end. The end is related to the 
 means, as a principle is to the conclusion dependent upon it. 
 
412 LIBERT Y AND NECESSITY. 
 
 dom from compulsion ; Hobbes does not allow necessity to be a 
 tnie contrast to freedom.] 
 
 (6) Nothing begins from itself. Hence, wben an appetite or 
 ■will arises, the cause is not the will it-self, but something else, not 
 in one's own disposing. The will is the necessary cause of volun- 
 tary acticHis, other thmgs (than the will itself) are the cause of the 
 will, therefore all vpluntaiy actions have necessary causes, in other 
 words, are necessitated, 
 
 (7) A sufficient or necessary cause is that which alone produces 
 the effect. This is merely an identical proposition, to show that 
 whatever is produced, is produced necessarily. The cause being 
 given, the effect necessarily follows. 
 
 (8) The ordinary definition of a free agent, as that whidi, 
 ' wnrai all things are present which are needful to produce the 
 effect, can nevertheless not produce it,' is contradictory and non- 
 sensical. 
 
 For the truth of the five first positions, Hobbes appeals to 
 every one's reflection and experience. The sixth position is, tiiat 
 nothing can begin withowt a cause. Now, there must be some 
 special reason why a thing begins, when it does begin, rather 
 than sooner or later; or else the thing must be eternal. The 
 seventh point is, that events have riecessary causes, if they have 
 swffieieiit causes, that is, in fact, if they have causes at all. From 
 these principles, it follows that there is no freedom frvm necessity, 
 He adds, as an argumentum ad hominem, to the bishop, that if 
 necessity be denied, the decrees and prescience of God will be 
 left without foundation. 
 
 Descabtes, in his Foiirth Meditation, gives a definition of 
 Will and Freedom. ' The power of will consists only in this, that 
 we are able to do or not to do the same thing, or rather in this 
 alone, that in pursuing or shunning what is proposed to us by the 
 understanding, we so act that we are not conscious of being deter- 
 mined to a particular action by any external force.' Freedom 
 does not require indifference towards each of two courses, but is 
 ^eater as we are more inclined towards truth or goodness. In- 
 difference, not moving for want of a reason, is the lowest grade of 
 liberty, and manifests a lack of knowledge rather than perfection 
 of will. 
 
 In itself, Freedom is the same in man as in God, but it is exer- 
 cised under different conditions. The wiU of God must have been 
 indifferent from aU eternity, as there was no antecedent idea of 
 truth or good to determine it. It was from his almighty power 
 that truth and good first arose. But man is differently situated : 
 goodness has been established by God, and towards it the wiU 
 cannot but tend. We are most free when the perfect knowledge 
 of an object drives us to pursue it. 
 
 _ In answer to Hobbes, Descartes adduces the evidence of con- 
 sciousness. However difficult it may be to reconcile foreordina- 
 tion with liberty, we have an internal feeling that the voluntary 
 and the free are the same. This seems to indicate an anxiety to 
 
FEEE-WILL CONTROVEKSY — LOCKE — SPINOZA, 413 
 
 establish the internal fact, while otherwise willing to give tip a 
 liberty of indifference. 
 
 Theologically, he maintains a stringent theory of Providence. 
 The perfection of God required that the least thought in us should 
 have been pre-determined from all eternity. The decrees of God 
 are unchangeable, and prayer has an efficacy only because the 
 prayer is decreed together with the answer. 
 
 Locke was led in his chapter on Power (although it formed no 
 part of his original plan), to investigate the nature of the will. 
 He purposely avoided the metaphysical controversies regarding 
 predestination and providence, refusing to deal with any supposed 
 ' consequences,' and rigorously confining himself to the question — 
 What is the nature of the liberty possessed by men? The 
 opinion of so acute and impartial a mind upon the bare facts of 
 the case, must be taieti as a near approach to the testimony of 
 consciousness. like Aristotle, he draws the distinction between 
 voluntary and involuntary, but does not separate the voluntary 
 from the freely voluntary.* He recognizes a meaning in liberty 
 as opposed to coercion, but not as opposed to necessity. He 
 defines freedom as ' our being able to act or not to act, according 
 as we shall choose or will.' This is the very definition contended 
 for by Hobbes, and afterwards expressly adopted by the neces- 
 sitarian CoUins. 
 
 In Book II., Chap. XXL, he discusses the idea of Power. He 
 enters at length into the nature of Will, and handles first the 
 doctrine of Pree-will, and next the motives to the will. As 
 regards Freedom, he endeavours to extricate the question from the 
 confused modes of expressing it. The true question is not whether 
 the will is free, but whether the man is free. Liberty is the power 
 to do or to forbear doing any particular action, according to the 
 preference or direction of one's own mind.t A man is free, if his 
 actions follow his mental motives — pleasures and pains ; he is not 
 free, when anything external to him forbids the actions so moved. 
 VoKtion is an act of the mind exerting the dominion it takes itself 
 to have over any part of the man, but is an operation better 
 understood by any one's self-reflection, than by all the words 
 employed to describe it. It is not to be confounded with desire ; 
 we may will to produce an effect that we do not desire. 
 
 With reference to the motive power, Locke resolves it into the 
 uneasiness of the state of Desire. Hunger, thirst, and sex, are 
 modes of uneasiness. When good determines the will, it operates 
 first by creating a sense of uneasiness from the want of it. We 
 find that the greatest prospects of good, as the joys of heaven, 
 
 * B. n. Chap. XXI., § 11. 
 
 f Locke asks the farther question — whether a man is as free to will, as 
 he is free to do what he wills. Of two courses, is he free to will which- 
 ever he pleases ? This question involves an absurdity. They that make 
 a question of it must suppose one wUl to determine the acts of another, 
 and another to determine that ; and so on in infinitum. 
 
414 LIBEKTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 have a comparatively feeble motive power ; wlule a bodily paio, 
 violent love, passion, or revenge, can keep tie mil steady and 
 intent. In a conflict, the -will is urged by the greatest present 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Looking at the innumerable solicitations to the 'will, and the 
 way that our desires rise and fall by the working of our thoughts, 
 Locke adds another condition of our Liberty of willing — namely, 
 the power of suspending the prosecution of a desire, to give 
 opportunity to examine all the consequences of the act ^ it is not 
 a fault, but a perfection in our nature, to act on the final result 
 of a fair examination. The constant determination towards our 
 own happiness is no abridgment of liberty. A man could not be 
 free, if Ins will were determined by anything but his own desire, 
 guided by his own judgment. 
 
 Spinoza denied free-will, because it was inconsistent with the 
 nature of God, and with the laws to which human actions are sub- 
 ject. In a certain sense, God has freedom, as acting from, a neces- 
 sity inherent in his nature. But man has not even this freedom ; 
 his actions are determined by God. There is nothing really con- 
 tingent. Contingency, free determination, disorder, chance, lie 
 only in our ignorance. 
 
 The supposed consciousness of freedom arises from a f orgetfulness 
 of the causes that dispose us to will and desire. Volitions are the 
 varying appetites of the soul. When there is a conflict of passions, 
 men hardly know what they wish ;, but, in the absence of passion, 
 the least impulse one way or another determines them. A volition 
 implies memory, but memory is not in our power, so then volition 
 cannot be. In dreams we make decisions as if awake, with the 
 same consciousness of freedom ; are those fantastic decisions to be 
 considered free ? Those who fancy that their soul decides freely, 
 dream with their eyes open. Aiother explanation is that the 
 undetermined will is the universal will abstracted from particular 
 volitions. Although every actual volition has a cause, yet this 
 abstract will is thought of as undetermined, for determinism is 
 no part of the conception of volition. 
 
 God is not the author of evil, because evil is nothing positive. 
 Everjrthing that is, is perfect. Any imperfection arises from our 
 habit of forming abstract ideas, and judging of things thereby as 
 if they were aU susceptible of the perfection that belongs to the 
 definition, and were imperfect in so far as they fell short of it. 
 But the good and the bad are not on an equality, although they 
 both express in their way the will of God. The good have more 
 perfection in being more closely allied to God. 
 
 The necessity of evil does not render punishment unjust. The 
 wicked, although necessarily wicked, are none the less on that 
 account to be feared and destroyed. A wicked man may be excus- 
 able, but this does not affect the treatment he must receive ; a man 
 bitten by a mad dog is not blameworthy, but people have a right 
 to put him to death. 
 
 Collins has explained and defended the necessitarian doctrine 
 
FKEE-WILL CONTROVERSY — LEIBNITZ. 415 
 
 m ' A Philosophical Enquiry concerning Human Liberty.' He 
 accepts Locke's deiinition of liberty as ' a power in man to do as 
 he mils or pleases.' His thesis is that every action is determined 
 by the preceding causes. (1) Experience is not in favour of liberty. 
 Many patrons of liberty have defined it in such a way as not to con- 
 tradict necessity, or have conceded so much as to leave themselves 
 no ground to stand upon. On the other hand, experience testifies 
 that we are necessary agents, that our volitions are determined by 
 causes ; and even the supporters of free-will acknowledge that we 
 do not prefer the worse, in other words, do not follow the weaker 
 motive. (2) Whatever has a beginning has a cause, and every 
 cause is a necessary cause. The doctrine of free-wUl is, therefore, 
 a contradiction of the law of causality. (3) Liberty is an imper- 
 fection, and necessity an advantage and perfection. It is no per- 
 fection to be able to choose one out of two or more indififerent 
 things. Angels are more perfect than men, because they are 
 necessarily determined to prefer good to evil. (4) The decrees of 
 God are necessary causes of events. Foreordination and liberty 
 are mutually subversive. (5) If man were not a necessary agent, 
 determined by pleasure and pain, there would be no foundation 
 for rewards and punishment. 
 
 Leibmttz. 1. The Nature of Iiiherty and Necessity. Necessity 
 is of two kinds — hypothetical and absolute. Hypothetical necessity 
 is that laid upon future contingents by God's foreknowledge. 
 This does not derogate from liberty. God's choice of the present 
 from among possible worlds did not change, but only actualized, 
 the free natures of his creatures. There is another distinction. 
 Logical, Metaphysical, or Mathematical necessity depends upon 
 the law of Identity or Contradiction ; while moral necessity 
 depends on the law of Sufficient Season, and is simply the mind 
 choosing the best, or following the strongest inclination. The 
 principle of sufficient Reason affirms that every event has certain 
 conditions, constituting the reason why it exists. God's per- 
 fect nature requires that he should not act without reason, nor 
 prefer a weaker reason to a stronger. This necessity is compatible 
 with freedom in God ; so also in us. Motives do not impose upon 
 us any absolute necessity, more than upon him. Without an in- 
 clination to good, choice would be mere blind chance. In things 
 absolutely indifferent, there can be no choice, election, or will ; 
 since choice must be founded on some reason or principle. A will, 
 acting without any motive, is a fiction, chimerical and self-contra- 
 dictory. 
 
 2. Necessity and Fatalism. To the objection that necessity is 
 identical with Fatalism, Leibnitz answers by distinguishing three 
 kinds of fatalism. There is a Mahommedan fatalism, which sup- 
 poses that if the effect is pre-determined, it happens without the 
 cause. The fatalism of the Stoics taught men to be quiescent, 
 for they were powerless to resist the course of things. There 
 is a third kind of fatalism accepted by all Christians, admitting 
 a, certain destiny of things regulated by the providence of God. 
 
416 LIBEETT AND NECESSITY. 
 
 3. The influtence of motives. Leibnitz compared the -will to a 
 balance, and motives to the -weights in the scales. This simiLe 
 was taken from Bayle to illustrate the inactivity of the will, when 
 under the pressure of equal motives, and of its action when one pre- 
 ponderated. Clarke objected to it on the ground that a balance 
 is passive, while men are active beings. Leibnitz answered that 
 the principle of sufficient reason was common to both agents and 
 patients. He admits, however, that, strictly speaMng, motives 
 do not act on the mind as weights in a balance ; they are rather 
 dispositions iu virtue of which the mind acts. To say that the 
 mind can prefer a weai motive to a strong one, implies that it 
 has other dispositions than motives, by virtue of which it caji 
 accept or teject the motives ; whereas motives include all disposi- 
 tions to act. The fear of a great pain weighs down the expecta- 
 tion of a pleasure. In the conflict of two passions, the stronger 
 is victorious, unless the other is aided by reason or by some con- 
 curring passion. But generally a conflict of motives involves more 
 than two ; so that a better comparison than the balance would be, 
 a force tending in many directions, and acting in the line of least 
 resistance. Air compressed in a glass receiver, finds its way out 
 where the glass is weakest. 
 
 Samtjel CiiABEE affirmed the existence of a power of self- 
 motion or self-determination, which, in aU animate agents, is 
 spontaneity, in moral agents, is liberty. It is a great error to 
 regard the mind as passive, like a balance. ' A free agent, when 
 there is more than one perfectly reasonable way of acting, has 
 still within itself, by virtue of its self -motive principle, a power 
 of acting ; and it may have strong r<sasons not to forbear acting, 
 when yet there may be no possible reason for preferring one way 
 to another.' Leibnitz pointed out the contradiction here, for if 
 the mind has good reasons, there is no indifference. A man never 
 has a sufficient reason for acting, when he has not a sufficient 
 reason to act in a definite maimer. No action can be general or 
 abstracted from its circumstances, but must always be executed in 
 some particular manner. 
 
 Clarke stakes the whole controversy upon the existence of this 
 self -moving faculty. If man has not this power, then every human 
 action is produced by some extrinsic cause ; either the motive, or 
 some subtle matter, or some other being. If it be a motive, then 
 either abstract notions {i.e. motives) have a real subsistence {i.e. 
 are substances), or else what is not a substance can put a body in 
 motion. It is unnecessary to follow him in the other alternatives. 
 
 With reference to the action of motives, Clarke says the ques- 
 tion is not whether a good or wise being cannot do evil or act 
 unwisely, but whether the immediate physical cause of action be 
 some simcient reason acting on the agent, or the agent himself. 
 This theory of self-motion has been severely criticized by Sir W. 
 Hamilton. Clarke's definition, he observes, amounts only to the 
 liberty of spontaneity, and not to liberty from necessity. Now, 
 ' the greatest spontaneity is the greatest necessity.' 
 
FEEE-WILL CONTROVEEST — EDWARDS. 417 
 
 ' Jonathan Edwards yindicates the doctrine of philosophical 
 necessity in his -work on the ' Freedom of the Will ' (1754) in the 
 interest of Calvinistio theology. His treatise, however, consists 
 almost exclusively of philosophical arguments. 
 
 1. Edwards's own view. The wiU is that by which the mind 
 chooses anything; and we are so constituted that on the mind 
 choosing or wishing a movement of the body, the movement fol- 
 lows. The W ill is determined by the strongest motive, and the 
 strongest motive is the greatest apparent good. [By motive, he 
 means the whole of what acts on the will.] Necessity is only a 
 full and fixed connection between things ; moral necessity is 
 simply the fixed connexion between motives and volitions, 
 liberty is a power to do as one pleases ; it is opposed to constraint 
 and restraint. The other meanings ascribed to liberty are : (I) a 
 Self -determining power, whereby the will causes its own volitions; 
 (2) IndifiFerence, or that, previous to volition, the mind is in equi- 
 librium ; (3) Contingence, the denial of any fixed connection be- 
 tween motives and volitions. These conceptions of liberty he 
 proceeds to refute. 
 
 2. Self-dderminaiion is inconsistent and inconceivable. If the 
 will determines its own acts, it doubtless does so in the same way 
 in which it produces bodily movements — ^by acts of volition. 
 Hence every free volition is preceded by a prior volition ; and if 
 thia prior volition be free, it must be preceded by a prior volition, 
 and so on in infinitum. Hence arises a contradiction. The first 
 act of a series cannot be free, for it must have another before it ; 
 if the first act is not free, none of the subsequent acts can be free. 
 It may be urged in reply, that there is no prior act determining a 
 free volition, but that the act of determining is the same with 
 the act of willing. The effect of this reply is, that the free voli- 
 tion is determined by nothing ; it is entirely uncaused. Instead, 
 therefore, of saying the will is self-determined, the proper ex- 
 pression would be indetermined. Indeterminism thus affirms that 
 our volitions do not arise from any causes. It therefore contra- 
 dicts the law of causality. Cause is sometimes defined as that 
 which has a positive efficiency to produce an effect ; but, in this 
 sense, the absence of the sun would not be the cause of the fall of 
 dew. A cause is the reason or ground why an event happens so 
 and not otherwise ; it is an antecedent firmly conjoined with its 
 consequent. In this sense, everything that begins to be, must 
 have a cause. This is a dictate of common sense, and the basis 
 of all reasoning on things past, present, and to come. If things 
 may exist without a cause, there is no possible proof for the 
 existence of God. Nay more, we could be sure of nothing but 
 what was present to our consciousness. 
 
 Indeterminism is sometimes made to depend on the active 
 nature of the soTil. Material events may require causes, bat voli- 
 tions do not depend on causes, or rather (for the sake of verbally 
 saving causality) the soul is the cause of its voUtions. Edwards 
 answers, that this may explain why the soul acts at all, but not 
 
 27 
 
418 LIBBKTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 why it acts in a particular maimer. And, unless the soul produce 
 diverse acts, it cannot produce diverse effects, otherwise the same 
 cause, in the same circumstances, would produce different effects 
 at different times. In order, however, to demonstrate the futility 
 of the argument drawn from the activity of the soul, it is neces- 
 sary to examine carefully the notions of Action and Passion. It is 
 said, by Br. Clarke, that a necessary agent is a self-contradiction. 
 Action excludes a moving cause, because to be an effect is to be 
 passive. This is to build a demonstration on an arbitrary defini- 
 tion of a word. Edwards sums up the contradictions involved in 
 the notion of activity as follows: — 'To their notion of action, 
 these things are essential — viz.. That it should be necessary, and 
 not necessary ; that it should be from a cause, and no cause ; that 
 it should be the fruit of choice or design, and not the fruit of 
 choice or design ; that it should be the beg^inning of motion or 
 exertion, and yet consequent on previous exertion ; that it should 
 be before it is ; that it should spring immediately out of indiffer- 
 ence, and yet be the effect of preponderation ; that it should be 
 self-originated, and also have its original from something else.' 
 Absurd and inconsistent with itself, this metaphysical idea of action 
 is entirely different from the common notion. The usual meaning 
 of action is bodily movement: less strictly, heat is said to act 
 upon wax. According to usage, action never means self-deter- 
 mination. Action may have a cause other than the agent, as 
 easily as life may have a cause other than the living being. The 
 same thing may be both cause and effect in respect of different 
 objects. Metaphysicians have changed the meaning of the words 
 ' action' and ' niBcessity,' but keep up the old attributes in spite of 
 the new and distinct application of the term. 
 
 3. Liberty of Indifference. The wiU is alleged to be able to 
 choose between two thiugs equally attractive to the mind. But 
 there never is such a perfect equality. Suppose I wish to touch 
 any one spot on a chess-board, I generally accomplish it by some 
 such steps as the following :— I make first a general resolution to 
 touch some one, then determine to select one by chance — to touch 
 what is nearest or most in the eye at some moment, and lastlyTI 
 fix upon some one selected under those conditions. But at no 
 step is there any equilibrium of motives. Among several objects, 
 some one will catch the eye ; ideas are not equally strong in the 
 mind at one moment, or if so, they do not long continue. It 
 must be kept distinctly in view, that what the wiU is more imme- 
 diately concerned with, is not the objects, but the ads to be done 
 concerning them. The objects may appear equal, but among 
 the acts to be done affecting them, one may be decidedly pre- 
 
 If indifference is regarded as essential to liberty, several absurd 
 consequences foUow. Indifference is often sinful. It is a state 
 m which a man is as ready to choose, as to avoid, sin. It is 
 destroyed by the presence of any habitual bias, and such bias can 
 be neither virtuous nor vicious. The nearer habits of virtue are 
 
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — EDWARDS. 419 
 
 to infallibility, the less are they free and praiseworthy. Indiffer- 
 ence is inconsistent with regarding any disposition or quality of 
 mind as either virtuous or A^cious. So in proportion to the strength 
 of a motive, liberty is destroyed. Hence moral suasion is opposed 
 to freedom. Finally, a choice without motive, and for no end, 
 can have neither prudence nor wisdom in it. 
 
 4. Contingence is involved in liberty. But this cannot be, for 
 no event happens without a cause. Hence events are necessarily 
 connected with their causes, by which, however, Edwards means 
 only that they invariably follow their causes. His definition of 
 cause is correct ; his only error was in retaining the word 
 ' necessity' with its irrelevant and misleading associations. 
 
 5. The influence of motives. It is generaJly allowed that no 
 volition takes place without a motive ; but the mind, it is alleged, 
 has the power of complying with the motive or not. This is a 
 plain contradiction. How can the mind determine what motives 
 shall influence it, and yet the motives be the ground or reason of 
 its determination? Again, it is urged that volition does not 
 follow the strongest motive. If not, then it must follow the 
 weaker, that is, pro tanto, it acts without any motive. This is to 
 contradict the law of cause and effect, and was, Edwards con- 
 ceived, a perfect reductio ad absurdum. He did not anticipate that 
 any one would impugn the universality of cause and effect. 
 
 6. Foreknowledge. The great point that Edwards sought to 
 establish was that prescience involved as much necessity as pre- 
 destination, and that, therefore, the extreme position of the Cal- 
 vinists was as tenable as any that could be taien up by a theist. 
 In the first place, it is evident from Scripture that God has a cer- 
 tain foreknowledge of the voluntary actions of men. Now, if 
 volitions were contingent events, they could not be foreknown, 
 because nothing can be known without evidence, and for a con- 
 tingent event no evidence can be produced. A contingent event 
 is not self-evident, and it cannot be evident from its connexion 
 with any other event, for connexion destroys contingence. Nor 
 is it an admissible supposition that God may have ways of knowing 
 that we cannot conceive of. For it is a contradiction to suppose 
 an event known as certain, and, at the same time, as uncertain. 
 Another evasion is, that knowledge can have no influence on the 
 thing known. Granted, but prescience may^twe that an event is 
 certain, without being the caitse of its certainty. Certainty of 
 knowledge does not make an infaUible connexion between things, 
 but it pre-supposes such a connexion. Again, it is said that with 
 God there is no distinction of be/ore and after ; time is with him 
 an eternal now. Edwards admits that there is no succession in 
 God's knowledge, but observes that knowledge, whether before or 
 after, implies tiie certainty of the thing known. If an event is 
 known by him as certain, then it will most assuredly happen. 
 
 7. Is liberty essential to morality ? The essence of virtue is 
 supposed to consist, not in the nature of the acts of the will, but 
 in their cause. But it is more consistent with common opinion to 
 
420 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 regard moral evil as a deformity in the nature of certain disposi- 
 tions and volitions. Ingratitude is hateful, not on account of the 
 badness of its cause, but on account of its inherent deformity. 
 It is true that our bodily movements are not in themselves either 
 virtuous or vicious, but only the volitions and dispositions that 
 produce them. This rdation is erroneously supposed to exist 
 between our volitions and some inner determining volitions. But 
 mankind do not refer praise and blame to any occult causes of 
 the wiU ; they blame a man who does as he pleases, and who 
 pleases to do wrong. When they ascribe an action to a man, they 
 mean merely that the action is voluntary, not that it is self- 
 determined. Their only conception of freedom is freedom from 
 compulsion or restraint. They praise a man for his amiability, 
 the gift of nature, as much as if it were the result of severe 
 discipline. The will of God is necessarily good, but it is never- 
 theless praiseworthy. Although necessity is, therefore, perfectly 
 compatible with praise and blame, it is nevertheless easy to imder- 
 stand how the opposite opinion should be generally entertained. 
 Constraint is the proper and original meaning of necessity. Now, 
 constraint is totally inconsistent with punishment and reward. 
 Hence arises a strong association between blamelessness and ne- 
 cessity. When the word necessity is taken up by philosophers as 
 the equivalent for certainty of connexion, the associated idea of 
 blamelessness is carried insensibly and unwarily into the new mean- 
 ing. But Edwards did not draw the obvious inference, that the 
 word ' necessity' should be discarded from the controversy. ' 
 
 8. JPracHcal Consequencea, (1) Does the doctrine of necessity 
 render efforts towards an end nugatory? This could only lie 
 said, if the doctrine affirmed, either that the event might follow 
 without the means, or that the event might not follow, although 
 the means was used. Does the doctrine of necessity effect any 
 such rupture between means and ends ? On the contrary, the 
 certainty of the connexion between means and ends is the doctrine 
 itself. (2) Does necessity lead to atheism and licentiousness P 
 Edwards retorts on Liberty the charge of Atheism. How can 
 the existence of God be proved without the principle that every 
 change must have a cause ? And how can it be maintained that 
 every change has a cause, when the entijre realm of volition is 
 emancipated from causation ? As to the charge of licentiousness, 
 Edwards points to the exemplary conduct of the Calvinists, in con- 
 ^ trast to the looseness that often coexists with ArminiaTi doctrines. 
 
 Peiob, contending with Priestley, followed the view brought 
 forward by Dr. Clarke. He defined liberty as a power of Belt- 
 motion, and took up the following positions. (1) All animals 
 possess spontaneity, and therefore liberty. (2) liberty does not 
 admit of degrees ; between acting ^nd not acting there is no 
 middle course. (3) This liberty is possible. There must be some- 
 where a power of be ginnin g motion, and we are conscious of such 
 a power in ourselves. (4) In oiu: volitions, we are not acted upon. 
 (6) Liberty does not eadude the operation of motives. ITie power 
 
FBEE-WILL CONTBOVEEST — PRIESTLEY. 421 
 
 of self-determination can never be excited ■without some view or 
 design. But it is an intolerable absurdity to make ojir motives or 
 ends the physical causes of action. Our ideas may be the occasion 
 of our acting, but are certainly not mechanical efficients. 
 
 Priestley, in his controversy with Price, maintained the 
 following positions: — 
 
 1. He denied that our consciousness is in favour of free- 
 dom. All we believe is that we have power to do what we will or 
 please. To wUl without a motive, or contrary to the influence of 
 all the niotives presented to the mind, is what no man can be con- 
 scious of. The mind cannot choose without some inclination or 
 preference for the thing chosen. To deny this, is to deny that 
 every change must have a cause. 
 
 2. PMlosophiail necessity is consistent with accountability. 
 Pvmjshment has an improving effect both on our own future 
 conduct, and on the conduct of others ; this is the meaning of 
 justness of punishment. To say that one is praiseworthy means 
 that he is actuated by good principles, and is therefore an object 
 of love, and a fit person to be made happy. 
 
 3. Permission of Evil. As regards God, there is no distinction 
 between permitting and appointing evU. In the case of man, the 
 difference is great, for his power of interference and control is 
 limited. In creating any man, God must foresee and accept all 
 the consequences. Whatever reasons can be produced to show why 
 God permits evil, will be available to justify his appointing it. 
 
 4. Remorse cmd Pardon. Priestley admits that it sounds harsh, 
 but B-fflrTna it nevertheless to be true, that ' in all those crimes men 
 reproach themselves with, God is the agent ; and that they are no 
 more agents than a sword.' Actions may be referred to the per- 
 sons themselves as secondary causes, but they must also be traced 
 to the first cause. Mankind at first necessanlyrefer their actions 
 to themselves, a conviction that becomes deeply rooted, before 
 they begin to regard themselves as instruments in the hands of a 
 superior agent. Self -applause and self-reproach have their origin 
 in the narrower view, and cease when we refer our actions to the 
 first great cause. The necessitarian believing that, strictly speak- 
 ing, nothing goes wrong (^whatever is, is right J, cannot accuse 
 himself of wrong doing. He has, therefore, nothing to do with 
 repentance, confession, or pardon. This state of feeling, however, 
 is a high and rare attainment ; when the necessitarian mechani- 
 cally refers his actions to himself, he will tio doubt feel as others. 
 
 This admission by Priestley that remorse is inconsistent with 
 necessity, has been turned to great account by Eeid ; but although 
 the statement is very unguarded, it contains a portion of the 
 truth. We may look upon a person's conduct in two aspects — 
 in its effects, or in its causes, fii its effects, it may be very hostile 
 to human happiness, or the reverse. From this point of view, 
 resentment and approbation are the spontaneous response of feel- 
 ing; punishment and reward are clearly appropriate. On the 
 other hand, we may confine our attention to the causes of th^ 
 
422 UBEETY AND NECESSIXT. 
 
 man's conduct — his drcumstanoes, education, and opinions. In 
 several ways, this tends to discourage angry feeling, and to arouse 
 sympathy and pity. In the first place, we are looUng away from 
 the effects of the conduct, and the considerations that justify and 
 require punishment ; in the next place, we may reflect that, in 
 like circumstances, we might not have done better ourselves; 
 then, the conduct may have resulted from a weak moral nature, 
 in which case we are always more ready to pity than to punish ; 
 and, lastly, since we are at the scientific point of view, there is 
 strongly suggested the conception of resistless sequence — a notion 
 strictty appUcaUe to many material phenomena, but incorrect 
 as to human actions. 
 
 6. Priestley considered that materialism, to which he sub- 
 scribed, involved the doctrine of necessity. 
 
 £eid has devoted a large part of his work on The Active 
 Powers, to the discussion of the Liberty of Moral Agents. 
 
 I. — The Mature of Liberty. He defines liberty to be a power 
 over the determinations of one's Will. Necessity is when the will 
 follows something involuntary in the state of mind, or something 
 external. Moral liberty does not apply to all voluntary actions ; 
 many such are done by instinct or habit, without reflection, and 
 so without will. It is a power not enjoyed in infancy, but only 
 in riper years. It extends as far as we are accountable; in 
 short, freedom is the sine qua rum of praise or blame. In order 
 still farther to clear up the conception of liberty, Eeid devotes 
 two chapters to explain the notion of cause. Everything that 
 changes must either change itself, or be changed by some other 
 being. In the one case, it has active power, in the other case it is 
 acted upon or passive. His definition of cause is, — ^that whicll has 
 power to produce an effect. We are efficient causes in our ddi- 
 herate and voluntary actions. We cannot will deliberately without 
 believing that the thing willed is in our power [we may, if we 
 merely expect the effect to follow]. We have a conviction of 
 power to produce motion in our own bodies. To be an efficient 
 cause is to be a free agent ; a necessary agent is a contradiction in 
 terms. In thus identifying freedom with power, Keid follows 
 Clarke and Price, exposing himself to the refutation of Jonathan 
 Edwards, not to mention the criticism of Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 II. — Arguments in Swpport of Free-will. 1. We have by our 
 constitution, a natural conviction or belief, that we act freely. 
 The existence of such a belief is admitted by some fatalists them- 
 selves [Hamilton mentions Hommel, and also Lord Eames, who, 
 however, withdrew the incautious admission]. The very notion 
 of active power must arise from our constitution. We see events, 
 but we see no potency nor chain linking one to the other, and there- 
 fore the notion of cause is not derived from external objects. Tet 
 it is an unshaken conviction of the mind that every event has a 
 cause that had power to produce it. (1) We are conscious of exer- 
 cising power to produce some effect, and this implies a belief that 
 we have power to produce the desired effect. [It, in truth, only 
 
FREE-WILL CONTROVEHSY — REID. 423 
 
 implies a belief that the effect will certainly happen, if we wish it.] 
 (2) Can any one blame himself for yielding to necessity? Bemorse 
 implies a conviction that we could have done better. Eeid further 
 explains what he means by the actions that are in our power. 
 We have no conception of power that is not directed by the will. 
 But there are many things that depend on our will that are not 
 in our power. Madmen, idiots, infants, people in a violent rage, 
 have not the power of self-government. Likewise, the violence 
 of a motive, or an inveterate habit, diminishes liberty, 
 
 2. Liberty is involved in accountability. To be accountable, a 
 man must understand the law by which he is bound, and his obli- 
 gations to obey it ; and he must have power to do what he is 
 accountable for. So far as man's power over himself extends, so 
 far is he accountable. Hence violent passion limits responsibility. 
 It is said that to constitute an action criminal, it need only be 
 volvmtary. Beid says, more is necessary, namely, moral liberty. 
 For (1) the actions of brutes are voluntary, but not criminal. 
 (2) So are the actions of young children. (3) Madmen have 
 understanding and will, but no moral liberty, and hence are not 
 criminal. (4) An irresistible motive palliates or takes away guilt. 
 
 3. Man's power over his volitions is proved by the fact that he 
 can prosecute a series of means towards an end. A plan of con- 
 duct requires understanding to contrive and power to execute it. 
 Now, if each volition in the series was produced not by the man 
 himself, but by some cause acting necessarily upon him, there is 
 no evidence that he contrived the plan. The cause that directed 
 the determinations, must have understood the plan, and intended 
 the execution of it. Motives could not have done it, for they have 
 not understanding to conceive a plan. 
 
 lII:-Be/utation of the Argument /or Necessity. 1. The influence 
 of motives. (1) Eeid allows that motives influence to action, but 
 they do not act. Upon this. Sir W. Hamilton remarks that if 
 motives influence to action, they co-operate in producing a certain 
 effect upon the agent. They are thus, on Beid's own view, 
 causes, and efficient causes. It is of no consequence in the argu- 
 ment, whether motives be said to determine a man to act, or to 
 influence (that is to determine) him to determine himself to act. 
 (2) Eeid goes on to say that it is the glory of rational beings to 
 act according to the best motives. God can do everything ; it is 
 his praise that he does only what is best. But according to 
 Hamilton, this is just one of the insoluble contradictions in the 
 question. If we attribute to the Deity the power of moral evil, 
 we detract from his essential goodness ; and if, on the other hand, 
 we deny him this power, we detract from his omnipotence. (3) Is 
 there a motive in every action ? Beid thinks not. Many trifling 
 actions are done without any conscious motive. Stewart dis- 
 agrees with Beid in this remark ; and Hamilton observes : — 
 ' Can we conceive any act of which there was not a sufficient 
 cause, or concourse of causes, why the man performed it and 
 no other P If not, call this cause, or these concauses, the 
 
424 LIBERTY. AND NECESSITY. 
 
 mntivi, and there is no longer a dispute.' (4)_ It cannot be 
 proved that when there is a motive on one side only, that 
 motive must determine the action. Is there no such thing as 
 wilfulness, caprice, or obstinacy? But 'Are not those all ten- 
 dencies, and fatal tendencies, to act or not to act?' (5) Does 
 the stoongest motive prevail? If the test of the strongest 
 motive is that it prevails, then the proposition is identical. 
 The determination is made by the man, and not by the motive. 
 'But was the man determined by no motive to that deter- 
 nunation ? Was his specific volition to this or to that without a 
 -cause ? On the supposition that the sum of influences (motives, 
 dispositions, tendencies) to volition A, isjcqual to 12, and the sum 
 of influences to counter volition B, equal to 8, can we conceive that 
 the determination of volition A should not be necessary ? We can 
 only conceive the volition B to be determined by supposing that 
 the man creates (calls from non-existence into existence) a certain 
 supplement of influences. But this creation as actual, or in itself, 
 is jjloonceivable, and even to conceive the possibility of this incon- 
 ceivable act, we must suppose some cause by which the man is 
 determined to exeii it. We thus, in thought, never escape deter- 
 mination and necessity.' (6) It is very weaik reasoning to infer from 
 ovlt power of predicting men's actions that they are necessarily 
 determined by motives. Liberty is a power that men use accord- 
 ing to their character. The wise use it wisely, the foolish, foolishly. 
 (7) The doctrine of liberty does not render rewards and punish- 
 ments of no effect. With wise men they will have their due 
 effect, but not always with the foolish and vicious. 
 
 2. The iprinciple of emffident Beason. Heid makes a long 
 criticism of this principle, as enounced by Leibnitz ; but all refer- 
 ence to that may be omitted, since in so far as it applies to the 
 present question, the principle is identical with the law of cause 
 and effect. Beid's answer is that the man is the cause of action, 
 but this evasion, as we have seen, has been refuted by Hamilton. 
 
 3. Every determination of the mind is foreseen by God, it is 
 therefore necessary. This necessity may result in three ways : (1) 
 a thing cannot be foreknown without being certain, or certain 
 without being necessary. But there is no rule of reasoning from 
 which it may be inferred that because an event necessarily shall 
 be, therefore its production must be necessary. Its being certain 
 does not determine whether it shall be freely or necessarily pro- 
 duced. (2) An event must be necessary because it is foreseen. 
 Not so, for knowledge has no effect upon the thing known. God 
 foresees his own futvire actions, but his foresight does not make 
 them necessary. (3) No free action can be foreseen. This would 
 prevent God foreseeing his own actions. Beid admits that there 
 is no knowledge of future contingent actions in man. The 
 .prescience of God must therefore differ, not only in degree but in 
 kind from our knowledge. Although we have no such know- 
 ledge, God may have. There is also a great analogy between the 
 prescience of future contingents and the memory of past contin- 
 
FREE-WILL CONTEOVEEST — HAMILTON. 425 
 
 gents. Hajnilton refutes this assertion. A past contingent is a 
 contradiction, in becoming past it forthwith becomes necessary- 
 it cannot but be. ' Now, so far is it from being true, as Reid soon 
 after says, that every "argument to prove the impossibility of 
 prescience (as the knowledge of future contingents) proves, with 
 equal force, the impossibility of memory " (as the Imowledge of 
 past contingents), that the possibility of a memory of events as 
 contingent was, I believe, never imagined by any philosopher — ^nor, 
 in reaJity, is it by Reid himself. And, in fact, one of the most 
 insoluble objections to the possibility of a free agency, arises (on 
 the admission that all future events are foreseen by God) from 
 the analogy of prescience to memory, it being impossible for the 
 human mind to reconcile the supposition that an event may or 
 may not occur, and the supposition that one of these alternatives 
 has been foreseen as certain.' 
 
 Sir W. Hamiltost occupies a peculiar position in regard to the 
 present question. He demolishes all the chief popular arguments 
 in favour of liberty, and rests the defence on his own Law of 
 the Conditioned. At the same time, he attributes an exaggerated 
 importance to Free-will, as being not only the foundation of 
 morality, but the only doctrine from which we can legitimately 
 infer the existence of God. The phenomena that require a deity 
 for their explanation are exclusively mental : the phenomena of 
 matter, taken by themselves, would ground even an argument to 
 his negation. Fate or necessity might account for the material 
 world ; it is only because man is a free intelligence that a creator 
 must be supposed endowed with free intelligence. 
 
 Hamilton admits, what is shown by Edwards, that the con- 
 ception of an undetermiued will is inconceivable. He thus dis- 
 poses of the argument that the person is the cause of his volitions. 
 ' But is the person an original vmdetermmed cause of the deter- 
 mination of his will f If he be not, then is he not a free agent, 
 and the scheme of Necessity is admitted. If he be, in. the first 
 place, it is impossible to conceive the possibility of this ; and, in. 
 the second, if the fact, though inconceivable, be allowed, it is im- 
 possible to see how a cause, vmdetermined hy any motive, can be a 
 rational, moral, a/nd acceuntahle cause. There is no conceivable 
 medium between Fatalism and Gasualism : and the contradictory 
 schemes of Liberty amd Necessity themselves are inconceivable. 
 For, as we cannot compass in thought an undetermined cause, — 
 an absolute commencement — ^the fundomeaital hypothesis of the one ; 
 so we can as little tthink <m infinite series of determined ccmses — of 
 relative commencements, — the fundamental hypothesis of the other. 
 The champions of the opposite doctrines are thus at once resistless 
 in assault, and impotent in defence. The doctrine of Moral 
 Liberty cannot be made conceivable, for we can only conceive the 
 determined and the relative. A.s already stated, all that can be 
 done is to show, (1) That, for the fact of Libe^y, we ha^re, im- 
 mediately or mediately, the evidence of consciousness; and (2), 
 that there are, among the phenomena of mind, many facts which 
 
426 UBERTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 ■we must admit as actual, but of whose possibility we are wholly 
 unable to form, any notion.' Again, ' A determination by motives 
 uannot, to our understanding, escape from necessitation. Nay, 
 were we even to admit as true, what we cannot think as possible, 
 still the doctrine of a motiveless volition would be only casuaUsm ; 
 and the free acts of an indifferent, are, morally and rationally, as 
 worthless as the preordered passion of a determined, will.' 
 
 Prom his own point of view, Hamilton is free to expose the 
 inconsistency of those who accept the law of causality, and yet 
 make the will an exception. If causality and freedom are 
 equally positive dictates of consciousness, there can be no ground 
 for subordinating one of these dictates to the other. But by re- 
 garding causality as an impotence of thought, Hamilton thinks 
 he can bring forward consciousness in favour of liberty. This fact 
 of freedom is given either as an undoubted datum of consciousness, 
 or as involved in an uncompromising law of duty. 
 
 In the last clause there is a reference to £Airr's doctrine of 
 Freedom. This will be stated in its proper connexion VTith his 
 Ethical doctrine. [Ethicai Systems.] 
 
 J. S. Mill, in his Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's Phi- 
 losophy, has given a chapter to the Freedom of the Will. TTia 
 polemic is chiefly against the theory of Sir W. Hamilton, whose 
 attempt to create a prejudice in favour of his own peculiar views, 
 by representing them as affording the only solid arg^ument in sup- 
 port of the existence of God, Mr. Mill characterizes as ' not only 
 repugnant to all the rules of philosophizing, but a grave offence 
 against the morality of philosophic enquiry.' Both Hamilton and 
 Mill are agreed upon the question at issue — ^namely, whether our 
 volitions are emancipated from causation altogether. Both reject 
 the evasion that ' I ' am the cause. 
 
 1. The evidence of expe/nence* Mr. Mill begins by conced- 
 ing to Hamilton the inconceivability of an absolute com- 
 mencement and an infinite regress. This double inconceivability 
 applies, not only to volitions, but to all other events. Why 
 then do we in regard to all events, except volitions, accept the 
 alternative of regress? Because the causation-hypothesis is 
 established by experience. But there is the same evidence in the 
 case of our volitions. The antecedents are desires, aversions, 
 habits, dispositions, and outward circumstances. The connexion 
 between those antecedents and volitions is proved by eveiy one's 
 experience of themselves, by our observation of others, by our 
 predicting their actions, and by the results of statistics. Where 
 prediction is uncertain, it is because of the imperfection of our 
 knowledge ; we can predict more accurately the conduct of men, 
 
 • The evidence of experience is admitted by Mr. Mansel to be in fevoor 
 of necessity :— • Were it not for the direct testimony of my own consciooB- 
 ness to my own freedom, I could regard human actions only as necessary 
 hnks in the endless chain of phenomenal cause and effect' Mansel'i 
 Metaphyrict, p. 168. 
 
FEEE-WILL CONTROVERSY— J. S. MILL, 427 
 
 tlian fhe changes of the weather. Hence a volition follows its 
 moral causes, as a physical event follows its physical causes. 
 Whether it mtist do so, Mr. Mill professes himself to be ignorant, 
 and therefore condemns the use of the word necessity, but he 
 knows that it always does. 
 
 2. The testimony of Consciousness. The evidence that decided 
 Sir W. Hamilton was consciousness. "We are either directly con- 
 scious of freedom, or indirectly through moral obligation. Mr. Mill 
 examines first, whether we are conscious of free-'will, whether 
 before decision, we are conscious of being able to decide either 
 way. Properly speaking, this is a fact we cannot possibly be 
 conscious of, as we are conscious only of what is, not of what will 
 he. We know we can do a thing only by doing it. The belief in 
 freedom must, therefore, be an interpretation of past experience. 
 This internal feeling of freedom implies that we could have decided 
 the other way ; but, the truth is, not unless we preferred that 
 way. When we imagine ourselves acting diflferently from what 
 we did, we think of a change in the antecedents, as by knowing 
 something that we did not know. Mr. Mill therefore altogether 
 disputes the assertion that we are conscious of being able to act in 
 opposition to the strongest present desire or aversion. 
 
 3. Accountability. Mr. Mill then examines whether moral 
 responsibility involves freedom from causation. Responsibility 
 means either that we expect to be punished for certain acts, or 
 that we should deserve punishment for those acts. The first 
 alternative may be thrown out of accoimt. The question then is, 
 whether free-wUl is involved in the justness of punishment. In 
 this discussion, Mr. Mill assumes no particular theory of morals ; it 
 is enough that a difference between right and wrong be admitted, 
 and a natural preference for the right. Whoever does wrong 
 becomes a natural object of active dislike, and perhaps of punish- 
 ment. The liability of the wrong-doer to be thus ctdled to 
 account has probably much to do with the feeling of being 
 accountable. OrienttJ despots and persons of a superior caste 
 show not the least feeling of accountability to their inferiors. 
 Moreover, if there were a race of men, as mischievous as 
 lions and tigers, we should treat them precisely as we treat wild 
 beasts, although they acted necessarily ; so that the most stringent 
 form of fatalism is not inconsistent with putting a high value on 
 goodness, nor with the existence of approbation and penalties. 
 The real question, however, is — ^Would the punishment be_ just ? 
 Is it just to punish a man for what he cannot help ? Certainly it 
 is, if punishment is the only means by which he can be enabled 
 to help it. Punishment is inflicted as a means towards an end, 
 but if there is no efficacy in the means to procure the end, that is to 
 say, if our volitions are not determined by motives, then punish- 
 ment is without justification. If an end is justifiable, the sole and 
 necessary means to that end must be justifiable. Now, the Ne- 
 cessitarian Theory proceeds upon two ends, — ^the benefit of the 
 offender himself, and the protection of others. To punish a child 
 
428 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. 
 
 for its benefit is no more unjust than to administer medicine. In 
 the defence of just rights, punishment must also be just. The 
 feeling of accountability is then nothing more than the knowledge 
 that punishment will be just. Nor is this a'peMtwprmcipii. Mr. MiU 
 considers himself entitled to assume the reality of moral distinc- 
 tions, such reality not dependjbag on any theory of the will. If this 
 account should not be considered sufficient, how can we justify the 
 punishment of crimes committed in obedience to a perverted con- 
 science ? Eavaillac and Balthasar Grerard regarded themselves as 
 heroic martyrs. No person capable of being operated upon by the 
 fear of punishm^it, will ever feel punishment for wrong-doing to 
 be unjust. 
 
 4. Necessity is not FataUsm, The doctrine of Necessity is clearly 
 distinguishable from Fatalism. Pure fatalism holds that our 
 actions do not depend on our desires. A superior power overrides 
 our, wishes, and bends us according to its will. Modified fatalism 
 proceeds upon the determination of our will by motives, but holds 
 that our character is made for us and not by us, so that we are not 
 •responsible for our actions, and should in vain attempt to alter 
 them. The true doctrine of causation holds that in so far as our 
 character is amenable to moral discipHrle, we can improve it, if we 
 desire. According to Mr. Mansel, such a theory of moral causation 
 is really fatalism. Yet Kant held that the capability of predict- 
 ing our actions does not destroy freedom : it is only in the forma- 
 tion of our character that we are free; and he almost admits 
 that our actions necessarily follow from our character. But, in 
 truth, the volitions tending to improve our character are as 
 capable of being predicted as any voluntary actions. And neces- 
 sity means only this possibility of being foreseen, so that we 
 are no more free in the formation of our character, than in our 
 subsequent volitions. 
 
 5. The influence of Motives. Mr. Mansel, following !Reid, has 
 denied that the strongest motive prevails, since there is no test of 
 the strength of a motive but its ultimate prevalence. But (1) the 
 strongest motive means the motive strongest in rriation to pleasure 
 and pain. (2) Even if the test referred to was the will, the pro- 
 position would still not be unmeaning. We say of two weights in a 
 pair of scales, that the heavier will lift the other up ; although we 
 mean by the heavier only the weight that wiU. lift the other up. 
 This proposition implies that in most cases there is a heavier, and 
 that this is always the same one, not one or the other, as it may 
 happen. So also if there be motives uniformly followed by 
 certain volitions, the free-will theory is not saved. 
 
ETHICS. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 THE THEORY OF ETHICS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 PEELIMINAEY VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS. 
 
 As a preface to the account of ^be Btbical Systems, and a 
 principle of arrangement, for the better comparing of them, 
 we shall review in order the questions that arise in the dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 I. First of all is the question as to the Ethical Standard. 
 "What, in the last resort, is the test, criterion, umpire, appeal, 
 or Standard, in determining Right and Wrong ? In the con- 
 crete language of Paley, Why am I obliged to keep my word ? 
 The answer to this is the Theory of Bight and Wrong, the 
 essential part of every Ethical System. 
 
 We may quote the leading answers, as both explaining 
 and summarizing the chief question of Ethics, and more espe- 
 cially of Modem Ethics. 
 
 1. It is alleged that the arbitrary Will of the Deity, as 
 expressed in the Bible, is the ultimate standard. On this 
 view anything thus commanded is right, whatever be its conse- 
 quences, or however it may clash with our sentiments and 
 reasonings. 
 
 2. It was maintained by Hobbes, that the Sovereign, 
 acting imder his responsibility to God, is the sole arbiter of 
 Right and Wrong. As regards Obligatory Morality, this 
 
430 PRELIMINAKT VIEW OF ETHICAL QTWESTIONS. 
 
 Eeems at first sight an identical proposition ; morality is an- 
 other name for law and sovereignty. In the view of Hobbes, 
 however, the sovereign shonld be a single person, of absolate 
 authority, humanly irresponsible, and irremoveable ; a type of 
 sovereignty repudiated by civilized nations. 
 
 3. It has been held, in various phraseology, that a certain 
 fitness, suitability, or propriety in actions, as determined by our 
 Understanding or Heason, is the ultimate test. When a man 
 keeps his word, there is a certain congruity or consistency 
 between the action and the occasion, between the making of 
 a promise and its fulfilment ; and wherever such congruity 
 is discernible, the action is right. This is the view of Cud- 
 worth, Clarke, and Price. It may be called the InteUectnal 
 or Rational theory. 
 
 A special and more abstract form of the same theory is 
 presented in the dictum of Kant — ' act in such a way that 
 your conduct might be a law to all beings.' 
 
 4. It is contended, that the human mind possesses an in- 
 tuition or instinct, whereby we feel or discern at once the 
 right from the wrong ; a view termed the doctrine of the 
 Moral Sense, or Moral Sentisent. Besides being sup- 
 ported by numerous theorizers in Ethics, this is the prevailing 
 and popular doctrine ; it underlies most of the language of 
 moral suasion. The difficulties attending the stricter inter- 
 pretation of it have led to various modes of qualifying and 
 explaining it, as wiU afterwards appear. Shaftesbury and 
 Hutcheson are more especially identified with the enunciation 
 of this doctrine in its modern aspect. 
 
 5. It was put forth by Mandeville that" Self-interest is the 
 only test of moral rightness. Self-preservation is the first 
 law of being ; and even when we are labouring for the good of 
 others, we are still having regard to our own interest. 
 
 6. The theory called Utility, and Utilitarianism, supposes 
 that the well-being or happiness of mankind is the sole end, 
 and ultimate standard of morality. The agent takes account 
 both of his own happiness and of the happiness of others, 
 subordinating, on proper occasions, the first to the second. 
 This theory is definite in its opposition to all the others, but 
 admits of considerable latitude of view within itself. Stoicism 
 and Epicureanism are both included in its compass. 
 
 The two last-named theories — Self-interest, and Utility or 
 the Common Well-Being, have exclusive regard to the con- 
 sequences of actions ; the others assign to consequences a 
 subordinate position. The terms External and Dependent 
 
PSYCHOLOGICAL QUESTIONS. 431 
 
 are also nsed to express the reference to Happiness as the 
 end : Internal and Independent are the contrasting epithets. 
 
 II. Ethical Theory embraces certain questions of pure 
 Psychology. 
 
 1. The Psychological nature of Conscience, the Moral 
 Sense, or by whatever name we designate the faculty of dis- 
 tinguishing right and wrong, together with the motive power 
 to follow the one and eschew the other. That such a faculty 
 exists is admitted. The question is, what is its place and 
 origin in the mind ? 
 
 On the one side, Conscience is held to be a unique and 
 ultimate power of the mind, like the feeling of Resistance, the 
 sense of Taste, or the consciousness of Agreement. On the 
 other side, Conscience is viewed as a growth or derivation 
 from other recognized properties of the mind. The Theory of 
 the Standard (4) called the doctrine of the Moral- Sense, pro- 
 ceeds upon the first view ; on that theory, the Standard and 
 the Faculty make properly but one question. AH other 
 theories are more or less compatible with the composite or 
 derivative nature of Conscience ; the supporters of Utility, in 
 particular, adopt this alternative. 
 
 2. A second Psychological question, regarded by many 
 (notably by Kant) as vitally implicated in Moral Obligation, 
 is the Freedom of the Will. The history of opinion on this 
 subject has been in great part already given. 
 
 3. Thirdly, It has been debated, on Psychological grounds, 
 whether our Benevolent actions (which all admit) are ulti- 
 mately modes of self-regard, or whether there be, in the 
 human mind, a source of purely Disinterested conduet. The 
 first view, or the reference of benevolence to Self, admits, 
 of degrees and varieties of statement. 
 
 (1) It may be held that in performing good actions, we 
 expect and obtain an immediate reward fully equivalent 
 to the sacrifice made. Occasionally we are rewarded in 
 kind ; but the reward most usually forthcoming (according to 
 Mandeville), is praise or flattery, to which the human mind 
 ia acutely sensitive. 
 
 (2) Our constitution may be such that we are pained by 
 the sight of an object in distress, and give assistance, to 
 relieve ourselves of the pain. This was the view of Hobbes ; 
 and it is also admitted by Mandeville as a secondary motive. 
 
 (3) We may be so formed as to derive enjoyment from 
 the performance of acts of kindness, in the same immediate 
 way that we are gratified by warmth, flowers, or music ; we 
 
432 PEELIMINAEY VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS. 
 
 should ttus be moved to benevolence by an intrinsic pleasure, 
 and not by extraneous consequences. 
 
 ' Beutham speaks of the pleasures and the pains of Benevo- 
 lence, meaning that we derive pleasure from causing pleasure 
 to others, and para from the sight of pain in others. 
 
 (4) It may be affirmed that, although we have not by 
 nature any purely disinterested impulses, these are generated 
 in us by associations and habits, in a manner similar to the 
 conversion of means into final ends, as in the case of money. 
 This is the view propounded by James Mill, and by Mackintosh. 
 
 Allowance being made for a certain amount of fact in 
 these various modes of connecting Benevolence with self, it is 
 still maintained in the present work, as by Butler, Hume, 
 Adam Smith, and others, that human beings are (although 
 very unequally) endowed with a prompting to relieve the 
 pains and add to the pleasures of others, irrespective of all 
 self-regarding considerations ; and that such prompting is 
 not a product of associations With self. 
 
 In the ancient world, ptirely disinterested conduct was 
 abundantly manifested in practice, although not made promi- 
 nent in Ethical Theory. The enumeration of the Cardinal 
 Virtues does not expressly contain Benevolence ; but under 
 Courage, Self-sacrifice was implied. I^triotio Self-devotion, 
 Love, and Friendship were virtues highly esteemed. In 
 Cicero, Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius, there is a recognition of 
 general Benevolence. 
 
 The two heads now sketched — The Standard and the 
 Psychology of our Moral nature — almost entirely exhaust 
 modem Ethics. Smith, Stewart, and Mackintosh agree in 
 laying down as the points in dispute these two : — First, What 
 does virtue consist in ? Secondly, What is the power or 
 faculty of the mind that discovers and enforces it ? 
 
 These two positions, however, are inadequate as regards 
 Ancient Ethics. For remedying the deficiency, and for bring- 
 ing to light matters necessary to the completeness of an 
 Ethical survey, we add the following heads : — 
 
 III. The Theory of what constitutes the Supreme End of 
 Life, the Bonum or the Summum Bonum. The question as to 
 the highest End has divided the Ethical Schools, both ancient 
 and modern. It was the point at issue between the Stoics 
 and the Epicureans. That Happiness is not the highest end 
 has been averred, in modern times, by Butler and others : the 
 opposite position is held by the supporters of Utility. What 
 may be called the severe and ascetic systems (theoretically) 
 
CIASSIFICATION OF DUTIES. 433 
 
 refiise to sanction any pnrsnit of happiness or pleasure, except 
 throngh virtue, or duty to others. The view practically pro- 
 ceeded upon, now and in most ages, is that virtue discharges 
 a man's obligations to his fellows, which being accomplished, 
 he is then at liberty to seek what pleases himself. (For the 
 application of the laws of mind to the theory of Happiness, 
 see Appendix 0.) 
 
 IV.-The Classification op Duties is characteristic of differ- 
 ent systems and different authors. The oldest scheme is the 
 Four Cardinal Virtues — Prudence, Courage, Tempetance, 
 Justice. The modem Christian moralists usually adopt the 
 division- — Duties to God, to Others, to Self. 
 
 Moreover, there are differences in the substance of Morality 
 itself, or the things actually imposed. The code under Chris- 
 tianity has varied both from Judaism and from Paganista. 
 
 v.- The relationship of Ethics to Politics is close, while 
 the points of difference of the two are also of great import- 
 ance. In Plato the two subjects were inseparable ; and in 
 Aristotle, they were blended to excess. Hobbes also joined 
 Ethics and Politics in one system. (See Chap, ii., § 3.) 
 
 VI. The relation of Ethics to Theology is variously repre- 
 sented in modem systems. The Fathers and the Schoolmen 
 accepted the authority of the Bible chiefly on tradition, and 
 did not venture to sit in judgment on the substance of the 
 revelation. They, therefore, rested their Ethics exclusively 
 on the Bible ; or, at most, ventured upon giving some mere 
 Bupplement of its precepts. 
 
 Others, in more modern times, have considered that the 
 moral character of a revelation enters into the evidence in its 
 favour ; whence, morality must be considered as independent, 
 amd exclusively human, in its origin. It would be reasoning 
 in a circle to derive the^ moral law from the bible, and then to 
 prove the bible from the moral law. 
 
 Beligion superadds its own sanction to the moral duties, 
 eo iax as adopted by it ; laying especial stress upon select pre- 
 cepts. It likewise calls into being a distinct code of duties, 
 the religious duties strictly so called ; which have no force 
 except with believers. The ' duties to God,' in the modem 
 classification, are religious, as distinguished from moral 
 daties. 
 
 28 
 
434: THE ETHICAL STANDARD. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 THE ETHICAL STANDARD. 
 
 1. Ethics, or Morality, is a department of Practice ; 
 and, as with other practical departments, is defined by- 
 its End. 
 
 Ethics is not mere knowledge or specnlation, like the 
 sciiBnces of Astronomy, Physiology, or Psychology ; it is 
 knowledge applied to practice, or nsefiil ends, like Havigation, 
 Medicine^ or Politics. Every practical subject has some end 
 to ' be served, the statement of which is via definition in the 
 first instance. Navigation is the applying of different kinds 
 of knowledge, and of a variety of devices, to the end of sailing 
 the seas. 
 
 2. The Ethical End is a certain portion of the welfare 
 of human beings living together in society, realized through 
 rules of conduct duly enforced. 
 
 The obvious intention of morality is the good of mankind. 
 The precepts — do not steal, do not kQl, fnlfil agreements, 
 speak tmiih — whatever other reasons may be assigned for them, 
 have a direct tendency to prevent great evils that might other-, 
 wise arise in the intercourse of human beings. 
 
 Farther, the good aimed at by Ethics is attained by rules 
 of actmg, on the part of one human being to another ; and,, 
 inasmuch as these rules often run counter to the tendencies 
 of the individual mind, it is requisite to provide adequdtein- 
 dvicements to comply with them. 
 
 The Ethical End is what is otherwise called the Standabd, 
 test, or criterion, of Bight and Wrong. The leading contro- 
 versy of Morals is centered in this point. 
 
 3. The Rules of Ethics, termed also Law, Laws, the 
 Moral Law, are of two kinds : — 
 
 The first are rules imposed under a Penalty for ne- 
 glect, or violation. The penalty is termed Punishrnent ; 
 the imposing party is named Grovernment, or Authority ; 
 and the rules so imposed and enforced, are called Laws 
 proper, Morality proper, Obligatory Morality, Duty. 
 
MOEAL RULES ENFOECED BY PENALTIES, 435 
 
 4. The second aie rules whose only external support is 
 Rewards ; constituting Optional Morality, Merit, Virtue, 
 or Nobleness. 
 
 Moral duties are a set of rules, precepts, or prescriptions, 
 for the direction of human conduct in a certain sphere or pro- 
 vince. These rules are enforced by two kinds of motives, 
 requiring to be kept distinct. 
 
 L— One class of rules are made compidsory by the infliction 
 of pain, in the case of violation or neglect. The pain so in- 
 flicted is termed a Penalty, or Punishment ;. it is one of the 
 most familiar experiences of all human beings liviog in 
 society. 
 
 The Institution that issues Bnles of this class, and inflicts 
 punishment when they are not complied with,, is termed Go- 
 vernment, or Authority ;. all its rules are authoritative, or 
 obligatory ; they are Laws strictly so called, Laws proper. 
 Punishment, Government, Authority, Superiority, Obligation, 
 Law, Duty, — define each other ;, they are all different modes 
 of regarding the same fact. 
 
 Morality is thus in every respect analogous to Civil Go- 
 vernment, or the Law of the Land. Nay, farther, it squares, 
 to a very great extent, with Political Authority. The points 
 where the two coincide, and those where they do not coincide, 
 may be briefly stated : — 
 
 (1) AU the most essential parts of Morality are a,dopted 
 and carried out by the Law of the Land. The rules for pro- 
 tecting person and property, for fiilfilling contracts, for per- 
 forming reciprocal duties, are rules or laws of the State ; and 
 are enforced by the State, through its own machinery. The 
 penalties inflicted by public authority constitute what is called 
 the Political Sanction ; they are the most severe, and the most 
 strictly and dispassionately administered, of all penalties. 
 
 (2) There are certain Moral duties enforced, not by 
 public and oflGlcial authority, but by the members of the com- 
 munity in their private capacity. These are sometimes called 
 the Laws of Honour, because they are punished by withdraw- 
 ing from the violator the honour or esteem of his fellow- 
 citizens. Courage, Prudence as regards self. Chastity, Ortho- 
 doxy of opinion, a certain conformity in Tastes and ITsages,— 
 are all prescribed by the mass of each community, to a ^eater 
 or less extent, and are insisted on under penalty of social dis- 
 grace and excommunication. This is the Social or the Popu^ 
 lar Sanction. The department so marked oat, being distinci 
 
436 THE ETHICAL STANDARD. 
 
 from the Political sphere, is called, by Ausfei,^ Positive 
 Morality, or Morality proper. 
 
 Public opinion also chimes in wi& the Law, and adds its 
 own sanction to the legal penalties for offences.: unless the 
 law happens to be in conflict with the popular sentiment. 
 Cruninals, condemned by the law, are additionally punished 
 by social disgrace. 
 
 (3) The Law of the Land contains jnany enactments, be- 
 sides the Moral Code and the machinery for executing it. 
 The Province of Government passes beyond the properly pro- 
 tective fdnction, and includes many institutions of public con- 
 venience, which are not identified with right and wrong. 
 The defence from external enemies ; the erection of works of 
 public utility; the promotion of social improvements, — are 
 aU within the domain of the public authority.* 
 
 n.-The second class of Rules are supported, not by penal- 
 ties, but by Rewards. Society, instead of punishing men for 
 not being charitable or benevolent, praises and otherwise 
 rewards them, when they are sa Hence, although Morality 
 inculcates benevolence, this is not a Law proper, it is not 
 obligatory, authoritative, or binding; it is purely voluntary, 
 and is termed merit, virtuous and noble -conduct. 
 
 In this department, the members of the community, in 
 their unof&cial capacity, are the <5hief agents and administra- 
 tors. The Law of the Land occupies itself with the enforce- 
 m.ent of its own obligatory rules, having at its command a 
 perfect machinery of punishment. Private iindividuals ad- 
 
 * Duties strictly so called, the department of obligatory morality, en- 
 forced by punishment, may be exemplified in the following classified 
 summary : — 
 
 Under the Legal Saiiction, are included ; (A) Forbearance from 
 (specified^ injuries ; as (a) Intentional injury — crimes, (4) Injury not inten- 
 tionalr-wrongs, repaired by Damages or Compensation. (B) The ren- 
 dering of services ; (a) Fulfilling contracts or agreements ; (b) Becipro- 
 cating anterior services rendered, though not requested, as in filial duty ; 
 (c) Cases of extreme or superior need, as parenteil duty, relief of destitution. 
 
 Under the Popular Sanction are created duties on such points as the 
 following: — (1) The Etiquette of small societies or coteries. (2) Beli- 
 gious orthodoxy ; Sabbath observance. (8) Unchastity; violations of the 
 etiquette of the sexes, Immodesty, and whatever endangers cbastibf, 
 especially in women. (4) Duties of parents to children, and of childreil 
 to parents, beyond the requirements of the law, (5) Suicide : when only 
 attempted, the individual is punished, when carried out, the relatives. 
 (6) Drunkenness, and neglect of the means of self-support. (7). Gross 
 Irdkumanity. In all these cases the sanction, or punuhment, is social ; 
 and is either mere disapprobation or dislike, not issuing in overt acts, oi 
 exclusion from fellowship and the good ofBces consequent (hereon. 
 
MORAL EULES SUPPORTED BY REWARDS. 437 
 
 minister praise, honour, esteem, approbatioB, and reward. In 
 a few instances,, the Government dispenses rewards, as in 
 the bestowal of ofQce, rank, titles, and pensions, but this 
 Amotion is exceptional and limited. 
 
 The conduct rewarded by Society is chiefly resolvable into 
 Beneficence. Whoever is moved to incur sacrifices, or to go 
 through labours,, for the good of others, is the object, not 
 merely of gratitude- from- the- persons benefited, but of appro- 
 bation &oms society at large 
 
 Any remarkable strictness or fidelity in the discharge of 
 duties properly so called, receives general esteem. Even in 
 matters merely ceremonial, if importance be attached to 
 them^ sedulous and exact compliance, being the distinction of 
 the few, will earn the approbation of the many.*' 
 
 5. The Ethical End, or Morality, as it has been, is 
 founded partly on. Well-being, or Utility : and partly on 
 Sentiment 
 
 The portions of Morality,, having in view th© prevention of 
 human misery and the promotion of human happiness, are 
 known and obvious. They are not the whole of Morality as 
 it has heen. 
 
 * Optional Morality, the Morality of BewEu^ 18 exemplified as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 (A) A liberal performance of duties properly so called, (a) The 
 support of aged parents ; this, though to a certain extent a legal duty, 
 is still more a virtue, being stimulated by the approbation of one's fel- 
 lows. The performance of the family duties generally is the subject of 
 commendation, (b): The payment of debts that cannot be legally re- 
 covered, as in the case of bankrupts after receiving their discharge. 
 
 These examples typify cases (1) where no definite law is laid down, 
 or where the law is content with a minimum ; and (2) where the law is 
 restrained by its rules of evidence or procedure. Society, in such cases, 
 steps in and supplies a motive in the shape of reward. 
 
 (B) Pure Yirtue, or Beneficence ; all actions for the benefit of others 
 without stipulation, and without reward ; relief of distress, promotion of 
 the good of individuals or of society at large. The highest honours of 
 society are called into exercise by the highest services. 
 
 Bentham's principle of the claims of superior need cannot be fully 
 carried out, (although he conceives it might, in some cases), by either the 
 legal or the popular sanction. Thus, the act of the good Samaritan, the 
 rescue of a ship's crew from drowning, could not be exacted ; the law can- 
 not require heroism. It is of importance to remark, that although Duty 
 and UTobleness, Punishment and Keward, are in their extremes unmis- 
 takably contrasted, yet there may be a margin of doubt or ambiguity 
 (like the passing of day into night). Thus, expressed approbation, 
 generally speaking, belongs to Beward ; yet, if it has become a thing of 
 covuse, tike withholding of it operates as a Punishment or a Penalty. 
 
438 THE ETHICAL STANDARD. 
 
 Sentiment, caprice, arbitrary liking or disliking, are 
 names for states of feeling that do not necessarily arise from 
 their objects, but may be jomed or disjoined by education, 
 custom, or the power of the wiU. The revulsion of mind, 
 on the part of the Jews, against eating the pig, and on our 
 own part, as regards horse flesh, is not a primitive or natural 
 sensibility, like the pain of hunger, or of cold, or of a musical 
 discord; it is purely artificial; custom has made it, and 
 could unmake it. The feeling of fatigue from overwork is 
 natural ; the repugnance of caste to manual labour is facti- 
 tious. The dignity attached to the military profession, and 
 the indignity of the office of public executioner, are capricious, 
 arbitrary, and sentimental. Our prospective regard to the 
 comforts of our declining years points to a real interest ; our 
 feelings as to the disposal of the body after death are purely 
 factitious and sentimental. Such feelings are of the things 
 in our own power; and the grand mistake of the Stoics was 
 their viewing all good and evil whatever in the same light. 
 
 It is an essentiail part of human liberty, to permit each 
 person to form and to indulge these sentiments or caprices ; 
 although a good education should control them with a view 
 to our happiness on the whole. But, when any individual 
 liking or fancy of this description is imposed as a law upon 
 the entire community, it is a perversion and abuse of power, 
 a confounding of ithe Ethical •end by foreign admixtures. 
 Thus, to enjoin authoritatively one mode of sepulture, punish- 
 ing all deviations from that, could have nothing to do with 
 the preservation of the order of society. In such a matter, 
 the interference of the state in modern times, has regard to 
 the detection of crime in the matter of life and death, and to 
 the evils arising from the putrescence of the dead. 
 
 6. The Ethical End, althougli properly confined to 
 Utility, is subject to still farther limitations, according to 
 the view takeij of the Province of Moral Government, or 
 Authority. 
 
 Although nothing should be made morally obligatory but 
 what is generally useful, the converse does not hold ; many 
 kinds of conduct are generally useftd, but not morally obUga- 
 tory. A certain amount of bodily exercise in the open air 
 every day would be generally useful ; but neither the law of 
 the land nor public opinion compels it. Good roads are works 
 of great utility ; it is not every one's duty to make them. 
 
 The maohinery of coercion is not brought to bear upon 
 
DIFFERENCE OF BEING AND WELL-BEING. 439 
 
 every conceivable utility. It is principally reserved, when 
 not abased, for a select class of utilities. 
 
 Some utilities are indispensable to the very existence of 
 men in society. The primary moral duties must be observed 
 to some degree, if men are to live together as men, and not to 
 roam at large as beasts. The interests of Secwrity are the 
 first and most pressing concern of human society. Whatever 
 relates to this has a surpassing importance. Security is 
 contrasted with Improvement ; what relates to Security is 
 declared to be Bight ; what relates to Improvement is said to 
 be Expedient ; both are forms of Utility, but the one is press- 
 ing and indispensable, the other is optional. The same differ- 
 ence is expressed by the contrasts — Being and Well-being ; 
 Existence and Prosperous Existence ; Fundamentals or Essen- 
 tials and Circumstantials. That the highway robber should 
 be punished is a part of Being ; that the highways should be in 
 good repair, is a part of Well-being. That Justice should be 
 done is Existence ; that farmers and traders should give in to 
 government the statistics of their occupation, is a means to 
 Prosperous Existence.* 
 
 It is proper to advert to one specific influence in moral enact- 
 ments, serving to disguise the Ethical end, and to widen the dis- 
 tinction between morality as it has been, and morality as it ought 
 to be. The enforcing of legal and moral enactments demands a 
 power of coercion, to be lodged in the hands of certain persons ; 
 the possession of which is a temptation to exceed the strict 
 exigencies of public safety, or the common welfare. Probably 
 many of the whims, fancies, ceremonies, likings and antipathies, 
 that have found their way into the moral codes of nations, have 
 arisen from the arbitrary disposition of certain individuals happen- 
 ing to be in authority at particular junctures. Even the general 
 community, acting in a spontaneous manner, imposes needless 
 restraints upon itself ; delighting more in the exercise of power, 
 than in the freedom of individual action. 
 
 * The conditions that regulate the authoritative enforcement of 
 actions, are exhaustively given in works on Jurisprudence, hut they do 
 not all concern Ethical Theory. The expedience of imposing a rule 
 depends on the importance of the object compared with the cost of the 
 machinery. A certain line of conduct may be highly beneficial, but may 
 not be a fit case for coercion. For example, the law can enforce only a 
 minimum of service : now, if the case be such that a minimum is useless, 
 as in helping a ship in distress, or in supporting aged parents, it is much 
 better ts leave the case to voluntary impulses, seconded by approbation 
 or reward. Again, an offence punished by law must be, in its nature, 
 definable ; which makes a difficulty in such cases as insult, and defamation, 
 and many species of &aud. Farther, the offence must be easy of detection, 
 so that the vast majority of offenders may not escape. This limits the 
 action of the law in unchastity. 
 
440 THE ETHICAL STANUAKD, 
 
 7. Morality, jn its essential parts, is ' Eternal and Im- 
 mutable ;' in other parts, it varies with Custom. 
 
 (1) The rules for protecting one man from another, for 
 enforcing justice, and the observance of contracts, are essen- 
 tial and fundamental, and may be siyled ' Eternal and Im- 
 mutable.' The ends to be served require these rules; no 
 caprice of custom could change them without sacrificing those 
 ends. They are to society what food is to individual life, or 
 sexual intercourse atad mother's care to the continuance of the 
 race. The primary moraKties could not be exchanged for rules 
 enacting murder, pillage, injustioe, unveraoity, repudiation of 
 engagements; because under these I'ules, human society would 
 fall to pieces. 
 
 (2) The manner of carrying into effect these primary 
 regulations of society, varies according to Custom. In some 
 communities the machinery is rude and imperfect; while 
 others have greatly improved it. The Greeks took the lead 
 in adTancing judicial machinery, the Bomans followed. 
 
 In the regulations not essential to Being, but important to 
 WeU-being, there has prevailed the widest discrepaaoy of 
 usage. The single department relating to the Sexes is a suffi- 
 cient testimony on this head. ISo one form of the family is 
 indispensable to the existence of society ; yet some forms are 
 more favourable to general happiness than others. But 
 which form is on the whole the best, has greatly divided 
 opinion; and legislation has varied accordingly. The more 
 a,dvanced nations have adopted compulsory monogamy, thereby 
 giving the prestige of their authority in favour of that system. 
 But it cannot be affirmed that the joining of one man to one 
 woman is a portion of ' Eternal and Immutable MoralHy.' 
 
 Morality is an Institution of society, but not an arbitrary 
 institution. 
 
 8. Before adducing the proofs in support of the posi- 
 tion above assumed, namely, that Utility or Human 
 Happiness, with certain limitations, is the proper criterion 
 of Morality, it is necessary to enquire, what sort of evidence 
 the Ethiced Standard is susceptible of. 
 
 Hitherto, the doctrine of TJtiliiy has been assumed, in 
 order to be ftilly stated. We must next review the evidence 
 in its favour, and the objections urged against it. It is desir- 
 able, however, to ask what kind of proof should be expected 
 on such a question. 
 
WHAT IS THE PEOOF OF THB STANDARD? 441 
 
 In the Specnlative or Theoretical sciences, we prove a 
 doctrine by referring it to some other doctrine or doctrines, 
 nntil we come at last to some assumption that must be 
 rested in as ultimate or final. "We can prove the propositions 
 of EncUd, the law of gravitation, the law of atomic propor- 
 tions, the law of association; we cannot prove our present 
 sensations, nor can we demonstrate that what has been, will 
 be. The nltimate data must be accepted as self-evident; 
 they have no higher authority than that mankind generally 
 are disposed to accept them. 
 
 In the practical Sciences, the question is not as to a prin- 
 ciple of the order of nature, but as to an end of human action. 
 There may be derived Ends, which are susceptible of demon- 
 strative proof; but there must also be ultimate Ends, for 
 which no proof can be offered; they must be received as 
 self-evident, and their sole authority is the person receiving 
 them. In most of the practical sciences, the ends are derived; 
 the end of Medicine is Health, which is an end subsidiary 
 to the final end of human happiness. So it is with Naviga- 
 tion, with Politics, with Education, and others. In all of them, 
 we recognize the bearing npon human welfare, or happiness, 
 as a common, comprehensive, and crowning end. On the 
 theory of Utility, Morals is also governed by this highest end. 
 
 Now, there can be no proof offered for the position that 
 Happiness is the proper end of all human pursuit, the cri- 
 terion of all right condnct. It is an nltimate or final assump- 
 tion, to be tested by reference to the individual judgment of 
 mankind. If the assnmption, that misery, and not happiness, 
 is the proper end of life, found supporters, no one could reply, 
 for want of a basis of argument— an assumption stUl more 
 ftindamental agreed upon by both sides. It would probably 
 be the case, that the supporters of misery, as an end, would be 
 at some point inconsistent with themselves; which wonld lay 
 them open to refutation.' But to any one consistently main- 
 taining the position, there is no possible reply, because there 
 is no medium of proof. 
 
 If then, it appears, on making the appeal to mankind, that 
 happiness is admitted to be the highest end of aU action, the 
 theory of TJtUity is proved. 
 
 9. The judgment of Mankind is very generally in 
 favour of Happiness, as ttie supreme end of human con- 
 duct. Morality included. 
 
 This decision, however, is not given without qualifica- 
 
442 THE ETHICAL STAITOAED. 
 
 tions and reservations ; nor is there perfect unanimity 
 regarding it. 
 
 The theory of Motives to the Will is the answer to the 
 question as to the ends of human action. According to the 
 primary law of the Will, each one of ns, for ourselves, seeks 
 pleasure and avoids pain, present or prospective. The prin- 
 ciple is interfered with by the operation of Fixed Ideas, under 
 the influence of the feelings ; whence we have the class of 
 Impassioned, Exaggerated, Irrational Motives or Ends. Of 
 these influences, one deserves to be signalized as a source of 
 virtuous conduct, and as approved of by mankind generally ; 
 that is, Sympathy with others. 
 
 Under the Fixed Idea, may be ranked the acquired sense 
 of Dignity, which induces us often to forfeit pleasure and 
 incur para. We should not choose the life of Plato's beatified 
 oyster, or (to use Aristotle's example) be content with perpetual 
 childhood, with however great a share of childish happiness. 
 
 10. The Ethical end that men are tending to, and may 
 idtimately adopt without reservation, is human Welfare, 
 Happiness, or Being and Well-being combined, that is, 
 Utility. 
 
 The evidence consists of such facts as these : — 
 
 (1) By far the greater part of the moraliiy of every age 
 and country ^has reference to the welfare of society. Even 
 in the most superstitious, sentimental, and capricious despot- 
 isms, a very large share of the enactments, political and moral, 
 consist in protecting one man from auoliier, and in securing 
 justice between man and man. These objects may be badly 
 carried out, they may be accompanied with much oppression 
 of the governed by the governing body, but they are always 
 aimed at, and occasionally secured. Of the Ten Command- 
 ments, four pertain to BeUgions Worship ; skb are TTtilitarian, 
 that is, have no end except to ward off evils, and to further 
 the good of mankind. 
 
 (2) The general welfare is at all times considered a 
 strong and adequate justification of moral rules, and is con- 
 stantly adduced as a motive for obedience. The common- 
 places in support of law and morality represent that if mur- 
 der and theft were to go unpunished, neither life nor property 
 would be safe ; men would be in eternal warfare ; industry 
 would perish ; society must soon come to an end. 
 
 There is a strong disposition to support the more purely 
 
HAPPINESS THE ADMITTED ETHICAL END. 443 
 
 sentimental requirements, and even the excesses of mere 
 tyranny, by utilitarian reasons. 
 
 The cumbersome ablutions of oriental nations are defended 
 on the ground of cleanliness. The divine sanctity of kings is 
 held to be an aid to social obedience. Slavery is alleged 
 to have been at one time necessary to break in mankind to 
 industry. Indissoluble marriage arose from a sentiment 
 rather than from utility; but the arguments, commonly urged 
 in its favour, are utilitaiian. 
 
 (3) In new cases, and in cases where no sentiment or 
 passion is called into play. Utility alone is appealed to. In 
 any fresh enactment, at the present day, the good of the com- 
 munity is the only justification that would be listened to. If 
 it were proposed to forbid absolutely the eating of pork in 
 Christian countries, some great public evils would have to be 
 assigned as the motive. Were the fatalities attending the 
 eating of pork, on account of irichinice, to become nxmierons, 
 and nnpreventible, there would then be a reason, such as a 
 modem civilized community would consider sufficient, for 
 making the rearing of swine a crime and an immorality. But 
 no mere sentimental or capricious dislike to the pig, on the 
 part of any number of persons, could now procure an enact- 
 ment for disusing that animal. 
 
 (4) There is a gradual tendency to withdraw from the 
 moral code, observances originating purely in sentiment, and 
 having little or no connexion with humem welfare. 
 
 We have abandoned the divine sacredness of kings. We 
 no longer consider ourselves morally bound to denounce and 
 extirpate heretics and witches; stiU less to observe fasts and 
 sacred days. Even in regard to the Christian Sabbath, the 
 opinion is growing in favour of withdrawing both the legal 
 and popular sanction formerly so stringent; while the argu- 
 ments for Sabbath observance are more and more charged 
 with considerations of secular utility. 
 
 Should these considerations be held as adequate to support 
 the proposition advanced, they are decisive in favour of UtUity 
 as the Moral Standard that ought to be. Any other standard 
 that may be set up in competition with Utility, must ultimately 
 ground itself on the very same appeal to the opinions and the 
 practice of mankind. 
 
 11. The chief objections urged against Utility, as the 
 moral Standard, have been in great part anticipated. Still, 
 it is proper to advert to them in detail. 
 
444 THE ETHICAL STAOT)AKD. 
 
 I.— It is maintained that Happiness is not, either in 
 fact or in right,, the sole aim of human pursuit ; that men 
 actually, deliberately, and by conscientious preference, seek 
 other ends. For example, it is affirmed that Virtue is an 
 end in itself, without regard to happiness. 
 
 On this argument it may be observed : — 
 
 (1) It has been abundantly shown in this work, that one 
 part of the foregoing affirmation is strictly true. Men are not 
 urged to action exclusirely by their pleasures and their pains. 
 They are urged by other motives, of the impassionfid kind ; ' 
 among -which, is to be signalized sympathy with the pains and 
 pleasures of others. If this had been the only instance of action 
 at variance with the regular course of the wUl, we should be 
 able to maintain that the motive to- act is stiU happiness, but 
 not always the agent's own happiness. . We have seen, however, 
 that individuals, not unfrequently, act in opposition both to 
 their owu, and to other people's happiness ; as when mastered 
 by a panic, and when worked up into a feenzy of anger or 
 antipathy. 
 
 The sound and tenable position seems to be th&r— Human 
 beings, in their beat and soberest moods,, looking before and 
 after, weighing all the consequences of actions,, are generally 
 disposed to regard Happiness, to some bedngs or others, as 
 the proper end of all endeavours. The mother is not exclu- 
 sively bent on her own happiness ;. she is upon her child's. 
 Howard abandoned the common pleasures of life for himself, 
 to diminish the misery of fellow creatures. 
 
 (2) It is true that human beings are apt to regard Virtue 
 as an end-in-itself, and not merely as a means to happiness as 
 the final end. But the fact is fully accounted for on the 
 general law of Association by Contiguity ;. there being many 
 other examples of the same kind, as the love of money. 
 Justice, Veracity, and other virtues,, are requisite, to some 
 extent, for the existence of society, and, to a still greater 
 extent, for prosperous existence.- XJnder such circumstances, 
 it would certainly happen that the means would partidpato in 
 the importance w the end,, and would even be regarded as an 
 end in itself, 
 
 (3) The great leading duties may be- shown to derive their 
 estimation from their bearing upon human welfare. Take 
 first. Veracity or Truth. Of all the moral duties, this has 
 most the appearance of being an absolute and independent 
 requirement. Tet mankind have always approved of de- 
 
VIETUE NOT AN END IN ITSELF. 445 
 
 ception practised upon an enemy in war, a madman, or a 
 highway robber. , Also, secrecy or concealment, even although 
 misinterpreted, is allowed, when it does not cause pernicious 
 results ; and is even enjoined and required in the intercourse 
 of society, in order to prevent serious evils. But an absolute 
 standard of truth is incompatible, even with secrecy or dis- 
 guise ; in departing from the course of perfect openness, or 
 absolute publicity of thought and action, in every possible 
 circumstance, we renounce ideal truth in favour of a com- 
 promised or qualified veracity — a pursuit of truth in subordi- 
 nation to the general well-being of society. 
 
 Still less is there any form of Justice that does not have 
 respect to utility. If Justice is defined as giving to every one 
 their own, the motive clearly is to prevent misery to individuals. 
 If there were a species of injustice that made no one unhap- 
 pier, we may be quite sure that tribunals would not be set up 
 for enforcing and punishing it The idea of equality in Jus- 
 tice is seemingly an absolute conception, but, in point of fact, 
 equality is a matter of institution. The children of the same 
 parent are, in certain circumstances, regarded as unequal by 
 the law ; and justice consists in respecting this inequality. 
 
 The virtae of Self-denial, is one that receives the commen- 
 dation of society, and stands high in the morality of reward. 
 Still, it is a m^ans to an end. The operation of the associat- 
 ing principle tends to raise it above this point to the rank of a 
 final end. And there is an ascetic scheme of life that proceeds 
 upon this supposition ; but the generality of manbind, in 
 practice, if not always in theory, disavow it. 
 
 ■ (4) It is often affirmed by those that regard virtue-, and 
 not happiness, as the end, that the two coincide in the long run. 
 Now, not to dwell upon the very serious doubts as to the matter 
 of fact, a universal coincidence without causal connexion is 
 so rare as to be in the last degree improbable. A fiction of 
 this sort was contrived by Leibnitz, under the title of ' pre- 
 established harmony ; ' but, among the facts of the universe, 
 there are only one or two cases known to investigation. 
 
 12. II. — It is objected to Utility as the Standard, that 
 the bearings of conduct on general happiness are too 
 numerous to be calculated ; and that even where the cal- 
 culation is possible, people have seldom time to make it. 
 
 (1) It is answered, that the piimary moral duties refer to 
 conduct where the consequences are evident and sure. The 
 disregacd of Justice and Truth would to an absolute certainty 
 
446 THE ETHICAL STANDARD. 
 
 bring about a state of confdsion and Fuin ; their observance, 
 in any high degree, contributes to raise. the standard of 
 well-being. 
 
 In other cases, the calculation is not easy, from the num- 
 ber of opposing considerations. For example, there axe two 
 sides to the question. Is dissent morally wrong? in other 
 words, Ought all opinions to be tolerated ? But if we venture 
 to decide such a question, without the balandng or calculating 
 process, we must follow blLndfold the dictates of one or other 
 of the two opposing sentiments, — Love of Power and Love 
 of Liberty. 
 
 It is not necessary that we should go through the process 
 of calculation every time we have occasion to perform a moral 
 act. The calculations have already been performed for all the 
 leading duties, and we have only to apply the maxims to the 
 cases as they arise. 
 
 13. in. — The principle of Utility, it is said, contains 
 no motives to seek the Happiness of others ; it is essen- 
 tially a form of Self-Love. 
 
 The averment is that Utility is a sufficient motive to pur- 
 sue our own happiness, and the happiness of others as a means 
 to our own ; but it does not afford any purely disinterested 
 impulses ; it is a Selfish theory after all. 
 
 Now, as Utility is, by profession, a benevolent and not a 
 selfish theory, either such profession is insincere, or there must 
 be an obstruction in carrying it out. That the supporters of 
 the theory are insincere, no one has a right to afi&m. The 
 only question then is, what are the difficulties opposed by this 
 theory, and not present in other theories (the Moral Sense, for 
 example) to benevolent impulses on the part of individuals ? 
 
 Let us view the objection first as regards the Morality of 
 Obligation, or the duties that bind society together. Of these 
 duties, only a small number aim at positive beneficence; they 
 are either Protective of one man against another, or they 
 enforce Reciprocity, which is another name for Justice. The 
 chief exception is the requiring of a TniniTnTun of charity 
 towards the needy. 
 
 This department of duty is maintained by the force of a 
 certain mixture of prudential and of beneficent considerations, 
 on the part of the maj ority, and by prudence (as fear of punish- 
 ment) on the part of the minority. But there does not appear 
 to be anything in our professedly Benevolent Theory of Morals 
 to interfere with the small portion of disinterested impulse that 
 
OBJECTIONS TO THE PEINCIPLE OP UTILITY. 447 
 
 is bonnd up with prudential regards, in the total of motiyes con- 
 cerned in the morality of social order called the primary or 
 obligatory morality. 
 
 Let us, in the next place, view the objection as regards 
 Optional Morality, where positiTe beneficence has full play. 
 The principal motive in tins department is Reward, in the 
 shape either of benefits or of approbation. Now, there is 
 nothing to binder the supporters of the standard of Utility 
 from joining in the rewards or commendations bestowed on 
 works of charity and beneficence. 
 
 Again, there is, in the constitution of the mind, a motive 
 superior to reward, namely, Sympathy proper, or the purely 
 Disinterested impulse to alleviate the pains and advance the 
 pleasures of others. This part of the mind is wholly unselfish ; 
 it needs no other prompting than the fact that some one is in 
 pain, or may be made happier by scanething within the power 
 of the agent. 
 
 The objectors need to be reminded that Obligatory 
 Morality, which works by punishment, creates a purely selfish 
 motive ; that Optional Morality, in so far as stimulated by 
 Reward, is also selfish ; and that the only source of purely 
 disinterested impulses is in the unprompted Sympathy of the 
 individual mind. If such sympathies exist, and if nothing is 
 done to uproot or paralyze them, they wiU urge men to do 
 good to others, irrespective of all theories. Good done from 
 any other source or motive is necessarily self-seeking. It is a 
 common remark, with reference to the sanctions of a future 
 life, that they create purely self-regarding motives. Any pro- 
 posal to increase disinterested action by moral obligation con- 
 tains a self-contradiction; it is suicidal. The rich may be 
 made to give half their wealth to the poor ; but in as far as 
 they are made to do it, they are not benevolent. Law distrusts 
 generosity and supersedes it. If a man is expected to regard 
 the happiness of others as an end in itself, and not as means 
 to his own happiDCSS, he must be left to his own impulses :> 
 ' the quality of mercy is not strained.' The advocates of 
 Utility may observe non-interference as weU as others. 
 
448 THE MOEAL FACULTY. 
 
 OHAPTEE IIL 
 THE MOKAL FACULTY. 
 
 1. The chief qTiestion in the Psychology of Ethics is 
 ■whether the Moral Faculty, or Conscience, bfe a simple or a 
 complex fact of the mind. 
 
 Practically, it would seem of little importance in. what 
 way the moral feonlty origiaated, except with a view to teach 
 us how it may be best strengthened when it happens to be 
 weak. Still, a very great importance has been attached to the 
 view, that it is simple and innate; the supposition being 
 that a higher authority thereby belongs to it. J£ it arises 
 from mere education, it dep^ds on the teacher for the time 
 being ; if it exists prior to all education, it seems to be the 
 voice of universal nature or of God. 
 
 2. In favour of the simple and intuitive character of 
 i Moral Sentiment, it is argued : — 
 
 First, That our judgments of right and wrong are im- 
 ' mediate and instantaneous. 
 
 On almost all occasions, we are ready at once to pronotmce 
 an action right or wrong. We do not need to deliberate or 
 enquire, or to canvass reasons and considerations for and 
 against, in order to declare a murder, a theft, or a lie to be 
 wrong. We are ftilly armed with the power of deciding all 
 snch questions ; we do not hesitate, like a person that has to 
 consnlt a variety of different faculties or interests. Just as 
 we pronounce at once whether the day is light or dark, hot or 
 cold; whether a weight is light or heavy; — we are able to 
 say whether an action is morally right or the opposite. 
 
 3. Secondly, It is a faculty or power belonging to all 
 . mankind. 
 
 This was expressed by Cicero, in a famous passage, often 
 quoted with approbation, by the supporters of innate moral 
 distinctions. ' There is one true and original law conformable 
 to reason and to nature, diffused over {dl, invariable, eternal, 
 which calls to duty and deters from injustice, &c.' 
 
IS THK MORAL FACULTY AN INTUITION? 449 
 
 4. Thirdly, Moral Sentiment is said to be radically 
 different in its nature from any other fact or phenomenon 
 of the mind. 
 
 The peculiar state of discriminating right and wrong, 
 involving approbation and disapprobation, is considered to be 
 entirely unlike any other mental element ; and, if so, we are 
 precluded from resolving or analyzing it into simpler modes 
 of feeling, willing, or thinking. 
 
 We have many feeHngs that urge us to act and abstain 
 from acting ; but the prompting of conscience has something 
 peculiar to itself, which has been expressed by the terms right- 
 ness, authority, supremacy. Other motives, — hunger, curi- 
 osity, benevolence, and so on, — have might, this has right. 
 
 So, the Intellect has many occasions for putting forth its 
 aptitudes of discriminating, identifying, remembering ; but 
 the operation of discerning right and wrong is supposed to be 
 a unique employment of those functions. 
 
 5. In reply to these arguments, and in support of the 
 view that the Moral Faculty is complex and derived, the 
 following considerations are urged : — 
 
 First, The Immediateness of a judgment, is no proof 
 of its being innate ; long practice or familiarity has the 
 same effect. 
 
 In proportion as we are habituated to any subject, or any 
 class of operations, our decisions are rapid and independent 
 of deliberation. An expert geometer sees at a glance whether 
 a demonstration is correct. In extempore speech, a person 
 has to perform every moment a series of judgments as to the 
 suitability of words to meaning, to grammar, to taste, to effect 
 upon an audience. An old soldier knows in an instant, with- 
 out thought or deliberation, whether a position is sufficiently 
 guarded. There is no greater rapidity in the judgments of right 
 and wrong, than in these acquired professional judgments. 
 
 Moreover, the decisions of conscience are quick only in the 
 simpler cases. It happens not unfrequently that difficult and 
 protracted deliberations are necessary to a moral judgment. 
 
 6. Secondly, The alleged similarity of men's moral 
 judgments in all countries and times holds only to a 
 limited degree. 
 
 The very great differences among different nations, as to 
 what constitutes right and wrong, are too numerous, striking, 
 29 
 
450 THE MOKAL FACULTY. 
 
 and serions, not to have been often brought forward in Ethical 
 controversy. Robbery and mnrder are legalized in -whole 
 nations. Macatilay's picture of the Highland Chief of former 
 days is not singular in the experience of mankind. 
 
 ' TTis own vassals, indeed, were few in number, but he came of 
 the best blood of the Highlands. He kept up a close connexion 
 with his more powerful kinsmen ; nor did they like him the less 
 because he was a robber; for he never robbed them; and that 
 robbery, merely as robbery, was a wicked and disgraceful act, had 
 never entered into the mind of any Celtic chief.' 
 
 Various answers have been given by the advocates of 
 innate morality to these serious discrepancies. 
 
 (1) It is maintained that savage or uncultivated nations 
 are not a fair criterion of mankind generally : that as men 
 become more civilized, they approximate to unity of moral 
 sentiment; and what civilised men agree in, is alone to be 
 taken as the judgment of the race. 
 
 Now, this argument would have g^at weight, in any dis- 
 cussion as to what is good, useful, expedient, or what is in 
 accordance with the cultivated reason or intelligence of man- 
 kind ; because civilization consists in the exercise of men's 
 intellectual faculties to improve their condition. But in a 
 controversy as to what is given us by nature, — what we 
 possess independently of intelligent search and experience, — 
 the appeal to civilization does not apply. What civilized 
 men agree upon among themselves, as opposed to savages, 
 is likely to be the reverse of a natural instinct ; in other 
 words, something suggested by reason and experience. 
 
 In the next place, counting only civilized races, that is, 
 including the chief European, American, and Asiatic peoples 
 of the present day, and the Greeks and Romans of the ancient 
 world, we still find disparities on what are deemed by us 
 fandamental points of moral right and wrong. Polygamy is 
 regarded as right in Turkey, India, and China, and as wrong 
 in England. Marriages that we pronounce incestuous were 
 legitimate in ancient times. The views entertained by Plato 
 and Aristotle as to the intercourse of the sexes are now 
 looked upon with abhorrence. 
 
 (2) It has been replied that, although men differ greatly 
 in what they consider right and wrong, they all agree in 
 possessing some notion of right and wrong. No people are 
 entirely devoid of moral judgments. 
 
 But this is to surrender the only position of any real im- 
 portance. The simple and underived character of the moral 
 
MOKAUTY IS A CODK 451 
 
 faculty is maintained because of the superior authority at- 
 tached to what is natural, as opposed to what is merely con- 
 ventional. But if nothing be natural but the mere fact of 
 right and wrong, while all the details, which alone have any 
 value, are settled by convention and custom, we are as much 
 at sea on one system as on the other. 
 
 (3) It is folly admitted, being, iadeed, impossible to deny, 
 that education must concur with natural impulses in making 
 up the moral sentiment. No human being, abandoned en- 
 tirely to native promptings, is ever found to manifest a sense 
 of right and wrong. As a general rule, the strength of the 
 conscience depends on the care bestowed on its cultivation. 
 Although we have had to _ recognize primitive distinctions 
 among men as to the readiness to take on moral training, still, 
 the better the training, the stronger will be the conscientious 
 determinations. 
 
 But this admission has the eifect of reducing the part 
 performed by nature to a small and uncertain amount. Even 
 if there were native preferences, they might be completely 
 overborne and reversed by an assiduous education. The 
 difference made by inculcation is so great, that it practically 
 amounts to everything. A voice so feeble as to be overpowered 
 by foreign elements would do no credit to natm-e. 
 
 7. Thirdly, Moral right and wrong is not so much a 
 simple, indivisible property, as an extensive Code of regu- 
 lations, which cannot even be understood without a cer- 
 tain maturity of the intelligence. 
 
 It is not possible to sum up the whole field of moral right 
 and wrong, so as to bring it within the scope of a single limited 
 perception, like the perception of resistance, or of colour. In 
 regard to some of the alleged intuitions at the foundation of 
 oui- knowledge, as for example time and space, there is a 
 comparative simphcity and unity, rendering their innate 
 origin less disputable. No such simplicity can be assigned 
 in the region of duty. 
 
 After the subject of morals has been studied in the detail, 
 it has, indeed, been found practicable to comprise the whole, 
 by a kind of generalization, in one comprehensive recognition 
 of regard to our fellows. But, in the first place, this is far from 
 a primitive or an intuitive suggestion of the mind. It came 
 at a late stage of human history, and is even regarded as a part 
 of Revelation. In the second place, this high generality must 
 be accompanied with detailed applications to particular cases 
 
452 tHb moral faculty. 
 
 and circumstances. Life is full of conflicting demands, and 
 there must be special rules to adjust these various demands. 
 We have to be told that country is greater than family ; that 
 temporary interests are to succumb to more enduring, and so on. 
 
 Supposing the Love of our Neighbour to unfold in detail, 
 as it expresses in sum, the whole of morality, this is only 
 another name for our Sjrmpathetic, Benevolent, or Disin- 
 terested regards, into whitsh therefore Conscience would be 
 resolved, as it was by Hume. 
 
 But Morals is properly considered as a wide-ran^tig 
 ficiepce, having a variety of heads full of difficulty, and de- 
 Tnandihg iUiiiute consideration. The subject of Justice, has 
 ibtMug simple but the abstract, statement — giving each one 
 their due ; before that can be applied, we must ascei-tain what 
 is each person's due, which introduces complex questions of 
 relative merit, far transcending the sphere of intuition. 
 
 If any part of Mbrals had the simplicity of an instinct, it 
 would be regaird to Truth. The difference between truth and 
 fiilsehbod Inight almost be regarded as a primitive suscepti- 
 bility, like the difference between light and dark, between resist- 
 ance and non-resistance. That each person should say what is, 
 instead of what is not, may well seem a primitive and natural 
 impulse. In circumstauces of perfect indifference, this would 
 be the obvious and usual course of conduct ; being, like the 
 straight line, the shortest distance between two points. Let 
 a motive arise, however, in favour of the lie, and there is 
 nothing to insure the truth. Eiefe?ence must be made to 
 other parts of the mind, from which counter-motives may 
 be ftimifehed ; and the intuition in favour of Truth, not being 
 able to support itself, has to repose on the general foundation 
 of all virtue, the iastituted reec^jnition of the claims of others. 
 
 8. Fourtlily, Intuition is incapable of settling the de- 
 hated questions of Practical Morality. 
 
 If we recall some of the great questions of practieal life 
 that have divided the opinions of mankind, we shall find that 
 .mere Intuition is helpless to decide them. 
 
 The toleration of heretical opinions has been a greatly con- 
 tested point. Our feelings are arrayed on both sides ; and 
 there is no prompting of nature to arbitrate between the 
 opposing impulses. If the advance of civilization has tended 
 to liberty, it has been owing partly to greater enlightenment, 
 and partly to the successful struggles of dissent in the war 
 with established opinion. 
 
ANALYSIS OF THE MORAL FACULTY. 453 
 
 The questions relating to mapTriage are wholly undecideable 
 by intuition. The natural impxilses are for nnliinited co-habi- 
 tatioQ. The degree of restraint to bo pat upon this tendency 
 is not indioated by any sentiment that can be discovered in 
 the mind. The case is very pecoli^^ir. In theft and murder, 
 the immediate consequence? are injury to some one ; in sexual 
 indulgence, the immediate result is agreeable to all concerned, 
 The evils are traceable only in remote consequences, which in- 
 tuition can know nothing of. It js not to be wondered, there- 
 fore, that nations, even highly civilized, have diflFered widely 
 in their marriage institutions ; agreeing only in the propriety 
 of adopting and enforcing some regulations. So essentially 
 has this matter been bound, up with the moral code of every 
 society, that a proposed criterion of morality unable to grapple 
 with it, would be discarded as worthless. Tet there is no in- 
 tuitive sentiment that can be of any avail in the question of 
 marriage with a deceased wife's sister. 
 
 9. Fifthly, It is practicable to analyze or resolve the 
 Moral Faculty ; and, in so doing, to explain, both its pecu- 
 liar property, and the similarity of moral judgments so far 
 as existing among men. 
 
 We begin by estimating the operation of (1) Prudence, 
 (2) Sympathy, and (3) the Emotions generally, 
 
 The inducements to perform a moral act, as, for example, 
 the fulfilling of a bargain, — are plainly seen to be of various 
 kinds. 
 
 (1) Prudence, or Self-interest, has obviously much to do 
 with the moral conduct. Postponing for the present the con- 
 sideration of Punishment, which is one mode of appeal to the 
 prudential regards, we can trace the workings of self-interest 
 on many occasions wherein men act right. To fulfil a bargain 
 is, in the great majority of cases, for the advantage of the 
 agent ; if he faUs to perform his part, others may do the 
 same to him. 
 
 Our self-interest may look stiU farther. We may readily 
 discover that if we set an example of injustice, it may be 
 tak«n up and repeated to such a degree that we can count 
 upon nothing ; social security comes to an end, and individual 
 existence, even if possible, would cease to be desirable. 
 
 A yet higher view of self-interest informs us, that by per- 
 forming all our obligations to our fellows, we not only attain 
 reciprocal performance, but generate mutual aifections and 
 sympathies, which greatly augment the happiness of life. 
 
454 THE MOKAL FiCULTT. 
 
 (2) Sympathy, or Fellow-feeling, the soiirce of our dis-' 
 interested actionB, must next be taken into the account. It 
 is a consequence of our sympathetic endowment that we revolt 
 from inflicting pain on another, and even forego a certain 
 satisfaction to self rather than be the occasion of suffering to 
 a fellow creature. Moved thus, we perform many obligations 
 on the ground of the misery (not our own) accruing from 
 their neglect. 
 
 A considerable portion of human virtue springs directly 
 from this source. If purely disinterested tendencies were 
 withdrawn from the breast, the whole existence of humanity 
 would be changed. Society might not be impossible ; there 
 are races where mutual sympathy barely exists : but the ful- 
 filment of obligations, if always dependent on a sense of 
 self-interest, would fail where that was not apparent. On the 
 other hand, if we were on all occasions touched with the un- 
 happiness to others immediately and remotely springiug from 
 our conduct — if sympathy were perfect and unfailing — we, 
 could hardly ever omit doing what was right. , 
 
 (3) Onr several Emotions or Passions may co-operate 
 with Prudence and with Sympathy in a way to make both 
 the one and the other more efficacious. 
 
 Prudence, in the shape of aversion to pain, is rendered 
 more acute when the pain is accompanied with Fear. The 
 perturbation of fear rises up as a deterring motive when 
 dangers loom iu the distance. One powerful check to the 
 commission of injury is the retaliation of the sufferer, which 
 is a danger of the vague and illimitable kind, calculated to 
 create alarm. 
 
 Anger, or Besentment, also enters, in various ways, into 
 our moral impulses. In one shape it has just been noticed. 
 In concurrence with Self-interest and Sympathy, it heightens 
 the feeling of reprobation against wrong-doers. 
 
 The Tender Emotion, and the Affections, uphold us in the 
 performance of our duties to others, being an additional safe- 
 guard against injury to the objects of the feelings. It has 
 already been shown how these emotions, while tending to 
 coalesce with Sympathy proper, are yet distinguished from it. 
 
 The uSlsthetic Emotions have important bearings upon 
 Ethical Sentiment. As a whole, they are favourable to 
 human virtue, being non-exclusive pleasures. They, how- 
 ever, give a bias to the formation of moral rules, and pervert 
 the proper test of right and wrong in a manner to be after- 
 wards explained. 
 
BIGHTNESS IMPLIES GOVERNMENT OR AUTHORITY. 455 
 
 10. Although Prudence and Sympathy, and the various 
 Emotions named, are powerful inducements to what is 
 right in action, and although, without these, right would 
 not prevail among mankind, yet they do not stamp the 
 peculiar attribute of Eightness. For this, we must refer 
 to the institution of Government, or Authority. 
 
 Althongh the force of these various motives on the side of 
 right is all-powerful and essential, so much so, that without 
 them morality would be impossible, they do not, of them- 
 selves, impart the character of a moral act. We do not 
 always feel that, because we have neglected our interest or 
 violated our sympathies, we have on that account done wrong. 
 The criterion of rightness in particular cases is something 
 difiPerent. 
 
 The reasons are apparent. For although prudence, as 
 regards self, and sympathy or fellow-feeling, as regards 
 others, would comprehend all the interests of mankind — 
 everytiiing that morality can desire to accomplish — neverthe- 
 less, the acting out of these impulses by each individual at * 
 random would not suffice for the exigencies of human life. 
 They must be regulated, directed, reconciled by society at 
 large; each person must be made to work upon the same 
 plan as every other person. This leads to the institution of 
 Government and Authoriiy, with the correlatives of Law, 
 Obligation, and Punishment. Our natural impulses for 
 good are now directed into an artificial channel, and it is no 
 longer 'optional whether they shall fall into that channel. 
 The nature of the case requires all to conform alike to the 
 general arrangements, and whoever is not sufficiently urged 
 by the natural motives, is brought under the spur of a new 
 kind of prudential motive — Punishment. 
 
 Government, Authority, Law, Obligation, Punishment, are 
 all implicated in the same great Institution of Society, to which 
 Morality owes its chief foundation, and the Moral Sentiment 
 its special attribute. Morality is not Prudence, nor Benevo- 
 lence, in their primitive or spontaneous manifestations ; it is 
 the systematic codification of prudential and benevolent 
 actions, rendered obhgatory by what is termed penalties or 
 Punishment; an entirely distinct motive, a^ificiaUy fram.ed 
 by human sociely, but made so familiar to «every member of 
 society as to be a second nature. None are allowed to be pru- 
 dential or sympathizing in their own way. Parents are com- 
 pelled to nourish their own children ; servants to obey their 
 
456 THE MORA!, FACTLTF. 
 
 own masters, to the negleot of other regards ; all citizens have 
 to abide by the awards of authority ; bargains are to be ful- 
 filled according to a prescribed form and letter ; truth is to be 
 spoken on certain definite occasions, and not on others. In a 
 formed society, the very best impulses of nature &il to guide 
 the citizen's actions. No doubt there ought to be a general 
 coincidence between what Prudence and Sympatihy would 
 dictate, and what Law dictates ; but the precise adjustment is 
 a matter of instikiiion. A moral act is not merely an act tend- 
 
 I ing to reconcile the good of the agent with the good of the 
 whole society ; it is an act, prescribed by the social authority, 
 and rendered obligatory upon eyery citizen. Its moraliiy is 
 constituted by its authoritative prescription, and not by its 
 
 ! fulfilling the primary ends of the social institution. A bad 
 law is still a law ; an ill-judged moral precept is still a moral 
 precept, felt as such by every loyal citizen. 
 
 11. It may be proved, by such evidence as the case 
 admits of, that the peculiarity of the Moral Sentiment, or 
 , Conscience, is identified with our education under govern- 
 ment, or Authority. 
 
 Conscience is described by such terms as moral approba- 
 tion and disapprobation ; and involves, when highly developed, 
 a peculiar and unmistakeable revulsion of mind at what is 
 wrong, and a strong resentment towards the wrong-doer, 
 which become Hemorse, in the case of self. 
 
 It is capable of being proved, that there is nothing natural 
 or primitive in these feeUngs, except in so far as the case hap- 
 pens to concur with the dictates of Self-interest, or Sympathy, 
 aided by the Emotions formerly specified. Any action that is 
 hostile to our interest, excites a form of disapprobation, such 
 as belongs to wounded self-interest ; and any action that puts 
 another to pain may so afiect our natural sympathy as to be 
 disapproved, and resented on that ground. These natural or 
 inborn feelings are always liable to coincide with moral right 
 and wi'ong, although they are not its criterion or measure in the 
 mind of each individual. But in those cases where an unusually 
 strong feeling of moral disapprobation is awakened, there is 
 apt to be a concurrence of the primitive motives of self, and of 
 fellow-feeling ; and it is the ideal of good law, and good morality, 
 to coincide with ajjertain well-proportioned adjustment of the 
 Prudential and the Sympathetic regards of the individual 
 
 The requisite allowance being made for the natural im- 
 pulses, we must now adduce the facts, showing that the cha- 
 
CONSCIENCE AN EDUCATION UNOEK AUTHOBITY. 457 
 
 raoteristic of the Moral Sense is an education under Law, or' 
 Authority, through the instrumentality of Punishment. 
 
 (1) It is a fact that human beings living in society are 
 placed under discipline, accompanied by punishment. Cer- 
 tain actions are forbidden, and the doers of them are sub- 
 jected to some painful infliction; which is increased in severity 
 if they are persisted in. Now, what would be the natural 
 consequence of such a system, under the known laws of 
 feeling, will, and intellect ? Would not an action that always 
 brings down punishment be associated with the pain and the 
 dread of punishment? Such an association is inevitably 
 formed, and becomes at least a part, and a very important 
 part, of the sense of duty ; nay, it would of iteelf, after a 
 certain amount of repetition, be adequate to restrain for 
 ever the performance of the action, thus attaining the end of 
 morality. 
 
 There may be various ways of evoking and forming the 
 moral sentiment, but the one waymost commonly trusted to, and 
 never altogether dispensed with, is the associating of pain, that 
 is, punishment, with the actions that are disallowed. Punish- 
 ment is held out as the consequence of performing certain 
 actions ; every individual is made to taste of it ; its infliction 
 is one of the most familiar occurrences of every-day life. 
 Consequently, whatever else may be present in the moral 
 sentiment, this fact of the connexion of pain with forbidden 
 actions must enter into it with an overpowering prominence. 
 Any natural or primitive impulse in the direction of duty 
 must be very marked and apparent, in order to divide with 
 this communicated bias the direction of our conduct. It is 
 for the supporters of innate distinctions to point out any 
 concurring impetus (apart from the Prudential and Sympa- 
 thetic regards) sufficiently important to east these powerful 
 associations into a secondary or subordinate position. 
 
 By a familiar efiect of Contiguous Association, the dread 
 of punishment clothes the forbidd^i act with a feeling ot 
 aversion, which in the end persists of its own accord, and 
 wiUiout reference to the punishment. Actions that have long 
 been connected in the mind with pains and penalties, come to 
 be contemplated with a disinterested repugnance ; they seem to 
 give pain on their own account. This is a parallel, from the 
 bide of pain, of the acquired attachment to money. Now, 
 when, by suet transference, a self-subsisting sentiment of 
 aversion has been created, the conscience seems to be detached 
 from all external sanctions, and to possess an isolated footing 
 
458 THE MOEAL FACULTY. 
 
 in the mind. It has passed through the stage of reference to 
 anthoriiy, and has become a law to itself. But no conscience 
 ever arrives at the independent standing, without first existing 
 in the reflected and dependent stage. 
 
 We must never omit from the composition of the Oon-- 
 science the primary impulses of Self-interest and Sympathy, 
 which in miads strongly alive to one or other, always count 
 for a powerful element in human conduct, although for reasons 
 already stated, not the strictly moral element, so far as the 
 individual is concerned. They are adopted, more or less, by 
 the authority imposing the moral code ; and when the two 
 sources coincide, the stream is all the stronger. 
 
 (2) Where moral training is omitted or greatly neglected, 
 there is an absence of security for virtuous conduct. 
 
 In no civilized community is moral discipline entirely 
 wanting. Although children may be neglected by their 
 parents, they come at last under the discipline of the law and 
 the public. They cannot be exempted &om. the associations 
 of punishment with wrong. But when these associations have 
 not been early and sedulously formed, in the family, in the 
 school, and in the workshop, the moral sentiment is left in a 
 feeble condition. There still remain the force of the law and 
 of public opinion, the examples of public punishment, and the 
 reprobation of guilt. Every member of the community must 
 witness daily the degraded condition of the viciously disposed, 
 and the prosperity following on respect for the law. No 
 human being escapes from thus contracting moral impressions 
 to a very large amount. 
 
 (3) Whenever an action is associated with Disapprobation 
 and Punishment, there grows up, in reference to it, a state of 
 mind undistinguishable from Moral Sentiment. 
 
 There are many instances where individuals are enjoined 
 to a course of conduct whoUy indiiferent with regard to 
 universal morality, as in the regulations of societies formed for 
 special purposes. Each member of the society has to conform 
 to these regulations, under pain of forfeiting all the benefits of 
 the society, and of perhaps incurring positive evils. The code 
 of honour among gentlemen is an example of these artificial 
 impositions. It is not to be supposed that there should be an 
 innate sentiment to perform actions having nothing to do with 
 moral right and wrong ; yet the disapprobation and the remorse 
 following on a breach of the code of honour, will often be 
 greater thaa what follows a breach of the moral law. The 
 constant habit of regarding with dread the consequences of 
 
DISAPPROBATION CREATES A MORAL SENTIMENT. 459 
 
 violating any of the mles, simulates a moral sentiment, on a 
 subject unconnected -with morality properly so called. 
 
 The arbitrary ceremonial customs of nations, with refer- 
 ence to such points as ablutions, clothing, eating and abstin- 
 ence from meats, — when rendered obligatory by the force of 
 penalties, occupy exactly the same place in the mind as the 
 principles of moral right and wrong. The same form of dread 
 attaches to the consequences of neglect ; the same remorse is 
 felt by the individual offender. The exposure of the naked 
 person is as much abhorred as telling a lie. The Turkish 
 woman exposing her face, is no less conscience-smitten than 
 if she mnrdered her child. There is no act, however trivial, 
 Ihat cannot be raised to the position of a moral act, by the 
 imperative of society. 
 
 Still more striking is the growth of a moral sentiment in 
 connexion with such usages as the Hindoo suttee. It is known 
 that the Hindoo widow, if prevented from burning herself with 
 her husband's corpse, often feels all the pangs of remorse, and 
 leads a life of misery and self-humiliation. The habitual in- 
 culcation of this duty by society, the penalty of disgrace 
 attached to its omission, operate to implant a sentiment in 
 every respect analogous to the strongest moral sentiment. 
 
PART 11. 
 
 THE ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 
 
 The first importapt name in Ancient Ethipal Philosophy is 
 SOKRATES. [469-399 ex.] 
 
 For the views of Sokrates, as well as his method,* we have 
 first the Memoeibilu of Xenophon, and next such of the 
 Platonic Compositions, as are judged, by comparison with the 
 Memorabilia, to keep closest to the real Sokrates. Of these, 
 the chief are the Ajologt op Sokeates, the Keiton and the 
 
 PttSDON. 
 
 The ' Memorabilia ' was composed by Xenophon, expressly 
 to vindicate Sokrates against the accusations and unfavourable 
 opinions that led to his execution. The ' Apology ' is Plato's 
 account of his method, and also sets forth his moral attitude. 
 The ' Kriton ' describes a conversation between him and his 
 friend Kriton, in prison, two days before his death, wherein, 
 in reply to the entreaties of lus friends generally that he 
 should make his escape from prison, he declares his determi- 
 nation to abide by the laws of the Athenian State. Inasmuch 
 as, in the Apology, he had seemed to set his private convictions 
 above the public authority, he here presents another side of 
 his character. The ' Phsedon ' contains the conversation on 
 ' the Immortality of the Soul ' just before his execution. 
 
 The Ethical bearings of the Philosophical method, the 
 Doctrines, and the Life of Sokrates, are these : — 
 
 The direction he gave to philosophical enquiry, was ex- 
 pressed in the saying that he brought ' Philosophy down from 
 Heaven to Earth.' His subjects were Man and Society. He 
 entered a protest agaiust the enquiries of the early philosophers 
 
 * See, on the method of Sokiates, Appendix A. 
 
DOCTRINE THAT VIRTUE IS KNOWLEDGE. 461 
 
 as to the constitution of the Kosmos, the nature of the Heavenly- 
 Bodies, the theory of Winds and Storms. He called these 
 Divine things ; and in a great degree useless, if understood. 
 The Human relations of life, the varieties of conduct of men 
 towards each other in all capacities, were alone within the com- 
 pass of knowliedge, and capable of yielding fruit. In short, his 
 turn of mind Was thoroughly practical, we might b&j utilitarian. 
 
 I. — He gave a foundation and a shape to Ethical Science, 
 by insisting on its practical character, and by Showing that, 
 like the other arts of life, it had an End, and a Theory from 
 which flows the precepts or means. The End, which would 
 be the Standard, was not stated by him, and hardly even by 
 Plato, otherwise than in general language ; the Summum 
 Bonum had not as yet become a matter of close debate. ' The 
 art of dealing with human beings,' ' the art of behaving in 
 Society,' 'the science of human happiness,' were various 
 modes of expressing the final end of conduct.* Sokrates 
 clearly indicated the difference between an unscientific and a 
 Scientific art ; the one is an incommunicable knack or dexterity, 
 the other is founded on theoretical principles. 
 
 n. — Notwithstanding his professing ignorance of what 
 virtue is, Sokrates had a definite doctrine with reference to 
 Ethics, which we may call his Pstchologt of the subject. 
 This was the doctrine that resolves Virtue into Knowledge, 
 Vice into Ignorance or Folly. ' To do right was the only 
 way to impart happiness, or the least degree of unhappiness 
 compatible with any given situation : now, this was precisely 
 what every one wished for and aimed at — only that many 
 persons, from ignorance, took the wrong road ; and no man 
 was wise enough always to take the right. But as no man 
 was willingly his own enemy, so no man ever did wrong 
 willingly ; it was because he was not ' fully or correctly in- 
 formed of the consequences of his own actions ; so that the 
 proper remedy to apply, was enlarged teaching of conse- 
 quences and itttplpoved judgment. To make him willing to 
 be taught, the only conifition required was to make him con- 
 scious of his own ignorance ; the want of which consciousness 
 was the real cause l3oth of indocility and of vice ' ( Grote) . This 
 
 • In setting forth, the Ethical End, the langiiage of Sokrates was not 
 always consist»it. He sometimes stated it, as if it included an indepen- 
 dent reference to the happiness of others ; at other times, he speaks as if 
 the end was the agent's own happiness, to which the happiness of others 
 was the greatest and most essential means. The firet view, although not 
 always adhered to, prevails in Xenophon ; the second appears most in 
 Plato. 
 
462 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SOKBATES. 
 
 doctrine grew out of his favourite analogy between social 
 duty and a profession or trade. When the artizan goes 
 wrong, it is usually from pure ignorance or incapacity ; he is 
 willing to do good work if he is able. 
 
 III. — The SuMMUM BONITM with Sokrates was Well-doing. 
 He had no ideal of pursuit for man apart from virtue, or what 
 he esteemed virtue — the noble and the praiseworthy. This 
 was the elevated point of view maintained alike by him and 
 by Plato, and common to them with the ideal of modem ages. 
 
 Well-doing consisted in doing well whatever a man under- 
 took. ' The best man,' he said, ' and the most beloved by 
 the gods, is he that, as a husbandman, performs well the duties 
 of husbandry ; as a surgeon, the duties of the medical art ; in 
 political life, his duty towards the commonwealth. The man 
 that does nothing well is neither useful nor agreeable to the 
 gods.' And as knowledge is essential to all undertakings, 
 knowledge is the one thing needful. This exclusive regard 
 to knowledge was his one-sidedness as a moral theorist ; but 
 he did not consistently exclude all reference to the voluntary 
 control of appetite and passion. 
 
 rV. — He inculcated Practical Precepts of a self-denying 
 kind, intended to curb the excesses of human desire and am- 
 bition. He urged the pleasures of self-improvement and of 
 duty against indulgences, honours, and worldly advancement. 
 In the ' Apology,' he states it as the second aim of his life 
 (after imparting the shock of conscious ignorance) to reproach 
 men for pursuing wealth and glory more than wisdom and 
 virtue. In ' Kriton,' he lays it down that we are never to 
 act wrongly or unjustly, although others are unjust to us. 
 And, in his own life, he furnished an illustrious example of his 
 teaching. The same lofty strain was taken up by Plato, and 
 repeated in most of the subsequent Ethical schools. 
 
 V. — His Ethical Theory extended itself to Government, 
 where he applied his analogy of the special arts. The legiti- 
 mate King was he that knew how to govern well. 
 
 VI. — The connexion in the mind of Sokrates between 
 Ethics and Theology was very slender. 
 
 In the first place, his distinction of Divine and Human 
 things, was an exclusion of the arbitrary will of the gods 
 from human affairs, or from those things that constituted the 
 ethical end. 
 
 But in the next place, he always preserved a pious and re- 
 verential tone of mind; and considered that, after patient study, 
 men should stiU consult the oracles, by which the gods, in 
 
ETHICAL DIALOGUES OF PLATO. 463 
 
 cases of difficulty, graciously signified their intentions, and 
 their beneficent care of the race. Then, the practice of well- 
 doing was prompted by reference to the satisfaction of the 
 gods. In so far as the gods administered the world in a right 
 spirit, they w<)uld show favour to the virtuous. 
 
 PLATO. [427-347 B.C.] 
 
 The Ethical Doctrines of Plato are scattered' through his 
 various Dialogues ; and incorporated with his philosophical 
 method, with his theory of Ideas, and with his theories of 
 man and of society. 
 
 From Sokrates, Plato derived Dialectics, or the method of 
 Debate ; he embodied all his views in imaginary conversa- 
 tions, or Dialogues, suggested by, and resembling the real 
 conversations of Sokrates. And farther, in imitation of his 
 master, he carried on his search after truth under the guise of 
 ascertaining the exact meaning or definition of leading terms ; 
 as Virtue, Courage, Holiness, Temperance, Justice, Law, 
 Beauty, Knowledge, Rhetoric, &c. 
 
 We shall first pass in review the chief Dialogues contain- 
 ing Ethical doctrines. 
 
 The Apology, Keiton, and Euthtpheon (we follow Mr. 
 Grote's order) may be passed by as belonging more to his 
 master than to himself; moreover, everything contained in 
 them, will be found recurring in other dialogues. 
 
 The Alkibiades I. is a good specimen of the Sokratio man- 
 ner. It brings out the loose discordant notions of Jvst and 
 Unjust prevailing in the community ; sets forth that the Just 
 is also honourable, good, and expedient — the cause of happi- 
 ness to the just man ; urges the importance of Self-know- 
 ledge ; and maintains that the conditions of happiness are not 
 wealth and power, but Jtfttice and Temperance. 
 
 Alkibiades II. brings out a Platonic position as to the 
 Good. There are a number of things that are good, as health, 
 money, family, but there is farther required the skill to apply 
 these in proper measure to the supreme end of Hfe. All 
 knowledge is not valuable ; there may be cases where ignor- 
 ance is better. What we are principally interested in know- 
 ing is the Good, the Best, the Profitable. The man of much 
 learning, without this, is like a vessel tossed on the sea with- 
 out a pilot.* 
 
 • ' What Plato here calls the Knowledge of Grood, or Eeason, — the just 
 discrimination and comparative appreciation, of Ends and Means — ap- 
 pears in the Politikua and the EuthydSmus, under the title of the Begal or 
 
464 ETHICA.L SYSTEMS— tLATO. 
 
 In HiPPiAS MiKOE, appears an extreme statement of the 
 doctrine, common to Sokrates and Plato, identifying virtue 
 •with knowledge, or giving exclusive attention to the intel- 
 leotnal element of conduct. It is urged that a mendacions 
 person, able to tell the truth if he chooses, is hotter than one 
 unable to tell it, although wishing to do so ; the knowledge is 
 of greater worth than the good disposition. 
 
 In Minos" (or the Definition of Law) he refuses to accept 
 the decree of the state as a law, but postulates the decision of 
 some Ideal wise man. This is a following out of the Sokratic 
 analogy of the professions, to a purely ideal demand ; the wise 
 man is never producible. In many dialogues (Kriton, Laches, 
 &o.) the decision of some Expert is sought, as a physician is 
 constilted in disease ; but the Moral expert is unknown to any 
 actual communitry. 
 
 In Laches, the question ' what is Virtue ? ' is put ; it is 
 argued under the special virtue of Courage. In a truly 
 Sokratic dialogue, Sokrates is in search of a definition of 
 Courage; as happens in the search dialogues, there is no 
 definite result, but the drift of the discussion is to make 
 courage a mode of intelligence, and to resolve it into the 
 grand desideratum of the knowledge of good and evil — 
 belonging to the One Wise Man. 
 
 Chaemides discusses Temperance. As usual with Plato in 
 discussing the virtues, with a view to their Logical definition, 
 he presupposes that this is something beneficial and good. 
 Various definitions are given of Temperance ; and all are re- 
 jected; but the dialogue falls into the same track as the 
 Laches, in putting forward the supreme science of good and 
 evil. It is a happy example of the Sokratic manner and pnr- 
 
 PoUtioal Art, as employing or directing* the results of all othet arts, 
 which are considered as suhordinate : in the Protagoras, under the title 
 of art of calculation or mensuration : in the FhilebuB, as measure and 
 proportion : in the Phsedrus (in regard to rhetoric) as the art of turning 
 to account, for the main purpose of persuasion, all the special processes, 
 Stratagem^, decorations, &c., imparted by professional masters. In the 
 Republic, it is personified in the few venerable Elders who constitute the 
 Reason of the society, and whose directions all the test (Guardians and 
 Producers) are bound implicitly to follow : the virtue of the subordinates 
 consisting in this impUcJt obedience. In the Leges, it is defined as the 
 complete subjection in the mind, of t)leasure8 and pains to right Reason, 
 without which, no special aptitudes are worth having. In the Xeno- 
 phontic Memorabilia, it stands as a Sokratic authority under the title of 
 BbphrosynS or Temperance : and the Profitable is declared identical with 
 the Good, as the directing and limiting principle for all human pursuits 
 and proceedings.' (Grote's Plato, L, 362.) 
 
IS VIRTUE TEACHABLE? 465 
 
 pose, of exposing the conceit of knowledge, the fancy that 
 people understand the meaning of the general terms habitually- 
 employed. 
 
 Lysis on FrimdsTivp, or Love, might be expected to fur- 
 nish some ethical openings, but it is rather a piece of dialectic, 
 without result, farther than to impart the consciousness of 
 ignorance. If it suggests anything positive, it is the Idea of 
 Good, as the ultimate end of afiection. The subject possesses 
 a special interest in ancient Ethics, as being one of the aspects 
 of Benevolent sentiment in the Pagan world. In Aristotle 
 we first find a definite handling of it. 
 
 Menon may be considered as pre-eminently ethical in its 
 design. It is expressly devoted to the question — Is Virtue 
 teaohahle? Sokrates as usual confesses that he does not 
 know what virtue is. He will not accept a catalogue of the 
 admitted virtues as a definition of virtue, and presses for some 
 conunon or defining attribute. He advances on his own side 
 his usual doctrine that virtue is Knowledge, or a mode of 
 Knowledge, and that it is good and profitable ; which is merely 
 an iteration of the Science of good and evil. He distinguishes 
 virtue from Bight Opinion, a sort of quasi-knowledge, the 
 knowledge of esteemed and useful citizens, which cannot be 
 the hi^est knowledge, since these citizens fail to impart it 
 even to their own sons. 
 
 In this dialogue, we have Plato's view of Immortality, 
 which comprises both pre-existence and post-existence. The 
 pre-existence is used to explain the derivation of general 
 notions, or Ideas, which are antecedent to the perceptions of 
 sense. 
 
 In Peotagoras, we find one of the most important of the 
 ethical discussions of Plato. It proceeds from the same ques- 
 tion — Is virtue teachable ? — Sokrates as usual expressing his 
 doubts on the point. Protagoras then delivers a splendid 
 harangue, showing how virtue is taught — namely, by the 
 practice of socie^ in approving, condemning, rewarding, 
 punishing the actions of individuals. From childhood upward, 
 every human being in society is a witness to the moral pro- 
 cedure of society, and by degrees both knows, and conforms to, 
 the maxims of virtue of the society. Protagoras himself as a 
 professed teacher, or sophist, can improve but little upon this 
 habitual incalcation. Sokrates, at the end of the harangue, 
 puts in his usoaJ questions tending to bring out the essence or 
 oefimtion of virtue, and soon drives Protagoras into a comer, 
 bringing him to admit a view nowhere else developed in Plato^ 
 30 
 
466 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— PLATO. 
 
 that PleasTire is the only good, Pain the only evil, and that 
 the science of Good and Evil consists in Measuring, and in 
 choosing between conflicting pleasures and pains — preferring 
 the greater pleasure to the less, the less pain to the greater. 
 Por example, courage is a wise estimate of things terrible and 
 things not terrible. In consistency with the doctrine that 
 Knowledge is virtue, it is maintained here as elsewhere, that 
 a man knowing good and evil must act upon that knowledge. 
 Plato often repeats his theory of Measurement, but never 
 again specifically intimates that the things to be measured are 
 pleasures and pains. And neither here nor elsewhere, does he 
 suppose the virtuous man taking directly into his calculation 
 the pleasures and pains of other persons. 
 
 GoRQiAS, one of the most renowned of the dialogues in 
 point of composition, is also ethical, but at variance with the 
 Protagoras, and more in accordance with Plato's predominatii^ 
 views. The professed subject is Rhetoric, which, as an artj 
 Sokrates professes to hold in contempt. The dialogue begins 
 with the position that men are prompted by the desire of good, 
 but proceeds to the great Platonic paradox, that it is a greater 
 evil to do wrong than to suffer wrong. The criminal labours 
 under a mental distemper, and the best thing that can happen 
 to him, is to be punished that so he may be cured. The 
 unpunished wrong-doer is more miserable than if he were 
 punished. Sokrates in this dialogue maintains, in opposition 
 to the thesis of Protagoras, that pleasure is not the same as 
 good, that there are bad pleasures and good pains; and a 
 skilful adviser, one versed in the science of good and evil, 
 must discriminate between them. He does not mean that 
 those, pleasures only are bad that bring an overplus of future 
 pains, which would be in accordance with the previous 
 dialogue. The sentiment of the dialogue is ascetic and self- 
 denying* Order or Discipline is inculcated, not as a means 
 to an end, but as an end in itself. 
 
 * ' Indeed there is nothing more remarkable in the Gorgias, than the 
 manner in which Sokrates not only condemns the unmeasured, exorbitant, 
 maleficent desires, but also depreciates and degrades all the actualities of 
 life— all the recreative and elegant arts, including music and poetry, 
 tragic as well as dlthyrambic — all provision for the most essential wants, 
 all protection against particular Bufferings and dangers, even all service 
 rendered to another person in the way of relief or of rescue — all the effec- 
 tive maintenance of public organized force, such as ships, docks, walls, 
 arms, &o. Immediate satisfaction or relief, and those who confer i(y are 
 treated with contempt, and presented as in hostility to the perfection of ' 
 ^ mental structure. And it is in this point of view, that various Platonic 
 
PLEASUKE AND PAIN. 467 
 
 THe PoLiTiKDS is on the Art of Government, and gives the 
 Platonic beau iddal of the One competent person, governing 
 absolutely, by virtue of his scientific knowledge, and aiming at 
 the good and improvement of the governed. This is merely 
 another iUustration of the Sokratic-ideal — a despotism, anointed 
 by supreme good intentions, and by an ideal skill. The Re- 
 public is an enlargement of the lessons of the- Politikus with- 
 out the dialectic discussion. 
 
 The postulate of the One Wise- man is. repeated in 
 Kbatylus, on the unpromising subject of Language or the 
 invention of Names. 
 
 The Philebus has a decidedly ethical character. It pro- 
 ponnds for enquiry the Good, the Summum Bonum. This is 
 denied to be mere pleasure, and the denial is enforced by 
 SokrateS' challenging his opponent to choose the lot of an 
 ecstatic- oyster. As usual, good must be related' to Intelligence ; 
 and th& Dialogue gives a long- disquisition, upon the One and 
 the Many,, the Theory of Ideas,. the Determinate- and the Inde- 
 terminate.. Good is a compound, of Pleasure- and Intelligence, 
 the last predominating^ Pleasure-is the Indeterminate, requir- 
 ing the Determinate (Knowledge) to regulate it. This is 
 merely another expression- for the doctrine of Measure, and 
 for the common saying; that the Passions must be controlled 
 by Reason. There is, also, in the dialogue, a good deal on 
 the Psychology of Pleasure and Pain. Pleasure is the funda- 
 mental harmony of the system ; Pain its disturbance. Bodily 
 Pleasure pre-supposes pain [true only of some pleasures]. 
 Mental pleasures may be without previous pain, and are there- 
 fore pure pleasures. A life of Intelligence is conceivable 
 without either pain or pleasure ; this is the choice of the Wise 
 man, and is the nature of the gods. Desire is a mrsed state, 
 and comprehends body and mind. Much stress is laid on the 
 moderate and tranquil pleasures; the intense pleasures, coveted 
 by mankind, belong to a distempered rather than a healthy 
 state ; they are false and delusive. Pleasure is, by its nature, 
 a change or transition, and cannot be a supreme end. The 
 , mixture of Pleasure and Intelligence is to be a^usted by the 
 all-important principle of Measure or Proportioni which con- 
 nects the Good with the Beautiful. 
 
 commentators extol in an especial manner the Gorgias ; as recognizing 
 an Idea of Good superhuman and supernatural, radioally disparate from 
 pleasures and pains of any human being, and inoommensurahle with them ; 
 an Universal Idea, whioh, though it is supposed to cast a distant light 
 upon its particulars, is separated from them by an incalculable space, and 
 is discernible only by the Platonic telescope.' (Grote, OorgiM.) 
 
468 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PLATO. 
 
 A decided ascetioism is the ethical tendency of this dialogue. 
 It IS 'markedly opposed to the view of the Protagoras. Still 
 greater is the opposition between it and the two Erotie 
 dialogues, Phsedrus and Symposium, where Bonum and 
 Pulohrum are attained in the pursuit of an ecstatic and over- 
 whelming personal affection. 
 
 The EpEPUBLIc starts with the question — what is JnSTlCB ? 
 and, in answering it, provides the scheme of a model Republic. 
 Book L is a Sokratic colloquy, where one speaker, on being 
 interrogated, defines Justice as ' rendering to every man his 
 due,' and afterwards amends it to ' doing good to Mends, evil 
 to enemies.' Another gives ' the r%ht of the strongest.' A 
 third maintains that Injustice by itself is profitable to the 
 doer ; but, as it is an evil to society in general, men make laws 
 against it and punish it ; in consequence of which, Justice is 
 the more profitable. Sokrates, in opposition, undertakes to 
 prove that Justice is good in itself, ensuring the happiness of 
 the doer by its intrinsic effect on his min^ ; and irrespective 
 of exemption from the penalties of injustice. He reaches 
 this result by assimilating an individ'aal to a state. Justice is 
 shown to be good in the entire city, and by analogy it is also 
 good in the individual. He accordingly proceeds to construct 
 his ideal commonwealth. In the course of this construction 
 many ethical-views crop out. 
 
 The state must prescribe the religions belief, and allow no 
 compositions at variance with it. The gods must always be 
 set forth as the causes of good ; they must never be repre- 
 sented as the authors of evU, nor as practising deceit. ITeither 
 is it to be allowed to represent men as unjust, yet hvppy ; or 
 just, and yet miserable. The poetic representation of bad cha- 
 racters is also forbidden. The musical training is to be adapted 
 for ^posing the mind to the perception of Beauty, whence it 
 becomes qualified to recognize the other virtues. Usefolfictioas 
 are to be diffused, witibout regard to truth. This pious firaud 
 is openly recommended by Plato. 
 
 The division of the human mind into (1) Heasoh or 
 Intelligence; (2) Eneegt, Courage, Spirit, or -the Military 
 Virtue; and (3) Many-headed Appetite, all in mutual counter- 
 play — is transferred to the State, each of the three parts being 
 represented by one of the political orders or divisions of the 
 Community. The happiness of the man and the happiness of the 
 commcmwealth are attained in the same way, namely, by re»^ 
 liziag the four virtues — ^Wisdom, Courage, Temperance, Jtrs- 
 tioe ; with this condition, that Wisdom, or Reason, is sought 
 
PLATONIC BEPUBUO. 469 
 
 only iu the Ruling caste, the Elders; Courage, or Energy, 
 only in the second caste, the Soldiers or Guardians ; wMe 
 Temperance and Justice (meaning almost the same thing) must 
 inhere alike in all the three classes, and be the only tfing ex- 
 pected in the third, the Working Multitude. 
 
 If it be now asked, what and where is Justice ? the answer 
 is— -'every man to attend to his own business.' Injustice 
 occurs when any pne abandons his post, or meddles with what 
 does not belong to him ;. and more especially when any one of 
 a lower -division aspires to the function of a higher. Such is 
 Justice- for the city,,and such is it in the individual ; the higher 
 faculty — Reaspn, must control the two lower — Courage and 
 Appetite. Justice is thus a sort of harmony or balance of the 
 mental powers ; it is- to the mind what health is to the body. 
 Health is the greatest good, sickness the greatest evil, of the 
 body ; so is Justice of the mind. 
 
 It is an essential of the Platonic Republic that, among the 
 guardians at least, the sexual arrangements should be under 
 pubHo regulation, and the monopoly of one woman by one man 
 forbidden : a regard to the breed of the higher caste of citizens 
 requires the magistrate to see that the best couples are brought 
 together, and to refuse to rear the inferior offspring of ill- 
 assorted connexions. The number of births is also to be 
 regulated. 
 
 In carrying on war, special maxims of clemency are to be 
 observed towards Hellenic enemies. 
 
 The education of the Guardians must be philosophical ; it 
 is for them to rise to the Idea of the good, to master the 
 science of Good and Evil ; they must be emancipated from the 
 notion that Pleasure is the good. To indicate the route to this 
 attainment Plato gives his theory of cognition generally — the 
 theory of Ideas ;•— and indicates (darkly)ihoTC these sublime 
 generalities are to be reached. 
 
 The Ideal Commonwealth supposed established, is doomed 
 to degradation and decay ; passing through Timooracy, 
 Oligarchy, Demooraicy, to Despotism, with a corresponding 
 declension of happiness. The same varieties may be traced 
 in the Individual ; the ' despotized ' wind is the ^cme of Injus- 
 tice and consequent misery. 
 
 The comparative value of Pleasures is discussed. The 
 pleasures of philospphy, or wisdom (those of Reason), are 
 alone trne and pare ; the pleasures corresponding to tbe two 
 other parts of the mind are inferior ; Love of Honowr (from 
 Courage or Energy), and Love of Money (Appetite). The 
 
470 ETHICAl SYSTEMS— PLATO. 
 
 •well-ordered mind — Justice — is above all things the source of 
 happiness. Apart from all consequences of Justice, this is 
 true ; the addition of the natural results only enhances the 
 strength of the position. 
 
 In TiMiEOS, Plato repeats the doctrine that wickedness is to 
 the mind what disease is to the body. The soul suffers from 
 two distempers, madness and ignorance ; the man under pas- 
 sionate heat is not wicked voluntarily. No man is bad wil- 
 lingly ; but only from some evil habit of body, the effect of 
 bad bringrng-up [very much the view of Robert Owen]. 
 
 The long 'treatise called the Laws, being a modified scheme 
 of a BepubliCj goes over the same ground with more detail. 
 "We give the chief ethical points. It is the purpose of the law- 
 giver to bring about happiness, and to provide all good things 
 divine and human. The divine things are the cardinal virtues 
 — Wisdom, Justice, Temperance, Courage; the human are 
 the leading personal advantages — Health, Beauty, Strength, 
 Activity, Wealth. He requires the inculcation of self-com- 
 mand, and a training in endurance. The moral and religious 
 feelings are to be guided in early youth, by the influence of 
 Poetry and the other Pine Arts, in which, as before, a strin- 
 gent censorship is to be exercised -, the songs and dances are 
 all to be publicly authorized. The ethical doctrine that the 
 just man is happy and the unjust miserable, is to be preached ; 
 and every one prohibited from contradicting it. -Of all the 
 titles to command in society, Wisdom is the highest, although 
 policy may require it to be -conjoined with«ome of the others 
 (Birth, Age, Strength, Accident, &c.). It is to be a part of 
 the constitution to provide public exhortations, or sermons, 
 for inculcating virtue ; Plato having now passed into an op- 
 posite phase as to the value of Hhetoric, or continuous address. 
 The family is to be allowed in its usual form, but with re- 
 straints on the age of marriage, on the choice of the parties; 
 and on the increase of the number of the population. Sexual 
 intercourse is to be as far as possible confined to persons 
 legally married; those departing from this rule are, at all 
 events, to observe secresy. The slaves are not to be trf the 
 same race as the masters. As regards punishment, there is a 
 g^at complication, owing to the authors theory that wicked- 
 ness is not properly voluntary. Much of the harm done by 
 persons to others is unintentional or involuntary, and is to be 
 made good by reparation. For the loss of balance or self- 
 control, making the essence of injustice, there must be a penal 
 aad educational discipline, suited to cure the moral distemper ; 
 
SUMMABT OF PLATO'S ETHICS. 471 
 
 not for the sake of the past, which cannot be recalled, but of 
 the fatore. Under cover of this theory, the punishments are 
 abundantly severe ; and the crimes include Heresy, for which 
 there is a gradation of penalties terminating in death. 
 
 We may now summarize the Ethics of Plato, under the 
 general scheme as follows : — 
 
 I. — The Ethical Standard, or criterion of moral Right and 
 Wrong. This we have seen is, ultimately, the Science of Good 
 and Evil, as determined by a Scientific or Wise man ; the 
 Idea of the Good, which only a philosopher can ascend to. 
 Plato gave no credit to the maxims of the existing society ; 
 these were wholly unscientific. 
 
 It is obvious that this vague and indeterminate standard 
 would settie nothing practically ; no one can tell what it is. 
 It is only of value as belonging to a very exalted and poetic 
 conception of virtue, something that raises the imagination 
 above common life into a sphere of transcendental existence. 
 
 n.— The Psychology of Ethics. 
 
 1. As to the Faculty of discerning Eight. This is im- 
 plied in the foregoing statement of the criterion. It is the 
 Cognitive or Intellectual power. In the definite position 
 taken up in Protagoras, it is the faculty of Measuring plea- 
 sures against one another and against pains. In other dia- 
 logues, measure is still the important aspect of the process, 
 although the things to be measured are not given. 
 
 2. As regards the Will. The theory that vice, if not the 
 result of ignorance, is a form of madness, an uncontrollable 
 ftiry, a mental distemper, gives a peculiar rendering of the 
 nature of man's Will. It is a kind of Necessity, not exactly 
 corresponding, however, with the modem doctrine of that name. 
 
 3. Disinterested Sentiment is not directly and plainly re- 
 cognized by Plato. His highest virtue is self-regarding ; a 
 concern for the Health of the Soul. 
 
 III. — On the Bonum, or Summum Bonum, Plato is ascetic 
 and self-denying. 1. We have seen that in Philebus, Pleasure 
 is not good, unless united with Knowledge or Intelligence ; 
 and the greater the Intelligence, the higher the pleasure. 
 That tiie highest happiness of man is the pursuit of truth or 
 Philosophy, was common to Plato and to Aristotle. 
 
 2. Happiness is attainable only through Justice or Virtue. 
 Justice is declared to be happiness, first, in itself, and secondly, 
 in its consequences. . Such is the importance attached to this 
 maxim as a safeguard of Society, that, whether true or not, it 
 is to be maintained by state authority. 
 
472 ETHICAIi SYSTEMS — ^PIATO. 
 
 3, The Psycliology of Pleasure and Pain is given at length 
 in the Philebns. 
 
 IV.— With regard to the scheme of Duty. In Plato, we 
 find the first statement of the four Cardinal Virtues. 
 
 As to the Substance of the Moral Code, the references 
 above made to the Republic and the Laws wiU show in what 
 points his views differed from modem Ethics. 
 
 Benevolence was not one of the Cardinal Virtues. 
 
 His notions even of Reciprocity were rendered haisy and 
 indistinct by his theory of Justice as an end in itself.^ 
 
 The inducements, means, and stimulants to virtue, in 
 addition to penal discipline, are training, persuasion, or hor- 
 tatoiy discourse, dialectic cognition of the Ideas, and, above 
 all, that ideal aspiration towards the Just, the Good, around 
 which he gathered all that was fascinating iu poetry, and all 
 the associations of religion and divinity. Plato employed his 
 powerful genius in worldng up a lofty spiritual reward, an 
 ideal intoxication, for inciting men to tiie self-denying virtues. 
 He was the first and one of the greatest of preachers. His 
 theory of Justice is suited to preaching, and not to a scientific 
 analysis of society. 
 
 v.— The relation of Ethics to Politics is intimate, and 
 even inseparable. The Civil Magistrate, as in Hobbes, suppUes 
 the Ethical sanction. All virtue is an affair of the stete, a 
 poUtical institution. This, however, is qualified by the de- 
 mand for an ideal state, and an ideal governor, by whom alone 
 anything like perfect virtue can be ascertained. 
 
 VI. — The relationship with Theology is also close. That 
 is to say, Plato was not satisfied to constoiot a science of good 
 and evil, without conjoining the sentiments towards the Gods. 
 His Theology, however, was of his own invention, and adapted 
 to his ethical theory. It was necessary to suppose that the 
 Gods were the authors of good, in order to give countenance 
 tp virtue. 
 
 Plato was the ally of the Stoics, as against the Epicureans, 
 and of such modem theoiists as Butler, who make virtue, 
 and not happiness, the highest end of man. With him, 
 discipline was an end in itself, and not a means ; and he en- 
 deavoured to soften its rigour by his poetical and elevated 
 Idealism. 
 
 Although he did not preach the good of mankind, or direct, 
 beuqficence, he undoubtedly prepared the way for it, by 
 urging self-denial, which has no issue or relevance, except 
 either by realizing greater happiness to Self (mere exalted 
 
THE CYNICS. 473 
 
 Prudence, approved of by all sects), or by promoting the 
 Welfare of others. 
 
 THE CYNICS AND THE CTEENAICS. 
 
 These opposing sects sprang from Sokrates, and passed, 
 with little modification, the one into the Stoics, the other into 
 the Epicureans. Both Antisthbnes, the founder of the Cynics, 
 and Aristippds, the founder of the Cyrenaics, were disciples of 
 Sokrates. 
 
 Their doctrines chie:^ referred to the Summum Bonum — 
 the Art of Living, or of Happiness. 
 
 The Cynics were most closely allied to Sokrates ; they, in 
 fact, carried ont to the full his chosen mode of life. His 
 favourite maxim — that the gods had no wants, and that the 
 most godlike man was he that approached to the same state — 
 was the Cynic Ideal. To subsist upon the narrowest means ; 
 to acquire indifierence to pain, by a discipline of endurance ; to 
 despise all the ordinary pursuits of wealth and pleasure, — were 
 Sokratic peculiarities, and were the beau idSal of Cynicism. 
 
 The Cynic succession of philosophers were, (1) Antis- 
 thbnes, one of the most constant friends and companions of 
 Sokrates ; (2) Diogenes of Sinope, the pupil of Antisthenes,, 
 and the best known type of the sect. (His disciple Krates, a 
 Theban, was the master of Zeno, the first Stoic.) (3) 
 Stilpon of Megara, (4) Menedemus of Eretria, (5) Monimus of 
 Syracuse, (6) Krates. 
 
 The two first heads of the Ethical scheme, so meagrely 
 filled up by the ancient systems generally, are almost a total 
 blank as regards both Cynics and Cyrenaics. 
 
 I. — As regards a Stajidard of right and wrong, moral good 
 or evil, they recognized nothing but obedience to the laws and 
 customs of society. 
 
 II. — They had no Psychology of a moral faculty, of the will, 
 or of benevolent sentiment. The Cyrenaic Aristippus had a 
 Psychology of Pleasure and Pain. 
 
 The Cynics, instead of discussing Will, exercised it, in one 
 of its most prominent forms, — self-control and endurance. 
 
 Disinterested conduct was no part of their scheme, although 
 the ascetic discipline necessarily promotes abstinence fi:om sins 
 against property, and from all the vices of public ambition. 
 
 III. — The proper description of both systems comes under 
 the Summum Bonum, or the Art of Living. 
 
 The Cynic Ideal was the minimum of wants, the habitua- 
 tion to pain, together with indifierence to the common enjoy- 
 
474 ETHICAIi SYSTEMS — CYNICS AND OYRENAICS. 
 
 ments. The compensating reward was exemption from fear, 
 anxiety, and disappointment ; also, the pride of superiority to 
 fellow-beings and of approximation to the gods. Looking at 
 the great predominance of misery in human life, they believed 
 the problem of living to consist in a mastery over all the forms 
 of pain ; until this was first secured, there was to be a total 
 sacrifice of pleasure. 
 
 The Cynics were mostly, like Sokrates, men of robust 
 health, and if they put their physical constitution to a severe 
 test by poor living and exposure to wind and weather, they 
 also saved it from the wear and tear of steady industry and 
 toil. Exercise of body and of mind, with a view to strength 
 and endurance, was enjoined ; but it was the drill of the 
 soldier rather than the drudgery of the artisan. 
 
 In the eyes of the public, the prominent feature of the 
 Cynic was his contemptuous jeering, and sarcastic abuse of 
 everybody around. The name (Cynic, dog-like) denotes this 
 peculiarity. The anecdotes relating to Diogenes illustrate his 
 coarse denunciation of men in general and their luxurious ways. 
 He set at defiance all the conventions of courtesy and of decency ; 
 spoke his mind on everything without fear or remorse ; and 
 delighted in his antagonism to public opinion. He followed 
 the public and obtrusive life of Sokrates, but instead of dia- 
 lectic sldll, his force lay in vituperation, sarcasm, and repartee. 
 ' To Sokrates,' says Epiktetus, ' Zeus assigned the cross-exa- 
 mining fiinction ; to Diogenes, the magisterial and chastising 
 function ; to Zeno (the Stoic), the didactic and dogmatical.' 
 
 The Cynics had thus in full measure one of the rewards of 
 asceticism, the pride of superiority and power. They did not 
 profess an end apart from their own happiness ; they believed 
 and maintained that theirs was the only safe road to happiness. 
 They agreed with the Cyrenaics as to the end ; they <^ered 
 as to the means. 
 
 The founders of the sect, being men of culture, set great 
 store by education, from which, however, they excluded (as it 
 would appear) both the Artistic and the Intellectual elements 
 of the superior instruction of the time, namely, Music, and 
 the Sciences of Geometry, Astronomy, &c. Plato's writings 
 and teachings were held in low esteem. Physical training, 
 self-denial and endurance, and literary or Bhetorical cultiva- 
 tion, comprise the items taught by Diogenes when he became 
 a slave, and was made tutor to the sons of his master. 
 
 IV. — As to the Moral Code, the Cynics were dissenters 
 from the received usages of society. They disapproved of 
 
AEISTIPPUS. 475 
 
 marriage laws, and maintained the liberty of individaal tastes 
 in the interoonrse of the sexes. Being free-thinkers in religion 
 they had no respect for any of .the customs founded on religion. 
 
 V. — The collateral relations of Cynical Ethics to Politics 
 and to Theology afford no scope for additional observations. 
 The Cynic and Cyrenaic both stood aloof from the affairs of 
 the state, and were alike disbelievers in the gods. 
 
 The Cynics appear to have been inclined to commnnism 
 among themselves, .which was doubtless easy with their views 
 as to the wants of life. It is thought not unlikely that 
 Sokrates himself held views of communism both as to pro- 
 perty and to wives-; being in this respect also the prompter 
 of Plato (Grant's Ethics ojf Aristotle, Essay ii.). 
 
 The CIteenaic system originated with Abistippos of Cyrene, 
 another hearer and companion of Sokrates. The tempera- 
 ment of Aristippus was naturally inactive, easy, and luxurious; 
 nevertheless he set great value on mental cultivation and 
 accomplishments. His conversations with Sokrates form one 
 of the most interesting chapters of Xenophon's Memorabilia, 
 and are the key to the plan of life ultimately elaborated by 
 him. Sokrates finding out his disposition, repeats all the 
 arguments in favour of the severe and ascetic system. He 
 urges the necessity of strength, courage, energy, self-denial, 
 in order to attain the post of ruler over others ; which, how- 
 ever, Aristippus fences by saying that he has no ambition to 
 rule ; he prefers the middle course of a free man, neither ruling 
 nor ruled over. Next, Sokrates recalls the dangers and evil 
 contingencies of subjection, of being oppressed, unjustly treated, 
 sold into slavery, and the consequent wretchedness to one 
 unbardened by an adequate discipline. It is in this argument 
 that he recites the well-known apologue called the choice of 
 Herakles ; in which. Virtue on the one hand, and Pleasure 
 with attendant vice on the other, with their respective conse- 
 quences, are set before a youth in his opening career. The 
 whole argument with Aristippus was purely prudential ; but 
 Aristippus was not convinced nor brought over to the Sokratic 
 ideal. He nevertheless adopted a no less prudential and self- 
 denying plan of his own. 
 
 Aristippus did not write an account of his system; and the 
 particulars of his life, which would show how he acted it, are 
 but imperfectly preserved. He was the first theorist to avow 
 and maintain that Pleasure, and the absence of Pain, are the 
 proper, the direct, the immediate, the sole end of living ; not of 
 course mere present pleasures and present relief from pain, but 
 
476 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— CYNICS AND CYBENAICS. 
 
 present and fdture taken in one great total. He would sur- 
 render present pleasure, and incur present pain, with a viewto 
 greater future good ; but he did not believe in the necessity 
 of that extreme surrender and renunciation enjoined by the 
 Cynics. He gratified all his appetites and cravings within 
 the limits of safety. He could sail close upon the island of 
 Calypso without surrendering himself to the sorceress. In- 
 stead of deadening the sexual appetite he gave it scope, and 
 yet resisted the dangerous consequences of associating with 
 HetsersB. In his enjoyments he was free from jealousies; 
 thinking it no derogation to his pleasure that others had the 
 same pleasure. Having thus a fair share of natural indtd- 
 gences, he dispensed witii the Cynic pride of superiority and 
 the luxury of contemning other men. Strength of will was 
 required for this course no less than for the Cynic life. 
 
 Aristippus put forward strongly the impossibility of rea- 
 lizing all the Happiness that might seem within one's reach ; 
 such were the attendant and deterring evils, tha'*: many plea- 
 sures had to be foregone by the wise man. Sometimes even 
 the foolish person attained more pleasure than the wise ; such 
 is the lottery of life ; but, as a general rule, the fact would be 
 otherwise. The wisest could not escape the natural evils, 
 pain and death ; but envy, passionate love, and superstition, 
 being the consequences of vain and mistaken opinion, might be 
 conquered by a knowledge of the real nature of Good and Evil. 
 
 As a proper appendage to such a system, Aristippus 
 sketched a Psychology of Pleasure and Pain, which was 
 important as a beginning, and is believed to have brought the 
 subject into prominence. The soul comes under three condi- 
 tions, — a gentle, smooth, equable motion, corresponding to 
 Pleasure ; a rough, violent motion, which is Pain ; and a calm, 
 quiescent state, indifference or Unconsciousness. More re- 
 markable is the farther assertion that Pleasure is onty present 
 or realked consciousness ; the memory of pleasures past, and 
 the idea of pleasures to come, are not to be counted ; the 
 painful accompaniinents of desire, hope, and fear, are sufficient 
 to neutralize any enjoyment that may arise &om ideal bliss. 
 Consequentiy, the happiness of a life means the sum total of 
 these moments of realized or present pleasure. He recognized 
 pleasures of the mind, as well as of the body ; sympathy with 
 the good fortunes of Mends or country gives a thrill of 
 genuine and lively joy. Still, the pleasures and the pains of 
 the body, and of one's own self, are more intense ; witness 
 the bodily inflictions used in punishing offenders. 
 
THE CHIEF GOOD. 477 
 
 The Oyrenaics denied that there is anything just, or 
 hoaoarable, or base, by natnre ; all depended on the laws and 
 customs. These laws and easterns the wise man obeys, to 
 avoid pjtinishment and discredit from the society where he 
 lives; doubtless, also, from higher motives, if the political 
 constitution, and his fellow citizens generally, can inspire him 
 with respect. 
 
 Neither the Cynics nor the Cyrenaics made any profession 
 of generous or di»nterested impulses. 
 
 AEISTOTLE. [384-322 B.C.] 
 
 Three treatises on Ethics have come down associated with 
 the name of Aristotle; one large work, the Nicomachean 
 Ethics, referred to by general consent as the chief and im- 
 portant source of Aristotle's views ; and two smaller works, 
 the Eademian Ethics, and the Magna Moralia, attributed by 
 later critics to his disciples. Even of the large work, which 
 consists of ten books, three books (V. VI. VIL), recurring in 
 the Endemian Ethics, are considered by Sir A. Grant, though 
 not by other critics, to have been composed by Budemns, the 
 supposed author of this second treatise, and a leading disciple 
 of Aristotle. 
 
 lAke many other Aristotelian treatises, the Nicomachean 
 Ethics is deficient in method and consistency on any view 
 of its composition. But the profound and sagacious remarks 
 scattered throughout render it permanently interesting, as the 
 work of a great mind. There may be extracted from it 
 certain leadLig doctrines, whose point of departure was 
 Platonic, although greatly modified and improved by the 
 genius and personality of Aristotle. 
 
 Our purpose will be best served by a copious abstract of 
 the Nicomachean Ethics. 
 
 Book Krst discusses the Chief Good, or the Highest End 
 of all human endeavours. Every exercise of the human 
 powers aims. at some good; aU the arts of life have their 
 several ends — medicine, ship-buildiag, generalship. But the 
 ends of these special arts are all subordinate to some higher end; 
 which end is the chief good, and the subject of the highest art 
 of all, the Political ; for as Politics aims at the welfare of the 
 state, or aggregate of indviduals, it is identical with and com- 
 pr^^tds the welfexe of the individual (Chaps. L, II.). 
 
 As regards the method of the science, the highest exactness 
 IB not attainable; the political art studies what is just, 
 honoorable, and good; and these are matters about which the 
 
478 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AEISTOTLE, 
 
 ntmoBt discrepancy of opinion prevails. From such premises, 
 the conclusions which we draw can only be probabilities. 
 The man of experience and cultivation will expect nothing 
 more. Youths, who are inexperienced in the concerns>o£life, 
 and given to follow their impulses, can hardly appreciate our 
 reasoning,, and wiU derive no. benefit from it: but reason- 
 able men will find the knowledge highly profitable (III.). 
 
 Biesuming the- main questionn — What is- the highest prac- 
 tical good — the aim of the all-comprehending political science? 
 — we find an agreement among men as to the name hc^)pmess 
 (evSat/iovia)'; but great differences as to the nature of the 
 thing. The many regard it a* made up- of the tangible 
 elements — pleasures, wealth, or honour ; while individuals vary 
 in their estimate according to each man's state for the- time 
 being J the- sick placing it in health, the poor in wealth,- the 
 consciously ignorant in knowledge. On. the other hand,, cer- 
 tain philosophers [in allusion^ to Plato] set up an absolute 
 good, — aju Idea of the Good, apart from all the particulars,, yet 
 imparting to. each its property of being good (IV.).- 
 
 Eeferring to men's lives (as a clue to their notionn of the 
 good), we find three prominent varieties ; the life; of pleasure 
 or sensuality, — the political life, aspiring to honour^ — and the- 
 contemplative li&. The first is the life of the brutes,. aUhongh 
 countenanced by men high ki power.. The second is tik> 
 precarious, as depending on others, and is besides only a means 
 to an end — namely, our consciousness of our own merits ; for 
 the ambitious man seeks ta be honoured for his- virtua and by 
 good judges — thus showing that he too regards virtue as the' 
 superior good. Tet neither will virtue satisfy all the con- 
 ditions. The virtuous man may slumber or pass his life in 
 inactivity, or may experience the maximum of calamity ; and 
 such a man cannot be regarded as happy. The money-lender is 
 still less entitled, for he is an unnatural character ; and money 
 is obviously good as a means. So that there remains only the 
 life of contemplation ; respecting which more presently (V.). . 
 
 To a review of the Platonic doctrine, Aristotle devotes a 
 whole chapter. He urges against it various objections, very- 
 much of a piece with those brought against the theory of Ideas 
 generally. If there be but one good, there should be but 
 one science ; the alleged Idea is merely a repetition of the 
 phenomena; therecognized goods (i.e., varieties of good) cannot 
 be brought under one Idea; moreover, even granting the realiiy 
 of such an Idea, it is useless for all practical purposes. What 
 our science seeks is Good, human and attainable (VI.). 
 
THE SUPKEMB END NOT A MEANS. 479 
 
 The Supreme End is what is not only chosen as an End, 
 but is never chosen except as an End : not chosen both for 
 itself and with a view to something ulterior. It must thus 
 be — (1) An end-in-itself, pursued for its own sake; (2) it 
 must farther be self-sufficing, leaving no outstanding wants — 
 man's sociability being taken into account and gratified. 
 Happiness is such an end ; but we must state more clearly 
 wherein happiness consists. 
 
 This will appear, if we examine what is the work appro- 
 priate and peculiar to man. Every artist, the sculptor, car- 
 penter, currier (so too the eye and the hand), has his own 
 peculiar work : amA. good, to him, consists in his performing 
 that work well. Man also has his appropriate and peculiar 
 work : not merely living — for that he has in common with 
 vegetables ; nor the life of sensible perception — for that he 
 has in common with other animals, horses, oxen, &c. There 
 remains the life of man as a rational being : that is, as a 
 being possessing reason along with other mental elements, 
 which last are controllable or modifiable by reason. This 
 last life is the peculiar work or province of man. For our 
 purpose, we must consider man, not merely as possessing, but 
 as actually exercising and putting in action, these mental 
 capacities. Moreover, when we talk generally of the work or 
 province of an artist, we always tacitly imply a com.pIete and 
 excellent artist in his own craft i and so likewise when we 
 speak of the work of a man, we mean that work as 
 performed by a complete and competent man. Since the 
 work of man, therefore, consists in the active exercise 
 of the mental capacities, conformably to reason, the 
 supreme good of man will consist in performing this work 
 with excellence or virtue. Herein he will obtain happiness, 
 if we assume continuance throughout a full period of life : 
 one day or a short time is not sufficient for happiness 
 
 (vn.). 
 
 Aristotle thus lays down the outline of man's supreme 
 Good or Happiness : which he declares to be the beginning or 
 principle (apxif) °^ ^i^ deductions, and to be obtained in the 
 best way that the subject admits. He next proceeds to com- 
 pare this outline with the various received opinions on the 
 subject of happiness, showing that it embraces much of what 
 has been considered essential by former philosophers : such 
 as being ' a good of the mind,' and not a mere external good : 
 being -equivalent to 'living well and doing well,' another defi- 
 nition ; Consisting in virtue (the Cynics) ; in pracbical wisdom 
 
480 ETHICAL SYSTKMS — ^AEISTOTLl:. 
 
 —^povijaK (Sokrates) ; in philosophy ; or in all these coupled 
 with pleasure (Plato, in the Philebus). j^eeing witti those 
 who insisted on virtue, Aristotle considers his own theory an 
 improvement, by requring virtue in act, and not simply in pos- 
 session. Moreover, he contends that to the virtuous man, vir- 
 tuous performance is in itself pleasurable ; so that no extraneous 
 source of pleasure is needed. Such (he says) is the judgment 
 of the truly>xcellent man ; which must be taken as conclusive 
 respecting the happiness, as well as the honourable pre-end- 
 nence of the best mental exercises. Nevertheless, he admits 
 (so far complying with the Cyrenaics) that some extraneous 
 conditions cannot be dispensed with ; the virtuous man can 
 hardly exhibit his virtue iu act, without some aid from friends 
 and property ; nor can he be happy if his person is disguflimg 
 to behold or his parentage vile (Vm.). 
 
 This last admission opens the door to those that place 
 good fortune in the same line with happiness, and raises the 
 question, how happiness is attained. By teaching? By 
 habitual exercise ? By divine grace ? By Fortune ? If 
 there be any gift vouchsafed by divine grace to ma;n, it ought 
 to be this ; but whether such be the case or not, it is at any 
 rate the most divine and best of aU acquisitions. To ascribe 
 such an acquisition as this to Fortune would be absurd. 
 Nature, which always aims at the best, provides that it shall 
 be attained, through a certain course of teaching and training, 
 by all who are not physically or mentally disqualified. It thus 
 falls within the scope of political science, whose object is to 
 impart the best character and active habits to the citizens. It 
 is with good reason that we never call a horse happy, for he 
 can never reach such an attainment ; nor indeed can a child 
 be so called while yet a child, for the same reason ; though in 
 his case we may hope for the future, presuming on a full term 
 of life, as was before postulated (IX.). But this long terra 
 allows room for extreme calamities and change in a man's lot. 
 Are we then to say, with Solon, that no one can be called 
 happy so long as he lives ? or that the same man may often 
 pass backwards and forwards from happiness to misery ? No ; 
 this only shows the mistake of resting happiness upon so un- 
 sound a basis as external fortune. The only true basis of it 
 is the active manifestation of mental excellence, which no ill 
 fortune can efface from a man's mind (X.). Such a man will 
 bear calamity, if it comes, with dignity, and can never he 
 made thoroughly miserable. If he be moderate^ sig>pliBdaB 
 to external circumstances, he is to be «tylsd happy ; that is, 
 
WHEREIN DOES MAN'S EXCELLENCE CONSIST? 481 
 
 happy as a man — as far aa man can reasonably expect. Even 
 after his decease he will be affected, yet only feebly affected, 
 by the good or ill fortune of his snrviving children. Aristotle 
 evidently assigns Uttle or no value to presumed posthumous 
 happiness (XI.). 
 
 In his love of subtle distinctions, he asks, Is happiness a 
 thing admirable in itself, or a thing praiseworthy ? It is ad- 
 mirable in itself; for what is praiseworthy has a relative 
 character, and is praised as condijcive to some ulterior end ; 
 while the chief good must be an End in itself, for the sake of 
 which everything else is done (XII.). [This is a defective 
 recognition of Relativity.] 
 
 Having assumed as one of the items of his definition, that 
 man's happiness must be in his special or characteristic work, 
 performed with perfect excellence, — ^Aristotle now proceeds to 
 settle wherein that excellence consists. This leads to a classifi- 
 cation of the parts of the soul. The first distribution is, into 
 Batiotial and Irrational ; whether these two are separable in 
 fact, or only logically separable (like concave and convex), is 
 immaterial to the present enquiry. Of the irrational, the 
 lowest portion is the Vegetative (jjivnKov), which seems most 
 •active in sleep ; a state where bad men and good are on a par, 
 and which is incapable of any human excellenee. The next 
 portion is the Appetitive {ijnffvfiijTiKov), which is not thus in- 
 capable. It partakes of reason, yet it includes something con- 
 flicting with reason. These conflicting tendencies are usually 
 modifiable by reason, and may become in the temperate man 
 completely obedient to reason. There remains Reason — the 
 highest and sovereign portion of the soul. Human excellence 
 (apeTrj) or virtue, is either of the Appetitive part, — moral 
 (ijOiKrj) virtue ; or of the Reason — intellectual (biavori-iKrj) vir- 
 tue. Liberality and temperance are Moral virtues ; philosophy, 
 intelligence, and wisdom, Intellectual (XIH.). 
 
 Such is an outline of the First Book, having for its subject 
 the Chief Good, the Supreme End of man. 
 
 Book Second embraces the consideration of points relative 
 to the Moral Virtues ; it also commences Aristotle's celebrated 
 definition and classification of the virtues or excellencies. 
 
 Whereas intellectual excellence is chiefly generated and 
 improved by teaching, moral excellence is a result of habit 
 (e'Sos) ; whence its name (Ethical). Hence we may see that 
 moral excellence is no inherent part of our nature : if it were, 
 it could not be reversed by habit — any more than a stone can 
 acquire from any number of repetitions the habit of moving 
 ol 
 
482 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^AEISTOTLE. 
 
 apward, or fire the habit of moving downward. These moral 
 excellencies are neither a part of oar nature, nor yet contrary 
 to our nature ; we are by nature fitted to take them on, but 
 they are brought to consummation through habit. It is not 
 with them as with our senses, where nature first gives us the 
 power to see and hear, and where we afterwards exercise that 
 power. Moral virtues are acquired only by practice. We 
 learn to build or to play the harp, by building or playing the 
 harp ; so too we become just or courageous, by a course of 
 just or courageous acts. This is attested by all lawgivers in 
 their respective cities ; all of them shape the characters of 
 their respective citizens, by enforcing habitual practice. Some 
 do it well ; others ill ; according to the practice, so will be 
 the resulting; character ; as he that is practised in building 
 badly, will be a bad builder in the end^ and he that begins 
 on a bad habit of playing the harp, becomes confirmed into a 
 bad player. Hence the importance of making the young 
 perform good actions habitually and from the beginning. 
 The permanent ethical acquirements are generated by uni- 
 form and persistent practice (I.). £This is the earliest state- 
 ment of the philosophy of liabit.'} 
 
 Everything thus turns upon practice: and Aristotle re-* 
 minds us that his purpose here is, not simply to teach what 
 virtue is, but to produce virtuous agents. How are we to 
 know what the practice should be ? It most be conformable 
 to right reason : every one admits this, and we shall explain 
 it further in a future book. Bnt let us proclaim at once, 
 that in regard to moral action, as in regard to health, no 
 exact rules can be laid down. Amidst perpetual variability, 
 each agent must in the last resort be guided by the cu'cnm- 
 stances of the case. Still, however, something may be done 
 to help him. Hero Aristotle proceeds to introduce the famous 
 doctrine of the Mean. We may err, as regards health, both 
 by too much and by too little of exercise, food, or drink. 
 The same holds good in regard to temperance, courage, and 
 the other excellences (II.). 
 
 His next remark is another of his characteristic doctrines, 
 that the test of a formed habit of virtue, is to feel no pain ; he 
 that feels pain in brave acts is a coward. Whence he proceeds 
 to illustrate the position, that moral virtue (^0ikiJ aper^) has 
 to do with pleasures and pains.- A virtuous education consists 
 in making us feel pleasure and pain at proper objects, and on 
 proper occasions. Punishment is a discipline of pain. Some 
 philosophers (the Cynics) have been led by this consideration 
 
VIBTirE DEFINED. 483 
 
 to make virtue consist in apathy, or insensibility ; but Aristotle 
 would regulate, and not extirpate our sensibilities (HI.)- 
 
 But does it not seem a paradox to say (according to the 
 doctrine of habit in I.), that a man becomes just, by performing 
 just actions ; since, if he performs just actions, he is already 
 just ? The answer is given by a distinction drawn in a com- 
 parison with the training in the common arts of life. That a 
 nian is a good writer or musician, we see by his writing or 
 his music; we take no account of the state of his mind in 
 other respects : if he knows how to do this, it is enougJi. But 
 in respect to moral excellence, such knowledge is not enough : 
 a man may do just or temperate acts, but he is not necessarily 
 a just or temperate man, unless he does them with right 
 intention and on their own account. This state of the 
 internal mind, which is requisite to constitute the just and 
 temperate man, follows upon the habitual practice of just and 
 temperate acts, and follows upon nothing else. But most 
 men are content to talk without any such practice. They 
 fancy erroneously that hnowing, without doing, will make a 
 good man. [We have here the reaction against the Sokratic 
 doctrine of virtue, and also the statement of the necessity of 
 Oi^oper 1/inoUve, in order to virtue.] 
 
 Aristotle now sets himself to find a definition of virtue, 
 per genus at differentiam. There are three qualities in the 
 Soul — Passions {jraOrf), as Desire, Anger, Pear, &c., followed 
 by pleasure or pain ; Capacities or FaculUes (hwafius), as our 
 capability of being angry, afraid, affected by pity, &c. ; Fixed 
 tendencies, acquirements, or states (cfets). To which of the 
 three does virtue or exceUence belong P It cannot be a 
 Passion ; for passions are not in themselves good or evil, and 
 are not accompanied with deliberate choice (jrpoaipeat<i), wUl, 
 or intention. Nor is it a Faculty : for we are not praised or 
 blamed because we can have such or such emotions; and 
 moreover our faculties are innate, which virtue is not. 
 Accordingly, virtue, or excellence, must be an acquirement 
 (ef*v) — a State (V.). This is the genus. 
 
 Now, as to the differentia, which brings us to a more specific 
 statement of the doctrine of the Mean, The specific excel- 
 lence of virtue is to be got at from quantity in the abstract, 
 from which we derive the conceptions of more, less, and 
 equal; or excess, defect, and mean ; the equal being the mean 
 between excess and defect. But in the case of moral actions, 
 the arithmetical mean may not hold (for example, six between 
 two and ten) ; it must be a mean relative to the individual ; 
 
484 ETHICAl SYSTEMS— ABISTOTLE. 
 
 •Milo must liave more food than a novice in the training 
 school. In the arts, we call a work perfect, when anything 
 either added or taken away would spoil it. Now, virtue, 
 which, like Nature, is better and more exact than any art, has 
 for its subject-matter, passions and actions; all which are 
 wrong either in defect or in excess. Virtue aims at the mean 
 between them, or the maximum of Good : which implies a 
 correct estimation of all the circumstances of the act,— when 
 we ought to do it — under what conditions — towards whom — 
 for what purpose — in what manner, &c. This is the praise- 
 worthy mean, which virtue aspires to. We may err in many 
 ways (for evil, as the Pythagoreans said, is of the nature of 
 the Infinite, good of the Finite), but we can do right only in 
 one way ; so much easier is the path of error. 
 
 Combining then this differentia with the germs, as above 
 iestablished^ the complete definition is given thus — ' Virtue is 
 an acquirement or fixed state, tending by deliberate purpose 
 Cgenns), towards a mean relative to us (difference).' ' To which 
 is added the following ail-important quaEfication, ' determined 
 by reason (\070e), and as the judidmis man (o (ppovi/io^) would 
 determine.' [Such is the doctrine of the Mean, which com- 
 bines the practical matter-of-fact quality of moderation, recog- 
 nized by all sages, with a high and abstract conception, starting 
 from the Pythagorean remark quoted by Aristotle, 'the Infinite, 
 or Indefinite, is evil, the Finite or the Definite is good,' and 
 re-appearing in Plato as 'conformity to measure' {/letpionfi), 
 by which he (Plato) proposes to discriminate between good 
 and evil. The concluding qualification of virtue — ' a rational 
 determination, according to the ideal judicious man' — ^is an 
 attempt to assign a standard or authority for what is the 
 proper ' Mean ;' an authority purely ideal or imaginary ; the 
 actual authority being always, rightly or wrongly, the society 
 of the time.] 
 
 Aristotle admits that his doctrine of Virtue being a mean, 
 cannot have an application quite universal ; because there are 
 some acts that in their very name connote badness, which 
 are wrong therefore, not fi-om excess or defect, but in them- 
 selves (VI.). He next proceeds to resolve his general doc- 
 trine into particulars ; enumerating the different virtues 
 stated, each as a mean, between two extremes — Courage, 
 Temperance, Liberality, Magnanimity, Magnificence, Meek- 
 ness, AmiabUity or Friendliness, Truthfulness, Justice (VII.). 
 They are described in detail in the two following books. In 
 chap. VIII., he qualifies his doctrine of Mean and Extremes, 
 
THE VOLUNTARY AND INVOLUNTARY. 485 
 
 by the remark that one Extreme may be much farther 
 removed from the Mean than the other. Cowardice and 
 Rashness are the extremes of Courage, but Cowardice is 
 farthest removed from the Mean. 
 
 The concluding chapter (IX.) of the Book reflects on the 
 great difficulty of hitting the mean in aU things, and of 
 correctly estimating aU. the requisite circumstances, in each 
 particular case. He gives as practical rules: — To avoid at 
 all events the worst extreme ; to keep farthest from our 
 natural bent ; to guard against the snare of pleasure. Slight 
 mistakes on either side are little blamed, but grave and 
 conspicuous cases incur severe censure. Yet how far the 
 censure ought to go, is difficult to lay down beforehand in 
 general terms. There is the same difficulty in regard to all 
 particular cases, and all the facts of sense : which must 
 be left, after all, to the judgment of Sensible Perception 
 
 Book Third takes up the consideration of the Virtues in 
 detail, but prefaces them with a dissertation, occupying five 
 chapters, on the Voluntary and Involuntary. Since praise 
 and blame are bestowed only on volrmtary actions, — the in- 
 voluntary being pardoned, and even pitied, — it is requisite to 
 define Voluntary and Involuntary. What is done under 
 physical compulsion, or through ignorance, is clearly involun- 
 ta^. What is done under the fear of greater evils is partly 
 voluntary, and partly involuntary. Such actions are voluntary 
 in the sense of being a man's own actions ; involuntary in 
 that they are not chosen on their own account ; being praised 
 or blamed according to the circumstances. There are cases 
 where it is difficult to say which of two conflicting pressures 
 ought to preponderate, and compulsion is an excuse often 
 misapplied : but compulsion, in its strict sense, is not strength 
 of motive at all ; it is taking the action entirely out of our 
 own hands. As regards Ignorance, a difference is made. 
 Ignorance of a general rule is matter for censure ; ignorance 
 of particular circumstances may be excused. {This became the 
 famous maxim of law, — ' Ignorantia facti excnsat, ignorantia 
 juris non excusat.'j If the agent, when bettra* infoi-med, 
 repents of his act committed in ignorance, he affords good 
 proof that the act done was really involuntary. Acts done 
 from anger or desire (which are in the agent's self) are not to 
 be held as involuntary. (1) If they were, the actions of brutes 
 and children would be involuntary. (2) Some of these acts 
 are morally good and approved. (3) Obligation often attaches 
 
486 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^AEISTOTLB. 
 
 to these feelings. (4) What is done from desire is pleasant : 
 the involuntary is painful. (5) Errors of passion are to be 
 eschewed, no less thatn those of reason (I.). 
 
 The next point is the nature of Purpose, Determination, or 
 Deliberate Preference (wpoalpeais), which is in the closest 
 kindred with moral excellence, and is even more essential, in 
 the ethical estimate, than acts themselves. This is a part of the 
 Voluntary ; but not co-extensive therewith. For it excludes 
 sudden and unpremeditated acts ; and is not shared by irra- 
 tional beings. It is distinct from desire, from anger, from wish, 
 and from opinion ; with all which it is sometimes confounded. 
 Desire is often opposed to it ; the incontinent man acts upon 
 his desires, but without any purpose, or even against his pur- 
 pose ; the continent man acts upon his purpose, but against 
 his desires. Purpose is still more distinct from anger, and is 
 even distinct (though in a less degree) from wish (/3o»\i;o'iy), 
 which is choice of the End, while Purpose is of the Means ; 
 moreover, we sometimes wish for impossibilities, known as 
 such, but we never purpose them. Nor is purpose identical 
 with opinion (ho^a), which relates to truth and falsehood, not 
 to virtue and vice. It is among our voluntary proceedings, 
 and includes intelligence ; but is it identical with pre-deU- 
 berated action and its results ? (11.) 
 
 To answer this query, Aristotle analyzes the process of 
 Deliberation, as to its scope, and its mode of operation. We 
 exclude from deliberation things Eternal, like the Kosmos, 
 or the incommensurability of the side and the diagonal of a 
 square ; also things mutable, th'at are regulated by necessity, 
 by nature, or by chance ; things out of our power ; also final 
 ends of action, for we deKberate only about the means to ends. 
 The deliberative process is compared to the investigation of a 
 geometrical problem. We assume the end, and enquire by 
 what means it can be produced ; then again, what will pro- 
 duce the means, until we at last reach something that we our- 
 selves can command. If, after such deliberation, we see our 
 way to execution, we form a Purpose, or Deliberate .Preference 
 (TTpoalpeaii). Purpose is then definable as a deliberative 
 appetency of things in our power (III.). 
 
 Next is started the important question as to the choice of 
 the final ^nd. Deliberation and Purpose respect means ; our 
 Wish respects the End — but what is the End that we wish ? 
 Two opinions are noticed; according to one (Plato) we are 
 moved to the good ; according to the other, to the apparent 
 good. Both opinions are unsatisfactory ; the one would make 
 
VIRTUE AN1> VICE AKE VOLUNTAEY, 487 
 
 out an incorrect choice to he no choice at all ; the other would 
 take away all constancy from ends. 
 
 Aristotle settles the point by distinguishing, in this case 
 as in others, between what bears a given character simply 
 and absolutely, and what bears the same character relatively 
 to this or that iadividual.- The olgeot of Wish, simply, 
 truly, and absolutelyr is the Good j whUe the object of Wish, 
 to any given individual; is what appears Good to him. But 
 by the Absolute here, Aristotle explains that he means what 
 appears good to the virtuows and intelligent man ; who is 
 is declared, here as elsewhere, to be the infallible standard ; 
 while most men, misled by pleasure, choose what is not truly 
 good. In like manner^ Aristotle affirms, that those substances 
 are truly and absolutely wholesome, which are wholesome to 
 the healthy and well-constituted man ; other substances may 
 be wholesome to the sick or degenerate. Aristotle's Absolute 
 is thus a Relative with its correlate chosen or imagined by 
 himself. 
 
 He then proceeds to maintain that virtue and vice are 
 voluntary, and in our own power. The arguments are these. 
 (1) If it be in our power to- act right, the contrary is 
 equally in our own power; hence vice is as- much volun- 
 tary as virtue, (2) Man must be admitted to be the origin 
 of his own actions. (3) Legislators and others punish 
 men for wickedness, and confer honour on good actions ; 
 even culpable ignorance and negligence are punished. (4) 
 Our character itself, or our fixed acquirements, are in our 
 power, being produced by our successive acts ; men be- 
 come intemperate, by acts of drunkenness. (5) Not only 
 the defects of the mind, but the infirmities of the body 
 also, are blamed, when arising through our own neglect and 
 want of training. (6) Even if it should be said that all men 
 aim at the apparent good, but cannot control their mode 
 of conceiving (ipavTaala) the end ; still each person, being by 
 his acts the cause of his own fixed acquirements, must be to a 
 certain extent the cause of his own conceptions. On this head, 
 too, Aristotle repeats the clenching argument, that the sup- 
 posed imbecility of conceiving would apply alike to virtue and 
 to vice ; so that if virtuous action be regarded as voluntary, 
 vicious action must be so regarded likewise. It must be 
 remembered that a man's fixed acquirements or habits are not 
 in his own power, in the same sense and degree in which his 
 separate acts are in his own power. Each act, from first to 
 last, is alike in his power ; but in regard to the habit, it is 
 
488 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AKISTOTLE. 
 
 only the Initiation thereof that is thoroughly in his power ; 
 the habit, like a distemper, is taken on by imperceptible steps 
 in advance (V.)- 
 
 [In the foregoing account of the Ethical questions con- 
 nected with the Will, Aristotle is happily unembroiled with 
 the modem controversy. The mal-oapropos of ' Freedom ' had 
 not been applied to voluntary action. Accordingly, he treats 
 the whole question from the inductive side, distinguishing the 
 cases where people are praised or blamed for their conduct, 
 from those where praise and blame are inapplicable as being 
 powerless. It would have been well if the method had never 
 been departed from; a sound Psychology would have im- 
 proved the induction, but would never have introduced any 
 question except as to ihe relative strength of the different 
 feelings operating as motives to voluntary conduct. 
 
 In one. part of his argument, however, where he maintains 
 that vice must be voluntary, because its opposite, virtue, is 
 voluntary, he is already touching on the magical island of the 
 bad enchantress; allowing a question of fact to be swayed 
 by the notion of factitious dignity. Virtue is assumed to be 
 voluntary, not on the evidence of fact, but because there would 
 be an imMgnUy cast on it, to suppose otherwise. Now, this 
 consideration, which Aristotle gives way to on various occa- 
 sions, is the motive underlying the objectionable metaphor.] 
 
 After the preceding digression on the Yoluntary and In- 
 voluntary, Aristotle takes up the consideration of the Virtues 
 in order^ beginning with CotrEAGB, which was one of the 
 received cardinal virtues, and a subject of frequent discussion. 
 (Plato, Lashes^ Protagoras, Repuhlia, &c.) 
 
 Courage {avipeia), the mean between timidity and fool- 
 hardiness, has to do with evils. All evils are objects of fear ; 
 but there are some evils that even the brave man does right to 
 fear — as disgrace. Poverty or disease he ought not to fear. Yet, 
 he wiU not acquire the reputation of courage from not fearing 
 these, nor will he acquire it if he be exempt fi^m fear when 
 about to be scourged. Again, if a man be afraid of envy from 
 others, or of insults to his children or wife, he will not for that 
 reason be regarded as a coward. It is by being superior to the 
 fear of gfreat evils, that a man is extolled as courageous ; and 
 the greatest of evils is death, since it is a final close, as well of 
 good as of evU. Hence the dangers of war are the greatest 
 occasion of courage. But the cause must be honourable (VI.). 
 
 Thus the key to true courage is the quality or merit of the 
 action. That man is brave, who hoih fears, and affronts 
 
COUEAGE INCLUDES SELF-SACRIFICE. 489 
 
 witheut fear, what he ought and when he ought : who suffers 
 and acts according to the value of the cause, and according to 
 a right judgment of it. The opposites or extremes of courage 
 include (1) Deficiency of fear; (2) Excess of fear, cowardice ; 
 (3) Deficiency of daring, another formula for cowardice ; (4) 
 Excess of daring, Rashness. Between these. Courage is the 
 mean (VII.). 
 
 Aristotle enumerates five analogous forms of quasi-courage, 
 approaching more or less to genuine courage. (1) The first, 
 most like to the true, is political courage, which is moved to 
 encounter danger hy the Punishments and the Honours of 
 society. The desire of honour rises to virtue, and is a noble 
 spring of action. (2) A second kind is the efiect of Experi- 
 ence, which dispels seeming terrors, and gives skill to meet 
 real danger. (3) Anger, Spirit, Energy {Ovfid^) is a species of 
 coura.ge, founded on physical power and excitement, but not 
 under the guidance of high emotions. (4) The Sanguine 
 temperament, by overrating the chances of success, gives 
 courage. (5) Lastly, Ignorance of the danger may have the 
 same effect as courage (VIII.). 
 
 Courage is mainly connected with pain and loss. Men 
 are called brave for the endtirance of pain, even although it 
 bring pleasure in the end, as to the boxer who endures bruises 
 from the hope of honour. Death is painful, and most so to 
 the man that by his virtue has made life valuable. Such a 
 man is to be considered more courageous, as a soldier, than a 
 mercenary with little to lose (IX.). 
 
 [The account of Courage thus given is remarkably ex- 
 haustive ; although the constituent parts might have been 
 more carefully disentangled. A clear Kne should be drawn 
 between two aspects of courage. The one is the resistance 
 to Fear properly so called ; that is, to the perturbation that 
 exaggerates coming evil : a courageous man, in this sense, is 
 one tiiat possesses the true measure of impending danger, and 
 acts according to that, and not according to an excessive 
 measure. The other aspect of Courage, is what gives it all 
 its nobleness as a virtue, namely, Self-sacrifiee, or the de- 
 liberate encountering of evil, for some honourable or virtuous 
 cause. When a man knowingly risks his life in battle for his 
 country, he may be called courageous, but he is still better 
 described as a heroic and devoted man. 
 
 Inasmuch as the leading form of heroic devotion, in the 
 ancient world, was exposure of life in war. Self-sacrifice was 
 presented under the guise of Courage, and had no independent 
 
490 s^ ETHICAL SYSTEMS— AKISTOTLE. 
 
 standing as a cardinal virtae. From this circttmstance, 
 paganism is made to appear in a somewhat disadvantageous 
 light, as regards seE-denying duties.] 
 
 Next in order among the excellences or virtnes of the 
 irrational department of mind is Tempbeancb, or Moderation, 
 {abKJjpocvvrj), a mean or middle state in the enjoyment of plea- 
 sure. Pleasures are mental and bodily. With the mental, as 
 love of learning or of honour, temperance is not concerned. 
 Nor with the bodily pleasures of muscular exercise, of hearing 
 and of smell, but only with the animal pleasures of touch and 
 taste : in fact, sensuality resides in touch f the pleasure of 
 eating being a mode of contact (X.). 
 
 In the desires natural and common to men, as eating and 
 the nuptial couch, men are given to err, and error is usually on 
 the side of excess. But it is in the case of special tastes or pre- 
 ferences, that people are most frequently intemperate. Tem- 
 perance does not apply to enduring pains, except those of 
 abstinence from pleasures. The extreme of insensibility to 
 pleasure is rarely found, and has no name. The temperate 
 man has the feelings of pleasure and pain, but moderates his 
 desires according to right reason (XI.). He desires what he 
 ought, when he ought, and as he ought ; correctly estimating 
 each separate case (XII.). The question is raised, which is most 
 voluntary, Cowardice or Intemperance ? (1) Intemperance 
 is more voluntary than Cowardice, for the one consists in 
 choosing pleasure, while in the other there is a sort of com- 
 pulsory avoidance of pain. (2) Temperance is easier to 
 acquire as a habit than Courage. (3) In Intemperance, the 
 particular acts are voluntaiy, although not the habit; in 
 Cowardice, the first acts are involuntary, while by habit, it 
 tends to become voluntary (XII.). 
 
 [Temperance is the virtue most suited to the formula of 
 the Mean, although the settling of what is the mean depends 
 after aU upon a man's own judgment. Aristotle does not 
 recognize asceticism as a thing existing. His Temperance is 
 moderation in the sensual pleasures of eating and love.] 
 
 Book Fourth proceeds with the examination of the Vir- 
 tues or Ethical Excellences. 
 
 Liberality (iXevOepioTijv), in the matter of property, is the 
 mean of Prodigality and IlliberaJity. The right uses of 
 money are spen(£ng and giving. Liberality consists in giving 
 willingly, from an honourable motive, to proper persons, in 
 proper quantities, and at proper times ; each individual case 
 being measured by correct reason. If such measure be not 
 
LIBEEAIITT. — MAGNIFICENCE. — MAGNANIMITY. 49 1 
 
 taken, or if the gift be not made willingly, it is not liberality. 
 The liberal man is often so free as to leave little to himself. 
 This virtue is one more frequent in the inheritors than in the 
 makers of fortunes. Liberality beyond one's means is prodi- 
 gality. The liberal man will receive only from proper sources 
 and in proper quantities. Of the extremes, prodigality is 
 more curable than illiberality. The faults of prodigality are, 
 that it must derive supplies from improper sources ; that it 
 gives to the wrong objects, and is usually accompanied with 
 intemperance. Illiberality is incurable : it is confirmed by 
 age, and is more congenial to men generally than prodigality. 
 Some of the illiberal fall short in giving — ^those called stingy, 
 close-fisted, and so on ; but do not desire what belongs to 
 other people. Others are excessive in receiving from all 
 sources ; such are they that ply disreputable trades (I.). 
 
 Magnificence (^fxer^aKovpeTrela) is a grander kind of Liber- 
 ality ; its characteristic is greatness of expenditure, with suit- 
 ableness to the person, the circumstances, and the purpose. 
 The magnificent man takes correct measure of each ; he is in 
 his way a man of science (o &e fiei^oKoirpew^'i e'TrurrijUovi totxe — 
 II.). The motive must be honourable, the outlay unstinted, 
 and the efiect artistically splendid. The service of the gods, 
 hospitality to foreigners, public works, and gifts, are proper 
 occasions. Magnificence especially becomes the well-born 
 and the illustrious. The house of the magnificent man will 
 be of suitable splendour ; everything that he does will show 
 taste and propriety. The extremes, or corresponding defects 
 of character, are, on the one side, vulgar, tasteless profusion, 
 and on the other, meanness or pettiness, which for some 
 paltry saving will spoil the efiect of a great outlay (II.). 
 
 Magnanimity, or High-mindedness (/ler/dKo-^vxia), loftiness 
 of spirit, is the culmination of the virtues. It is concerned 
 with greatness. The high-minded man is one that, being 
 worthy, rates himself at his real worth, and neither more 
 (which is vanity) nor less (which is littleness of mind). Now, 
 worth has reference to external goods, of which the greatest is 
 honour. The high-minded man must be in the highest degree 
 honourable, for which he must be a good man ; honour being 
 the prize of virtue. He will accept honour only from the good, 
 and wiU despise dishonour, knowing it to be undeserved. In 
 all good or bad fortune, he will behave with moderation ; in 
 not highly valuing even the highest thing of all, honour itself, 
 he may seem to others supercilious. Wealth and fortune contri- 
 bute to high-mindedness ; but most of all, superior goodness ; 
 
492 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AKISTOTLE. 
 
 for the character cannot exist -without perfect virtue. The 
 high-minded man neither shuns nor courts danger ; nor is he 
 indisposed to risk even his life. He gives favours, but does 
 not accept them ; he is proud to the great, but affable to the 
 lowly. He attempts only great and important matters ; is 
 open in friendship and in hatred ; truthful in conduct, with an 
 ironical reserve. He talks little, either of himself or of others ; 
 neither desiring his own praise, nor caring to utter blame. 
 He wonders at nothing, bears no malice, is no gossip. His 
 movements are slow, his voice deep, his diction stately (HI.). 
 
 There is a nameless virtue, a mean between the two 
 extremes of too much and too little ambition, or desire of 
 honour ; the reference being to smaller matters and to ordi- 
 nary men. The fact that both extremes are made terms of 
 reproach, shows that there is a just mean ; while each extreme 
 alternately claims to be the virtue, as against the other, since 
 there is no term to express the mean (IV.). 
 
 Mildness {irpadTri^} is a mean state with reference to Anger, 
 although inclining to the defective side. The exact mean, 
 ■which has no current name, is that state wherein the agent 
 is free from perturbation (oTapaxoi), is not impelled by pas- 
 sion, but guided by reason; is angry when he ought, as 
 'he ought, with whom, and as long as, he ought: taking 
 right measure of all the circumstances. Kot to be angry on 
 the proper provocation, is folly, insensibility, slavish sub- 
 mission. Of those given to excess in anger, some are quick, ■ 
 impetuous, and soon appeased; others are sulky, repressing 
 and perpetuating their resentment. It is not easy to define 
 the exact mean; each case must be left to individual per- 
 ception (V.). 
 
 The next virtue is Good-breeding in society, a balance 
 between surliness on the one hand, and weak assent or inter- 
 ested flattery on the other. It is a nameless virtue, resem- 
 bling friendship without the special affection. Aristotle 
 shows what he considers the bearing of the finished gentle- 
 man, studying to give pleasure, and yet expressing disappro- 
 bation when it would be wrong to do otherwise (VI-). 
 
 Closely allied to the fionegoing is the observance of a due 
 mean, in the matter of Boastfiilness. The boastful lay claim 
 to what they do not possess ; false modesty (^elpiovela) is deny- 
 ing or underrating one's own merits. The balance of the 
 two is the straightforward and truthftil character ; asserting 
 just what belongs to him, neither more nor less. This is a 
 kind of truthfulness, — distinguished from ' truth' in its more 
 
JUSTICE— DISTRIBUTIVE AJSD COBEECTIVE. 493 
 
 serious aspect, as disoriniinating between justice and injustice 
 — ^and has a worth of its own ; for he that is truthful in little 
 things will be so in more important affairs (VII.). 
 
 In the playful intercourse of society, there is room for 
 the virtue of Wit, a balance or mean between buffoonish 
 excess, and the clownish dulness that can neither make nor 
 enjoy a joke. Here the man of refinement must be a law to 
 himself (VIII.). 
 
 Modesty (a«8ius) is briefly described, without being put 
 through the comparison with its extremes. It is more a 
 feeKng than a state, or settled habit. It is the fear of ill- 
 report ; and has the physical expression of fear under danger 
 • — the blushing and the pallor. It befits youth as the age of 
 passion and of errors. In the old it is no virtue, as they 
 should do nothing to be ashamed of (IX.). 
 
 Book Fifth (the first of the so-called Eudemian books), 
 treats of Justice, the Social virtue by pre-eminence. Justice 
 as a virtue is defined, the state of miud, or moral disposition, 
 to do what is just. The question then is — what is the just and 
 the unjust in action ? The words seem to have more senses 
 than one. The just may be (1) the Lawful, what is estab- 
 lished by law ; which includes, therefore, all obedience, and all 
 moral virtue (for every kind of conduct came under public 
 regulation, in the legislation of Plato and Aristotle). Or (2) 
 the just may be restricted to the fair and equitable as regards 
 property. In both senses, however, justice concerns our be- 
 haviour to some one else : and it thus stands apart from the 
 other virtues, as (essentially and in its first character) seeking 
 another's good — not the good of the agent himself (I.). 
 
 The first kind of justice, which includes all virtue, called 
 Universal Justice, being set aside, the enquiry is reduced to 
 the Particular Justice, or Justice proper and distinctive. Of 
 this there are two kinds. Distributive and Corrective (II.). 
 Distributive Justice is a kind of equality or proportion in the 
 distribution of property, honours, &c., in the State, according 
 to the merits of each citizen ; the standard of worth or merit 
 being settled by the constitution, whether democratic, oli- 
 garchic, or aristocratic (III.). Corrective, or Reparative 
 Justice takes no account of persons ; but, looking at cases 
 where unjust loss or gain has occurred, aims to restore the 
 balance, by striking an arithmetical mean (IV.). The Pytha- 
 gorean idea, that Justice is Retaliation, is inadequate ; pro- 
 portion and other circumstances must be included. Propor- 
 tionate Retaliation, or Reciprocity of services, — as in the case 
 
494 TJTHICAL SYSTEMS — ABISTOTLE. 
 
 of Coromercial Exchange, measured through the instrument 
 of money, with its definite value, — is set forth as the great 
 bond of society. Just dealing is the mean between doing 
 injustice and suffering injustice (V.). Justice is definitely 
 connected with Law, and exists only between citizens of the 
 State, and not between father and children, master and slave, 
 between whom there is no law proper, but only a sort of rela- 
 tion analogous to law (VL)- Civil Justice is partly Natural, 
 partly conventional. The natural is what has the same 
 force everywhere, whether accepted or not ; the conventional 
 varies with institutions, acquiring all its force from adoption 
 by law, and being in itself a matter of indifierence prior to 
 such adoption. Some persons regard aU Justice as thus 
 conventional. They say — ' What exists by nature is un- 
 changeable, and has everywhere the same power ; for example, 
 fire bums alike in Persia and here ; but we see regulations of 
 justice often varied — difiering here and there.' This, however, 
 is not exactly the fact, though to a certain extent it is the 
 fact. Among the gods indeed, it perhaps is not the fact at 
 all : but among men, it is true that there exists something by 
 nature changeable, though everything is not so. Neverthe- 
 less, there are some things existing by nature, other things 
 not by nature. And we can plainly see, among those matters 
 that admit of opposite arrangement, which of them belong 
 to nature and which to law and convention ; and the same 
 distinction will tit in other cases also. Thus the right hand 
 is by nature more powerful than the left ; yet it is possible 
 that all men may become ambidextrous. Those regulations 
 of justice that are not by nature, but by human appointment, 
 are not the same everywhere ; nor is the political constitution 
 everywhere the same ; yet there is one political constitution 
 only that is by nature the best everywhere (VII.). 
 
 To constitute Justice and Injustice in acts, the acts must 
 be voluntary ; there being degrees of culpability in injustice 
 according to the intention, the premeditation, the greater or 
 less knowledge of circumstances. The act that a person 
 does may perhaps be unjust ; but he is not, on that account, 
 always to be regarded as an unjust man (VIII.). 
 
 Here a question arises, Can one be injured voluntarily ? It 
 seems not, for what a man consents to is not injury. Nor can 
 a person injure himself. Injury is a relationship between two 
 parties (IX.). Equity does not contradict, • or set aside, 
 Justice, but is a higher and finer kind of justice, coming in 
 where the law is too rough and general. 
 
THE INTELLECTUAL EXCELLENCES OR VIRTUES. 495 
 
 Book Sixth, treats of Intellectual Excellences, or Virtues 
 of the Intellect. It thus follows out the large definition of 
 virtue given at the ontset, and repeated in detail as concerns 
 each of the ethical or moral virtues successively. 
 
 According to the views most received at present, Morality 
 is an afiair of conscience and sentiment ; little or nothing is 
 said about estimating the full circumstances and consequences 
 of each act, except that there is no time to calculate correctly, 
 and that the attempt to do so is generally a pretence for evad- 
 ing the peremptory order of virtuous sentiment, which, if faith- 
 fully obeyed, ensures virtuous action in each particular case. 
 If these views be adopted, an investigation of our intellectual 
 excellences would find ao place in a treatise on Ethics. But 
 the theory of Aristotle is altogether difierent. Though he 
 recognizes Emotion and Intellect as inseparably implicated 
 in the mind of Ethical agents, yet the sovereign authority 
 that he proclaims is not Conscience or Sentiment, but 
 Beason. The subordination of Sentiment to Reason is with 
 him essential. It is truo that Reason must be supplied 
 with First Principles, whence to take its start; and these 
 Krst Principles are here declared to be, fixed emotional states 
 or dispositions, engendered in the mind of the agent by a suc- 
 cession of similar acta. But even these dispositions them- 
 selves, though not belonging to the department of Reason, are 
 not exempt from the challenge and scrutiny of Reason ; while 
 the proper application of them in act to the complicated 
 realities of lile, is the work of Reason altogether. Such an 
 ethical theory calls upon Aristotle to indicate, more or less 
 fully, those intellectual excellences, whereby alone we are 
 enabled to overcome the inherent difficulties of right ethical 
 conduct; and he indicates them in the present Book, compar- 
 ing them with those other intellectual excellences which guide 
 our theoretical investigations, where conduct is not directly 
 concerned. 
 
 In specifying the ethical excellences, or excellences of dis- 
 position, we explained that each of them aimed to realize a 
 mean — and that this mean was to be determined by Right 
 Reason. To find the mean, is thus an operation of the Intel- 
 lect ; and we have now to explain what the right performance 
 of it is, — or to enter upon the Excellences of the Intellect. 
 The soul having been divided into Irrational and Rational, 
 the Rational must further be divided into two parts, — the 
 Scientific (dealing with necessary matter), the Oalculative, or 
 Deliberative (dealing with contingent matter). We must 
 
496 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AEISTOTLE. 
 
 touch, upon the excellence or best condition of both of them (I.). 
 There are three principal functions of the soul — Sensation, 
 Beason< and Appetite or Desire. Now, Sensation (which 
 beasts have as well as men) is not a principle of moral action. 
 The Reason regards truth and falsehood only; it does not 
 move to action, it is not an end in itself. Appetite or Desire, 
 which aims at an end, introduces us to moral action. Truth 
 and Falsehood, as regards Beason, correspond to Good and Evil 
 as regards Appetite : Affirmation and Negation, with the first, 
 are the analogues of Pursuit and Avoidance, with the second. 
 In purpose, which is the principle of moral action, there is 
 included deliberation or calcxdation. Reason and Appetite are 
 thus combined : Good Purpose comprises both true affirmation 
 and right pursuit : you may call it either an Intelligent Appe- 
 tite, or an Appetitive Intelligence. Such is man, as a principle 
 of action {r/ Tominrj cipy(^ avdpuiiros)^ 
 
 Science has to do with the necessary and the eternal ; it 
 is teachable, but teachable always from prcBcognita, or prin- 
 ciples, obtained by induction ; from which principles, conclu- 
 sions are demonstrated by syllogism (III.). Art, or Produc- 
 tion, is to be carefully distinguished from the action or 
 agency that belongs to man as an ethical agent, and that 
 does not terminate in any separate assignable product. But 
 both the one and the other deal with contingent matters 
 only. Art deals for the most part with the same matters 
 as are subject to the - intervention of Fortune or Chance 
 (IV.). 
 
 Pradence or Judiciousness ((ppovr/aK, the quality of o 
 (ppovtiM^), the Practical Reason, comes next. We are told 
 what are the matters wherewith it is, and wherewith it 
 is not, conversant. It does not deal with, matters wherein 
 there exist art, or with rules of art. It does not deal with 
 necessary matters, nor with matters not modifiable by human 
 agency. The prudent or judicious man is one who (like 
 Pericles) can accurately estimate and foresee matters (apart 
 from Science and Art) such as are good or evil for him- 
 self and other human beings. On these matters, feelings of 
 pleasure or pain are apt to bias thS mind, by insinuating 
 wrong aims ; which they do not do in regard to the properties 
 of a triangle and other scientific conclusions. To guard 
 against such bias, the judicious man must be armed with the 
 ethical excellence described above as Temperance or Modera- 
 tion. Judiciousness is not an Art, admitting of better and 
 worse ; there are not good judicious men, and bad judicious 
 
THE INTELLECTUAL ELEMENT IN MORAL ATIETUE. 497 
 
 men, as there are good and bad artiats. Judiciousness is 
 itself an excellence (i.e. the term connotes excellence) — 
 an excellence of the rational soul, and of that branch 
 of the rational soul which is calculating, deliberative, not 
 scientific (V.). Reason or Intellect (voSs) is the faculty 
 for apprehending the first principles of demonstrative science. 
 It is among the infallible faculties of the mind, together 
 •frith Judiciousness, Science, and Philosophy. Each of 
 these terms connotes truth and accuracy (VI.). Wisdom ia 
 the arts is the privilege of the superlative artists, such as 
 Phidias in sculpture. But there are some men wise, not in 
 any special art, but absolutely ; and this wisdom (aocpia) is 
 Philosophy. It embraces both principles of science (which 
 Aristotle considers to come under the review of the First 
 Philosophy) and deductions therefrom ; it is vovs and eVjo-TjJ/ti; 
 in one. It is more venerable and dignified than Prudence or 
 Judiciousness ; because its objects, the Kosmos and the celes- 
 tial bodies, are far more glorious than man, with whose in- 
 terests alone Prudence is concerned ; and also because the 
 celestial objects are eternal and unvarying ; while man and 
 his afiairs are transitory and ever fluctuating. Hence the 
 great honour paid to Thales, Anaxagoras, and others, who 
 speculated on theories thus magnificent and superhuman, 
 though useless in respect to human good. 
 
 We have already said that Prudence or Judiciousness is 
 good counsel on human interests, with a view to action. But 
 We must also add that it comprises a knowledge not of uni- 
 versals merely, but also of particulars ; and experienced men, 
 much conversant with particulars, are often better qualified for 
 action than inexperienced men of science (VII.). Prudence 
 is the same in its intellectual basis as the political science or 
 art— yet looked at in a different aspect. Both of them are 
 practical and consultative, respecting matters of human good 
 and evil ; but prudence, in the stricter sense of the word, con- 
 cerns more especially the individual self ; still, the welfare of 
 the individual is perhaps inseparable from household and state 
 concerns. Prudence farther implies a large experience; whence 
 boys, who can become good mathematicians, cannot have prac- 
 tical judgment or prudence. In consultation, we are liable to 
 error both in regard to universals, and in regard to particulars ; 
 it is the business of prudence, as well as of the political science, 
 to guard against both. That prudence is not identical with 
 Science, is plain enough ; for Science is the intermediate pro- 
 cess between the first principles and the last conclusions; 
 32 
 
498 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AKISTOTLB. 
 
 whereas prndence consists chiefly in seizing these last, which 
 are the applications of reasoning, and represent the particular 
 acts to be done. Prudence is the counterpart of Eeason (NoCs) 
 or Intellect, but at the opposite extremity of the mental pro- 
 cess. For Intellect (NoSs) apprehends the extreme TJniver- 
 sals, — the first principles, — themselves not deducible, but from 
 which deduction starts ; while Prudence fastens on the ex- 
 treme particulars, which are not known by Science, but by 
 sensible Perception. We mean here by sensible Perception, 
 not what is peculiar to any of the five senses, but what is 
 common to them all — whereby we perceive that the triangle 
 before us is a geometrical ultimatum, and that it is the 
 final subject of application for all the properties previously 
 demonstrated to belong to triangles generally. The mind will 
 stop here in the downward march towards practical applica- 
 tion, as it stopped at first principles in the upward march. 
 Prudence becomes, however, confounded with sensible per- 
 ception, when we reach this stage. [The statement here given 
 involves Aristotle's distinction of the proper and the common 
 Sensibles ; a shadowing out of the muscular element in sensa- 
 tion] (vni.). 
 
 Good counsel (evpovXla) is distinguished from various 
 other qualities. It is, in substance, choosing right means 
 to a good end ; the end being determined by the g^eat faculty 
 — Prudence or Judiciousness (IX.). Sagacity (<7t)i/e<ris) is 
 a just intellectual measure in regard to the business of life, 
 individual and social ; critical ability in appreciating and in- 
 terpreting the phenomena of experience. It is distinguished 
 from Prudence in this respect — that Prudence carries infer- 
 ences into Practice (X.). Considerateness (■yvii/u;) is another 
 intellectual virtue, with a practical bearing. It is that virtue 
 whereby we discern the proper occasions for indulgent con- 
 struction, softening the rigour of logical consistency. It is 
 the source of equitable decisions. 
 
 The difiierent intellectual excellences just named — Con- 
 siderateness, Sagacity, Prudence (0/joVi;<rjs), and Intellect 
 (Nous), seem all to bear on the same result, and are for the 
 most part predicable of the same individuals. All of them 
 are concerned with the ultimate applications of principle to 
 practice, and with the actual moments for decision and action. 
 Indeed, Intellect (NoS?) deals with the extremes at both ends 
 of the scale : with the highest and lowest terms. In theoreti- 
 cal science, it apprehends and sanctions the major proposi- 
 tions, the first and highest jsniicipia of demonstrations : in 
 
THEORY OF PKUDENCE. 499 
 
 practical dealings, it estimates the minor propositions of the 
 syllogism, the possibilities of the situation, and the nltimate 
 action required. All these are the princijna from whence 
 arises the determining motive : for the universal is always 
 derived from particulars ; these we must know through sen- 
 sible perception, which is in this case the same thing as intel- 
 lect (NoSs). Intellect is in fact both the beginning and the 
 end : it cognizes both the first grounds of demonstration and 
 the last applications of the results of demonstration. A man 
 cannot acquire science by nature, or without teaching : but 
 he may acquire Intellect and Sagacity by nature, simply 
 through long life and abundant experience. The affirmations 
 and opinions of old men deserve attention, hardly less than 
 demonstrations : they have acquired an eye from experience, 
 and can thus see the practical principles (though they may 
 not be able to lay out their reasons logically)' (XI.). 
 
 But an objector may ask — Of what use are Philosophy 
 and Prudence ? He may take such grounds as these. (1) 
 Philosophy has no practical aim at aU ; nor does it consider 
 the means of happiness ? (2) Prudence, though bearing on 
 practice, is merely knowledge, and does not ensure right 
 action. (3) Even granting the knowledge to be of value as 
 direction, it might be obtained, like medical knowledge, from 
 a professional adviser. (4) If philosophy is better than 
 prudence, why does prudence control philosophy ? We have 
 to answer these doubts. The first is answered by asserting 
 the independent value of philosophy and prudence, as perfec- 
 tions of our nature, and as sources of happiness in themselves. 
 The second and third doubts are set at rest, by affirming 
 prudence to have no existence apart from virtue. Without a 
 virtuous aim, there is no such thing as Prudence : there is 
 nothing but cleverness degenerating into cunning ; while 
 virtue without virtuous prudence is nothing better than a mere 
 instinct, liable to be misguided in every way (XII.). 
 
 There is one more difficulty to be cleared up respecting 
 virtue. All our dispositions, and therefore all our ethical 
 excellences, come to us in a certain sense by nature ; that ifi, 
 we have from the moment of birth a certain aptitude for 
 becoming temperate, conrageous, just, &c. But these natural 
 aptitudes or possessions (jpuaiKoi e^ets) are something alto- 
 gether distinct from the ethical excellences proper, though 
 capable of being matured into them, if intellect and prudence 
 be superadded. Sokrates was mistaken in resolving all the 
 virtues into prudence ; but he was right in saying that ucote 
 
500 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE. 
 
 of them can exist without prudence. The virtues ought to 
 he defined as, not merely ethical dispositions aacording to right 
 reason, but ethical dispositions along wifh right reason or 
 prudence (i.e., prudence is an ever present co-efiBcient). It 
 is thus abundantlj evident that none but a prudent man can 
 be good, and none but a good man can be prudent. The 
 virtues are separable from each other, so far as the natural 
 aptitudes are concerned : a man may have greater facility for 
 acquiring one than another. But so far as regards the fini^ed 
 acquirements of excellence, in virtue of which a man is called 
 good — no such separation is possible. All of them alike need 
 the companionship of Prudence (XIIL). 
 
 Book Seventh, has two Parts. Part first discusses the 
 grades of amoral strength and moral weakness. Part second 
 is a short dissertation on Pleasure, superseded by the superior 
 handling of the subject in the Tenth Book, 
 
 With reference to moral power, in self-restraint, six 
 grades are specified. (1) God-like virtue, or reason impelling 
 as well as directing. (2) The highest human virtue, ex- 
 pressed by Temperance i^auKJjpoavvrf) — appetite and passion 
 perfectly harmonized with reason. (3) Continence {ir^Kpajeta) 
 or the mastery of reason, after a struggle. (4) Incontinence, 
 the mastery of appetite or passion, but not without a struggle. 
 (5) Vice, reason perverted so as to harmonize entirely with 
 appetite or passion. (6) Bestiality, naked appetite or passion, 
 without reason. Certain prevalent opinions are enumerated, 
 which are to form the subject of the discussions following — 
 (1) Continence and endurance are morally good, (2) The 
 Continent man sticks to his opinion. (3) The Incontinent 
 err knowingly. (4) Temperance and Continence are the 
 same. (5) Wise and clever men may be Incontinent. (6) 
 Incontinence applies to other things than Pleasure, as anger, 
 honour, and gain (I.). 
 
 The third point (the Incontinent sin knowingly) is first 
 mooted. Sokrates held the contrary; he made vice and 
 ignorance convertible. Others think that the knowledge 
 possessed by the incontinent is mere opinion, or a vague and 
 weak conviction. It is objected to No. 4, that continence 
 implies evil desires to be controlled; while temperance 
 means the character fully harmonized. As to No. 2, Con- 
 tinence must often be bad, if it consists in sticking to an 
 opinion (II.). 
 
 The third point, the only question of real interest or diffi- 
 culty, IS resumed at greater length. The distinction between 
 
MORAL STEENGTH AND MOEAL WEAKNESS. 501 
 
 Icnowledge and opinion (the higher and the lower kinds of 
 knowledge) does not settle the question, for opinion may be 
 as strong as knowledge. The real point is, what is meant by 
 homing Tmowledge ? A man's knowledge may be in abeyance, 
 as it is when he is asleep or intoxicated. Thus, we may have 
 in the mind two knowledges (like two separate syllogisms), 
 one leading to continence, the other to incontinence ; the first 
 is not drawn out, like the syllogism wanting a minor ; hence 
 it may be said to be not present to the mind ; so that, in a 
 certain sense, Sokrates was right in denying that actual and 
 present knowledge could be overborne. Vice is, a form of 
 oblivion (III.). 
 
 The next question is, what is the- object-matter of incon- 
 tinence; whether there is any man incontinent simply and 
 absolutely (without any specification of "wherein), or whether 
 all incontinent men are so in regard ta this or that particular 
 matter? (No. 6). The answer is, that it applies directly to 
 the bodily appetites and pleasures, which are necessary up to 
 a certain point (the sphere of Temperance), and then he that 
 commits unreasonable excess above this point is called Incon- 
 tinent simply. But if he commits excess in regard to plea- 
 sures, which, though not necessary, are natural and,, up to a 
 certain point, reasonable — such as victory, wealth, honour — 
 we designate him as incontinent, yet with a. specification of 
 the particular matter (rV.)i 
 
 The modes of Bestiality, as cannibalism and unnatural 
 passion, are ascribed to naorbid depravity of nature or of 
 habits,, analogous to disease or madness (Y.)- 
 
 Incontinence in anger is not so bad as Incontinence in 
 lust, because auger (1) has more semblance of reason, (2) is 
 more a m.atter of constitution, (S) has less of deliberate pur- 
 pose — while lust is crafty, (4) arises tuider pain, and not from 
 wantonness (VI.). 
 
 Persons below the average in resisting pleasures are in- 
 continent ; those below the average in resisting pains are soft 
 or effeminate. The mass of men incline to both weaknesses. 
 He that deliberately pursues excessive pleasures, or other 
 pleasures in an excessive way, is said to be abandoned. The in- 
 tem.perate are worse than the incontinent. Sport, in its excess, 
 is, effeminacy, as being relaxation from toil. There are two kinds 
 of incontinence : the one proceeding from precipitancy, where 
 a, man acts, without deliberating at all ; the other from feeble- 
 ness, — where he deliberates, but where the result of deliberation 
 is too weak to countervail his appetite (VIL). Intemperance or 
 
502 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AKISTOTLE. 
 
 profligacy is more vicious, and less curable than Incontinence. 
 The profligate man is one who has in him no principle (o/>xi7) 
 of good or of right reason, and who does wrong without after- 
 wards repenting of it; the incontinent man has the good 
 principle in him, but it is overcome when he does wrong, and 
 he afterwards repents (VIII.). Here, again, Aristotle denies 
 that sticking to one's opinions is, per se, continence. The 
 opinion may be wrong ; in that case, if a man sticks to it, 
 prompted by mere self-assertion and love of victory, it is a 
 species of incontinence. One of the virtues of the continent 
 man is to be open to persuasion, and to desert one's resolu- 
 tions for a noble end (IX.). Incontinence is like sleep or 
 .drunkenness as opposed to wakeful knowledge. The incon- 
 tinent man is like a state having good laws, but not acting on 
 them. The incontinence of passion is more curable than that 
 of weakness ; what proceeds from habit more than what is 
 natural (X.). 
 
 The Eighth and Ninth Books contain the treatise on 
 Friendship. 
 
 The subject deserves a place in an Ethical treatise, because 
 of its connexion with virtue and with happiness. Several 
 questions have been debated concerning Friendship, — Is 
 it based on likeness or unlikeness ? Can bad men be 
 friends ? Is there but one species of Friendship, or more 
 than one ? (I.) Some progress towards a solution of these 
 questions may be made by considering what are the objects of 
 liking ; these are the good, the pleasant, the useful. By the 
 good is not meant the absolute good of Plato, but the ap- 
 parent good. Inanimate things must be excluded, as wanting 
 reciprocation (II.). The vaiieties of friendship follow these 
 three modes of the likeable. The friendships for the useful 
 and the pleasant, are not disinterested, but self-seeking ; they 
 are therefore accidental and transitory ; they do not involve 
 intimate and frequent association. Friendship for the good, 
 and between the virtuous, is alone perfect ; it is formed slowly, 
 and has the requisites of permanence. It occurs rarely (III.). 
 As regards the useful and the pleasant, the bad may be friend^ 
 It may happen that two persons are mutually pleasant to each 
 other, as lover and beloved ; while this lasts, there is friend- 
 ship. It is only as respects the good, that there exists a per- 
 manent liking for the person. Such friendship is of an abso- 
 lute nature ; the others are accidental (IV.). Friendship is in 
 full exercise only during actual intercourse ; it may exist 
 potentially at a distance ; but in long absence, there is danger 
 
CONDITIONS OF FRIENDSHIP. 503 
 
 of its being dissolved. Friendship is a settled state or habit, 
 while fondness is a mere passion, which does not imply our 
 wishing to do good to the object of it, as friendship does (V.). 
 The perfect kind of friendship, from its intensity, cannot be 
 exercised towards more than a small number. In regard to 
 the useful and the pleasant, on the other hand, there may be 
 friendship with many ; as the friendship towards tradesmen 
 and between the young. The happy desire pleasant friends. 
 Men in power have two classes of friends ; one for the useful, 
 the other for the pleasant. Both qualities are found in the 
 good man ; but he wUl not be the friend of a superior, unless 
 he be surpassed (by that superior) in virtue also. In all the 
 kinds of friendship now specified there is equality (VI.). There 
 are friendships where one party is superior, as fether and son, 
 older and younger, husband and wife, governor and governed. 
 In such cases there should be a proportionably greater love 
 on the part of the inferior. When the love on each side is 
 proportioned to the merit of the party beloved, then we have 
 a certain species of equality, which is an ingredient in friend- 
 ship. But equality in matters of friendship, is not quite the 
 same as equality in matters 'of justice. In matters of 
 justice, equality proportioned to merit stands first — equality 
 between man and man (no account being taken of comparative 
 merit) stands only second. In friendship, the case is the re- 
 verse ; the perfection of friendship is equal love between the 
 friends towards each other ; to have greater love on one side, 
 by reason of .and proportioned to superior merit, is friendship 
 only of the second grade. This will be evident if we reflect 
 that extreme inequality renders friendship impossible — as be- 
 tween private men and kings or gods. Hence the friend can 
 scarcely wish for his friend the maximum of good, to become 
 a god ; such extreme elevation would terminate the friend- 
 ship. Nor will he wish his friend to possess all the good ; 
 for every one wishes most for good to self (VII.). The essence 
 of friendship is to love rather than to be loved, as seen in 
 m.others ; but the generality of persons desire rather to be 
 loved, which is akin to being honoured (although honour iB 
 partly sought as a sign of future favours). By means of love, 
 as already said, unequal friendships may be equalized. Friend- 
 ship with the good, is based on equality and similarity, neitBer 
 party ever desiring base services. Friendships for the useful 
 are based on the contrariety of fulness and defect, as poor and 
 rich, ignoraSt and knowing (VIII.). Friendship is an inci- 
 dent of political society ; men associating together for common 
 
504 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE. 
 
 ends, become friends. Political justice becomes more binding 
 ■when men are related by friendship. The state itself is a com- 
 mnnity for the sake of advantage ; the expedient to aU is the 
 just. In the large society of the state, there are many inferior 
 societies for business, and for pleasure : friendship starts up 
 in all (IX.). There are three forms of CivU Government, 
 with a characteristic declension or perversion of each:— 
 Monarchy passing into Despotism; Aristocracy into Oli- 
 garchy ; Timocracy (based on wealth) into Democracy ; parent 
 and child typifies the first ; husband and wife the second ; 
 brothers the third (X.). The monarchial or paternal type 
 has superiority on one side, and demands honour as well as 
 love on the other. In aristocracy, the relation is one of merit, 
 and the greater love is given to the better. In timocracy, and 
 among brothers, there is equality ; and hence the most fre- 
 quent friendships. There is no friendship towards a slave, as 
 a slave, for, as such he is a mere animate tool (XI.). In the 
 relations of the family, friendship varies with the different 
 situations. Parents love their children as a part of themselves, 
 andfrom the first; children grow to love their parents. Brothers 
 are affected by their community of origin, as well as by common 
 education and habits of intimacy. Husband and wife come 
 together by a natural bond, and as mutual helps ; their friend- 
 ship contains the useful and the pleasant, and, with virtue, the 
 good. Their offspring strengthens the bond (Xll.). The 
 friendships that give rise to complaints are confined to the 
 Useful. Such friendships involve a legal element of strict and 
 measured reciprocity [mere trade], and a moral or unwritten 
 understanding, which is properly friendship. Each party is 
 apt to give less and expect more than he gets ; and &e rale 
 must be for each to reciprocate liberally and folly, in such 
 manner and kiud as they are able (XIII.). In unequal friend- 
 ships, between a superior and inferior, the inferior has the 
 greater share of material assistance, the superior should re- 
 ceive the greater honour (XIV.). 
 
 Book Ninth proceeds without any real break. It may not 
 be always easy to fix the return to be made for services re- 
 ceived. Protagoras, the sophist, left it to his pupils to settle the 
 amount of fee that he should receive. When there is no agree- 
 ment, we must render what is in our power, for example, to the 
 gods and to our parents (I.). Cases may arise of eonfiicting 
 obligation ; as, shall we prefer a friend to a deserving man r 
 shall a person robbed reciprocate to robbers ? and others. [We 
 have here the germs of Casuistry.] (H) As to the termina* 
 
VARIETIES OF FRIENDSHIP. 605 
 
 tion of Friendship ; in the case of the usefal and the pleasant, 
 the connexion ceases with the motives. In the case of the good, 
 it may happen that one party counterfeits tlie good, but is really 
 acting the useful or the pleasant ; or one party may turn out 
 wicked, and the only question is, how far hopes of his improve- 
 ment shall be entertained. Again, one may continue the same, 
 while the other makes large advances in mental training; 
 how far shall present disparity operate against old associations ? 
 (III.). There is a sort of illustrative parallelism between the 
 feelings and acts of friendship, and the feelings and acts of 
 self-love, or of a good man to himself. The virtuous man 
 wishes what is good for himself, especially for his highest part 
 — the intellect or thinking part ; he desires to pass his life in 
 the company of his own thoughts ; he sympathizes with his 
 own sorrows. On the other hand, the bad choose the pleasant, 
 although it be hurtful ; they fly from themselves ; their own 
 thoughts are unpleasant companions ; they are fall of repent- 
 ance (IV.). Good- will is different from friendship; it is a 
 sudden impulse of feeHng towards some distinguished or like- 
 able quality, as in an antagonist. It has not the test of longing 
 in absence. It may be the prelude to friendship (V.). 
 Unanimity, or agreement of opinion, is a part of friendship. 
 Not as regards mere speculation, as about the heavenly bodies; 
 but in practical matters, where interests are at stake, such as 
 the politics of the day. This unanimity cannot occur in the 
 bad, from their selfish and grasping disposition (Vl.)r 
 
 The position is next examined — that the love felt by 
 benefactors is stronger than the love felt by those bene- 
 fitted. It is not a suflicient explanation to say, the bene- 
 factor is a creditor, who wishes the prosperity of his debtor. 
 Benefactors are like workmen, who love their own work, 
 and the exercise of their own powers. They also have the 
 feeling of nobleness on their side ; whUe the recipient has 
 the less lovable idea of profit. Knally, activity is more 
 akin to love than recipiency (VII.). Another question raised 
 for discussion is — ' Ought a man to love himself most, 
 or another ? ' On the one hand, selfishness is usually con- 
 demned as the feature of bad men ; on the other hand, the 
 feelings towards self are made the standard of the feelings 
 towards friends. The solution is given thus. There is a 
 lower self (predominant with most men) that gratifies the 
 appetites, seeking wealth, power, &c. . With the select few, 
 there is a higher self that seeks the honourable, the noble, in- 
 tellectual excellence, at any cost of pleasure, wealth, honour. 
 
506 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— AEISTOTIiE. 
 
 &c. These noble-minded men procnre for themselves the 
 greater good by sacrificing the less : and their self-sacrifice is 
 thus a mode of self. It is the duty of the good man to love 
 himself: for his noble life is profitable, both to himself, and 
 to others; bnt the bad man ought not to love himself. 
 [Self-sacrifice, formerly brought under Courage, is here 
 depicted fi:om another point of view] (VIII.). 
 
 By way of bringiug out the advantages of friendship, it is 
 next asked, Does the happy man need friends ? To this, it is 
 answered, (1) That happiness, being the sum of all human good, 
 must suppose the possession of the greatest of external goods, 
 which is friendship. (2) The happy man wiU require friends 
 as recipients of his overflow of kindness. (3) He cannot be 
 expected either to be solitary, or to live with strangers. (4) 
 The highest play of existence is to see the acts of another in 
 harmony with self. (5) Sympathy supports and prolongs the 
 glow of one's own emotions. (6) A friend confirms us in the 
 practice of virtue. (7) The sense of existence in ourselves is 
 enlarged by the consciousness of another's existence (IX.). 
 The number of friends is again considered, and the same 
 barriers stated — the impossibility of sharing among many the 
 highest kind of afiection, or of keeping up close and har- 
 monious intimacy. The most renowned friendships are be- 
 tween pairs (X.). As to whether friends are most needed in 
 adversity or in prosperity — in the one, friendship is more ne- 
 cessary, in the other more glorious (XI.). The essential 
 support and manifestation of friendship is Intercourse. What- 
 ever people's tastes are, they desire the society of others in 
 exercising them (XII.). 
 
 Book Tenth discusses Pleasure, and lays down as the 
 highest and perfect pleasure, the exercise of the Intellect in 
 Philosophy. 
 
 Pleasure is deserving of consideration, from its close inti- 
 macy with the constitution of our race ; on which account, in 
 our training of youth, we steer them by pleasure and pain ; 
 and it is of the first importance that they should feel pleasure 
 in what they ought, and displeasure in what they ought, as 
 the groundwork (or jprincipmm) of good ethical dispositions. 
 Such a topic can never be left unnoticed, especially when we 
 look at the great difiFerence of opinion thereupon. Some 
 afBrm pleasure to be the chief good [Eudoxus]. Others call it 
 altogether vile and worthless [party of Speusippus]. Of these 
 last, some perhaps really think so ; but the rest are actuated 
 by the necessity of checking men's-too great proneness to it, 
 
THEORIES OF PLEASUEE. 507 
 
 and disparage it on that account. This policy Aristotle 
 strongly censures, and contends for the superior efficacy of 
 truth (I.). 
 
 The arguments urged by Eudoxns as proving pleasure 
 to be the chief good, are, (1) That all beings seek pleasure ; 
 (2) and avoid its opposite, pain ; (3) that they seek pleasure 
 as an end-in-itself, and not as a means to any farther end ; 
 (4) that pleasure, added to any other good, such as jus- 
 tice or temperance, increases the amount of good ; which 
 could not be the case, unless pleasure were itself good. Yet 
 this last argument (Aristotle urges) proves pleasure to be a 
 good, but not to be iha Good ; indeed, Plato urged the same 
 argument, to show that pleasure could not be The Good : since 
 The Good (the Chief Good) must be something that does not 
 admit of being enhanced or made more good. The objection of 
 Speusippus, — that irrational creatures are not to be admitted 
 as witnesses, — Aristotle disallows, seeing that rational and 
 irrational agree on the pointy and the thing that seems to all, 
 must be true. Another objection. That the opposite of pain 
 is not pleasure, but a, neutral state — is set aside as contradicted 
 by the fact of human desire and aversion, the two opposite 
 states of feeling (IL). 
 
 The arguments of the Platonists, to prove that pleasure 
 is not good, are next examined. (1) Pleasure, they say, is 
 not a quality ; but neither (replies Aristotle) are the exercises 
 or actual manifestations of virtue or happiness. (2) Plea- 
 sure is not definite, bat unlimited, or admitting of degrees, 
 while The Good is a something definite, and does not admit 
 of degrees. But if these reasoners speak about .he pure plea- 
 sures, they might take objection on similar grounds against 
 virtue and justice also ; for these too admit of degi-ees, and 
 one man is more virtuous than another. And if they speak 
 of the mixed pleasures (alloyed with pain), their reasoning 
 will not apply to the unmixed. Good health is acknowledged 
 to be a good, and to be a definite something ; yet there are 
 nevertheless some men more healthy, some less. (3) The 
 Good is perfect or complete ; but objectors urge that no motion 
 or generation is complete, and pleasure is in one of these two 
 categories. This last assertion Aristotle denies. Pleasure is 
 not a motion ; for the attribute of velocity, greater or less, 
 which is essential to all motion, does not attach to pleasure. 
 A man may be quick in becoming pleased, or in becoming 
 angry ; but in the act of being pleased or angry, he can neither 
 be quick nor slow. Nor is it true that pleasure is a genera- 
 
508 ETHICAL SYSTKMS— rAKISTOTLE, 
 
 tion. In all generation, there is something assignable ont of 
 which generation takes place (not any one thing out of any- 
 other), and into which it reverts by destruction. If pleasure 
 be a generation, pain must be the destruction of what is 
 generated ; but this is not correct, for pain does not re-establish 
 the state antecedent to the pleasure. Accordingly, it is not 
 true that pleasure is a generation. Some talk of pain as a 
 want of something required by nature, and of pleasure as a 
 filling up of that want. But these are corpore^, not mental 
 facts, and are applicable only to eating and drinkiiig;^ not 
 applicable to many other pleasures, such as those of sight, 
 hearing, or learning. (4) There are some disgraceful plea- 
 sures. Aristotle replies that these are not absolutely and pro- 
 perly pleasures, but only to the depraved man ; just as things 
 are not yellow, which appear so to men in a jaundice. Pleasures 
 differ from each other in species : there are good pleasures, 
 i.e., those arising from good sources; and bad pleasures, 
 i.e., from bad sources. The pleasure per se is always desir- 
 able ; but not when it comes from objectionable acts. The 
 pleasures of each man will vary according to his character ; 
 none but a musical man can enjoy the pleasures of music. 
 No one would consent to remain a child for life, even though 
 he were to have his fill of childish pleasure. 
 
 Aristotle sums up the result thus. Pleasure is not The 
 Good. Not every mode of pleasure is to be chosen. Some 
 pleasures, distinguished from the rest specifically or according 
 to their sources, are to be chosen ^er se (III.). 
 
 He then attempts to define pleasure. It is som.ething per- 
 fect and complete in itself, at each successive moment of time ; 
 hence it is not motion, which is at every moment incomplete. 
 Pleasure is like the act of vision, or a point, or a monad, 
 always complete in itself. It accompanies every variety of 
 sensible perception, intelligence, and theorizing contemplation. 
 In each of these faculties, the act is more perfect, according 
 as the subjective element is most perfect, and the object most 
 grand and dignified. When the act is most perfect, the plea- 
 sure accompanying it is also the most perfect; and this plea- 
 sure puts the finishing consummation to the act. The pleasure 
 is not a pre-existing acquirement now brought into exercise, 
 but an accessory end implicated with the act, like the fresh 
 look which belongs to the organism just matured. It is a sure 
 adjunct, so long as subject and object are in good condition. 
 But continuity of pleasure, as well as of the other exercises, 
 is impossible. Life is itself an exercise much diversified, and 
 
PLEASURES OF THE INTELLECT THE REAL PLEASURES. 509 
 
 each man follows the diversity that is suitable to his own 
 inclination — music, study, &o. Bach has its accessary and 
 consummating mode of pleasure ; and to say that all men 
 desire pleasure, is the same as saying that all men desire life. 
 It is no real question to ask — Do we choose life for the sake 
 of pleasure, or pleasure for the sake of life ? The truth is, 
 that the two are implicated and inseparable (IV.). 
 
 As our acts or exercises differ from each other specifically, 
 so also the pleasures that are accessory to them differ speci- 
 fically. Exercises intellectual differ from exercises perceptive, 
 and under each head there are varieties differing from each 
 other. The ple?aures accessory and consummating to each, 
 are diversified accordingly. Each pleasure conteibutes to 
 invigorate and intensify the particular exercise that it is at- 
 tached to ; the geometer who studies his science with pleasure 
 becomes more acute and successful in prosecuting it. On the 
 other hand, the pleasures attached to one exercise impede the 
 mind in regard to other exercises ; thus men fond of the flute 
 cannot listen to a speaker with attention, if any one is playing 
 the flute near them. What we delight in doing, we are more 
 likely to do well ; what we feel pain in doing, we are not 
 likely to do well. And thus each variety of exercise is alike 
 impeded by the pains a,ttached to itself, and by the pleasures 
 attached to other varieties. 
 
 Among these exercises or acts, some are morally good, 
 others morally bad ; the desires of the good are also praise- 
 worthy, the desires of the bad are blameable ; but if so, much 
 more are the pleasures attached to the good exercises, good 
 pleasures — and the pleasures attached to the bad exercises, 
 bad pleasures. For the pleasures attached to an exercise are 
 more intimately identified with that exercise than the desire 
 of it can be. The pleasure of the exercise, and the exercise 
 itself, are indeed so closely identified one with the other, that to 
 many they appear the same. Sight, hearing, and smell, differ 
 in purity from touch and taste ; and the pleasures attached to 
 each differ in like manner. The pleasures of intellect differ 
 from those of sense, as these two exercises differ from one 
 another. Every animal has its own peculiar pleasures, as it 
 has also its own peculiar manifestation and exercises. Among 
 the human race, the same things give pleasure to one iadi- 
 Tidnal and pain to another. The things that appear sweet 
 to the strong and healthy man, do not appear sweet to one 
 sa£Eering from fever, or weakly. Now, amidst this discrep- 
 ant, what appears to the virtuous and intelligent man, really 
 
SIO ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE. 
 
 is. His pleasures are the tme and real pleasures. Excellence, 
 and the good man qudtemis good, are to be taken as the 
 standard. If what he abhors appears pleasurable to some 
 persons, we must not be surprised, since there are many de- 
 pravations of individuals, in one way or another ; but these 
 things are not pleasures really, they are only pleasures to 
 these depraved mortals (V.). 
 
 So far the theory of Pleasure. Aristotle now goes back 
 to his starting point — the nature of the Good, and Happiness. 
 He re-states his positions : That Happiness is an exercise or 
 actuality {evepr/em), and not an acquirement or state (ef") ; 
 That it belongs to such exercises as are worthy of choice 
 for their own sake, and not to such as are worthy of choice 
 for the sake of something else ; That it is perfect and self- 
 sufficing, seeking nothing beyond itself, and leaving no 
 wants unsupplied. Hence he had concluded that it consisted 
 in acting according to virtue ; for the honourable and good 
 are chosen for their own sake. But amusements are also 
 sought for their own sake ; Are these also to be called happi- 
 ness ? No. It is true that they are much pursued by 
 those whom the vulgar envy — men of wealth and despots — 
 who patronize and reward the practitioners of amusement. 
 But this proves nothing, for we cannot adopt the choice cf 
 these despots, who have little virtue or intellect, and have 
 never known the taste of refined and liberal pleasure. Child- 
 ren and mature men, bad men and virtuous, have each their 
 different pleasures ; the virtuous and intelligent man finds a life 
 of excellence and the pleasures attached thereunto most worthy 
 of his choice, and such a man (Aristotle has declared more 
 than once) is our standard. It would indeed be childish to 
 treat amusements as the main end of life ; they are the relax- 
 ation of the virtuous man, who derives from them fresh vigour 
 for the prosecution of the serious business of life, which he 
 cannot prosecute continuously. The. serious exercises of life 
 are better than the conaic, because they proceed from the 
 better part of man. The slave may enjoy bodily pleasures to 
 the full, but a slave is not called happy (VX). 
 
 We have thus shown that Happiness consists in exercise 
 or actual living according to excellence ; naturally, therefore, 
 according to the highest excellence, or the excellence of the 
 best part of man. This best part is the Intellect (NoS«), our 
 most divine and commanding element ; in its exercise, which 
 is theoretical or speculative, having respect to matters honour- 
 able, divine, and most worthy of study. Such philosophioil 
 
THE LIFE OF PHILOSOPHY. 611 
 
 exercise, besides being the' highest function of our nature, is 
 at the same time more susceptible than any mode of active 
 effort, of being prosecuted for a long continuance. It affords 
 the purest and most lasting pleasure ; it approaches most nearly 
 to being self-sufficing, since it postulates little more than the 
 necessaries of life, and is even independent of society, though 
 better with society. Perfect happiness would thus be the 
 exercise of the theorizing intellect, continued through a full 
 period of life. But this is more than we can expect. Still, 
 we ought to make every effort to live according to this best 
 element of our nature ; for, though small in bulk, it stands 
 exalted above the rest in power and dignity, and, being the 
 sovereign element in man, is really The Man himself (VII.). 
 
 Next, yet only second, come the other branches of excel- 
 lence : the active social life of a good citizen. Exercises accord- 
 ing to this branch of virtue are the natural business of man, for 
 it is bound up with our whole nature, including body as well as 
 mind, our appetites, and our passions, whereas the happiness 
 of intellect is separate. Active social virtue postulates con- 
 ditions of society and external aids in considerable measure ; 
 but the life of intellect requires only the minimum of these, 
 and is even impeded by much of them. 
 
 That perfect happiness is to be found in the philosophical 
 life only, will appear farther when we recollect that the gods 
 are blest and happy in the highest degree, and that this is 
 the only mode of life suitable to them. With the gods there 
 can be no scope for active social virtues ; for in what way can 
 they be just, courageous, or temperate ? Neither virtuous 
 practice nor constructive art can be predicated of the gods ; 
 what then remains, since we all assume them to live, and 
 therefore to be in act or exercise of some kind ; for no one 
 believes them to live in a state of sleep, like Endymion. 
 There remains nothing except philosophical contemplation. 
 This, then, must be the life of the gods, tte most blest of all ; 
 and that mode of human life which approaches nearest to it 
 will be the happiest. No other animal can take part in this, 
 and therefore none can be happy. In so far as the gods pay 
 attention to human affairs, they are likely to take pleasure 
 in the philosopher, who is most aUied to themselves. A 
 moderate supply of good health, food, and social position, 
 must undoubtedly be ensured to the philosopher ; for, without 
 these, human nature wUl not suffice for the business of con- 
 templation. But he will demand nothing more than a moderate 
 supply, and when thus equipped, he will approach nearer to 
 
512 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE. 
 
 happiness than any one else. Aristotle declares this confi- 
 dently, citing Solon, Anaxagoras, and other sages, as having 
 said much the same before him (VITL). , 
 
 In the concluding chapter, Aristotle gives the ia:ansition 
 from Ethics to Politics. Treatises on virtne may inspire a few- 
 liberal minds ; but, for the mass of men, laws, institutions, 
 and education are necessary. The young ought to be trained, 
 not merely by paternal guidance directing in the earliest 
 years their love and hatred, but also by a scheme of public 
 education, prescribed and enforced by authority throughout 
 the city. Right conduct will thus be rendered easier by 
 habit ; but still, throughout life, the mature citizen must con- 
 tinue under the discipline of law, which has force adequate to 
 correction, and, being impersonal, does not excite aversion and 
 hatred. Hence the need for a system of good public training. 
 Nowhere is this now established and enforced ; hardly any- 
 where, except in Sparta, is it even attempted. Amid such 
 public neglect, it becomes the duty of an individual to con- 
 tribute what he can to the improvement of those that he is 
 concerned in, and for that purpose to acquire the capacities 
 qualifying him for becoming a lawgiver. Private admonition 
 wUl compensate to a certain extent for the neglect of public 
 interference, and in particular cases may be even more dis- 
 criminating. But how are such capacities to be acquired? 
 Not from the Sophists, whose method is too empirical ; nor 
 from practical politicians, for they seem to have no power of 
 imparting their skill. Perhaps it would be useful to make a 
 collection of existing laws and constitutions. Aristotle con- 
 cludes with sketching the plan of his own work on Politics. 
 
 The Aristotelian doctrines are generally summed up in 
 such points as these : — The theory of Good; Pleasure; the 
 theory of Virtue; the doctrine of the WUl, distinguishing 
 voluntary from involuntary; Virtue a Habit; the doctrine 
 of the Mean ; the distinction between the Moral Virtues and 
 the Intellectual Virtues ; Justice, distributive and commuta- 
 tive ; Friendship ; the Contemplative Life. 
 
 The following are the indications of his views, according 
 to the six leading subjects of Ethics. 
 
 I. and n. — It is characteristic of Aristotle (as is folly 
 stated in Appendix B.) to make the judgment of the wisest 
 and most cultivated minds, the standard of appeal in moral 
 questions. He lays down certain general principles, such as 
 the doctrine of the Mean, but in the application of these 
 
THE STOICAL SUCCESSION. 513 
 
 (which is everything)^ he trnsts to the most experienced and 
 skilled advisers that the community can ftimish. 
 
 _ III. — On the theory of Happiness, or the Snmmum Bonum-, 
 it is needless to repeat the abstract of the tenth book. 
 
 IV. — ^In laying down the Moral Code, he was encnmhered 
 with the too wide view of Virtue ; but made an advance ia 
 distinguishing virtue proper from excellence in general. 
 
 V. — He made Society tutelary to the individual in an 
 excessive degree. He had no clear conception of the province 
 of authority or law ; and did not separate the moraUfry of 
 obligation from the morality of reward and nobleness. 
 
 VI. — His exolusion of Theology from morality was total, 
 
 THE STOICS. 
 
 The Stoics were one of the four sects of philosophy, recog- 
 nized and conspicuous at Athens during the three centuries 
 preceding the Christian era, and during the century or more 
 following. Among these four sects, the most marked anti- 
 thesis of ethical dogma was between the Stoics and the Epi- 
 cureans. The Stoical system dates from about 300 B.C. ; it 
 was derived from the system of the Cynics. 
 
 The founder of the system was Zeno, from Citium in 
 
 Cyprus (he lived from 340 — 260 B.C.), who derived his first 
 
 impulse from Krates the Cynic. He opened his school in a 
 
 building or porch, called the Stoa Pcsoih (" Painted Portico ') 
 
 at Athens, whence the origin of the name of the sect. Zeno 
 
 had for his disciple Cleanthes, from Assos in the Troad (300 
 
 — 220 B.C.), whose Hymn to Jwpiter is the only fragment oi 
 
 any length that has come down to us from the early StoicSj 
 
 and is a remarkable production, setting forth the unity of God, 
 
 his omnipotence, and his moral government. Chetsippus, 
 
 from Soli in Cilicia (290 — 207 b.c), foUbwed Cleanthes, and, 
 
 in his voluminous writings, both defended and modified the 
 
 Stoical creed. These three represent the first period of the 
 
 system. The second period (200 — 50 b.c.) embraces its 
 
 general promulgation, and its introduction to the Romans. 
 
 Chrysippus was succeeded by Zeno of Sidon, and Diogenes 
 
 of Babylon ; then followed Antipatee of Tarsus, who taught 
 
 PAN.aiTiiTs of Rhodes (d. 112 b.c), who, again^ taught Posidonius 
 
 of Apamea, in Syria. (Two philosophers are mentioned 
 
 from the native province of St. Paul, besides Chrysippus 
 
 — ^Athenodoeus, from Cana in Cilicia ; and Aechedemus, 
 
 from Tarsus, the apostle's birthplace. It is remarked by Sir 
 
 A. Grant, that almost aU the first Stoics were of Asiatic birth ; 
 
 33 
 
514 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS. _ 
 
 and the system itsetf ia madeniably more akin to the oriental 
 mind than to the Greek.) Posidonins was acquainted with 
 Marins and Pompey, and gave lessons to Cicero, but the moral 
 treatise of Cicero, DeOfidis, is derived from a work of Panaetins. 
 The third period of Stoicism is Roman. In this period, we have 
 Cato the Younger, who invited to his house ttie philosopher 
 Athenodoms ; and, under .the Empire, the three Stoic philo- 
 sophers, whose writings have-come down to us — Seneca {6 B.C. 
 —65 A-o.), Epictetos i(60 — 140 a.d.), who began life as a 
 slave, and the Emperor Mabcus Adeelius Antoninus (121 — 
 180 A.D,). Stoicism prevailed widely in the Romaa world, 
 although not to the esclusion of Epicurean views. 
 
 The leading Stoical doctrines are given in certain phrases 
 or expressions, as ■" Life •aceordtng to Natnre ' (although this 
 phrase belongs also to the S^icureans), the ideal ' Wise Man,' 
 'Apathy,' -or equanimity of miad (also an Epicurean ideal), 
 the power of the ' Will,' the worship of * Duty,' the constant 
 ' Advance ' ia virtue, &c. But perspicuity will be best gained 
 by considering the Moral, system iDider four heads — the Theo- 
 logy-, the Psychology or theory of mind; the theory of the 
 Good or human happiness ; and the scheme of Virtue or Duty. 
 
 L — The Theological doctrines of the Stoics comprehended 
 their system of the Universe, and of man's position in it. They 
 held tliat the Universe is governed by one good and wise God, 
 together with inferior or subordinate deities. God exercises 
 a moral government ; under it the good *re happy, while mis- 
 fortunes haj^en to the wicked. According to Epictetus, God 
 is the father of men.; Antoninus exults in the beautiM arrange- 
 ment of all things. The earlier Stoics, Zeno and Chrysippus, 
 entertained high reverence for the divination, prophecy, and 
 omens that were generally current in the ancient world. 
 They considered that these were the methods whereby the 
 gods were graciously pleased to make known beforehand 
 revelations of their foreordained purposes. (Herein lay one 
 among the marked points of contrast between Stoics and 
 Epicureans.) They held this foreordination even to the length 
 of fatalism, and made ihe same replies, as have been given in 
 modem times, to the difficulty of reconciling it with the exis- 
 tence of evil, and with the apparent condition of the better and 
 the worse individuals among mankind. They offered explana- 
 tions such as the following : (1) God is the author of all things 
 except wickedness; (2) the very nature of good supposes its con- 
 trast evil, and the two are inseparable, like light and dark, 
 (which may be called the argument from Relativity) ; (3) in the 
 
STOICAL THEOLOGY. 515 
 
 enormous extent of the Universe, some things must be 
 neglected ; (4) when evil happens to the good, it is not as a 
 punishment, but as connected with a different dispensation ; 
 
 (5) parts of the world may be presided over by evU demons ; 
 
 (6) what we call evil may not be evil. 
 
 Like most other ancient schools, the Stoics held God to be 
 corporeal like man: — Body is the only substance; nothing 
 incorporeal could act on what is corporeal ; the Krst Cause 
 of all, God or Zeus, is the primeval fire, emanating from which 
 is the soul of man in the form of a warm ether. 
 
 It is for human beings to recognize the Universe as go- 
 verned by universal Law, and not only to raise their minds 
 to the comprehension of it, but to enter into the views of the 
 administering Zeus or Fate, who must regard all interests 
 equally ; we are to be, as it were, in harmony with him, to 
 merge self in universal Order, to think only of that and its 
 welfare. As two is gi«ater than one, the interests of the 
 whole world are infinitely greater than the interests of any 
 single being, and no one should be satisfied with a regard to 
 anything less than the whole. By this elevation of view, we 
 are necessarily raised far above the consideration of the petty 
 events befalling ourselves. The grand effort of human reason 
 is thus to rise to the abstraction or totality of entire Nature ; 
 ' no ethical subject,' says Chrysippus, ' could be rightly ap- 
 proached except from the pre-consideration of entire Nature, 
 and the ordering of the whole.' 
 
 As to Immortality, the Stoics precluded themselves, by hold- 
 ing the theory of the absorption of the individual soul at death 
 into the divine essence ; but, on the other hand, their doctrine 
 of advance and aspiration is what has in all times been the main 
 natural argument for the immortality of the soul. For the 
 most part, they kept themselves undecided as to this doctrine, 
 giving it as an alternative, reasoning as to our conduct on 
 either supposition, and submitting to the pleasure of God in 
 this as in all other things. 
 
 In arguing for the existence of Divine power and govern- 
 ment, they employed what has been called the argument from 
 Design, which is as old as Sokrates. Man is conscious that 
 he is in himself an inteUectnal or spiritual power, from which, 
 by analogy, he is led to believe that a greater power pervades 
 the universe, as intellect pervades the human system. 
 
 n. — In the PsYCHOLOGT of the Stoics, two questions are of 
 interest, their theory of Pleasure and Pain, and their views 
 upon the Freedom of the Will. 
 
516 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS. 
 
 1. The theory of Pleasure amd Pam. The Stoics agreed 
 with the Peripatetics (anterior to Epicnrus, not specially 
 against him) that the first principle of nature is (not pleasmre 
 or relief from pain, bnt) sdf-preservaMon or selj-love; in other 
 words, the natural appetite or tendency of aU creatures m, to 
 preserve their existing condition with its inherent capacities, 
 and to keep clear of destruction or disablement. This appetite 
 (they said) manifests, itself in little children before any plea- 
 sure or pain is felt, and is moreover a fundamental postu- 
 late, pre-supposed in aU desires of particular pleasures, as well 
 as in all aversions to particxilar pains. We begin by loving 
 our own vitality; and we come, by association^ to love 
 what promotes or strengthens our vitolity; we hate destrnotion 
 or disablement, and come (by secondary association) to hate 
 whatever produces that effect.* 
 
 The doctrine here laid down associated, and brought under 
 one view, what was common to man, not merely with the 
 animal, but also with the vegetable world ; a plant was de- 
 clared to have an impulse or tendency to maintain itself, 
 even without feeling pain or pleasure. Aristotle (in the tenth 
 Book of the Ethics) says, that he will not determine whether 
 we love life for the sake of pleasure, or pleasure for the 
 sake of life^ for he affirms the two to be essentially yoked 
 together and insepacable ; pleasure is the consummation of 
 our vital manifesteitions. The Peripatetics, after him, put 
 pleasure down to a lower level, as derivative and accidental ; 
 the Stoics went farther in the same direction — possibly from 
 antithesis against the growing school of Epicnrus. 
 
 The primary officmm. (in a larger sense than our word- 
 Duty) of man is (they said) to keep himself in the state of 
 nature ; the second or derivative offimim, is to keep to such 
 things as are according to natv/re, and to avert those that are 
 contrary to natwre; our gradually increasing experience enabled 
 us to discriminate the two. The youth learns, as he grows 
 up, to value bodily accomplishments, mental cognitions and 
 judgments, good conduct towards thosearound him, — as power- 
 ful aids towards keeping up the state of nature. When his 
 experience is so far enlarged as to make Viim aware of the 
 order and harmony . of nature and human society, and to 
 impress upon Vh'tti the' comprehension of this great ideal, his 
 emotions as well as his reason become absorbed by it. He 
 
 • There is some analogy between the above doctrine and the great 
 law of Self-conservation, as expounded in this volume (p. 75). 
 
STOICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 517 
 
 recognizes this as the only true Bonxun or Honestnm, to which 
 all other desirable things are referable, — as the only thing 
 desirable for itself and in its own nature. He drops or dis- 
 misses all those ^rima naiurce that he had begun by desiring. 
 He no longer considers any of them as worthy of being desired 
 iu itself, or for its own sake. 
 
 While therefore (according to Peripatetics as well as 
 Stoics) the love of self and of preserving one's own vitality 
 aad activity, is the primary element, intuitive and connate, 
 to which all rational preference (offiditm) was at first referred, 
 — they thought it not the less true, that in process of time, by 
 eirperience, association, and reflection, there grows up in the 
 mind agrand acquired sentiment or notion, a new and later 
 light, which extinguishes and puts out of sight the early 
 beginning. It was important to distinguish the feeble and 
 obscure elements from the powerful and brilliant aftergrowth ; 
 which indeed was fully realized only in chosen minds, and in 
 them, hardly before old age. This idea, when once formed in 
 the mind, was 2%e Good — the only thing worthy of desire for 
 its own sake. The Stoics called it the only Good, being suffi- 
 cient in itself for happiness ; other things being not good, nor 
 necessary to happiness, but simply preferable or advantageous 
 when they could be had : the Peripatetics recognized it as the 
 first and greatest good, but said also that it was not sufficient 
 in itself; there were two other inferior varieties of good, of 
 which something must be had as complementary (what the 
 Stoics called prc^osita or sv/meiida). Thus the Stoics said, 
 about the origin of the Idea of Bonum or Honestum, much 
 the same as what Aristotle says about ethical virtue. It is not 
 implanted in us by nature ; but we have at birth certain initial 
 tendencies and capacities, which, if aided by association and 
 training, enable us (and that not in all cases) to acquire it. 
 
 2. The Freedom of the Will. A distinction was taken by 
 Epictetus and other Stoics between things in our power and 
 things not in our power. The things in our power are oiii 
 opinions and notions about' objects, and all our affections, de- 
 sires, and aversions ; the things not in our power are our 
 bodies, wealth, honour, rank, authority, &c., and their oppo- 
 sites. The practical application is this : wealth and high rank 
 may not be in our power, but we have the power to form an 
 idea of these — namely, that they are unimportant, whence 
 the want of them will not grieve us. A still more pointed 
 application is to death, whose force is entirely in the idea. 
 
 With this distinction between things in our power and 
 
518 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS. 
 
 things not in oar power, we may connect the arguments 
 between the Stoics and their opponents as to what is 
 now called the Freedom of the Will Bnt we must first 
 begin by distinguishing the two questions. By things in 
 our power, the Stoics meant, things that we could do or 
 acquire, if we imUed: by things not in our power, they 
 meant, things that we could not do or acquire if we 
 wilLed. In both cases, the volition was assumed as a feet: 
 the question, what determined it — or whether it was non- 
 determined, i.e. self-determiniag — ^was not raised in the above- 
 mentioned antithesis. Bnt it was raised in other discussions 
 between the Stoic theorist Ohrysippns, and various opponents. 
 These opponents denied that volition was determined by 
 motives, and cited the cases of equal conflicting motives 
 (what is known as the ass of Buridan) as proving that the 
 sonl inclndes in itself, and exerts, a special supervenient 
 power of deciding action in one way or the other : a power 
 not determined by any causal antecedent, bnt self-originating, 
 and belonging to the class of agency that Aristotle recog- 
 nizes under tibe denomination of automatic, spontaneous (or 
 essentially irregular and unpredictable). Chrysippus replied 
 by denying not only the reality of this supervenient force said 
 to be inherent in the soid, but also the reality of all that 
 Aristotle called antomatic or spontaneous agency generally. 
 Chrysippus said that every movement was determined by 
 antecedent motives ; that in cases of equal confliet, the 
 exact equality did not long contume, because some new bnt 
 slight motive slipped in unperceived and tamed the scale on 
 one side or the other. (See Plutarch De Stoicorum Repug- 
 nantiis, c. 23, p. 1045.) Here, we see, the question now 
 known as the Freedom of the Will is discussed : and 
 Chrysippus declares against it, affirming that volition is 
 always determined by motives. 
 
 But we also see that, while declaring this opinion, 
 Chrysippus does not employ the terms Necessity or Freedom 
 of the Will : neither did his opponents, so far as we can see : 
 they had a dififerent and less misleading phrase. By Freedom, 
 Chrysippus and the Stoics meant the freedom of doing what 
 a man willed, if he willed it. A man is free, as to the 
 thing that is in his power, when he wiUs it: he is not 
 free, as to what is not in his power, under the same sup- 
 position. _ The Stoics laid great stress on this distinction. 
 They pointed out how much it is really in a man's power 
 to transform or discipline his own mind: in. the way of 
 
FREEDOM OF THE WILL. 519 
 
 controlling or siippiressiag- som© emotionsi generating or en- 
 couraging others, forming new intellectaal associations, &c., 
 how much a man could do. in these ways, if he willed it, and 
 if he went through- the lessons, habits of conduct, meditations, 
 suitable to produce such an effect. The Stoics strove to 
 create in a man's mind the volitions appropriate for such 
 mental discipline, by depicting the beneficial consequences 
 resulting from it, and the- misfortune- and ahame- inevitable, if 
 the mind were not so disciplined Their purpose was to 
 strengthen the governing reason of his mind, and to enthrone 
 it as a fixed habit and character, which would control by 
 counter suggestions the impulse arising at each special moment 
 — particularly all disturbing terrors or allurements. This, in 
 their view, is a free mind; not one wherein volition is 
 independent of all motive, but one- wherein the susceptibility 
 to different motives is tempered by an ascendant reason, so 
 as to give predominance to the better motive against the 
 worse. One of the strongest motives that they endeavoured 
 to enforce, was the prudence and dignity of bringing our 
 volitions into harmony with the- schemes, of Providence r 
 •which (they said) were always arranged with a -view to the 
 happiness of the kosmos on the whole. The bad man, -whose 
 volitions conflict with these schemes, is always baulked of 
 his expectations, and brought at last against his will to see 
 things carried by an overruling force, with aggravated pain 
 and humiliation to himself: while the good man, who re- 
 signs himself to them from the first, always escapes with 
 less pain, and often without any at all. Ducunt volentem 
 fata, nolentem trahunt. 
 
 We have thus seen that in regard to the doctrine called in 
 modem times the Freedom of the WUl (i.e., that volitions are 
 self-originating and unpredictable), the Stoic theorists not only 
 denied it, but framed all their Ethics upon the assumption of 
 the contrary. This same assumption of the contrary, indeed, 
 was made also by Sokrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Epicurus : in 
 short, by all the ethical teachers of antiquity. All of them 
 believed that volitions depended on causes : that under the 
 ordinary conditions of m.en's minds, the causes that voli- 
 tions generally depended upon are often misleading and some- 
 times ruinous : but that by proper stimulation from without 
 and meditation within, the rational causes of volition might 
 be made to overrule the impulsive. Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, 
 not less than the Stoics, wished to create new fixed habits 
 and a new type of character. They differed, indeed, on the 
 
520 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS. 
 
 qoestion what -the proper ^?ype of character was : bat each of 
 them aimed at the same general end — a new type of character, 
 tegnlating the grades (rf susceptibility to deferent motives. 
 And the purpose of all and each of these moralists precludes 
 the theory of Aee-will — i.e., the theory that our volitions are 
 Belf-originating and nnpredictable. 
 
 in. — We must consider next the Stoical theoiy of Happi- 
 ness, or rather of the Good, which with them was proclaimed 
 to be the sole, indispensable, and self-sufficing condition of 
 Hapipiness. They declared tha^t Pleasure was no part of Good, 
 and Pain no part of Evil ; therefore, that even reUef from pain 
 was not meeessaity to Good or Happiness. This, however, if 
 followed out consistently, wotdd dispense with all morality and 
 all hnman endeavour. Accordingly, the Stoics were obliged 
 to let in some pleasures as an object of pursuit, and some 
 pains as an object of avoidance, though not under the title of 
 Good and Evil, but with the inferior name of Sumenda and 
 B^idenda.* Substantially, ttierefore, they held that pains 
 are an evil, bat, by a proper discipline, may be triumphed 
 over. They disallowed the direct and ostensible pursuit of 
 pleasure as an end (the point of view of Epicurus), but allured 
 their fbllowers partly by promising them the victory over pain, 
 and partly by eerfadn enjoyments of an elevated cast that grew 
 out of their plan of life. 
 
 Pain of every kiad, whether from the casualties of exis- 
 tence, or from the severity of the Stoical virtaes, wa.s to be 
 met by a discipline of endurance, a hardening process, which, 
 if persisted in, would succeed in reducing the mind to a state 
 of Apathy or indifference. A great many reflections wer6 
 suggested in aid of this education. The influence of exercise 
 and repetition in adapting the system to any new fonction, 
 was Ulastrated by the Olympian combatants, and by the Lace- 
 dsBmonian youth, who endured scourging without complaint. 
 Great stress was laid on the instability of pleasure, and the 
 constant liability to accidents ; whence we should always be 
 anticipating and adapting ourselves to the worst that could 
 happen, so as never to be in a state where anything «ould 
 ruffl© the miad. It was pointed out how much might BtUl be 
 
 * Aristotle atid the Peripatetics held that there were tria genera bon- 
 orum : (1) Those of the mind fmens smaj, (2) those of the hody, and (3) 
 ext^al advantages. The Stoics altered fhis theory by saying that only 
 the first of lie three ■was iontm ; the others -were merely onEowrta or 
 summda. The opponents of the Stoics contended that this was am altera- 
 tion in words rather than in substance. 
 
THE STOICAL DISCIPLINE. 521 
 
 made of the worst circumstances — ^poverty, banishment, public 
 odium, sickness, old age — and every consideration was ad- 
 vanced that could 'arm the obdurate breast with stubborn 
 patieacq, as with triple steel.' It bas often been remarked 
 that such a discipline of endurance was peculiarly suited to 
 the unsettled condiition of the world at the time, when any 
 man, in addition to the ordinary evils of Mfe, might in a 
 moment be sent into exile, or sold into slavery. 
 
 Next to the -discipline of endurance, we must rank the 
 complacent sentiment of Pride, which the Stoic might justly 
 feel in his conquest of himself, and in his lofty independence 
 and superiority to the casualties of life.* The pride of the 
 Cynic, the Stoic's predecessor, was prominent and offensive, 
 showing itself in scurrility and contempt towards everybody 
 else ; the Stoical pride was a refinement upon this, but was 
 still a grateful sentiment of superiority, which helped to make 
 up for the surrender of indulgences. It was usual to bestow 
 the most extravagant laudation on the ' Wise Man,' and every 
 Stoic could take this home to the extent that he considered 
 himself as approaching that great ideal. 
 
 The last and most elevated form of Stoical happiness was 
 the satisfaction of contemplating the Universe and God. 
 Epictetus says, that we can accommodate ourselves cheerfully 
 to the providence that rules the world, if we possess two 
 things — the power of seeing all that happens in the proper 
 relation to its own purpose — and a grateful disposition. 
 The work of Antoninus is fall of studies of Nature in the 
 devout spirit of ' passing from Nature up to Nature's God ;' 
 he is never weary of expressing his thorough contentment 
 with the course of natural events, and his sense of the beauties 
 and fitness of everything. Old age has its grace, and death 
 is the becoming termination. This high strain of exulting 
 contemplation reconciled him to that complete submission to 
 whatever might befall, which was the essential feature of the 
 ' Life according to Nature,' as he conceived it, 
 
 rV, — The Stoical theory of Virtue is implicated in the 
 ideas of .the Good, now described. 
 
 The fountain of all virtue is manifestly the life according 
 to nature ; as being the life of subordination of self to more 
 general interests — to family, country, mankind, the whole 
 
 • This also might tmly be said oi the Epicureans ; though with them 
 it is not so much pride, as a quiet self-satis&ction in escaping pains and 
 disappointments that th^ saw others enduring. See the beginning of 
 Lucretius' second book, and the last epistle of Epiouros to Idomeneua. 
 
522 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS. 
 
 ■universe. If a man is prepared to consider himself absolutely 
 nothing in comparison with the universal interest, and to 
 regard it as the sole end of Ufe, he has embraced an ideal of 
 virtue of the loftiest order. Accordingly, the Stoics were the 
 first to prcEUih what is called ' Cosmopolitanism j' for although, 
 in their reference to the good of the whole, they confounded 
 together sentient life and inanimate objects — rocks, plants, 
 &c., solicitude for which was misspent labour — ^yet they were 
 thus enabled to reach the conception of the universal kin- 
 ship of mankind, and could not but include in their regards 
 the brute creation. They said : ' There is no difference between 
 the Greeks and Barbarians ; the world is oar city.' Seneca 
 urges kindness to slaves, for ' are they not men like ourselves, 
 breathing the same air, living and dying like ourselves ?' 
 
 The Epicureans declined, as m.uch as possible, interference 
 in public affairs, but the Stoic philosophers urged men to the 
 duties of active citizenslup. Ghrysippns even said that the 
 life of philosophical contemplation (such as Aristotle preferred, 
 and accounted godlike) was to be placed on. the same level 
 with the hfe of pleasure ; though Plutarch observes that 
 neither Ohrysippus nor Zeno ever meddled personally with 
 any pnbUc duty; both of them passed their lives in lec- 
 turing and writing. The truth is that both of them were 
 foreigners residing at Athens ; and at a time when Athens 
 was dependent on foreign princes. Accordingly, neither Zeno 
 nor Chrysippus had any sphere of political action open to 
 them ; they were, in this respect, like Epictetns afterwards — 
 but in a position quite different from Seneca, the preceptor of 
 Nero, who might nope to influence the great imperial power 
 of Kome, and from Marcus Antoninus, who held that impe- 
 rial power in his own hands. 
 
 Marcus Antoninus — not only a powerful Emperor, but 
 also the most gentle and amiable man of his day — talks of 
 active beneficence both as a duty and a satisfaction. But in 
 the creed of the Stoics generally, active Beneficence did not 
 occupy a prominent place. They adopted the four Cardinal 
 Virtues — ^Wisdom, or the Knowledge of Good and Evil ; 
 Justice ; Fortitude ; Temperance — as part of their plan of the 
 virtuous life, the life according to Nature. Justice,' as the social 
 virtue, was placed above all the rest. But the Stoics were 
 not strenuous in requiring more than Justice, for the benefit 
 of others beside the agent. They even reckoned compassion 
 for the sufferings of others as a weakness, analogous to envy 
 for the good fortune of others. 
 
STOICAL VIEW OF BENEnCENCB, 523 
 
 The Stoic recognized the gods (or Universal Nature, 
 equivalent expressions in his creed) as managing the aflEairs 
 of the world, with a view to producing as much happiness 
 as was attainable on the whole. Towards this end the gods 
 did not want any positive assistance from him ; but it 
 was his duty and his strongest interest, to resign himself 
 to their plans, and to abstain from all conduct tending 
 to frustrate them. Such refractory tendencies were per- 
 petually suggested to him by the unreasonable appetites, 
 emotions, fears, antipathies, &c^ of daily life ; all claiming 
 satisfaction at the expense of future mischief to himself and 
 others. To countervail these misleading forces, by means of 
 a fixed rational character built up through m.editation and 
 philosophical teachiag, was the grand purpose of the Stoic 
 ethical creed. The emotional or appetitive self was to be 
 starved or curbed, and retained only as an appendage to the 
 rational self ; an idea proclaimed before in general terms by 
 Plato, but carried out into a system by the Stoics, and to a 
 great extent even by the Epicureans. 
 
 The Stoic was taught to reflect haw much that appears- 
 to be desirable, terror-striking, provocative, &c., is not really 
 so, but is made to appear so by false and curable asso- 
 ciations. And while he thus discouraged those self-regard- 
 ing emotions that placed him in hostility with others, he 
 learnt to respect the self of another man as well as his^ 
 own. Epictetus advises to deal mildly with a man that 
 hurts us either by word or deed; and advises it upon 
 the following very remarkable ground. 'Recollect that 
 in what he says or does, he foUows his own sense of pro- 
 priety, not yours. He must do what appears to him right, 
 not what appears to you ; if he judges wrongly, it is he fiiat 
 is hurt, for he is the person deceived. Always repeat to your- 
 self, in such a case : The man has acted on his own opinion.' 
 
 The reason here given by Epictetus is an instance, memor- 
 able in ethical theory, <rf respect for individual dissenting con- 
 viction, even in an extreme case ; and it must be taken in 
 conjunction with his other doctrine, that damage thus done 
 to us unjustly is really little or no damage, except so far as we 
 ourselves give pungency to it by our irrational susceptibilities 
 and associations. We see that the Stoic submerges, as much 
 as he can, the pre-eminence of his own individual self, and 
 contemplates himself from the point of view of another, only 
 as one among many. But he does not erect the happiness of 
 others into a direct object of his own positive pursuit, beyond 
 
524 ■ ETHICAX SYSTEMS— THE STOICS. 
 
 ,the iieoiprocities of family, citizenship, and commoa hnmanity. 
 The Sloic theorists a^eed with Epicnras ia inetdcating the 
 reciprocities of justice between all fellaw-citizens ; and they 
 even went farther than be did, by extending the sphere of 
 such duties beyond the limits of city, so as to comprehend all 
 mankind. Bmtias to the reoiproeities of individual friendship, 
 Hpicurus went beyond the Stoics, by the amount of self-sacrifice 
 «nd devotion that he enjoined for the henefit of a friend. 
 
 There is also in the Stoical system a recognition of duties 
 to God, and of morality as based on piety. Not only are we 
 all brethren, but also the ' children of one Father.' 
 
 The extraordinary strain put upon human nature by the 
 full Stoic ideal of submerging self in the larger interests of 
 being, led to various compromises. The rigid following out 
 of the ideal issued in one of the paradoxes, namely,' — That all 
 the actions of the wise man are equally'perfect, and that, short 
 of the standard of perfection, all faults and vices are equal ; 
 ,that, for example, the man that killed a cock, without good 
 reason, was as guilty as he that killed his father. This has a 
 m^eaning only when we draw a line between spirituality and 
 morality, and treat the last as worthless in comparison of the 
 first. The later Stoics, however, in their exhortatiofls to 
 special branches of duty, gave a positive value to practical 
 virtue, irrespective of the ideal. 
 
 The idea of Duty was of Stoical origin, fostered and de- 
 veloped by the Boman spirit and legislation. The early Stoics 
 had two different words, — one for the ' suitable' (^KaOfjKcuf), or 
 incomplete propriety, admitting of degrees, and beltfw the 
 point of rectitude, and another for the 'right' (KuTopOio/jia), or 
 complete rectitude of action, which none could atdiieve except 
 the wise man. It is a significant circumstance that the 
 ' suitable ' is the lineal ancestor of our word ' duty' (through 
 the Latin ojffiemm). 
 
 It was a great point with the Stoic to be conscious of 
 'advance' or improvement.* By self-examinatioa, he kept 
 
 * This was a later development of Stoicism : the earlier theorists laid 
 it down that tliere were no graduati^g marks below the level gf wisdom ; 
 all shortcomings -were on a par. Good was a point, Hvil was a point ; 
 there were gradations in the pftspoaita or sumenda (none of which were 
 igood), and in the r^'eeta or r^icimda (none of which were evil), but there 
 was no more or less good. The idea of advance 'by steps towards virtue 
 or wisdom, was probably JEamiUar to Sokrates, Plato, Aristotle, and 
 Epicurus; the Stoic theories, on the other hand, tended to throw it out 
 of sight, though they insisted strenuously on the necessity of mentd 
 training and meditation. 
 
SELF-CONTBADICTIONS OF STOICISM. 525 
 
 himself constantly acquainted -witli his moral state, and it was 
 both his duty and his satisfaction to be approaching to the 
 ideal of the perfect man. 
 
 It is very illustrative of the unguarded points and contra- 
 dictions of Stoicism, that contentment and apathy were not to 
 permit grief even for the loss of Mends. Seneca, on one occa- 
 sion, admits that he was betrayed by human weakness on this 
 point. On strict Stoical principles, we ought to treat the 
 afflictions and the death of others with the same frigid indiffer- 
 ence as our own ; for why should a man feel for a second 
 person more than he ought to feel for himself, as a mere unit 
 in the infinitude of the Universe ? This is the contradiction 
 inseparable from any system that begins by abjuring pleasure, 
 and relief or protection from pain, as the ends of life. Even 
 granting that we regard pleasure and relief from pain as 
 of no importance in our own case, yet if we apply the same 
 measure to others we are bereft of aU motives to benevo- 
 lence ; and virtues instead of being seti on a loftier pimiaele, 
 is left without any foundation. 
 
 EPICURUS. [341-270 b.o,]. 
 
 Epicurus was bom 341 B.C. in the island of Samos. At 
 the age of eighteen, he repaired to Athens, where he is sup- 
 posed to have enjoyed the teaching of Xenocrates or Theo- 
 phrastus. In 306 B.C., he opened a school in a garden in 
 Athens, whence his followers have sometimes been called the 
 ' philosophers of the garden.' His life was simplfej chaste, and 
 temperate. Of the 300 works he is said to have written, 
 nothing has come down to us except three letters, giving a 
 summary of his views for the use of his friends, and a number 
 of detached sayings, preserved by Diogenes Laertius and 
 others. Moreover, some fragments of his work on Nature have 
 been found at Herculaneum. The additional sources of our 
 knowledge of Epicurus are the works of his opponents, 
 Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, and of his follower Lucretius. Our 
 information from Epicurean writers respecting the doctrines 
 of their sect is much less copious than what we possess 
 from Stoic writers in regard to Stoic opinions. We have no 
 Epicurean writer on Philosophy except Lucretius ; whereas 
 respecting the Stoical creed under the Roman Empire, the im- 
 portant writiugs of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Antoninus, 
 afford most valuable evidence. 
 
 To Epicurus succeeded, in the leadership of his school. 
 
526 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — EPICUEUS. 
 
 Hermarchus, Polystratus, Dionysins, Basilides, and others, ten 
 in number, down to the age of Augustus. Among Roman 
 Epicureans, Lucretius (95 — 51 B.C.) is the most important, 
 his poem (De Bemm Natura), being the completest account 
 of the system that exists. Other distinguished followers were 
 Horace, Atticus, and Lncian. In modem times, Pierre 
 Gassendi (1592 — 1655) revived the doctrines of Epicurus, 
 and in 1647 published his * Syntagma Philosophise Bpicuri,' 
 and a Life of Epicurus, The reputation of Gtassendi, in his 
 life time, rested chiefly upon his physical theories ; but his in- 
 fluence was much felt as a Christian upholder of Epicureanism. 
 Grassendi was at one time in orders as a Roman Catholic, and 
 professor of theology and philosophy. He established an 
 Epicurean school in France, among the disciples of which 
 were, MoliSre, Saint Evremond, Count de Grammont, the 
 Duke of Boohefoucalt, FonteneUe, and Voltaire, 
 
 The standard of Virtue and Vice is referred by Epicums 
 to pleasure and pain. Pain is the only evil, Pleasure is the 
 only good. Virtue is no end in itseli^ to be sought : Vice is 
 no end in itself, to be avoided. The motive for cultivating 
 Virtue and banishing Vice arises from the consequences of 
 each, as the means of multiplying pleasures and averting or 
 lessening pains. But to the attainment of this purpose, the 
 complete supremacy of Reason is indispensable ; in order that 
 we may take a right comparative measure of the varieties of 
 pleasure and pain, and pursue the course that promises the 
 least amount of sufiering.* 
 
 In all ethical theories that make happiness the supreme 
 object of pursuit, the position of virtue depends entirely upon 
 the theory of what constitutes happiness. Now, Epicurus 
 (herein diflering from the Stoics, as well as Aristotle), did 
 not recognize Happiness as anything but freedom from pain 
 
 * This theory (taken in its most general sense, and apart from differ- 
 ences in the estimation of particular pleasures and pains), had been pro- 
 claimed long before the time of Epicurus. It is one of the various 
 theories of Plato : for in his dialogue called Protagoras (though in other 
 dialogues he reasons differently) we find it explicitly set forth and 
 elaborately vindicated by his principal spokesman, Sokrates, against the 
 Sophist Protagoras. It was also held by Aristippus (companion of 
 Sokrates along with Plato) and bjr his followers after him, called the 
 Cyrenaics. Lastly, it was maintained by Eudozus, one of the most 
 estimable philosophers contemporary with Aristotle. Epicurus was thus 
 inno way the originator of the theory : but he had his own way of con- 
 Geiving it— his own body of doctrine physical, cosmological, and theo- 
 logical, with which it was implicated — and his own comparative valuation 
 of pleasures and pains. 
 
EEGULATION OF THE DESIEES. 527 
 
 and «njoyment of pleasure. It is essential, however, to 
 nnderstojicl, iiow Epicurns coiKJeived pleasure and pain, and 
 what is the Epicurean scale of pleasures and pains, graduated 
 as objects «f reasonable desire or aversion? It is a great 
 error to suppose that, in making pleasure the standard of 
 virtue, Epicurus had in view that elaborate and studied grati- 
 fication of the sensual appetites that we associate with the 
 word Epwarean. Epicurus declares — ' When we say that 
 pleasure is the end of life, we do not mean the pleasures of 
 the debauchee or the sensualist, as some from ignorance or 
 from malignity represent, but freedom of the body from pain, 
 and of the soul from anxiety. For it is not eontianous 
 drinkings and revellings, nor the society of women, nor rare 
 viands, and oth^ luxuries of the table, that constitute a 
 pleasant life, but sober contemplation, such as searches out the 
 grounds of .choice and avoidance, and banishes those chimeras 
 that harass the mind.' 
 
 Freedom from pain is thus made the primary element of 
 happiness; a one-sided view, repeated in the doctrine of 
 Locke, that it is not the idea of future good, but the pre- 
 sent greatest uneasiness that most strongly afiects the will. 
 A neutral state of feeling is necessarily imperilled by a greedy 
 pursuit of pleasures; hence the dictum,, to be icontent with 
 little as « great good ; because little is most easily obtained. 
 The regulation of the desires is therefore of high moment. 
 According to Epicurus, desires fall into three grades. Some 
 are naiwral and necessary, such as desire of drink, food, or 
 life, and are easily gratified. But when the uneasiness of a 
 want is removed, the bodily pleasures admit of no farther 
 increase; anything additional only ©anes the pleasure. Hence 
 the luxuries which go beyond the relief of our wants are 
 thoroughly superfluous ; and the desires arising from them 
 (forming tiie second grade) though natural, are not necessary. 
 A third class of desires is neither natural n^r necessary, but 
 begotten of vain opinion ; such as the thirst for civic honours, • 
 or for power over others ; those desires are the most difficult to 
 gratify, and even if gratified, entail upon us trouble, anxiety, 
 and peril. [This aoconnt of the desires, following up the 
 advice — If you wish to be rich, study not to increase your 
 goods, but to diminish your desires — is to a certain extent 
 wise and even indispensable ; yet not adapted to all tempera- 
 ments. To those that enjoy pleasure very highly, and are 
 not sensitive in an equal degree to pain, such a negative con- 
 ception of happiness would be imperfect.] Epicurus did not, 
 
528 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— EPICURUS. 
 
 however, deprecate positive pleasure. If it could be reached 
 ■without pain, and did not result in pain, it was a pure good ; 
 and, even if it could not be had without pain, the question 
 was still open, whether it might not be well worth the price. 
 But in estimating the worth of pleasure, the absence of any 
 accompanying pain should weigh heavily in the balance. At 
 this point, the Epicurean theory connects itself moat inti- 
 mately with the conditions of virtue ; for virtue is more con- 
 cerned with averting mischief and suffering, than with multi- 
 plying positive enjoyments. 
 
 Bodily feeling, in the Epicurean psychology, is prior in 
 order of time to the mental element ; the former was primor- 
 dial, while the latter was derivative from it by repeated pro- 
 cesses of memory and association. But though such was the 
 order of sequence and generation, yet when we compare the 
 two as constituents of happiness to the formed man, the 
 mental element much outweighed the bodily, both as pain and 
 as pleasure. Bodily pain or pleasure exists only in the pre- 
 sent; when not felt, it is nothing. But mental feelings involve 
 memory and hope — embrace the past as well as the future — 
 endure for a long time, and may be recalled or- put out of 
 sight, to a great degree, at our discretion. 
 
 This last point is one of the most remarkable features of 
 the Epicurean mental discipUne. Epicurus deprecated the 
 general habit of mankind in always hankering after some 
 new satisfaction to come ; always discontented with the pre- 
 sent, and oblivious of past comforts as if they had never been. 
 These past comforts ought to be treasured up by memory and 
 reflection, so that they might become as it, were matter for 
 rumination, and might serve, in trying moments, even to 
 counterbalance extreme physical suffering. The health of 
 Epicurus himself was very bad during the closing years of 
 his life. There remains a fragment of his last letter,: to an 
 intimate friend and companion, Idomeneus — ' I write this to 
 you on the last day of my life, whichj in spite of the severest 
 internal bodily pains, is still a happy day, because I set against 
 them in the balance all the mental pleasure felt in the recollec- 
 tion of my past conversations with you. Take care of the 
 children left by Metrodorus, in a manner worthy of your 
 demeanour from boyhood towards me and towardstphilosophy.' 
 Bodily pain might thus be aUeviat'Cd, when it occurred; it 
 might be greatiy lessened in occurrence, by prudent and 
 moderate habits ; lastly, even at the worst, if violent, it never 
 lasted long ; if not violent, it might be patiently borne, and 
 
CAUSES OF HUMAIT MISEEY, 529 
 
 waa at any rate terminated, or termmable at pleasure, by 
 death. 
 
 In the view of Epicaras, the chief miseries of life arose, 
 not from bodily pains, bnt partly from delusions of hope, and 
 exaggerated aspirations for wealth, honours, power, &c., in 
 all which ttie objects appeared most seduetiye from a distance, 
 inciting man to lawless violence and treachery, while in the 
 reality they were always disappointments, and generally some- 
 thing worse; partly, and still more, from the delusions of 
 fear. Of this last sort, were the two greatest torments of 
 human existence — Fear of Death, and of eternal suffering after 
 dea^h, as announced by prophets fl,nd poets, and Fear of the 
 Oods. Epicurus, who did not believe in the continued 
 existence of the soul separate from the body, declared that 
 there could never be any rational ground for fearing death, 
 since it was simply a permanent extinction of consciousness.* 
 Death was nothing to ns (he said) ; whem death comes, we 
 are no more, either to suffer or to enjoy. Yet it was the 
 groundless fear of this nothing that poisoned all the tranquil- 
 ity of life, and held men imprisoned even when existence was a 
 torment. Whoever had surmounted that fear was armed at once 
 against cruel tyranny and against all the gravest misfortunes. 
 Next, the fear of the gods was not less delusive, and hardly 
 less tormenting, than the fear of death. It was a capital 
 error (Epicurus declared) to suppose that the gods employed 
 themselves as agents in working or superintending the march of 
 the Cosmos ; or in conferring favour on some men, and admin- 
 istering chastisement to others. The vulgar religious tales, 
 which represented them in this character, were untrue and 
 insulting as regards the gods themselves, and pregnant with 
 perversion and misery as regards the hopes and fears lof man<- 
 kind. Epicurus believed sineerely in the gods ; reverenced 
 them as beings at once perfectly happy, immortal, and un- 
 changeable ; and took delight in the public religious festivals 
 and ceremoiues. But it was inconsistent with these attri- 
 butes, and repulsive to his feelings of reverence, to conceive 
 them as agents. The idea of agency is derived from human 
 experience ; we, as agents, act with a view to supply some 
 want, to fulfil some obligation, to acquire some pleasure, to 
 
 • The Boul, according to Epicurus, was a subtle but energetic oom- 
 ponnd {of air, yapour, lieat, and another n aoidtss ingredient), with its best 
 parts concentrated in the ohest, yet pervading and sustaining the whole 
 body ; still, however, depending for its support on th« body, amd ineapable 
 of separate or disembodied ountinuance. 
 34 
 
530 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^EPICtTEUS. 
 
 accomplish, some object desired but not yet attained — in short, 
 to fill tip one or other of the many gaps in our imperfect happi- 
 ness ; the gods already have all that agents strive to get, and 
 more than agents ever do get ; their condition is one not of 
 agency, bat ■©? tranquil, self-sustaining, fruition. Accordingly, 
 Epicurus thought (as Aristotle* had thought before him) 
 that the perfect, eternal, and imperturbable well-being and 
 felicity of the gods excluded the supposition of their being 
 agents. He looked upon .them as types of that unmolested 
 safety and unalloyed satisfaction which was what he under- 
 Btood by pleasure or happiness — as objects of reverential 
 envy, whose sympathy he was likely to obtain by assimilating 
 his own temper and condition to theirs, as far as human 
 circumstances .allowed. 
 
 These theological views were placed by Epicurus in the 
 foreground of his ethical philosophy, as the only means of 
 dispelling those fears of the 'gods that the current fables 
 instilled into every one, and that did «o much to destroy 
 human comfort and security. He proclaimed that beings in 
 immortal felicity neither suffered vexation in themselves nor 
 caused vexation to others — neither showed anger nor favour 
 to particular persons. The doctrine that they were the 
 working managers in the affairs of the Cosmos, celestial and 
 terrestrial, human and extra-human, he not only repudiated 
 as incompatible with their attributes, but declared to be im- 
 pious, considering the disorder, sufferings, and violence, 
 everywhere visible. He disallowed all prophecy, divination, 
 and oracular inspiration, by which the public around him 
 believed that the gods were perpetually communicating 
 special revelations to individuals, and for which Sokrates had 
 felt so peculiarly thankful. t 
 
 It is remarkable that Stoics and Epicureans, in spite of 
 their marked opposition in dogma or theory, agreed so far 
 in practical results, that both declared these two modes of 
 uneasiness (fear of the gods and fear of death) to be the 
 great torments of human existence, and both strove to remove 
 or counterbalance them. 
 
 So far, the teaching of Epicurus appears confined to the 
 separate happiness of each individual, as dependent upon his 
 own prudence, sobriety, and correct views of Nature. But 
 
 • Aristot. De Coelo. II. a. 12, p. 292, 22, 6, 5. In the Ethics, AriatoUo 
 assigns theorizing contemplation to the gods, as the only process worthy 
 of their exalted dignity and supreme felicitv. 
 
 t Xenophon Memor. I. 1 — 10 j IV. 3—12 
 
EECIPKOCITT OF JUSTICE AND OF FRIENDSHIP. 531 
 
 this is not the whole of the Epicurean Ethics. The eystem 
 also considered each man as in companionship with others ; 
 The precepts were shaped accordingly, first as to Justice, 
 next as to Friendship. In both these, the foundation where-- 
 on Epicurus built was Reciprocity: not pure sacrifice 
 to others, but partnership with others, beneficial to all. 
 He kept the ideas of self and of others inseparably knit 
 together in one complex association : he did not expel or 
 degrade either, in order to give exclusive ascendancy to the 
 other. The dictate of Natural Justice was that no man 
 should hurt another : each was bound to abstain from doing 
 harm to others; each, on this condition, was entitled to count 
 on security and relief from the fear that others would do harm 
 to him. Such double aspect, ov reciprocity, was essential to 
 social companionship : ttiose that could not, or would not, 
 accept this covenant, were unfit for society. If a man does 
 not behave justly towards others, he cannot expect that they 
 will behave justly towards him ; to live a life of injustice, and 
 expect that others will not find it out, is idle. The unjust 
 man cannot enjoy a moment of security. Epicurus laid it 
 down explicitly, that just and righteous dealing was the indis- 
 pensable condition to every one's comfort, and was the best 
 means of attaining it. 
 
 The reciprocity of Justice was valid towards all the world; 
 the reciprocity of Friendship went much farther ; it involved 
 indefinite and active beneficence, but could reach only to a 
 select few. Epicurus insisted emphatically on the value of 
 friendship, as a means of happiness to both the persons so 
 united. He declared that a good friend was another self, and 
 that friends ought to be prepared, in case of need, to die for 
 each other. Tet he declined to recommend an established 
 community of goods among the members of his fi-aternity, as 
 prevailed in the Pythagorean brotherhood : for such an insti- 
 tution (he said) implied mistrust. He recommended efforts 
 to please and to serve, and a forwardness to give, for the pur- 
 pose of gaining and benefiting a friend, and he even declared 
 that there was more pleasure in conferring favours than in 
 receiving them ; but he was no less strenuous in inculcating 
 an intelligent gratitude on the receiver. No one except a 
 wise man (he said) knew how to return a favour properly.* 
 
 • Theso exhortations to active friendship were not unfruitful. We 
 know, even by the admission of witnesses adverse to the Epicurean 
 doctrine?, that the harmony among the members of the sect, with common 
 veneration for the founder, was more marked and more enduring than 
 
632 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — EPICURUS. 
 
 Virtue and happiness, in the theory of Epicurus, were thus 
 inseparable. A man could not be happy until he had sur- 
 mounted the fear of death and the fear of gods instilled by the 
 current fables, which disturbed all tranquillity of mind ; until 
 he had banished those factitious desires that pushed him 
 into contention for wealth, power, or celebrity ; nor unless he 
 behaved with justice to all, and with active devoted friendship 
 towards a few. Such a mental condition, which he thought 
 it was in every man's power to acquire by appropriate teaching 
 and companionship, constituted virtue ; and was the sure as well 
 as the only precursor of genuine happiness. A mind thus un- 
 disturbed and purified was sufficient to itself. The mere satis- 
 faction of the wants of life, and the conversation of friends, 
 became then felt pleasures ; if more could be had without pre- 
 ponderant mischief, so much the better; but Nature, dis- 
 burthened of her corruptions and prejudices, required no more 
 to be happy. This at least was as much as the conditions of 
 humanity admitted : a tranquil, undisturbed, innocuous, non- 
 competitive fruition, which approached most nearly to the 
 perfect happiness of the Gods.* 
 
 The Epicurean theory of virtue is the type of all those that 
 make an enlightened self-interest the basis of right and 
 wrong. The four cardinal virtues were explained from the 
 Epicurean point of view. Prudence was the supreme rule of 
 conduct. It was a calculation and balancing of pleasures and 
 pains. Its object was a judicious selection of pleasures to be 
 sought. It teaches men to forego idle wishes, and to despise 
 idle fears. Temperance is the mana>gement of sensual plea- 
 sures. It seeks to avoid excess, so as on the whole to extract 
 
 that exhibited by any of the other philosophical sects. Epicurus 
 himself was a man of amiable personal qualities: his testament, still 
 remaining, shows an affectionate regard, both for his surviving friends, 
 and for the permanent attachment of each to the others, as well as of all 
 to the school. Diogenes Laertius tells us — nearly 200 years after Christ, 
 and 450 years after the death of Epicurus — that the Epicurean sect still 
 continued its numbers and dignity, having outlasted its contemporaries 
 iind rivals. The harmony among the Epicnreans may be explained, not 
 merely from the temper of the master, but partly from the doctrines and 
 plan of life that he recommended. Ambition and love of power were 
 discouraged : rivalry among the members for success, either political or 
 rhetorical, was at any rate a rare exception : all were taught to confine 
 themselves to that privacy of life and love of philosophi(ml communioa 
 which alike required and nourished the mutual sympathies of the 
 brotherhood. 
 
 * Consistently with this view of happiness, Epicurus advised, in 
 regard to politics, quiet submission to established authority, without 
 active meddling beyond what necessity required. 
 
PKEE-WILL. 533 
 
 as mnoh pleasure as our bodily organs are capable of affording. 
 FortiHcle is a virtue, because it overcomes fear and pain. It 
 consists in facing danger or enduring pain, to avoid greater 
 possible evils. Justice is of artificial origin. It consists in a 
 tacit agreement among mankind to abstain from injuring one 
 another. Tiie security that every man has in his person and 
 property, is the great consideration urging to abstinence from 
 injuring others. But is it not possible to commit injustice 
 with safety ? The answer was, ' Injustice is not an evil in 
 itself, but becomes so from the fear that haunts the injurer of 
 not being able to escape the appointed avengers of such acts.' 
 
 The Physics of Epicurus were borrowed in the main from 
 the atomic theory of Democritus, but were modified by him in 
 a manner subservient and contributory to his ethical scheme. 
 To that scheme it was essential that those celestial, atmos- 
 pheric, or terrestrial phenomena that the public around him 
 ascribed to the agency and purposes of the gods, should be un- 
 derstood as being produced by physical causes. An eclipse, an 
 earthquake, a storm, a shipwreck, unusual rain or drought, a 
 good or a bad harvest — and not merely these, but many other 
 occurrences far smaller and more unimportant, as we may see 
 by the eighteenth chapter of the Characters of Theophrastus 
 — Were then regarded as visitations of the gods, requiring to 
 be interpreted by recognized prophets, and to be appeased by 
 ceremonial expiations. When once a man became convinced 
 that all these phenomena proceeded from physical agencies, a 
 host of terrors and anxieties would disappear from the mind ; 
 and this Epicurus asserted to be the beneficent effect and real 
 recommendation of physical philosophy. He took little or no 
 thought for scientific curiosity as a motive per se, which both 
 Democritus and Aristotle put so much in the foreground. 
 
 Epicurus adopted the atomistic scheme of Democritus, but 
 with some important variations. He conceived that the atoms all 
 moved with equal velocity in the downward direction of gravity. 
 But it occurred to him that upon this hypothesis there could 
 never occur any collisions or combinations of the atoms— ^ 
 nothing but continued and unchangeable parallel lines. Accord- 
 ingly, he modified it by saying that the line of descent was not 
 exactly rectilinear, but that each atom deflected a little from the 
 straight line, and each in its own direction and degree ; so that 
 it became possible to assume collisions, resiliences, adhesions, 
 combinations, among them, as it had been possible under the 
 variety of original movements ascribed to them by Democritus. 
 The opponents of Epicurus derided this auxilrary hypothesis ; 
 
634 ETHtOAL SYSTEMS — ^EPICUBUS. 
 
 they affirmed that he invented the individual deflection of ea«h 
 atom, ■without assigning any canse, and only becanse he was 
 perplexed by the mystery of man's free-will. But Epicnms 
 •was not more open to attack on this ground than other phy- 
 sical philosophers. Most of them (except perhaps the most 
 consistent of the Stoic fatalists) believed that some among 
 the phenomena of the universe occurred in regular and pre- 
 dictable sequence, while others were essentially irregular and 
 unpredictable ; each philosopher devised his hypothesis, and 
 recognized some fundamental principle, to explain the first 
 class of phenomena as well as the second. Plato admitted an 
 invincible Erratic necessity ; Aristotle introduced Chance and 
 Spontaneity ; Democritus multiplied indefinitely the varieties 
 of atomic movements. The hypothetical deflexion alleged 
 by Epicurus was his way, not more unwarranted than the 
 others, of providing a fundamental principle for the unpre- 
 dictable phenomena of the universe. Among these are the 
 mental (including the volitional) manifestations of men and 
 animals ; but there are many others besides ; and there is no 
 ground for believing that the mystery of free-will was pecu- 
 liarly present to his mind. The movements of a man or 
 animal are not exclusively subject to gravitation and other 
 general laws ; they are partly governed by mental impulses 
 and by forces of the organism, intrinsic and peculiar to him- 
 self, unseen and nnfelt by others. For these, in common with 
 many other untraceable phenomena in the material world, 
 Epicurus provides a principle in the supplementary hypo- 
 thesis of deflexion. He rejected the fatalism contaaned 
 in the theories of some of the Stoics, and admitted a 
 limited range of empire to chance, or "irregularity. But 
 he maintained that the will, far from being among the 
 phenomena essentially irregular, is under the influence of 
 motives ; for no man can insist more strenuously than he 
 does (see the Letter to Menoeceus) on the complete power of 
 philosophy, — if the student could be made to feel its necessity 
 and desire the attainment of it, so as to meditate and engrain 
 within himself sound views about the gods, death, and human 
 life generally, — to mould our volitions and character in a 
 manner conformable to the exigencies of virtue and happiness. 
 When we read the explanations given by Epicurus and 
 Lucretius of what the Epicurean theory really was, and com- 
 pare them with the numerous attacks made upon it by oppo- 
 nents, we cannot but remark that the title or formula of the 
 theory was ill chosen, and was really a misnomer. What 
 
PLOTINUS. 535 
 
 Epicuras meant by Pleasure was, not what most people meant 
 by it, bat something very different — a tranquil and comfortable 
 state of mind and body ; much the same as what Democritus 
 had expressed before him by the phrase evCvfiia. Thi& last 
 phrase would have expressed what Epicurus aimed at,, neither 
 more nor less. It would at least have preserved his theory 
 from much misplaced sarcasm and aggressive rhetoric. 
 
 THE NEO-PLATM^ISTft 
 PLOTINUS (i.D. 205-70), POEPHTET, lea 
 
 Constructed with reference to- the broken-down state of 
 ancient society, and seeking its highest aim in a regenera- 
 tion of hnmanityr the philosophical system of Neo-Platonism 
 was throughout ethical or ethico-religious ia spirit ; yet its 
 ethics admits of no great development according to the 
 usual topics. A pervading ethical character is not incom- 
 patible with the absence of a regular ethical scheme; and 
 there was this peculiarity in the system, that its end, though; 
 professedly moral, was to be attained by means of an intel- 
 lectual regimen. In setting up its ideal of human effort, it 
 was least of all careful about prescribing a definite course of 
 external conduct. 
 
 The more strictly ethical views of Plotinus, the chief re- 
 presentative of the school, are found mainly in the first of the 
 six Enneads into which Porphyry collected his master's essays. 
 But as they presuppose the cosmological and psychological 
 doctrines, their place in the works, as now arranged, is tO' be 
 regarded as arbitrary. The soul having feUen from its 
 original condition, and, in consequence and as a penalty, 
 having become united with a material body, the one trae 
 aim recognized for human action is, to rise above the de- 
 basing connection with matter, and again to lead the old 
 spiritual life. For those that have sunk so far as to be eon- 
 tent with the world of sense, wisdom consists in pursuing 
 pleasui'e as good, and shunning pain as evil : but the others 
 can partake of a better life, in different degrees. The first 
 step in reformation is to practise virtue in the affairs of life, 
 which means to subject Sense and the lower desires to Keason. 
 This is done in the fourfold form of the common cardinal 
 virtues, called political by Plotinus, to mark the sphere of 
 action where they can be exerted, and is the virtue of a class 
 of men capable of a certain elevation, though ignorant of all the 
 rest that lies above them. A second step is made through the 
 
536 , ETHICAL SYSTEMS— TBE NEO-PLATOJTISTS. 
 
 means of tibe KaOapaeiiovpwtifying virtnes ; where it is sought to 
 root out, instead of meiely moderating, the sensual affections. 
 If the soul is thus altogether freed from the demiinion of sense, 
 it becomes at once able to foUow its natural beat towards 
 good, and enters into a permanent state of calm. This is 
 virtue in its true meaning — becoming like to the Deity, all 
 that went before being merely a preparation. The pure and 
 perfect life of the soul may still be described as a field 
 whereon the four virtues are exercised, but they now assume 
 a far higher meaning than as political virtues, having relation 
 solely to the contemplative life of the Nous. 
 
 Happiness is anknown to Plotinus as distinct from per- 
 fection, and perfection in the sense of having subdued all 
 material cravings (except as regards the bare necessities of 
 life), and entered upon the undisturbed life of contemplation. 
 If thk recalls, at least in name, the Aristotelian ideal, there 
 are points added that appear to be echoes of Stoicism. Bapt 
 in the contemplation of eternal verities, the purified soul is 
 indifferent to" external circumstances : pain and suffering are 
 unheeded, and the just man can feel happy even in the bull of 
 Phalaris. But in one important respect the Neo-Platonic 
 ■teaoMng is at variance with Stoical doctrine. Though its 
 first and last precept is to rid the soul from the bondage of 
 naattfer, it warns against the attempt to sever body and soul 
 by suicide. By no forcible separation, which would be 
 foU&wed by a new junction, but only by prolonged internal 
 effort is the soul so set free from the world of sense, as to be 
 able to have a vision of its ancient home while still in the 
 body, and to return to it at death. Small, therefore, as is 
 the consideration bestowed by Neo-Platonism on the affairs 
 of practical life, it has no disposition to shirk the burden of 
 them. 
 
 One other peculiar aim, the highest of all, is proposed to 
 the soul in the Alexandrian philosophy. It is peculiar, because 
 to be understood only in connexion with the metaphysics and 
 cosmology of the system. In the theory of Emanation, the 
 primordial One or Good emits the Nous wherein the Ideas are 
 immanent ; the Nous, in torn, sends forth the Soul, and the 
 Soul, Matter or nature ; the gradation applying to man as well 
 as to the Universe. Now, to each of these principles, there is 
 a corresponding subjective state in the inner life of man. 
 The life of sense answers to nature or the material body ; the 
 virtue that is founded upon free-will and reason, to the sonl ; 
 the contemplative life, as the result of complete purification 
 
ABAELAED. 537 
 
 from sense, to the Nous or Sphere of Ideas ; finally, to the One 
 or Good, supreme in the scale of existence, corresponds the 
 state of Love, or, in its highest fqrm. Ecstasy. This peculiar 
 elevation is something far above the highest intellectual con- 
 templation, and is not reached by thought. It is not even a 
 mere intuition of, but a real union or contact with, the Good. 
 To attain it, there must be a complete withdrawal into self 
 from the external world, and then the subject must wait 
 quietly tiU perchance the state comes on. It is one of ineffable 
 bliss, but, from the nature of man, transitory and rare. 
 
 SCHOLASTIC ETHICS. 
 
 Abaelabd (1079-1142) has a special treatise on the subject 
 of Ethics, entitled Scito te ipsum. As the name implies, it 
 lays chief stress upon the Subjective element in morality, and, 
 in this aspect, is considered to supply the idea that underlies 
 a very large portion of modern ethical speculation. By nature 
 a notoriously independent thinker, Abaelard claimed for philo- 
 Bophy the right of discussing ethical questions and fixing a 
 natural moral law, though he allowed a corrective in the 
 Christian scheme. Having this position with reference to the 
 church, he was also much less under the yoke of philosophical 
 authority than his successors, from living at a time when 
 Aristotle was not yet supreme. Tet, with Aristotle, he assigns 
 the attainment of the highest good as the aim of all human 
 effort. Ethics showing the way ; and, with the schoolmen gene- 
 rally, pronounces the highest good to be God. If the highest 
 good in itself is God, the highest human good is love to God. 
 This is attained by way of virtue, which is a good Will con- 
 solidated into a habit. On the influence of habit on action his 
 view is Aristotelian. His own specialty lies in his judging 
 actions solely with reference to the intention (intentio) of the 
 agent, and this intention with reference to conscience (con- 
 soientia). All actions, he says, are in themselves indifierent, 
 and not to be called good or evil except from the intention of 
 the doer. Peccatum is properly only the action that is done 
 with evil intent ; and where this is present, where the mental 
 consent fconsensusj is clearly established, there is pecGatum, 
 though the action remains unexecuted. When the consensus 
 is absent, as in original sin, there is' only vitmm ; hence, a 
 life without peccata is not impossible) to men in the exercise 
 of their freedom, however difficult it may be. 
 
 The supremacy assigned by him to the subjective element 
 of conscience appears in such phrases as, there is no sin except 
 
538 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SCHOLASTIC ETHICS. 
 
 against conscience ; also in the- opinion he pronounces, that, 
 though in the case of a mistaken mioral conviction, an action 
 is not to be called good, yet it is not so bad as an action 
 objectively right bat done against conscience. Thus, with- 
 out allowing that conseientious persecutors of {Christians act 
 rightly, he is not afraid, in the- application of his principle, 
 to say that they would act still more wrongly if through 
 not listening to their conscience, they spared their victims. 
 But this means only that by following conscience- we avoid 
 sinning ; for virtue in the fall sense, it is necessary that the 
 conscience should have judged rightly. By what standard, 
 however, this is to be ascertained, he nowhere clearly says. 
 Gontempius Dei, given by him aa the real and only thing that 
 constitutes an action bad, is merely another subjective de- 
 scription. 
 
 St. Beenaed of Clairvaux (lO&l-llSS), the strenuous 
 opponent of Abaelard, and the great upholder of mysticism 
 against rationalism in the early scholastic period when -the 
 two were not yet reconciled,, gave utterance, in the course of 
 his mystical effasions, to some special vie-vrs of love and dis- 
 interestedness. 
 
 There are two degrees of Christian virtue. Humility and 
 Charity or Love. When men look into themselves, and behold 
 the meanness that is found there, the fitting state of mind is, 
 first, hnmility; but sowi the sense of their very weakness 
 begets in them charity and compassion towards others, while 
 the sense also of a certain human dignity raises within them 
 feelings of love towards the author of their being. The treatise 
 De Amore Dei sets forth the nature of this love, which is the 
 highest exercise of human powers. Its fundamental charac- 
 teristic is its disinterestedness. It has its reward, but firom 
 meriting, not from, seeking. It is purely volun-tary, and, as a 
 ii-ee sentiment, necessarily unbought; it has God for its single 
 object, and would not be love to God, if he were loved for the 
 sake of something else. 
 
 He distinguishes various degrees of love. There is, first, 
 a natural love of self for the sake of self. Next, a motion 
 of love towards God amid earthly misfortunes, which also is 
 not disinterested. The third degree is different, being love to 
 God for his own sake, and to our neighbour for God's sake. 
 But the highest grade of all is not reached, until men come to 
 love even themselves only by relation to God ; at this point, 
 with the disappearance of all special and interested affection, 
 the mystic goal is attained. 
 
REVIVAL OF AEISTOTLB. *^, ^ 539 
 
 John of Salisbury (d. 1180) is the last name to be cited 
 in the early scholastic period. He professed to be a practical 
 philosopher, to be more concerned about the nses of know- 
 ledge than about knowledge itself, and to subordinate every- 
 thing to some purpose ; by way of protest against the theo- 
 retic hair-splitting and verbal subtleties of his predecessors. 
 Even more than in Ethics, he found in Politics his proper sphere. 
 He was the stauuchest upholder of the Papal Supremacy, 
 which, after long struggles, was about to be established at its 
 greatest height, before presiding at the opening of the most 
 brilliant period of scholasticism. 
 
 In the Folieraticits especially, but also in his other works, 
 the foundations and provisions of his moral system are- found. 
 He has no distinction to draw ia Ethics between theology and 
 philosophy, but uses Seiiptnre and observation alike, though 
 Scripture always in the final appeal. Of philosophizing, the 
 one final aim, as also of existence, is Happiness ; the question 
 of questions, how it is to be attained. Happiness is not 
 pleasure, nor possession, nor honour, but consists in following 
 the path of virtue. Virtue is to be understood from the consti- 
 tution of human nature. In man, there is a lower and a higher 
 faculty of Desire; or, otherwise expressed, there are the 
 varioQS afiections that have their roots in sense and centre' iu 
 self-love or the desire of self-preservation, and there is also a 
 natural love of justice implanted from the beginning. In 
 proportion as the appetitus justi, which consists in will, 
 gains upon the appetitus commodi, men become more worthy 
 of a larger happiness. Self-love rules in man, so- long as 
 he is in the natural state of sin ; if, amid great conflict and 
 by divine help, the higher affection gains the upper hand, 
 the state of true virtue, which is identical with the theoretic 
 state of belief, and also of pure love to. God and man, is 
 reached. 
 
 By the middle of the thirteenth century, the schoolmen had 
 before them the whole works of Aristotle, obtained from 
 Arabian and other sources. Whereas, previous to this time, 
 they had comprehended nearly all the subjects of Philosophy 
 under the one name of Dialectics or Logic, always reserving, 
 however. Ethics to Theology, they were now made aware of 
 the ancient division of the sciences, and of what had been 
 accomplished in each. The effect, both in respect of form 
 and of subject-matter, was soon apparent in such compilations 
 or more independent works as they were able to produce 
 after their commentaries on the Aristoteliaa text. But ia 
 
540 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SCHOLASTIC ETHICS. 
 
 Ethics, the nature of the subject demanded of men in 
 their position a less entire snbmission to the doctrines of 
 the pagan philosopher ; and here accordingly they clung 
 to the traditioiial theological treatment. If they were 
 commenting on the Ethics of Aristotle, the Bible was at hand 
 to supply his omissions ; if they were setting up a complete 
 moral system, they took little more than the ground-work 
 from, him, the rest being Christian ideas and precepts, or 
 fragments borrowed from Flatonism and other Greek systems, 
 nearly allied in spirit to their own faith. 
 
 This is especially true, as will be seen, of Thomas Aquinas. 
 His predecessors can be disposed of in a few words. 
 Alexander of Hales (d. 1245) was almost purely theological. 
 BONAVENTURA (1221-74) in his double character of rigid Fran- 
 ciscan and mystic, was led far beyond the Aristotelian Ethics. 
 The mean between excess and defect is a very good rule for 
 the affairs of life, but the true Christian is boand besides to 
 works of supererogation : first of all, to take on the con- 
 dition of poverty ; while the state of mystic contemplation 
 remains as a still higher goal for the few. Albert the Great 
 (1193-1280), the most learned and complete commentator of 
 Aristotle that had yet appeared, divide the whole subject of 
 Ethics into Monastica, (Economica, and Politica. la this 
 division, which is plainly suggested by the Aristotelian division 
 of Politics in the large sense, the term Monastica not inaptly 
 expresses the reference that Ethics has to the conduct of men 
 as individuals. Albert, however, in commenting on the 
 Nicomachean Ethics, adds exoeeedinglylittle to the results of 
 his author beyond the incorporation of a few Scriptural ideas. 
 To the cardinal virtues he appends the virtutes adjunctce. 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity, and again in his compendious work, 
 Summa Theologice, distinguishes them as infusm, the cardinal 
 being considered as acquisitcB. 
 
 Besides his commentaries on the Aristotelian works (the 
 Ethics included) and many other writings, Thomas Aquinas 
 (1226-74) left two large works, the Summa phUosophica 
 and the famous Summa TheologicB. Notwithstanding the 
 prominence assigned to theological questions, the first is a 
 regular philosophical work; the second, though containing 
 the exposition of philosophical opinions, is a theological text- 
 book. Now, as it is in the Summary for theologies^ purposes 
 that the whole practical philosophy of Aquinas is contained, 
 it is to be inferred that he regarded the subject of Ettdcs 
 as not on the same level with other departments of philo- 
 
THOMAS AQUINAS. 541 
 
 Sophy. Moreover, even when he is not appealing to Scrip- 
 ture, he is seen to display what is for him a most mnusual 
 tendency to desert Aristotle, at the really critical moments, 
 for Plato or Plofcinns, or any other authority of a more theo- 
 logical cast. 
 
 In the (unfinished) Summa Tkeologice, the Ethical views 
 and cognate questions occupy the two sections of the second 
 part — the so-called prima and secimda secundce. He begins, in 
 the Aristotelian fashion, by seeking an ultimate end of human 
 action, and finds it in the attainment of the highest good or 
 happiness. But as no created thing can answer to the idea 
 of the highest good, it must be placed in God. God, however, 
 as the highest good, can only be the object, in the search after 
 human happiness, for happiness in itself is a state of the 
 mind or act of the soul. The question then arises, what sort 
 of act ? Does it fall under the Will or under the Intelligence ? 
 The answer is, Not under the will, because happiness is neither 
 desire nor pleasure, but consecuUo, that is, a possessing. Desire 
 precedes oonsecutio, and pleasure follows upon it ; but the act 
 of getting possession, in which lies happiness, is distinct from 
 both. This is illustrated by the case of the miser having his 
 happiness in the mere possession of money ; and the position 
 is essentially the same as Butler's, in regard to our appetites 
 and desires, that they blindly seek their objects with no regard 
 tp pleasure. Thomas concludes that the oonsecutio, or hap- 
 piness, is an act of the intelligence ; what pleasure there is 
 being a mere accidental accompaBiment. 
 
 Distinguishing between two phases of the intellect — the 
 theoretic and the practical — in the one of which it is an end 
 to itself, but in the other subordinated to an external aim, he 
 places true happiness in acts of the self-sufficing theoretic 
 intelligence. In this life, however, such a constant exercise 
 of the intellect is not possible, and accordingly what happi- 
 ness there is, must be found, in great measure, in the exercise 
 of the practical intellect, directing and governing the lower 
 desires and passions. This twofold conception of happiness 
 is Aristotelian, even as expressed by Thomas under the 
 distinction of perfect and imperfect happiness; but when 
 he goes on to associate perfect happiness with the future 
 life only, to found an argument for a future life from the 
 desire of a happiness more perfect than can be found here, 
 and to make the pure contemplation, in which consists highest 
 bliss, a vision of the divine essence face to face, a direct 
 cognition of Deity fer surpassing demonstrative knowledge or 
 
542 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— SCHOLASTIC ETHICS. 
 
 mortal faith — ^he is more theologian than philosopher, or if 
 a philaeopher, more Platonist than Aristotelian. 
 
 The condition of perfect happiness being a theoretic or 
 intellectual state, the visio, and not the dtleetatio, is consistently 
 given as its central fact; and when he proceeds to consider the 
 other questions of Ethics, the same superiority is steadily 
 ascribed to the intellectual function. It is because we know a 
 thing to be good that we wish it, and knowing it, we cannot 
 help wishing. Conscience, as the name implies, is allied to 
 knowledge. Reason gives the law to will. 
 
 After a long disquisition about the passions and the whole 
 appetitive side of human nature, over which Reason is called 
 to rule, he is brought to the subject of virtue. He is Aristo- 
 telian enough to describe virtue as habitus — a disposition or 
 quality (like health) whereby a subject is more or less well dis- 
 posed with reference to itself or something else ; and he takes 
 account of the acquisition of good moral habits (virtiites acqui- 
 sitce) by practice. But with this he couples, or tends to sub- 
 stitute for it, the definition of Augustin that virtue is a good 
 quality of mind, quam Deus in nobis sine nobis operatur, as 
 a ground for virtutes infusce, conferred as gifts upon m.an, or 
 rather on cei'tain men, by free grace from on high. He 
 wavers greatly at this stage, and in this respect his attitude is 
 characteristic for all the schoolmen. 
 
 So again in passing from the general question of Virtue 
 to the virtues, he puts several of the systems under contribu- 
 tion, as if not prepared to leave the guidance of Aristotle, but 
 feeling at the same time the necessity of bridging over the 
 distance between his position and Christian requirements. 
 Understanding Aristotle to make a co-ordinate division of 
 virtues into Moral and Intellectual, he gives reasons for such 
 a step. Though virtue, he says, is not so much the perfecting 
 of the operation of our faculties, as their employment by the 
 will for good ends, it may be used in the first sense, and thus 
 the intelleccual virtues will ba the habits of intelligence that 
 procure the truest knowledge. The well-known division of 
 the cardinal virtues is his next theme ; and it is established as 
 complete and satisfactory by a twofold deduction. But a 
 still higher and more congenial view is immediately after- 
 wards adopted from Plotinus. This is the Neo-Platonio 
 description of the four virtues as politiccB, purgatc/rim, and 
 purgati animi, according to the scale of elevation reached 
 by the soul in its efforts to mount above sense. Thoy are 
 called by Thomas also exemplares, when regarded at once 
 
AQUINAS ON THE VIRTUES. 54S 
 
 as the essence of the Doity, smd as the models of hnman 
 perfections. 
 
 This mystical division, not nnsmpported by philosophical 
 authority, smooths the way for his acconnt of the highest 
 or theological virtues. These bear npon the vision of Deity, 
 which was recognized aboTO as the highest good of humanity, 
 and form an order apart. They have God for their object, 
 are altogether inspired by God (hence called infusce), and are 
 taught by revelation. Given in connection with the natural 
 faculties of intellect and will, they are exhibited in the attain- 
 ment of the supernatural order of things. "With intellect goes 
 Faith, as it were the intellect applied to things not intelligible ; 
 with Will go Hope and Charity or Love : Hope being the Will 
 exercised upon things not naturally desired, and Love the 
 union of Will with what is not naturally brought near to ns. 
 
 Aquinas then passes to politics, or at least the discussion 
 of the political ideas of law, right, &c. 
 
 Coming now to modern thinkers, we begin with 
 
 THOMAS HOBBES. [1588-1679.] 
 
 The circumstances of Hobbes's life, so powerful in deter- 
 mining the nature of his opinions, had an equally marked 
 effect on the order and number of expositions that he gave to 
 the psychological and political parts of his system. His 
 ethical doctrines, in as far as they can be dissociated from. 
 his politics, may be studied in no less than three distinct 
 forms ^ either in the first part of the Leviathian (1651) ; or 
 in the De Give (1647), taken along with the Be Homine 
 (1658).; or in the Treatise of Human Nature (1650, but written 
 ten years earlier), coupled with the De Corpore Politico (also 
 1650). But the same result, or with only unimportant varia- 
 tions, being obtained from all, we need not here go beyond 
 the first-mentioned. 
 
 In the first part of the Leviathan, then, bearing the title 
 Of Man, and designed to consider Man as at once the matter 
 and artificer of the Commonwealth or State, Hobbes is led, 
 after discus.sing Sense, Imagination, Train of Inaaginations, 
 Speech, Reason and Science, to take up, in chapter sixth, the 
 Passions, or, as he calls them, the Interior beginnings of volun- 
 tary motions. Motions, he says, are either vital and animal, 
 or voluntary. Vital motions, e.g., circulation, nutrition, &o., 
 need no help of imagination ; on the other hand, voluntary 
 motions, as going and speaking — since they depend on a pre- 
 cedent thought of whither, which way, and what — have in 
 
544 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^HOEBES. 
 
 the imagination their first beginning. But imagination is 
 only the relics of sense, and sense, as Hohbes always declares, 
 is motion in the hnmaa organs oommnnicated by objects 
 without ; consequently, visible volnntary motions begin in 
 invisible internal motions, whose nature is expressed by the 
 word Undeavour. When the endeavour is towards something 
 causing it, there is Appetite or Desire ; endeavour ' fromward 
 something ' is Aversion. These very words, and the corre- 
 sponding terms in Greek, imply an actual, not— as the school- 
 men absurdly think— a metaphorical motion. Passing from 
 the main question, he deEcribes Love and Hate as Desire and 
 Aversion when the object is present. Of appetites, some are 
 born with us, others proceed from experience, being of pnrji> 
 cular things. Where we neither desire nor hate, we contemn 
 [he means, disregard]. Appetites and aversions vary in the 
 same person, and much more in different persons. 
 
 Then follows his definition of good, — the object of any 
 man's appetite or desire, as evil is the object of his hate and 
 aversion. Good and evil are always merely relative, either to 
 the person of a man, or in a commonwealth to the representar 
 tive person, or to an arbitrator if cWsen to settle a dispute. 
 Good in the promise is pidckrum, for which there is no exact 
 English term; good in the effect, as the end desired, is 
 delighiful ; good as the means, is useful or profitaile. Th«fe 
 is the same variety of evil. 
 
 His next topic is Pleasure, As sense is, in reality, zootiiffl, 
 but, in 'a^^arence,^ light or sound or odour; so appetite, in 
 reality a motion or endeavour effected in the heart by the 
 action of objects through the organs of sense, is, in ' appar- 
 ence,' delight or trouble of mind. The emotion, whose ap- 
 parence {i.e., subjective side) is pleasure or delight, seems 
 to be a corroboration of vital motion ; the contrary, in the 
 case of molestation. Pleasure is, therefore, the sense of 
 good ; displeasure, the sense of evil. The one accompanies, 
 in greater or less degree, aU desire and love ; the other, 
 all aversion and hatred. Pleasures are either of sense; 
 or of the mind, when arising friom iihe e:q»eciaition that pro- 
 ceeds from the foresight of tie ends or consequence of things, 
 irrespective of tiieir pleasing the senses or not. For these 
 mental pleasures, there is the general name joy. There is a 
 corresponding division of displeasiure into pain and grief. 
 
 All the other passions, he now proceeds to show, are 
 these simple passions — ^appetate, desire, love, aversion, hate, 
 joy, and griet^ diversified in name for divers oonsiderafcioiie. 
 
SIMPLE PASSIONS. 545 
 
 Incidental remarks of ethical importance are these. Oovet- 
 ousness, the desire of riches, is a name signifying blame, 
 because men contending for them are displeased with others 
 attaining them ; the desire itself, however, is to be blamed or 
 allowed, according to the means whereby the riches are sought. 
 Curiosity is a lust of the mind, that by a perseverance of delight 
 in the continual generation of knowledge, exceedeth the short 
 vehemence of any carnal pleasure. Fiiy is grief for the calamity 
 of another, arising from the imagination of the like calamity 
 befalling one's self; the best men have, therefore, least pity 
 for calamity arising from great wickedness. Contempt, or little 
 sense of the calamity of others, proceeds from security of one's 
 own fortune ; ' for that any man should take pleasure in other 
 men's great harms, without other end of his own, I do not 
 conceive it possible.' 
 
 Having explained the various passions, he then gives his 
 theory of the Will. He supposes a liberty in man of doing or 
 omitting, according to appetite or aversion. But to this 
 liberty an end is put in the state of deliberation wherein there 
 is kept up a constant succession of alternating desires and 
 aversions, hopes and fears, regarding one and the same thing. 
 One of two results follows. Either the thing is judged im- 
 possible, or it is done ; and this, according as aversion or 
 appetite triumphs at the last. Now, the last aversion, fol- 
 lowed by omission, or the last appetite, followed by action, 
 is the act of Willing. Will is, therefore, the last appetite 
 (taken to include aversion) in deliberating. So-called Will, 
 that has been forborne, was inclination merely ; but the last 
 inclination with consequent action (or omission) is Will, or 
 voluntary action. 
 
 After mentioning the forms of speech where the several 
 passions and appetites are naturally expressed, and remarking 
 that the truest signs of passion are in the countenance, 
 motions of the body, actions, and ends or aims otherwise 
 known to belong to a man, — ^he returns to the question of good 
 and evil. It is ajppa/rent good and evil, come at by the best 
 possible foresight of all the consequences of action, that excite 
 the appetites and aversions in deliberation. FeUoiiy he defines 
 continual success in obtaining the things from time to time 
 desired; perpetual tranquillity of mind being imposdblie in 
 this Ufe, which is but motion, and cannot be without desire 
 and fear any more than without sense. The happiness of the 
 fatnre life is at present unknown. 
 
 Men, he says at the close, praise the goodness, and magnify 
 35 
 
546 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HOBBES. 
 
 the greatness, of a thing; the Gh-eeks had also the word 
 fiaxaptafios, to express an opinion of a man's felicity. 
 
 In Chapter VII., Of the Ends of Disconrse, he is led to 
 remark on the meaning of Gonsaience, in connection with the 
 word Gonscious. Two or more men, he says, are conscions of 
 a thing when they know it together (con-scwe.) Hence arises 
 the proper meaning of conscience ; and the evU of speaking 
 against one's conscience, in this sense, is to be allowed. Two 
 other meanings are metaphorical : when it is put for a man's 
 knowledge of his own secret facts and thoughts; and when men 
 give their own new opinions, however absurd, the reverenced 
 name of conscience, as if they would have it seem unlawful to 
 change or speak against them. [Hobbes is not concerned to 
 foster the moral independence of individuals.] 
 
 He begins Chapter VIH. by defining Virtue as something 
 that is valued for eminence, and that consists in comparison, 
 but proceeds to consider only the intellectual virtues — all that 
 is summed up in the term of a good wit — and their opposites. 
 Farther on, he refers difference of wits — discretion, prudence, 
 craft, &c. — to difference in the passions, ajid this to difference 
 in constitution of body and of education. The passions 
 chiefly concerned are the desires of power, riches, knowledge, 
 honour, but all may be reduced to the single desire of power. 
 
 In Chapter TX. is given his Scheme of Soiencas. The 
 relation in his mind between Ethics and Politics is here seen. 
 Science or Philosophy is divided into Natural or Civil, ac- 
 cording as it is knowledge of consequences from the accidents 
 of natural bodies or of politic bodies. Ethics is one of the 
 ultimate divisions of Natural Philosophy, dealing with conse- 
 quences from the passions of men ; and because the passions 
 are qualities of bodies, it fells more immediately under the 
 head of Physics. Politics is the whole of the second main 
 division, and deals with consequences from the institution of 
 commonwealths (1) to the rights and duties of the Sovereign, 
 and (2) to the duty and right of the Subject. 
 
 Ethics, accordingly, in Hobbes's eyes, is part of the science 
 of man (as a natural body), and it is always treated as such. 
 But subjecting, as he does, so much of the action of the indi- 
 vidual to the action of the state, he necessarily includes in 
 his Pohtics many questions that usually fall to Ethics. Hence 
 arises the necessity of studying for his Ethics also part of the 
 civil Philosophy; though it happens that, in the Leviathan, 
 this requisite part is incorporated with the Section oontaining 
 the Science of Man. 
 
POWEK. — HAPPINESS. 547 
 
 Chapter X. is on Power, Worth, Dignity, Honour, and 
 Worthiness. A man's power being his present means to 
 obtain some fature apparent good, he enumerates all the 
 sources of original and acquired power. The worth of a man 
 is what would be given for the use of his power ; it is, there- 
 fore, never absolute, but dependent on the need and judgment 
 of another. Dignity is the value set on a man by the state. 
 Hotwur and dishmiovir are the manifestation of value. He goes 
 through all the signs of honour and dishonour. Honourable 
 is any possession, action, or quality that is the sign of power. 
 Where there is the opinion of power^ the justice or injustice 
 of an action does not affect the honour. He clearly means a 
 universally accepted opinion of power,, and cites the characters 
 of the pagan deities. So, too, before times of civil order, it was 
 held no dishonour to be a pirate, and even still, duels, though 
 unlawfdl, are honourable, and will be till there be honour 
 ordained for them that refuse.. Farther on, he distinguishes 
 Worthiness, (1) from worth, and (2) from merit, or the posses- 
 sion of a particular ability or desert, which, as will be seen, 
 presupposes a light to a thing, founded on a promise. 
 
 Chapter XI. bears the title. Of the difference of Manners ; 
 by manners being meant, not decency of behaviour and points 
 of the ' small morals,' but the qualities of mankind that con- 
 cern their living together in peace and unity. Felicity of 
 life, as before, he pronounces to be a continual progress of 
 desire, there being no fmis ultimus nor summum honum. The 
 aim of all men is, therefore, not only to enjoy once and for an 
 instant, but to assure for ever the way of fliture desire. Men 
 differ in their way of doing so, from, diversity of passion and 
 their different degrees of knowledge. One thing he notes as 
 common to all, a restless and perpetual desire of power after 
 power, because the present power of living well depends on 
 the acquisition of more. Competition inclines to conten- 
 tion and war. The desire of ease, on the other hajid, and 
 fear of death or wounds, dispose to civil obedience. So also 
 does desire of knowledge, implying, as it does, desire of leisure. 
 Desire of praise and desire of fame after death dispose to 
 laudable actions; in such fame, there is a present delight 
 from foresight of it, and of benefit redounding to posterity ; 
 for pleasure to the sense is also pleasure in the imagination. 
 Unrequitable benefits from an equal engender secret hatred^ 
 but from a superior, love ; the cheerful acceptation, called grat- 
 itude, requiting the giver with honour. Bequitable benefits, 
 even from equals or inferiors, dispose to love ; for hence 
 
54S ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HOBBES. 
 
 arises enmlation in benefiting — ' the most noble and profitable 
 contention possible, wherein the victor is pleased with his 
 victory, and the other revenged by confessing it.' He passes 
 under review other dispositions, such as fear of oppression, 
 vain-glory, ambition, pusillanimity, frugality, &c., with re- 
 ference to the course of conduct they prompt to. Then he 
 comes to a favourite subject, the mistaken courses whereinto 
 men fall that are ignorant of natural causes and the proper 
 signification of words. The efiect of ignorance of the causes 
 of right, equity, law, and justice, is to make custom and 
 example the rule of actions, as with children, or to induce 
 the setting of custom against reason, and reason against 
 custom, whereby the doctrine of right and wrong is per- 
 petually disputed, both by the pen, and by the sword. Again, 
 taking up ignorance of the laws of nature, he is led on to the 
 subject of natural Religion, and devotes also the whole of 
 Chapter XII. to Bieligion and kindred topics. 
 
 In Chapter XIII., he deals with the natural condition of 
 Mankind, as concerning their Felicity and Misery. All men, 
 he says, are by nature equal. Dififerences there are in the 
 faculties of body and mind, but, when all is taken together, 
 not great enough to establish a steady superiority of one over 
 another. Besides even more than in strength, men are equal 
 in prudence, which is but experience that comes to all. People 
 indeed generally believe that others are not so wise as them- 
 selves, but ' there is not ordinarily a greater sign of equal 
 distribution of anything than that every person is contented 
 with his share.' 
 
 Of this equality of ability, the consequence is that two 
 men desiring the exclusive possession of the same thing, 
 whether for their own conservation or for delectation, will 
 become enemies and seek to destroy each other. In such a 
 case, it will be natural for any man to seek to secure himself 
 by anticipating others in the use of force or wiles ; and, because 
 some will not be content with merely securing themselves, 
 others, who would be content, will be driven to take the ofien- 
 sive for mere self-conservation. Moreover, men will be dis- 
 pleased at being valued by others less highly than by them- 
 selves, and will use force to extort respect. 
 
 Thus, he finds three principal causes of quarrel in the 
 nature of man — competition, diffidence (distrust), and glory, 
 making men invade for gain, for safety, and for reputation. 
 Men will accordingly, in the absence of any power to keep 
 them in awe, be in a constant state of war ; by which is meant, 
 
MISERIES OF THE STATE OF NATURE. 549 
 
 not actual fighting, but the known disposition thereto^ and 
 no assnrauce to the contrary. 
 
 He proceeds to draw a very disntal picture of the results 
 of this state of enmity of man against man — no industry^ 
 no agriculture, no arts, no society, and so forth, but only- 
 fear and danger of violent death, and life solitary, poor, 
 nasty, brutish, and short. To those that doubt the truth of 
 such an ' inference made from the passions,' and desire the 
 confirmation of experience, he cites the wearing of arms and 
 locking of doors, &c., as actions that accuse mankind as much 
 as any words of his. Besides, it is not really to accuse man's' 
 nature ; for the desires and passions are in themselves no sin, 
 nor the actions proceeding from them, until a law is made 
 against them. He seeks further evidence of an original con- 
 dition of war, in the actual state of American savages, with 
 no government at all, but only a concord of small families, 
 depending on natural last ; also in the known horrors of a 
 civil war, when there is no common power to fear: and, 
 finally, in the constant hostile attitude of difierent governments. 
 
 In the state of natural war, the notions of right and wrong, 
 justice and injustice, have no place, there being no law ; and 
 there is no law, because there is no common power. Force 
 and fraud are in war the two cardinal virtues. Justice is no 
 faculty of body and mind like sense and passion, but only a 
 quality relating to men in society. Then adding a last touch 
 to the description of the state of nature, — by saying of pro- 
 perty, that ' only that is every man's that he can get, and for so 
 long as he can keep it,' — he opens up, at the close of the 
 chapter, a new prospect by allowing a possibility to come out 
 of so evil a condition. The possibility consists partly in 
 the passions that incline to peace — viz., fear of death, desire 
 of things necessary to commodious living, and hope by in- 
 dustry to obtain them ; partly in reason, which suggests con- 
 venient articles of peace and agreement, otherwise called the 
 Laws of Nature. 
 
 The first and second Natural Laws, and the subject of 
 contracts, take up Chap. XIV. First comes a definition of 
 Jv^ Nahtrale or Bight of Nature — the liberty each man has 
 of using his own power, as he will himself, for the preserva- 
 tion of his own nature or life. Liberty properly means the 
 absence of external impediments ; now a man may externally be 
 hindered from doing all he would, but not from using what 
 power is left him, according to his best reason and judgment. 
 A Law of Nature, lex naiuralis, is defined, a general rule, 
 
550 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^HOBBES. 
 
 found out by reason, forbidding a man to do what directly or 
 indirectly is destructive of his life,, or to omit what he thinks 
 may best preserve it. Right and Law, though generally con- 
 founded, are exactly opposed, Bight being liberty, and Law 
 obligation. 
 
 Itt the natural -state of war, every man, being governed 
 by his own reason, has a right to everything, even to 
 another's body. But because thus no man's life is secure, he 
 finds the First and fundamental law of nature, or general rule 
 of reason, to be to geek peace emd follow it, if possible : fiul- 
 ing which, we may defend ourselves by all the means we 
 can. Here the law being ' to endeavour peace,' from this follows 
 the Second law, that a man be willing, when others are so too, 
 as far forth as for peace and self-defence he shall think it 
 necessary, to lay down this right to all things ; and be con- 
 tented with so much liberty against other men as he would 
 allow other men against himself. This is the same as the 
 Crospel precept, Do to others, &c. 
 
 Laying down one's right to anything is divesting one's 
 self of the liberty of hindering another in the exercise of his 
 own original right to the same. The right is 7-enounced, 
 when a man cares not for whose benefit ; transferred, when 
 intended to benefit some certain person or persons. Li either 
 case the man is obliged or bound not to hinder those, in whose 
 favour the right is abandoned, from the benefit of it ; it is his 
 duty not to make void his own voluntary act, and if he does, 
 it is irijustice or injury, because he acts now sine Jure. Such 
 conduct Hobbes likens to an. intellectual absurdity or self- 
 contradiction. Voluntary signs to be empl(^ed in abandon- 
 ing a right, are words and actions, separately or together ; 
 but in all bonds, the strength comes not from their own 
 nature, but from the fear of evil resulting from their rupture. 
 
 He concludes that not all rights are alienable, for the 
 reason that the abandonment, being a voluntary act, must 
 have for its object some good to Ihe person that abandons his 
 right. A man, for instance, cannot lay down the right to 
 defend his life ; to use words or other signs for that purpose, 
 would be to despoil himself of the end — security of life and 
 person — for which those signs were intended. 
 
 Contract is the mutual transferring of right, and with this 
 idea he connects a great deal. First, he distrnguishes trans- 
 ference of right to a tiling, and transference of the thing 
 itself. A contract fulfilled by one party, but left on trust to 
 be fulfilled by the other, is called the Govmant of this other, 
 
CONTEACT. — ^MEBIT. 551 
 
 (a distiuciioD he afterwards drops), and leaves room for the 
 keeping or violation of faith. To contract he opposes gift, 
 free-gift, or grace, where there is no mutual transference of 
 right, but one party transfers in the hope of gaining friend- 
 ship or service from another, or the reputation of charity and 
 magnanimity, or deliverance from the merited pain of com- 
 passion, or reward in heaven. 
 
 There follow remarks on signs of contract, as either ex- 
 press or by inference, and a distinction between free-gift as 
 made by words of the present or past, and contract as made 
 by words past, present, or future ; wherefore, in contracts like 
 buying and selling, a promise amounts to a covenant, and is 
 obligatory. 
 
 The idea of Merit is thus explained. Of two contracting 
 parties, the one that has first performed merits what he is to 
 receive by the other's performance, or has it as due. Even 
 the person that wins a prize, ofiered by free-gift to many, 
 merits it. But, whereas, in contract, I merit by virtue of my 
 own power and the other contractor's need, in the case of the 
 gift, I merit only by the benignity of the giver, and to the 
 extent that, when he has given it, it shall be mine rather than 
 another's. This distinction he believes to coincide with the 
 scholastic separation of meritum congrui and meritum condigni. 
 
 He adds many more particulars in regard to covenants 
 made on mutual trust. They are void in the state of nature, 
 upon any reasonable suspicion ; but when there is a common 
 power to compel observance, and thus no more room for fear, 
 they are valid. Even when fear makes them invalid it must 
 have arisen after they were made, else it should have kept 
 them from being made. Transference of a right implies 
 transference, as far as may be, of the means to its enjoyment. 
 With beasts there is no covenant, because no proper mutual 
 understanding. With God also none, except through special 
 revelation or with his lieutenant in his name. Anything 
 vowed contrary to the law of nature is vowed in vain ; if the 
 thing vowed is commanded by the law of nature, the law, 
 not the vow, binds. Covenants are of things possible and 
 future. Men are freed from them by performance, or for- 
 giveness, which is restitution of liberty. He pronounces 
 covenants extorted by fear to be binding aUke in the state of 
 mere nature and in commonwealths, if once entered into. 
 A former covenant makes void a later. Any covenant not 
 to defend one's self from force by force is always void ; 
 as said above, there is no transference possible of right to 
 
552 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— HOBBES. 
 
 defend one's self from death, woxmds, imprisonment, &o. So 
 no man is obliged to accuse himself, or generally to give tes- 
 timony where from the nature of the case it may be presumed 
 to be cormpted. Accusation upon torture is not to be reputed 
 as testimony. At the close he remarks upon oaths. He fiuds 
 in human nature two imaginable helps to strengthen the force 
 of words, otherwise too weak to insure the performance of 
 covenants. One of these — ^ride in appearing not to need to 
 break one's word, he supposes too rare to be presumed upon. 
 The other, fear, has reference either to power of spirits invisi- 
 ble, or of men. In the state of nature, it is the first kind of 
 fear — a man's religion — that keeps him to his promises. An 
 oath is therefore swearing to perform by the God a man fears. 
 
 But to the obligation itself it adds nothing. 
 
 Of the other Laws of Nature, treated in Chap. XY., the 
 third, that men perform their covenants made, opens up the 
 discussion of Justine. Till rights have been transferred and 
 covenants made there is no justice or injustice ; injustice is no 
 other than the non-performance of covenants. Further, justice 
 (and also property) begins only where a regular coercive power 
 is constituted, because otherwise there is cause for fear, and 
 fear, as has been seen, makes covenants invalid. Even the 
 scholastic definition of justice recognizes as much ; for thea-e 
 can be no constant will of giving to every man his own, when, 
 as in the state of nature, there is no own. He argues at 
 length against the idea that justice, i.e., the keeping of cove- 
 nants, is contrary to reason ; repelling three different argu- 
 ments. (1) He demonstrates that it cannot be reasonable to 
 break or keep covenants according to benefit supposed to be 
 gained in each case, because this would be a subversion of the 
 principles whereon society is founded, and must end by de- 
 priving the individual of its benefits, whereby he would be left 
 perfectly helpless. (2) He considers it frivolous to talk of 
 securing the happiness of heaven by any kind of injustice, 
 when there is but one possible way of attaining it, viz., the 
 keeping of covenants. (3) He warns men (he means his con- 
 temporaries) against resorting to the mode of injustice known 
 as rebellion to gain sovereignty, from the hopelessness of 
 gaining it and the uncertainty of keeping it. Hence he con- 
 cludes that justice is a rule of reason, the keeping of cove- 
 nants being the surest way to preserve our life, and therefore 
 a law of nature. He rejects the notion that laws of nature 
 are to be supposed conducive, not to the preservation of life 
 on earth, but to the attainment of eternal felicity ; whereto 
 
JUSTICE, 553 
 
 such breacli of covenant as rebellion may sometimes be supposed 
 a means. For tbat, the knowledge of the future life is too un- 
 certain. Finally, he consistently holds that faith is to be kept 
 with heretics and with all that it has once been pledged to. 
 
 He goes on to distinguish between justice of men or 
 manners, and justice of actions ; whereby in the one case men 
 are just or righteous, and in the other, guiltless. After making 
 the common observation that single inconsistent acts do not 
 destroy a character for justice or injustice, he has this : ' That 
 which gives to human actions the relish of justice, is a certain 
 nobleness or gallantness of courage rarely found, by which a 
 man scorns to be beholden for the contentment of his life to 
 fraud, or breach of promise.' Then he shows the difference 
 between injustice, injury, and damage ; asserts that nothing 
 done to a man with his consent can be injury ; and, rejecting 
 the common mode of distinguishing between commutatvoe and 
 distributive justice, calls the first the justice of a con- 
 tractor, and the other an improper name for just distribution, 
 or the justice of an arbitrator, i.e., the act of defining what is 
 just — equivalent to equity, which is itself a law of nature. 
 
 The rest of the laws follow in swift succession. The 4th 
 recommends Gratitude, which depends on antecedent grace 
 instead of covenant. Free-gift being voluntary, i.e., done 
 with intention of good to one's self, there wUl be an end to 
 benevolence and mutual help, unless gratitude is given as 
 compensation. 
 
 The 6th enjoins Gom/plaisanoe ; a disposition in men not 
 to seek superfluities that to others are necessaries. Such 
 men are sociable. 
 
 The 6th enjoins Pardon upon repentance, with a view 
 (like the last) to peace. 
 
 The 7th enjoins that punishment is to be only for cor- 
 rection of the offender And direction of others ; i.e., for profit 
 and example, not for ' glorying in the hurt of another, tend- 
 ing to no end.' Against Oruelty. 
 
 The 8th is against Gontumely, as provocative of dispeace. 
 
 The 9th is against Pride, and enjoins the acknowledgment 
 of the equality of all men by nature. He is here very sarcastic 
 against Aristotle, and asserts, in opposition to him, that all 
 inequality of men arises from consent. 
 
 The 10th is, in like manner, against Arrogance, and in 
 favour of Modesty. Men, in entering into peace, are to reserve 
 no rights but such as they are willing shall be reserved by 
 others. 
 
554 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HOBBES. 
 
 The 11th enjoins Equity ; the disposition, in a man trusted 
 to judge, to distribute equally to each man what in reason 
 belongs to him. Partiality ' deters men from the use of judges 
 and arbitrators,' and is a cause of war. 
 
 The 12th enjoins the common, or the proportionable, use 
 of things that cannot be distributed. 
 
 The 13th enjoins the resort to lot, when separate or com- 
 mon enjoyment is not possible; the 14th provides also for 
 nabwral lot, meaning first possession or primogeniture. 
 The 15th demands safe conduct for mediators. 
 The 16th requires that parties at controversy shall submit 
 their right to arbitration. 
 
 The 17th forbids a man to be his own judge; the 18th, 
 any interested person to be judge. 
 
 The 19th requires a resort to witnesses in a matter of fact, 
 as between two contending parties. 
 
 This list of the laws of nature is only slightly varied in the 
 other works. He enumerates none but those that concern 
 the doctrine of Civil Society, passing over things Uke Intem- 
 perance, that are also forbidden by the law of nature because 
 destructive of particular men. All the laws are summed up 
 in the one expression : Do not that to another, which thou 
 wouldest not have done to thyself. 
 
 The laws of nature he regards as always binding in foro 
 interna, to the extent of its being desired they should take 
 place ; but in foro extemo, only when there is security. As 
 binding m fOro interna, they can be broken even by an act 
 aofcording with them, if the purpose of it was against them. 
 They are immutable and eternal ; ' injustice, ingratitude, &c., 
 can never be made lawful,' for war cannot preserve life, nor 
 peace destroy it. Their fblfilment is easy, as requiring only 
 an unfeigned and constant endeavour. 
 
 Of these laws the science is true moral philosophy, i.e., the 
 science of good and evil in the society of mankind. Good 
 and evil vary much from man to man, and even in the same 
 man ; but while private appetite is the measure of good and 
 evil in the condition of nature, all allow that peace is good, 
 and that justice, gratitude, &c., as the way or means to peace, 
 are also good, that is to say, moral virtues. The true mdral 
 philosophy, in regarding them as laws of nature, places their 
 goodness in their being the means of peaceable, comfortable, 
 and sociable living ; not, as is commonly done, in a mediocrity 
 of passions, ' as if not the cause, but the degree of daring, 
 made fortitude.' 
 
GENERAL SUMMARY. 555 
 
 His last remark is, that these dictates of reason are 
 improperly called laws, because ' law, properly, is the word 
 of him that by right hath command over others.' But when 
 considered not as mere conclusions or theorems concerning 
 the means of conservation and defence, but as delivered in 
 the word of God, that by right commands aU, then they are 
 properly called laws. 
 
 Chapter XVI^ closing the whole first part of the Leviathan, 
 is of Persons, Authors, and Things Personated. The defini- 
 tions and distinctions contained in it aid nothing of direct 
 ethical importance to the foregoing, though needed for the 
 discussion of ' Commonwealth,' to which he passes. The 
 chief points under this second great head are taken into the 
 summary. 
 
 The views of Hobbes can be only inadequately summarized. 
 
 I. — The Standard, to men living in society, is the Law of 
 the State. This is Self-interest or individual Utility, masked 
 as regard for Established Order ; for, as he holds, under any 
 kind of government there is more Security and Commodity of 
 life than in the State of Nature, In the Natural Condition, 
 Self-interest, of course, is the Standard ; but not without re- 
 sponsibility to God, in case it is not sought, as far as other 
 men will allow, by the practice of the dictates of Reason or 
 laws of Nature. 
 
 IL — His Psychology of Ethics is to be studied in the detail. 
 Whether in the natural or in the social state, the Moral Faculty, 
 to correspond with the Standard, is the general power of Reason, 
 com.prehending the aims of the Individual or Society, and 
 attending to the laws of Nature or the laws of the State, in 
 the one case or in the other respectively. 
 
 On the question of the Will, his views have been given at 
 length. 
 
 Disinterested Sentiment is, in origin, self-regarding ; for, 
 pitying others, we imagine the like calamity befalling our- 
 selves. In one place, he seems to say, that the Sentiment of 
 Power is also involved. It is the great defect of his system 
 that he takes so little account of the Social afiections, whether 
 natural or acquired. 
 
 III. — His Theory of Happiness, or the Summum Bonum, 
 would follow from his analysis of the Feelings and Will. But 
 Felicity being a continual progress in desire, and consisting 
 less in present enjoyment than in assuring the way of future 
 desire, the chief element in it is the Sense of Power. 
 
 IV. — A Moral Code is minutely detailed under the name of 
 
566 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — CUMBERLAND. 
 
 Laws of Nature, in force in the Natural State under Divine 
 Sanction. It inculcates all tlie common virtues, and makes 
 little or no departure from the usually received maxims. 
 
 V. — The relation of Ethics to Politics is the closest imagin- 
 able. Not even Society, as commonly understood, but only 
 the established civil authority, is the source of rules of con- 
 duct. In the civil (which to Hobbes is the only meaning of 
 the xocial) state, the laws of nature are superseded, by being 
 supposed talsen up into, the laws of the Sovereign Power. 
 
 VI. — ^As regards Religion, he af&rms the coincidence of his 
 reasoned deduction of the laws of Nature with the precepts of 
 Revelation. He maJres a mild use of the sanctions of a Puture 
 Infe to enforce the laws of Nature, and to give additional 
 support to the commands of the sovereign that take the place 
 of these in the social state. 
 
 Among the numberless replies, called forth by the bold 
 speculations of Hobbes, were some works of independent 
 ethical importance ; in particular, the treatises of Cumberland, 
 Cudworth, and Clarke. Cumberland stands by himself; Cud- 
 worth and Clarke, agreeing in some respects, are commonly 
 called the Uational moralists, along with Wollaston and Price 
 (who fall to be noticed later). 
 
 EICHAED CUMBERLAND. [1632-1718.] 
 
 Cumberland's Latin work, De Legibug Naturoe disquidtio 
 phUosopMca contra Hohhium instituta, appeared in 1672. The 
 book is important as a distinctly philosophical disquisition, 
 but its extraordinarily discursive character renders impossible 
 anything like analysis. His chief points will be presented in 
 a fuller summary than usual. 
 
 I. — The Standard of Moral G-ood is given in the laws of 
 Nature, which may all be summed up in one great Law — 
 Benevolence to all rational agents, or the endeavour to the 
 utmost of our power to promote the common good of all. His 
 theory is hardly to be distinguished from the Gtreatest Happi- 
 ness principle ; unless it might be represented as putting for- 
 ward still more prominently the search for Individual Happi- 
 ness, with a fixed assumption that this is best secured through 
 the promotion of the general good. No action, he declares, 
 can be called ' morally good that does not in its own nature 
 contribute somewhat to the happiness of men.' The speciality 
 of his view is his professing not to make an induction as 
 regards the character of actions fi-om the observation of their 
 efiects, but to deduce the propriety of (benevolent) actions 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF ETHICS. 557 
 
 from the consideration of the character and position of rational 
 agents in nature. Rules of conduct, all directed to the pro- 
 motion of the Happiness of rational agents, may thus be found 
 in the form of propositions impressed upon the mind by the 
 Nature of Things ; and these are then interpreted to be laws 
 of Nature (summed up in the one great Law), promulgated 
 by God with the natural effects of actions as Sanctions of 
 Reward and Punishment to enforce them. 
 
 II. — His Psychology of Ethics may be reduced to the fol- 
 lowing heads. 
 
 1. The Faculty is the Reason, apprehending the exact 
 Nature of Things, and determining accordingly the modes of 
 action that are best suited to promote the happiness of 
 rational agents. 
 
 2. Of the Faculty, under the name of Conscience, he gives 
 this description : ' The mind is conscious to itself of all its own 
 actions, and both can, and often does, observe what counsels pro- 
 duced them ; it naturally sits a judge upon its own actions, and 
 thence procures to itself either tranquillity and joy, or anxiety 
 and sorrow.' The principal design of his whole book is to 
 show ' how this power of the mind, either by itself, or excited 
 by external objects, forms certain universal practical proposi- 
 tions, which give us a more distinct idea of the happiness of 
 mankind, and pronounces by what actions of ours, in all 
 variety of circumstances, that happiness may most effect- 
 ually be obtained.' [Conscience is thus only Reason, or the 
 knowing faculty in general, as specially concerned about 
 actions in their effect upon happiness; it rarely takes the 
 place of the more general term.] 
 
 3. He expressly leaves aside the supposition that we have 
 innate ideas of the laws of Nature whereby conduct is to be 
 guided, or of the matters that they are conversant about. 
 He has not, he says, been so happy as to learn the laws of 
 Nature by so short a Tfay, and thinks it ill-advised to build 
 the doctrine of natural religion and morality upon a hypothesis 
 that has been rejected by the generality of philosophers, as 
 well heathen as Christian, and can never be proved against 
 the Epicureans, with whom lies his chief controversy. Yet he 
 declines to oppose the doctrine of innate ideas, because it looks 
 with a friendly eye upon piety and morality ; and perhaps it 
 may be the case, that such ideas are both born with us and 
 afterwards impressed upon us from without. 
 
 4. WiU, he defines as ' the consent of the mind with the 
 judgment of the understanding, concerning things agreeing 
 
558 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — CUMBEELAND. 
 
 among themselves.' Although, therefore, he supposes that 
 nothing but Good and Evil can determine the 'will, and that 
 the mil is even necessarily determined to seek the one and 
 flee the other, he escapes tbe conclusion that the will is moved 
 only by private good, by accepting the implication of private 
 ■with common good as tibe fixed judgment of the understand- 
 ing or right reason. 
 
 6. He argues against the resolution of alt Benevolence 
 into self-seekmg, and thus claims for man a principle of dis- 
 interested action. But what he is far more concerned to prove 
 is, that benevolence of all to all accords best with the whole 
 frame of nature, stands forth with perfect evidence, upon a 
 rational apprehension of the universe, as the great I^w of 
 Nature, and is the most effectual means of promoting the 
 happiness of individuals, viz., through the happiness of all. 
 
 in. — Happiness is given as connected with the most ftill 
 and constant exercise of all our powers, about the best and 
 greatest objects and effects that are adequate and proportional 
 to them ; as consisting in the enlargement or perfection of the 
 faculties of any one thing or several. Here, and in his protest 
 against Hobbes's taking affection and desire, instead of 
 Reason, as the measure of the goodness of things, may be 
 seen in what way he passes from the conception of Individnal, 
 to the notion of Common Good, as the end of action. Season 
 affirms the common good to be more essentially connected 
 with the perfection of man than any pursuit- of private advan- 
 tage. Still there is no disposition in him to sacrifice private 
 to the common good : he declares that no man is called on to 
 promote the common good beyond his ability, and attaches no 
 meaning to the general good beyond the special good oiall the 
 particular rational agents in their respective places, from God 
 (to whom he ventures to ascribe a TranqniUity, Joy, or Compla- 
 cency) downwards. The happiness of men he considers as Jn- 
 ternal, arising vmmediately from the vigorous exercise of the 
 faculties about their proper and noblest objects ; and External, 
 the mediate advantages procurable troTO. God and men by a 
 course of benevolent action. 
 
 rV. — His Moral Code is arrived at by a somewhat elabo- 
 rate deduction from the great Law of Nature enjoining Benevo- 
 lence or Promotion of the Common Grood of all rational beings. 
 
 This Common Good comprehends the Honour of God, and 
 the Good or Happiness of Men, as Nations, Families, and 
 Individuals. 
 
 The actions that promote this Common Good, are Acts 
 
MORAL CODE. 559 
 
 either of the understanding, or of the will and afiections, or of 
 the body as determined by the will. From this he finds that 
 Prudence (inclnding Constancy of Mind and Moderation) is 
 enjoined in the Understanding, and, in the Will, Universal 
 Benevolence (making, with Prudence, Eqy/ity), Government oj 
 the Passions, and the Special Laws of Nature — Innocence, Self- 
 denial, Gratitude, Sfc. 
 
 This he gets from the consideration of what is contained 
 in the general Law of Nature. But the obligation to the 
 various moral virtues does not appear, until he has shown that 
 the Law of Nature, for procuring the Common Happiness of 
 all, suggests a natural law of Universal Justice, commanding to 
 make and preserve a c^wtsj'oji of Rights, i.e., giving to particular 
 persons Property or Dominion over things and persons neces- 
 sary to their Happiness. There are thus Rights of God (to 
 Honour, Glory, &c.) and Rights of Men (to have those advan- 
 tages continued to them whereby they may preserve and per- 
 fect themselves, and be useful to all others). 
 
 For the same reason that Sights of particular persons 
 are fixed and preserved, viz., that the common good of aU 
 should be promoted by every one, — two Obligations are laid 
 upon all. 
 
 (1) Of GiVENG :. We are to contribute to others such a share 
 of the things committed to our trust, as may not destroy the 
 part that is necessary to our own happiness. Hence are obli- 
 gatory the virtues (a) in regard to Gifts, Liberality , Generosity, 
 Compassion, &c.; (6) in regard to Common Conversation or 
 Intercourse, Gravity and Oourteousness, Veradty, Faith, 
 Urbanity, &c. 
 
 (2) Of RECEiyiNG: We are to reserve to ourselves such 
 use of our own, as may be most advantageous to, or at least 
 consistent with, the good of others. Hence the obligation of 
 the virtues pertaining to the various branches of a limited 
 Self-Love, (a) with regard to our essential parts, viz., 
 Mind and Body — Temperance in the natural desires concerned 
 in the preservation of the individual and the species ; (6) with 
 regard to goods of fortune — Modesty, Humility, and Mag- 
 nanimity. 
 
 Y. — He connects Politics with Ethics, by finding, in the 
 establishment of civil government, a more efiiectual means of 
 promoting the common happiness according to the Law ot 
 Nature, than in any equal division of things. But the Law 
 of Nature, he declares, being before the civil laws, and con- 
 taining the ground of their obligation, can never be superseded 
 
560 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — C0DWORTH. 
 
 by these. Practically, howevBr, the diflFerenoe between him 
 and Hobbes comes to very little ; he recognizes no kind of 
 earthly check upon the action of the civil power. 
 
 VI. — With reference to Bieligion, he profeeses to abstain 
 entirely from theological questions, and does abstain from 
 mixing up the doctrines of Revelation. But he attaches a 
 distinctly divine authority to his moral rules, and supplements 
 earthly by supernatural sanctions. 
 
 EALPH CUDWORTH. [1617-88.] 
 
 Cudworth's Treatise eoneemmg Eternal and Immutable Mo- 
 rality, did not appear until 1731, more than forty years after 
 his death. Having in a former work (' Intellectual system 
 of the Universe') contended against the ' Atheistical Fate ' of 
 Epicurus and others, he here attacks the ' Theologick Pate' 
 (the arbitrarily omnipotent Deity) of Hobbes, charging him 
 with reviving exploded opinions of Protagoras and the ancient 
 Greeks, that take away the essential and eternal discrimination 
 of moral good and evil, of just and unjust. 
 
 After pUing up, out of the store of his classical and 
 scholastic erudition, a great mass of testimony regarding all 
 who had ever founded distinctions of Right and Wrong upon 
 mere arbitrary disposition, whether of God or the State of men 
 in general, he shadows forth his own view. Moral Good and 
 Evil, Just and Unjust, Honest and Dishonest (if they be not 
 mere names without any signification, or names for nothing 
 else but Willed or Gommwnded, but have a reality in respect of 
 the persons obliged to do and to avoid them), cannot possibly 
 be arbitrary things, made by Will without nature ; because 
 it is universally true that Things are what they are not by 
 Will, but by nature. As it is the nature of a triangle to have 
 three angles equal to two right angles, so it is the nature of 
 ' good things' to have the nature of goodness, and things just 
 the nature of justice ; and Omnipotence is no more able to 
 make a thing good without the fixed nature of goodness, than 
 to make a triangular body without the properties of a triangle, 
 or two things like or equal, without the natures of Likeness 
 and Equality. The Will of God is the supreme efficient cause 
 of all things, but not the formal cause of anything besides 
 itself. Nor is this to be understood as at all derogating fi?om 
 God's perfection ; to make natural justice and right indepen- 
 dent of his will is merely to set his Wisdom, which is a rule 
 or measure, above his Will, which is something indeterminate, 
 but essentially regulable and measoreable; and if it be the 
 
ETEKNAL AKD IMMtJTABLE VERITIES. 561 
 
 case that above even his -msdom, and determining it in turn, 
 stands his Infinite Goodness, the greatest perfection of his 
 will mnst lie in its being thns twice determined. 
 
 By far the largest part of Cudworth's treatise conBists of 
 a general metaphysical argument to establish the indepen- 
 dence of the mind's faculty of KnOwledgOj with deference to 
 Sense and Experience. In Sense, according to the doctrine 
 of the old 'Atomical philosophy' (of Demooritus, Protagoras, 
 &c. — but he thinks it must be referred back to Moses himself !), 
 he sees nothing but fancies excited in us by local motions in 
 the organs, taken on from ' the motion of particles ' that con- 
 stitute ' the whole world.' All the more, therefore, must there 
 exist a superior power of Intellection and Knowledge of a 
 different nature from sense, a power not terminating in mere 
 seeming and appearance only, but in the reality of things, and 
 reaching to the comprehension of what really and abso- 
 lutely is ; whose objects are the immutable and eternal essences 
 arid natures of things, and their nnchangeable relations to one 
 another. These Rationes or Verities of things are mtelligihle 
 only ; are all comprehended in the eternal mind or intellect of 
 the Deity, and from Him derived to our ' particular intellects.' 
 They are neither arbitrary nor phantastical — neither alterable 
 by WiU. nor changeable by Opinion. 
 
 Such eternal and immutable Verities, then, the moral dis- 
 tinctions of Good and Evil are, in the pauses of the general 
 argument, declared to be. They, ' as they must have some 
 certain natures which are the actions or souls of men,' are 
 unalterable by Will or Opinion. ' Modifications of Mind and' 
 Intellect,' they are as much more real and substantial things 
 than Hard, Soft, Hot, and Cold, modifications of mere sense- 
 less inatter — and even so, on the principles of the atomical 
 philosophy, dependent on the soul for their existence — as Mind 
 itself stands prior in the order of nature to Maitter. In the 
 mind they are as 'anticipations of morality' springing up, not 
 indeed ' from certain rules or propositions arbitrarily printed 
 on the soul as on a book,' but from some more inward and 
 vital Principle in intellectual being's, as such whereby these 
 have within themselves a natural determination to do some 
 things and to avoid others. 
 
 The only other ethical determinations made by Cudworth 
 may thus be summarized : — Things called natwally Good and 
 Due are such as the intellectual nature obliges to immediately, 
 absolutely, and perpetually, and upon no condition of any 
 voluntary action done or omitted intervening ; things posi- 
 36 
 
562 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — CLABKE. 
 
 tively Good and Due are such as are in themselves indifferent, 
 but the intellectual nature obliges to them accidentally or 
 hypothetioally, upon condition, in the case of a command, 
 of some voluntary act of another person invested with lawftd 
 authoriiy, or of one's self, in the case of a specific promise. 
 In a positive command (as of the civil ruler), what obliges is 
 only the intellectual nature of him that is commanded, in that 
 he recognizes the lawful authority of him that commands, and 
 so far determines and modifies his general duty of obedience 
 as to do an action immaterial in itself for the sake of the for- 
 mality of yielding obedience to lawfully constituted authority. 
 So, in like manner, a specific promise, in itself immaterial and 
 not enjoined by natural justice, is to be kept for the sake of 
 the formality of keeping faith, which is enjoined. 
 
 Cudworth's work, in which these are nearly all the ethical 
 allusions, gives no scope for a summary under the various 
 topics. 
 
 I. — Specially excluding any such External Standard of 
 moral Good as the arbitrary Will, either of God or the Sove- 
 reign, he views it as a simple ultimate natural quality of 
 actions or dispositions, as included among the verities of 
 things, by the side of which the phenomena of Sense are 
 unreal. 
 
 n. — The general Intellectoal Faculty cognizes the moral 
 verities, which it contains within itself and brings rather than 
 finds. 
 
 m. — He does not touch upon Happiness; probably he 
 would lean to asceticism. He sets up no moral code. 
 
 rV. — Obligation to the Positive Civil Laws in matters in- 
 different follows from the intellectual recognition of the esta- 
 blished relation between ruler and subject. 
 
 V. — ^Morality is not dependent upon the Deity in any 
 other sense than the whole frame of things is. 
 
 SAMUEL CLAEKE. [1675-1729.] 
 
 Claeke put together his two series of Boyle Lectures 
 (preached 1704 and 1705) as 'A Discourse, concerning the 
 Being and Attributes of God, the Obligations of Natural 
 Eeligion and the Truth and Certainty of the Christian 
 Eevelation,' in answer to Hobbes, Spinoza, &c. The burden 
 of the ethical discussion falls under the head of the Obligations 
 of Natural Religion, in the second series. 
 
 He enounces this all-comprehensive proposition: 'The 
 same necessary and eternal different Relations that different 
 
FITNESSES AND UNFITNESSES OF THINGS. 563 
 
 Things bear one to another, and the same consequent Fitness 
 or Unfitness of the application of difierent things or diflferent 
 relations one to another, with regard to which the will of God 
 always and necessarily does determine itself to choose to act 
 only what is agreeable to Justice, Equity, Goodness, and 
 Truth, in order to. the welfare of the whole universe — ought 
 likewise constantly to determine the Wills of aU subordinate 
 rational beings,, to govern all their actions by the same rules, 
 for the good of the public, in their respective stations. That 
 is, these eternal and necessary differences of things make it 
 fit and reasonable for creatures so to act ; they cause it to be 
 their duty, or lay an obligation on. them so to do ; even sepa- 
 rate fi?om the consideration of these Rules being the positive 
 Will or Command of God, and also antecedent to any respect 
 or regard, expectation or apprehension of any particular pri- 
 vate and personal Advantage or Disadvantage, Reward or 
 Punishment, either present or future, annexed either by 
 natural consequence, or by positive appointment, to the prac- 
 tising or neglecting of these rules >' In the explication of this, 
 nearly his whole system is contained. 
 
 His first concern is to impress the fact that there are 
 necessary and eternal differences of all things, and implied or 
 consequent relations (proportions or disproportions) existing 
 amongst them; and to biing under this general head the 
 special case of differences of Persons (e.g., God and Man, Man 
 and PeUow-man), for the sake of the implication that to 
 different persons there belong Tpecaliax Fitnesses and Unfitnesses 
 of circumstances ; or, which is the same thing, that ^ there 
 arises necessarily amongst them a suitableness or unsuitable- 
 ness of certain manners of Behaviour. The counter-proposi- 
 tion that he contends against is, that the relations among 
 persons depend upon positive constitution of some kind, instead 
 of being founded unchangeably in the nature and reason of 
 things. 
 
 Next he shows how, in the rational or intellectual recogni- 
 tion of naturally existent relations amongst things (he always 
 means persons chiefly), there is contained an obligation. 
 When God, in his Omniscience and absolute freedom from 
 error, is found determining his Will always according to this 
 eternal reason of things, it is very unreasonable and blame- 
 worthy in the intelligent creatures whom he has made so far 
 like himself, not to govern their actions by the same eternal 
 rule of Reason, but to suffer themselves to depart from it 
 through negligent miswnderstanding or wilful passion. Herein 
 
564 KTHICAL SYSTEMS— CLABKE. 
 
 lies obligation : a man ought to act according to the Law of 
 Reason, because he can as little refrain from assenting to the 
 reasonableness and fitness of guiding his actions by it, as reftise 
 his assent to a geometrical demonstration when he under- 
 stands the terms. The original obligation of all is the eternal 
 Reason of Things ; the sanction of Rewards and Panishments 
 (though ' truly the most effectual means of keeping creatures 
 in their duty') is only a secondary and additional obligation. 
 Proof of his position he finds in men's judgment of their own 
 actions, better stiU in their judgments of others' actions, best 
 of all in their judgment of injuries inflicted on themselves. 
 Nor does any objection hold from the ignorance of savages in 
 matters of morality : they are equally ignorant of the plainest 
 mathematical truths ; the need of instruction does not take 
 away the necessary difference of moral Grood and Evil, any 
 more than it takes away the necessary proportions of numbers. 
 
 He, then, instead of deducing all our several duties as he 
 might, contents himself with mentioning the three great 
 branches of them, (a) Duties in respect of Ood, consisting 
 of sentiments and acts (Veneration, Love, Worship, &c.) called 
 forth by the consideration of his attributes, and having a cha- 
 racter of Fitness far beyond any that is visible in applying 
 equal geometrical figures to one another. (6) Duties in respect 
 of our Fellow-creatures: (1) Justice and Equity, the doing as 
 we would be done by. Iniquity is the very same in Action, 
 as Falsity or Contradiction in Theory ; what makes the one 
 dbsv/td makes the other unreasonable ; ' it would be impossible 
 for men not to be as much (!) ashamed of domg Iniquity, as 
 they are of believing Contradictions;' (2) Umversal Love or 
 Benevolence, the promoting the welfare or happiness of all, 
 which is obligatory on various grounds : the &ood being the 
 fit and reasonable, the greatest Good is the most fit and reason- 
 able ; by this God's action is determined, and so ought ours ; 
 no Duty affords a more ample pleasure ; besides having a 
 'certain natural affection' for those most closely connected 
 with us, we desire to multiply afi&nities, which means to found 
 society, for the sake of the more comfortable bfe that mutual 
 good o£&ces bring. [This is a very confased deduction of an 
 obligation.'] (c) Duties in respect to our Selves, viz., self- 
 preservaUon, temperance, contentment, &c.; for not being authors 
 of our being, we have no just power or authority to take it 
 away directly, or, by abuse of our faculties, indirectly. 
 
 After expatiating in a rhetorical strain on the eternal, 
 universal, and absolutely unchangeable character of the law 
 
MORALITY INDEPENDENT OF THE , DEITT. 565 
 
 of Nature or Bight Beason, he specifies the sense wherein 
 the eternal moral obligations are independent of the will of 
 God himself; it comes to this, that, although God makes all 
 things and ttie i-elations between them, nothing is holy and 
 good because he commands it, but he commands it because it 
 is holy and good. Finally, he expounds the relation of Reward 
 and Punishment to the law of Nature ; the obligation of it is 
 before and distinct from these ; but, while full of admiration 
 for the Stoical idea of the self-sufficiency of virtue, he is 
 constrained to add that ' men never will generally, and indeed 
 'tis not very reasonably to be expected they should, part with 
 all the comforts of life, and even life itself, without any expectar- 
 tion of a fature recompense.' The ' manifold absurdities ' of 
 Hobbes being first exposed, he accordingly returns, in pur- 
 suance of the theological argument of his Lectures, to show 
 that the eternal moral obligations, founded on the natural 
 differences of things, are at the same time the express will and 
 command of God tO' all rational creatures, and must neces- 
 sarily and certainly be attended with Bewards and Punish- 
 ments in a fntnre state. 
 
 The summary of Clarke's views mighi standi thus : — 
 
 I. — The Standard is a certain Fitness of action between 
 persons, implicated in their nature as much as any fixed 
 proportions between numbers or other relation among things. 
 Except in such an expression as this, moral good admits of no 
 kind of external reference. 
 
 II. — ^There is very little Psychology involved. The 
 Faculty is the Beason ; its action a case of mere inteUectual 
 apprehension. The element of Feeling is nearly excluded. 
 Disinterested sentiment is so minor a point as to call forth 
 only the passing allusion to ' a certain natural affection.' 
 
 III. — Happiness is not considered except in a vague refer- 
 ence to good public and private as involved with Fit and 
 Unfit action. 
 
 rV. — His account of Duties is. remarkable only for the con- 
 sistency of his attempt to find parallels for each amongst 
 intellectual relations. The climax intended in the assimila- 
 tion of Injustice to Contradictions is a very anti-climax ; if 
 people were only ' as much' ashamed of doing injustice as of 
 believing contradictions, the moral order of the world would 
 be poorly provided for, 
 
 V,— The relation of Ethics to Politics is hardly touched. 
 Society is born of the desire to multiply affinities through 
 mutual interchange of good offices. 
 
566 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — LOCKE. 
 
 VI. — His Ethical disquisition is only part of a Theological 
 argument ; and this helps to explain his assertion of the Inde- 
 pendence as well as of the Insufficiency of Morality. The 
 final outcome of the discussion is that Morality needs the 
 support of Eevelation. But, to get from this an argument for 
 the truth of Revelation, it is necessary that morality should 
 have an independent foundation in the nature of things, apart 
 from any direct divine appointment. 
 
 William Wollaston (1659-1724), author of the *Eeligion 
 of Nature Delineated,' is usually put into the same class of 
 moralists with Clarke. With him, a bad action (whether of 
 commission or omission) contains the denial of a true pro- 
 position. Truth can be denied by actions as well as by words. 
 Thus, the violation of a contract is the denial by an action 
 that the contract has been concluded. Robbing a traveller 
 is the denial that what you take from him is his. An action 
 that denies one or more true propositions cannot be good, 
 and is necessarily bad. A good action is one whose omission 
 would be bad or whose contrary is bad, in the above sense. 
 An mdifferent action is one that can be omitted or done with- 
 out contradicting any truth. Reason, the judge of what is 
 true and false, is the only faculty concerned; but, at the same 
 time, WoUaston makes laige reference to the subject of Hap- 
 piness, finding it to consist in an excess of pleasures as com- 
 pared with pains. He holds that his doctrine is in conformity 
 with all the facts. It affirms a progressive morality, that 
 keeps pace with and depend upon the progress of Science. 
 It can explain errors in morals as distinct from vice. An 
 error is the affirmation by an action of a false proposition, 
 thought to be true ; the action is bad, but the agent is 
 innocent. 
 
 JOHN LOCKE. 11632-1704.] 
 
 Locke did not apply himself to the consecutive evolution 
 of an Ethical theory; whence his views, although on the 
 "whole sufficiently unmistakable, are not always reconcilable 
 with one another. 
 
 In Book I. of the ' Essay on the Understanding' he devotes 
 himself to the reftitation of Innate Ideas, whether Speculative 
 or Practical. Chap. III. is on the alleged Innate Practical 
 Principles, or rules of Right and Wrong. The objections 
 urged against these Principles have scarcely been added to, 
 and have never been answered. We shall endeavour to indi- 
 cate the heads of the reasoning. 
 
OBJECTIONS TO INNATE PEAOTICAL PRINCIPLES. 567 
 
 1. The Innate Practical Principles are for the most part 
 not self-evident ; they are, in this respect, not on an equal 
 footing with the Specolative Principles whose innate origin 
 is also disputed. They require reasoning and explanation in 
 order to be understood. Many men are ignorant of them, 
 while others assent to them slowly, if they do assent to them ; 
 all which is at variance with their being innate. 
 
 2. There is no Practical Principle universally received 
 among mankind. All that can be said of Justice is that most 
 men agree to recognize it. It is vain to allege of confederacies 
 of thieves, that bhey keep faith with one another ; for this 
 keeping of faith is merely for their own convenience. We 
 cannot call that a sense of Justice which merely binds a man 
 to a certain number of his fellow-criminals, in order the more 
 effectually to plunder and kill honest men. Instead of Justice, 
 it is the essential condition of success in Injustice. 
 
 If it be said in reply, that these men tacitly assent in their 
 minds to what their practice contradicts, Locke answers, first, 
 that men's actions must be held as the best interpreters of 
 their thoughts ; and if many men's practices, and some men's 
 open professions, have been opposed to these principles, we 
 cannot conclude them to be Innate. Secondly, It is difficult 
 for us to assent to Innate Practical Principles, ending only in 
 contemplation. Such principles either influence our conduct, 
 or they are nothing. There is no mistake as to the Innate 
 principles of the desire of happiness, and aversion to misery ; 
 these do not stop short in tacit assent, but urge every man's 
 conduct every hour of his life. If there were anything cor- 
 responding to these in the sense of Right and Wrong, we 
 should have no dispute about them. 
 
 3. There is no Moral rule, that may not have a reason 
 demanded foF it ; which ought not to be the case with any 
 innate principle. That we should do as we would be done 
 by, is the foundation of all morality, and yet, if proposed to 
 any one for the first time, might not such, an one, without 
 absurdity, ask a reason why? But this would imply that 
 there is some deeper principle for it to repose upon, capable 
 of being assigned as its motive ; that it is not ultimate, and 
 therefore not innate. That men should observe compacts is 
 a great and undeniable rule, yet, in this, a Christian would 
 give as reason the command of God ; a Hobbist would say 
 that the public requires it, and would punish for disobeying 
 it ; and an old heathen philosopher would have urged that it 
 was opposed to human virtue and perfection. 
 
568 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— LOCKE. 
 
 Bound np with this consideration, is the circumstance that 
 moral rules differ among men, according to their views of 
 happiness. The existence of God, and otir obedience to him, 
 are manifest in many ways, and are the true ground of 
 morality, seeing that only God can call to account every 
 offender ; yet, from the union of virtue and public happiness, 
 all men have recommended the practice of what is for their 
 own obvious advantage. There is quite enough in this self- 
 interest to cause moral rules to be enforced by men that care 
 neither for the supreme Lawgiver, nor for the Hell ordained 
 by him to punish transgressors. 
 
 After all, these great principles of morality are more com- 
 mended than pracSsed. As to Conscience checking us in 
 these breaches, making them fewer than they would otherwise 
 be, men may arrive at such a conscience, or self-restraining 
 sentiment, in other ways than by an innate endowment. Some 
 men may come to assent to moral rules from a knowledge of 
 their value as means to ends. Others may take up the same 
 view as a part of their education. However the persuasion is 
 come by, it will serve as a conscience ; which conscience is 
 nothing else than our own opinion of the rectitude or pravity 
 of our actions. 
 
 How could men with serenity and confidence transgress 
 rules stamped upon their inmost soul ? Look at the practices 
 of nations civilized and uncivilized ; at the robberies, murders, 
 rapes of an army sacking a town ; at the legalized usages of 
 nations, the destruction of infants and of aged parents for 
 personal convenience; cannibalism; the most monstrous forms 
 of unchastity ; the fashionable murder named Duelling. Where 
 are the innate principles of Justice, Piety, Gratitude, Equity, 
 Chastity ? 
 
 If we read History, and cast our glance over the world, 
 we shall scarcely find any rule of Jiorality (excepting such as 
 are necessary to (hold society together, and these too with 
 great limitations) but what is somewhere or other set aside, 
 and an opposite established, by whole societies of men. Men 
 may Ijreak a law without disowning it; but it is inconceivable 
 that a whole nation should publicly reject and renounce what 
 every one of them, certainly and infallibly, knows to be a law. 
 Whatever practical principle is innate, must be known to 
 every one to be just and good. The generally allowed breach 
 of any rule anywhere must be held to prove that it is not 
 innate. If there be any rule having a fair claim to be im- 
 printed by nature, it is the rule that Parents should preserve 
 
MOBALITy TOO COMPLEX TO BE INNATE. 669 
 
 and cherish their children. If such a principle he innate, it 
 mast be found regulating practice everywhere; or, at the 
 lowest, it must be known and assented to. But it is very far 
 from having been uniformly practised, even among en- 
 lightened nations. And as to its being an innate truth, 
 known to all men, that also is untrue. Indeed, the terms of 
 it are not intelligible without other knowledge. The state- 
 ment, ' it is the duty of parents to preserve their children,' 
 cannot be understood without a Law ; a Law requires a Law- 
 maker, and Eeward or Punishment. And as punishment does 
 not always follow in this life, nothing less than a recognition 
 of Divine Law will sufiS.ce; in other words, there must be 
 intuitions of God, Law. Obligation, Punishment, and a Future 
 life : every one of which may" be, and is, deemed to be innate. 
 
 It is incredible that men, if all these things were stamped 
 on their minds, could deliberately offend against them ; still 
 more, that rulers should sileptly connive at such transgressions. 
 
 4. The supporters of innate principles are unable to point 
 out distinctly what they are.* Tet, if these were imprinted 
 
 * Locke examines the Innate Principles put forth by Lord Herbert 
 in his book De Verilate, 1st, There is a supreme governor of the world ; 
 2nd, Worship is due to him; 3rd, Virtue, joined with Piety, is the beet 
 "Worship; 4th, Men must repent of their sins; 6th, There will be a 
 future life of rewards and punishments. Locke admits these to be such 
 truths as a rational creature, after due explanation given them, can hardly 
 avoid attending to ; but he wiU not allow them to be innate. For, 
 
 First, There are other propositions with as good a claim as these to 
 be of the number imprinted by nature on the mind. 
 
 Secondly, The msirks assigned are not found in all the propositions. 
 Many men, and even whole nations, disbelieve some of them. 
 
 Then, as to the third principle, — virtue, joined with piety, is the best 
 worship of Grod ; he cannot see how it can be innate, seeing that it con- 
 tains a name, virtue, of the greatest possible uncertainty of meaning. 
 For, if virtue be taken, as commonly it is, to denote the actions accounted 
 laudable in particular countries, then the proposition will be untrue. Or, 
 if it is taken to mean accordance with God's will, it will then be true, 
 but unmeaning ; that God will be pleased with what he commands is an 
 identical assertion, of no use to any one. 
 
 So the fourth proposition, — men must repent of their sins, — is open to 
 the same remark. It is not possible that God should engrave on men's 
 minds principles couched on such uncertain words as Virtue and Sin. 
 Kay more, as a general word is nothing in itself, but only report as to 
 particular facts, the knowledge of rules is a knowledge of a sufficient 
 number of actions to determine the rule. [Innate principles are not com- 
 patible with Nominalism.] 
 
 According to Lord Herbert, the standard of virtue is the common 
 notions in which all men agree. They are such as the following, — ^to avoid 
 evU, to be temperate, in doubtful cases to choose the safer course, not to 
 do to others what you would not wish done to yourself, to be grateful to 
 
570 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — LOCKE. 
 
 on the mind, there could be no more doubt about them than 
 about the number of our fingers. We well know that, if men 
 of different sects were to write out their respective lists, they 
 would set down exactly such as suited their several schools or 
 churches. 
 
 There is, Locke remarks, a ready, but not very material, 
 answer to his objections, namely, that the innate principles 
 may, by Education and Custom, be darkened and worn out 
 of men's minds. But this takes away at once the argument 
 from universal consent, and leaves nothing but what each 
 party thinks should pass for universal consent, namely, their 
 own private persuasion : a method whereby a set of men 
 presuming themselves to be the only masters of right reason, 
 put aside the votes and opinions of the rest of mankind. Thus, 
 notwithstanding the innate light, we are as much in the dark 
 as if it did not exist ; a rule that will warp any way is not to 
 be distinguished amidst its contraries. If these rules are so 
 liable to vary, through adventitious notions, we should find 
 them clearest in children and in persons wholly illiterate. 
 He grants that there are many opinions, received by men of 
 different countries, educations, and tempers, and held as 
 unquestionable first principles; but then the absurdity of 
 some, and the mutual contradiction of others, make it impos- 
 sible that they should be all true. Yet it will often happen 
 that these men will sooner part with their lives, than suffer 
 the truth of their opinions to be questioned. 
 
 We can see from our experience how the belief in prin- 
 ciples grows up. Doctrines, with no better original than the 
 superstition of a nurse, or the authority of an old woman, 
 may in course of time, and by the concurrence of neighbours, 
 grow up to the dignity of first truths in BeUgion and in 
 Morality. Persons matured under those influences, and, 
 looking into their own minds, find nothing anterior to the 
 opinions taught them before they kept a record of themselves; 
 they, therefore, without scruple, conclude that those proposi- 
 tions whose origin they cannot trace are the impress of God 
 and nature upon their minds. Such a result is unavoidable 
 in the circumstances of the bulk of mankind, who require 
 some foundation of principles to rest upon, and have no 
 
 benefactors, &c. Conscience is what teaches us to carry out those prin- 
 ciples in practice. It excites joy over good actions, and produces ab- 
 horrence and repentance for bad. Upon it, our repentance of mind and 
 eternal welfare depend. (For an account of Lord Herbert's common 
 notions, see Appendix B., Lord Herbert of Cherbury.) 
 
MORALITY SUPPOSES LAW. 571 
 
 means of obtaining them but on trust from others. Custom is 
 a greater power than Natwe, and, while we are yet young, 
 seldom faUs to malse us worship as divine what she has inured 
 us to ; nor is it to be wondered at, that, when we come to 
 mature life, and are engrossed with quite different matters, 
 we are indisposed to sit down and examine all our received 
 tenets, to find ourselves in the wrong, to run counter to the 
 opinions of our country or party, and to be branded with 
 such epithets as whimsical, sceptical, Atheist. It is inevitable 
 that we should take up at first borrowed principles; and unless 
 we have all the faculties and the means of searching into 
 their foundations, we naturally go on to the end as we have 
 begun. 
 
 In the following chapter (IV.), he argues the general 
 question of Innate Ideas in the case of the Idea of God. 
 
 In Book II., Chap. XXL, Locke discusses the freedom of 
 the will, with some allusions to the nature of happiness and 
 the causes of wrong conduct. Happiness is the utmost plea- 
 sure we are capable of, misery the utmost pain ; pleasure and 
 pain define Good and Evil. In practice, we are chiefly occu- 
 pied in getting rid of troubles ; absent good does not much 
 move us. All uneasiness being removed, a moderate portion of 
 good contents us ; and some few degrees of pleasure in a suc- 
 cession of ordinary enjoyments are enough to make happiness. 
 [Epicurus, and others among the ancients, said as rauch.] 
 
 Men have wrong desires, and do wrong acts, but it is from 
 wrong judgments. They never mistake a present pleasure or 
 pain; they always act correctly upon that. They are the 
 victims of deceitful appearances ; they make wrong judgments 
 in comparing present with ftiture pains, such is the weakness 
 of the mind's constitution in this department. Our wrong 
 judgments proceed partly from ignorance and partly from, 
 inadvertence, and our preference of vice to virtue is accounted 
 for by these wrong judgments. 
 
 Chap. XXVIIL discusses Moral Relations. Good and 
 Evil are nothing but Pleasure and Pain, and what causes 
 them. Moral Good or Evil is the conformity or unconformity 
 of our voluntary actions to some Law, entailing upon us good 
 or evil by the will and power of the Law-giver, to which good 
 and evil we apply the names Reward and Punishment. 
 
 There are three sorts of Moral Rules: 1st, The Divine 
 Law whether promulgated by the Light of Nature or by 
 Revelation, and enforced by rewards and punishments in a 
 future life. This law, when ascertained, is the touchstone of 
 
572 KTHICAL SYSTEMS— LOCKE. 
 
 moral rectitude. 2nd, The Civil Law, or the Law of the 
 State, supported by the penalties of the civil judge. 3rd, 
 The Law of Opinion or Reputation. Even after resigning, 
 to public authority, the disposal of the public force, men 
 still retain the power of privately approving or disap- 
 proving actions, according to their views of virtue and vice. 
 The being commended or dispraised by our fellows may thus 
 be called the sanction of Eepntation, a power often surpassing 
 in efi&cacy both the other sanctions. 
 
 Morality is the reference of all actions tp one or other of 
 these three Laws. Instead of applying innate notions of good 
 and evil, the mind, having been taught the several rules en- 
 joined by these authorities, compares any given action with 
 these rules, and pronounces accordingly. A rule is an aggre- 
 gate of simple Ideas ; so is an action ; and the conformity 
 required is the ordering of the action so that the simple ideas 
 belonging to it may correspond to those required by the law. 
 Thus, all Moral Notions may be reduced to the simple ideas 
 gained by the two leading sources — Sensation and liieflection. 
 Murder is an aggregate of simple ideas, traceable in the detail 
 to these sources. 
 
 The summary of Locke's views is as follows : — 
 
 I. — With reference to the Standard of Morality, we have 
 these two great positions — 
 
 First, That the production of pleasure and pain to sentient 
 beings is the ultimate foundaidon of moral good and evil. 
 
 Secondly, That morality is a system of Law, enacted by 
 one or other of three different authorities. 
 
 II. — In the Psychology of Ethics, Locke, by implication, 
 holds — 
 
 First, That there is no innate moral sentiment ; that our 
 moral ideas are the generalities of moral actions. That our 
 faculties of moral discernment are — (1) those that discern 
 the pleasures and pains of mankind ; and (2), those that 
 comprehend and interpret the laws of God, the ITation, and 
 Public Opinion, And (3) he counts that the largest share 
 in the formation of our Moral Sentiments is due to Education 
 and Custom. 
 
 [We have seen his views on Free-will, p. 413.] 
 
 As regards the nature of Disinterested Action, he pro- 
 nounces no definite opinion. He makes few attempts to 
 analyze the emotional and active part of our nature. 
 
 III. — His Summum Bonum is stated generally as the pro- 
 curing of Pleasure and the avoiding of Pain. 
 
CHAKACTEBISTICS OF THE MOBAL PERCEPTIONS. 573 
 
 IV. — He has no peculiar views on the Moral Code, or on 
 the enforcements of Morality. 
 
 _V. — The connexion of Ethics with Politics is, in him, the 
 assimilating of Morality to Law. 
 
 VI.— With reference to Theology, he considers that, by 
 the exercise of the Reason, we may discover the existence and 
 attributes of God, and our duties to him ; his ascertained will 
 is the highest moral rule, the true touchstone of Moral Recti- 
 tude. 
 
 JOSEPH BUTLER. [1692-1752.] 
 
 Bdtlee's Ethical System may be found — First, in a short 
 Dissertation on Virtue, appended to the Analogy ; secondly, 
 and chiefly, in his first three Sermons, entitled 'Human 
 Nature;' thirdly, in other Sermons, as (V.) on Compassion, and 
 (XI.) on Benevolence. Various illustrations of Ethical doctrine 
 are interspersed through the Analogy, as in Part I., Chap. 2, 
 entitled 'the government of God by rewards and punish- 
 ments.' 
 
 The Dissertation on Virtue is intended to vindicate, in 
 man, the existence of a moral nature, apart from both Pru- 
 dence and Benevolence. 
 
 A moral government supposes a moral nature in man, or 
 a power of distinguishing right from wrong. All men and all 
 systems agree as to the fact of moral perceptions. 
 
 As characteristics of these moral perceptions, it is to be 
 noted — First, they refer to voluntary actions. Secondly, they 
 are accompanied with the feelings of good or of ill desert, 
 which good or ill desert is irrespective of the good of society. 
 Thirdly, the perception of ill desert has regard to the capaci- 
 ties of the agent. Fourthly, Prudence, or regard to ourselves, 
 is a fair subject of moral approbation, and imprudence of the 
 contrary. Our own self-interest seems to require strengthen- 
 ing by other men's manifested pleasure and displeasure. Still, 
 this position is by no means indisputable, and the author is 
 willing to give up the words 'virtue' and 'vice,' as applicable 
 to prudence and folly ; and to contend merely that our moral 
 faculty is not indifferent to this class of actions. Fifthly, 
 Virtue is not whoUy resolvable into Benevolence (that is, the 
 general good, or Utility*). This is shown by the fact that 
 
 * In this respect, Butler differs fijom both Shaftesbury and Hutcheson. 
 With Shaftesbury, the main function of the moral sense is to smUe ap- 
 proval on benevolent affections, by which an additional pleasure is thrown 
 into the scale against the aelSsh affections. The superiority of the 
 
574 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BUTLEK. 
 
 our approbation is not ia proportion to tlie amount of happi- 
 ness flowing from an action [lie means immediately flowing, 
 which does not decide the question].. We disapprove of false- 
 hood, injustice, and unprovoked violence, even although more 
 happiness would result from them, than from the contrary. 
 Moreover, we are not always judges of the whole consequences 
 of acting. Undoubtedly, however, benevolence is our duty, if 
 there be no moral priuciple to oppose it^ 
 
 The title ' Human Nature,' given to Butler'^s chief Ethical 
 exposition, indicates that he does not take an a priori view of 
 the foundations of Ethics, hke Oudworth and Clarke, but 
 makes them repose on the constitution of the human mind. 
 
 In Sermon first, he lays out the different parts of our 
 Emotional and Active nature, including Benevolence, Self- 
 love, Conscience. The recognition of these three as distinct, 
 and mutually irresolvable, is the Psychological basis of his 
 Ethics.* 
 
 The existence of pure or disinterested Benevolence is 
 proved by such facts, as Friendship, Compassion, Parental and 
 Filial afiections. Benevolent impulses to mankind generally. 
 But although the object of benevolence is the public good, and 
 of self-love private good, yet the two ultimately coincide. 
 [This questionable assertion must trammel any proof that the 
 author can give of our possessing purely disiuterested 
 impulses.] 
 
 In a long note, he impugns the theory of Hobbes that 
 Benevolent affection and its pleasures are merely a form of the 
 love of Power. He maiutaias, and with reason, that the love 
 of power manifests its consequences quite as much in cruelty 
 as in benevolence. 
 
 The second argument, to show that Benevolence is a fact 
 of our constitution, involves the greatest peculiarity of Butler's 
 
 'natural affections' thus depends on a double pleasure, their intrinsically 
 pleasureable character, and the superadded pleasure of reflection. The 
 tendency of Shaftesbury is here to make benevolence and virtue identical, 
 and at the same time to impair the disinterested character of benevo- 
 lence. 
 
 * With this view, we may compare the psychology of Shaftes- 
 bury, set forth in his ' Characteristics of Men, Manners, and Times.' 
 The soul has two kinds of affections — (1) Self-affeetion, leading to the 
 ' good of the private,' such as love of life, revenge, pleasure or aptitude 
 towards nourislmient and the means of generation, emulation or love of 
 praise, indolence ; and (2) Natural affections, leading to the good of the 
 public. The natural or spontaneous predominance of benevolence is 
 goodness ; the subjection of the selfish by effort and training is virtue. 
 Virtue consists generally in the proper exercise of the several sections. 
 
WELL-BEING NOT THE END OF APPETITE. 575 
 
 Psychology, altLough he was not the jSrst to announce it. The 
 scheme of the human feelings comprehends, in addition to 
 Benevolence and Self- Love, a number of passions and affections 
 tending to the same ends as these (some to the good of our 
 fellows, others to our own good) ; while in following them we 
 are not conscious of seekmg those ends, but some different 
 ends. Such are our various Appetites and Passions. Thus, 
 hunger prom,otes our private well-being, but in obeying its 
 dictates we are not thinking of that object, but of the procur- 
 ing of food. Curiosity promotes both public and private good, 
 but its direct and immediate object is knowledge. 
 
 [This refined distinction appears first in Aquinas ; there is 
 in it a palpable confusion of ideas. If we regard the final 
 impulse of hunger, it is not toward the food, but towards the 
 appeasing of a pain and the gaining of a pleasure, which are 
 certainly identical with self, being the definition of self in the 
 last resort. We associate the food with the gratification of 
 these demands, and hence food becomes an end to us — one of 
 the associated or intermediate ends. So the desire of know- 
 ledge is the desire of the pleasure, or of the relief from pain, 
 accruing from knowledge ; while, as in the case of food, 
 knowledge is to a great degree only an instrument, and there- 
 fore an intermediate and associated end. So the desire of 
 esteem is the desire of a pleasure, or else of the instrument of 
 pleasure. 
 
 In short, Butler tries, without effect, to evade the general 
 principles of the will — our being moved exclusively by plea- 
 sure and pain. Abundant reference has been already made 
 to the circumstances that modify in appearance, or in reality, 
 the operation of this principle. The distinction between self- 
 love and the particular appetites, passions, and affections, is 
 mainly the distinction between a great aggregate of the reason 
 (the total interests of our being) and the separate items that 
 make it up.] 
 
 The distinction is intended to prepare the way for the 
 setting forth of Conscience,* which is called a ' principle of 
 
 * Butler's definition of oonsoienoe, and hia whole treatment of it, have 
 created a great puzzle of classification, as to whether he is to be placed 
 along with the upholders of a ' moral sense. ' Shaftesbury is more ex- 
 plicit: 'No sooner does the eye open upon figures, the ear to sounds, 
 than straight the Beautiful results, and grace and harmony are known 
 and acknowledged. No sooner are actions viewed, no sooner the human 
 affections discerned (and they are, most of them, as soon discerned as 
 felt), than straight an inward eye distinguishes the fair and shapely, the 
 amiable and admirable, apart from the deformed, the foul, the odious, or Hxe 
 
576 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^BUTLER. 
 
 reflection in men, wherety they distingnisli between, appro've 
 and disapprove, their own actions.' This principle has for its 
 result the good of society; still, in following it, we are not con- 
 scious of aiming at the good of society. A father has an 
 affection for his children ; this is one thing. He has also a 
 principle of reflection, that nrges him with added force and 
 with more steady persistency than any afiection ; which prin- 
 ciple must therefore be difierent from mere affection. 
 
 Butler's analysis of the human feelings is thus : I. — Bene- 
 volence and Self-love. II. — The particular Appetites, Passions, 
 and Affections, operating in the same direction as Benevolence 
 and Self-love, but without intending it. HI. — Conscience, of 
 which the same is to be said. 
 
 His reply to the objection, — 'against our being made for 
 Benevolence, — founded on our miscMevons propensities, is, that 
 in the same way there are tendencies mischievous to ourselves, 
 and yet no one denies us the possession of self-love. He re- 
 marks farther that these evil tendencies are the abnse of such 
 as are right ; ungovernable passion, reckless pursuit of our 
 own good, and not pure malevolence, are the causes of in- 
 justice and the other vices. 
 
 In short, we are made for pursuing both our own good 
 and the good of others ; but present gratifications and passing 
 inclinations interfere alike with both objects. 
 
 Sermons II., III., are meant to establish, from our moral 
 nature, the Supremacy of Conscience. 
 
 Our moral duties may be deduced from the scheme of our 
 nature, which shows the design of the Deity. There may be 
 some difficulties attending the deduction, owing to the want 
 of uniformity in the human constitution. Still, the broad 
 feelings of the mind, and the purpose of them, can no more be 
 mistaken than the existence and the purpose of the eyes. It 
 can be made quite apparent that the single principle called 
 conscience is intended to rule all the rest. 
 
 But, as Conscience is only one ■paact of our nature, there 
 
 despicable.^ ' In a creature oapatle of fonuing general notions of things, 
 not only the outward beings which offer themselves to the sense, are the 
 objects of the affections, but the very actions themselves, and tie affec- 
 tions of pity, kindness, and gratitude, and their contiaries, being brought 
 into the mind by reflection, become objects. So that, by means of this 
 reflected sense, there arises another kind of affection towards these affec- 
 tions themselves, which have been already felt, and are now become the 
 subject of a new liking or dislike. ' What this ■ moral sense " approves is 
 benevolence, and when its approval has been acted upon, by subjecting 
 the selflsh affections, ' virtue ' is attained. 
 
SUPEEMACr OF CONSCrENCE. 577 
 
 being two other parts, namely, (1) BeneTolence and Self-love, 
 and (2) the particnlar Appetites and Passions, why are they 
 not all equally natural, and all equally to be followed ? 
 
 This leads to an inquiry into the meanings of the word 
 Nature. 
 
 First, Nature may mean any prompting whatever ; anger 
 and affection are equally natural, as being equally part of us. 
 
 Secondly, it may mean our strongest passion, what most 
 frequently prevails with us and shows our individual cha- 
 racters. In this sense, vice may be natural. 
 
 But, thirdly, we may reclaim against those two meanings, 
 and that on the authority both of the Apostle Paul and of the 
 ancient sages, and declare that the proper meaning of follow- 
 ing nature is following Conscience, or that superior principle 
 in every man which bears testimony to its own supremacy. 
 Jt is by this faculty, natural to a man, that he is a moral 
 agent, a law to himself. 
 
 Men may act according to their strongest principle, and 
 yet violate their nature, as when a man, arged by present gra.^- 
 tification, incurs certain ruin. The violation of nature, in this 
 instance, may be expressed as disproportion. 
 
 There is thus a difference in himd between passions ; self- 
 love is superior to temporary appetite. 
 
 Passion or Appetite means a tendency towards certain 
 objects with no regard to any other objects. Reflection or 
 Conscience steps in to protect the interests that these would 
 lead us to sacrifice. Surely, therefore, this would be enough 
 to constitute superiority. Any other passion taking the lead 
 is a case of usurpation. 
 
 "We can hardly form a notion of Conscience without this 
 idea of superiority. Had it might, as it has right, it would 
 govern the world. 
 
 Were there no such supremacy, all actions would be on an 
 equal footing. Impiety, profaneness, and blasphemy would 
 be as suitable as reverence ; parricide would justify itself by 
 the right of the strongest. 
 
 Hence human nature is made up of a number of propen- 
 sities in union with this ruling principle ; and as, in civil 
 government, the constitution is infringed by strength pre- 
 vailing over authority, so the nature of man is violated 
 when the lower faculties triumph over conscience. Man 
 has a rule of right within, if he will honestly attend to 
 it. Out of this arrangement, also, springs Obligation ; the 
 law of conscience is the law of our nature. It carries its 
 37 
 
578 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^BUTLEK. 
 
 authority with it ; it is the guide assigned by the Author of 
 our nature. 
 
 He then replies to the question, ' Why should we be con- 
 ceJTied about anything out of or beyond ourselwes ? ' Suppos- 
 ing we do possess in our nature a regard to the well-being of 
 others, why may we not set that aside as being in our way 
 to our own good. 
 
 The answer is, We cannot obtain our own good without 
 haying regar-d to others, and undergoing the restraints pre- 
 scribed by morality. There is seldom any inconsistency 
 between our duty and our interest. Self-love, in the present 
 world, coincides with virtue. If there are any exceptions, all 
 will be set right in the final distribution of things. Conscience 
 and self-love, if we understand our true happiness, always 
 lead us the same way. 
 
 Such is a brief outline of the celebrated ' Three Sermons 
 on Human Nature.' The radical defect of the whole scheme 
 lies in its Psychological basis. Because we have, as mature 
 human beings, in civilized society, a principle of action 
 called Conscience, which we recognize as distinct from Self- 
 love and Benevolence, as well as from the Appetites and Pas- 
 sions, Butler would make us believe that this is, from the 
 first, a distinct principle of our nature. The proper reply is 
 to analyze Conscience ; showing at the same time, from its 
 very great discrepancies in difierent minds, that it is a growth, 
 or product, corresponding to the education and the circum- 
 stances of each, although of course involving the common 
 elements of the mind. 
 
 In his Sermons on Compassion (V., "VI.), he treats this as 
 one of the Affections in his second group of the Feelings 
 (Appetites, Passions, and Affections) ; vindicates its existence 
 against Hobbes, who treated it as an indirect mode of self- 
 regard ; and shows its importance in human life, as an adjunct 
 to Rational Benevolence and Conscience. 
 
 In discussing Benevolence (Sermon XII.) Butler's object is 
 to show that it is not ultimately at variance with Self-love. 
 In the introductory observations, he adverts to the historical 
 fact, that vice and folly take different turns in different ages, 
 and that the peculiarity of his own age is ' to profess a con- 
 tracted spirit, and greater regards to self-interest' than 
 formerly. He accommodates his preaching of virtue to this 
 characteristic of his time, and promises that there shall he all 
 possible concessions made to the favourite passion. 
 
 His mode of arguing is still the same as in the sermons on 
 
CONNEXION OP BENEVOLENCE WITH HAPPINESS. 579 
 
 Human Nature. Self-love does not comprehend our whole 
 being ; it is only one principle among many. It is characterized 
 by a subjective end, the feeling of happiness ; but we have other 
 ends of the objective kind, the ends of our appetites, passions, 
 and afiections — food, injury to another, good to another, &c. 
 The total happiness of our being includes all our ends. Self-love 
 attends only to one interest, and if we are too engrossed with 
 that, we may sacrifice other interests, and narrow the sphere 
 of our happiness. A certain disengagement of mind is neces- 
 sary to enjoyment, and the intensity of pursuit interferes with 
 this. [This is a true remark, but misapplied ; external pur- 
 suit may be so intense as nearly to do away with subjective 
 consciousness, and therefore with pleasure ; but this applies 
 more to objective ends, — wealth, the interest of others — than 
 to self-love, which is in its nature subjective.] 
 
 Now, what applies to the Appetites and Affections applies 
 to Benevolence ; it is a distinct motive or urgency, and should 
 have its scope like every other propensity, in order to hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Such is his reasoning, grounded on his peculiar Psycho- 
 logy. He then adduces the ordinary arguments to show, that 
 seeking the good of others is a positive gratification in itself, 
 and fraught with pleasure in its consequences. 
 
 In summary, Butler's views stand thus : — 
 
 I. — His Standard of Right and Wrong is the subjective 
 Faculty, called by him Reflection, or Conscience. He assumes 
 such an amount of uniformity in human beings, in regard to 
 this Faculty, as to settle all questions that arise. 
 
 II. — His Psychological scheme is the threefold division of 
 the mind already brought oiit ; Conscience being one division, 
 and a distinct and primitive element of our constitution. 
 
 He has no Psychology of the Will ; nor does he anywhere 
 inquire into the problem of Liberty and Necessity. 
 
 He maintains the existence of Disinterested Benevolence, 
 by saying that Disinterested action, as opposed to direct self- 
 regard, is a much wider fact of our mental system, than the 
 regard to the welfare of others. We have seen that this is a 
 mere stroke of ingenuity, and owes its plausible appearance 
 to his making our associated ends the primary ends of our 
 being. 
 
 ni. — With regard to the Snmmum Bonum, or the theory 
 of Happiness, he holds that men cannot be happy by the pur- 
 suit of mere self; but must give way to their benevolent im- 
 pulses as well, all under the guidance of conscience. In short, 
 
580 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUTCHESON. 
 
 virtue. is happiness, even in this world ; and, if there be any 
 exception to the rule, it will be rectified in another world. 
 This is in. fact the Platonic view. Men are not to pnrsne 
 happiness ; that would be to fall into the narrow rut of self- 
 love, and wonld be a failure ; they are to pursue virtue, 
 including the good of others, and the greatest happiness will 
 ensue to each. 
 
 It is a remarkable indication of the spirit of Butler's age, 
 or of his estimate of it, that he would never venture to require 
 of any one a single act of uncompensated self-sacrifice. 
 
 IV. — The substance of the Moral Code of Butler is ia no 
 respect peculiar to him. He gives no classification of our 
 duties. His means and inducements to virtue have just been 
 remarked upon. 
 
 V. — The relationship of Ethics to Politics and to Theology 
 needs no remark. 
 
 FEANCIS HUTCHESON. [1694-1747.] 
 
 Hutcheson's views are to be found in his ' Inquiry into 
 the Ideas of Beauty and Virtue,' his ' Treatise on the Pas- 
 sions,' and his posthumous work, ' A System of Moral Philo- 
 sophy.' The last-mentioned, as the completest exposition of 
 his Ethics, Speculative and Practical, is followed here. 
 
 There are three books ; the first treating of Human Na^ 
 ture and Happiaess ; the second, of Laws of Nature and 
 Duties, previous to Civil Government and other adventitious 
 states ; the third, of Civil Polity. 
 
 In Book I., Chap. I., Hutcheson states that the aim of 
 Moral Philosophy is to point out the course of action that will 
 best promote the highest happiness and perfection of men, by 
 the light of human nature and to the exclusion of revelation : 
 thus to indicate the rules of conduct that make up the Law of 
 Nature. Happiness, the end of this art, being the state of 
 the mind arising from its several grateful perceptions or 
 modifications, the natural course of the inquiry is to consider 
 the various human powers, perceptions, and actions, and then 
 to compare them so as to find what really constitutes happi- 
 ness, and how it may be attained. The principles that first 
 display themselves in childhood are the external senses, 
 with some small powers of spontaneous motion, intro- 
 ducing to the mind perceptions of pleasure and pain, which 
 becoming forthwith the object of desire and aversion, are 
 our first notions of natural good and evil. Next to Ideas 
 of Sensation, we acquire Concomitant ideas of Sensation from 
 
PEIMAKY FEELINGS. 681 
 
 two or more senses together — number, extension, &c. Ideas 
 of consciousness or reflection, which, is another natural power 
 of perception, complete the list of the materials of knowledge ; 
 to which, when the powers of judging and reasoning are added, 
 all the main acts of the understanding are given. There are 
 still, however, some finer perceptions, that may be left over 
 until the will is disposed of. 
 
 Under the head of Will, he notes first the facts of Desire 
 and Aversion, being new motions of the soul, distinct from, 
 though arising out of, sensations, perceptions, and judgments. 
 To these it is common to add Joy and Sorrow, arising in con- 
 nexion with desire, though they partake more of sensations 
 than of voUtions. Acts of the will are selfish or benevolent, 
 according as one's own good, or (as often reaUy in fact hap- 
 pens) the good of others is pursued. Two calm natural de- 
 terminations of the wiU are to be conceded ; the one an inva- 
 riable constant impulse towards one's own highest perfection 
 and happiness ; the other towards the universal happiness of 
 others, when the whole system of beings is regarded without 
 prejudice, and in the absence of the notion that their hap- 
 piness interferes with our own. There are also turbulent 
 passions and appetites, whose end is their simple gratificEu- 
 tion ; whereupon the violence and uneasiness cease. Some 
 are selfish — hunger, lust, power, fame; some benevolent — pity, 
 gratitude, parental affection, &c. ; others may be of either 
 kind — anger, envy, &c. In none of them is there any refer- 
 ence in the mind to the greatest happiness of self or others ; 
 and that they stand so often in real opposition to the calm 
 motions, is sufficient proof of their distinct character, e.g., the 
 opposition of lust and calm regard for one's highest interest. 
 
 In Chapter II., he takes up some finer powers of per- 
 ception, and some other natural determinations of the wUl. 
 Bound up with seeing and hearing are certain other powers 
 of perception or senses — Beauty, Imitation, Harmony, Design, 
 summed up by Addison under the name of Imagination, 
 ajid all natural sources of pleasure. The two grateful 
 perceptions of Novelty and Grandeur may be added to the 
 list of natural determinations or senses of pleasure. To 
 attempt to reduce the natural sense of Beauty to the discern- 
 ment of real or apparent usefiilness is hopeless. The next 
 sense of the soul noted is the Sympathetic, in its two Phases 
 of Pity or Compassion and Congratulation. This is fellow- 
 feeling on apprehending the state of others, and proneness to 
 relieve, without any thought of our own advantage, as seen 
 
582 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— HUTCHESON. 
 
 in children. Pity is stronger than congratulation, because, 
 whether for ourselves or others, the desire to repel evil is 
 stronger than to pursue good. Sympathy extends to aU the 
 affections and passions ; it greatly subserves the grand deter- 
 mination of the soul towards universal happiness. 
 
 Other finer senses have actions of men for their objects, 
 there being a general determination of the soul to exercise 
 all its active powers, — a universal impulse to action, bodily 
 and intellectual. In all such action there is real pleasure, but 
 the grand source of human happiness is the power of per- 
 ceiving the moral notions of actions aiid characters. This, 
 the Moral Sense, falls to be fuUy discussed later. Distinct 
 from our moral sense is the Sense of Honour or Sha/me, when 
 we are praised or condemned by others. The Sense of 
 Decency or Dignity, when the mind perceives excellence of 
 bodily and mental powers in ourselves or others, is also 
 natural, and distinct from the moral sense. Some would 
 allow a natural Sense of the Ridiculous in objects or events. 
 There follow some remarks on the tendency to associate 
 perceptions. In addition also to the natural propen- 
 sity towards action, there is a tendency in repeated action 
 to become Habit, whereby our powers are greatly, increased. 
 Habit and Customs can raise, however, no new ideas beyond 
 the sentiments naturally excited by the original actions. 
 
 Sexual desire, wisely postponed by nature beyond the 
 earliest years, does not, in man, end in mere sensual pleasure, 
 but involves a natural liking of beauty as an indication of 
 temper and manners, whereupon grow up esteem and love. 
 Mankind have a universal desire of offspring, and love for 
 their young ; also an affection, though weaker, for all blood- 
 relations. They have, farther, a natural impulse to society 
 with their fellows, as an immediate principle, and are not 
 driven to associate only by indigence. All the other princi- 
 ples already mentioned, having little or no exercise in solitude, 
 would bring them together, even without family ties. Patriot- 
 ism and love of country are acquired in the midst of social 
 order. 
 
 Natural Religion inevitably springs up in the best minds 
 at sight of the benevolent order of the world, and is soon 
 diffused among all. The principles now enumerated will 
 be found, though in varying proportions, among all men not 
 plainly monstrous by accident, &c. 
 
 Chapter III. treats of the Ultimate Determinations of the 
 Will and Benevolent Affections. The question now is to find 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 583 
 
 some order and subordination among the powers that have 
 been cited, and to discover the ultimate ends of action, about 
 which there is no reasoning. He notices various systems that 
 make calm self-love the one leading principle of action, and 
 specially the system that, allowing the existence of particular 
 disinterested ajffeetions, puts the self-satisfaction felt in yield- 
 ing to the generous sentiments above all other kinds of enjoy- 
 ments. But, he asks, is there not also a calm determination, 
 towards the good of others, without reference to private 
 interest of any kind ? In the case of particular desires, which 
 all necessarily involve an uneasy sensation until they are 
 gratified, it is no proof of their being selfish that their gratifi- 
 cation gives the joy of success and stops uneasiness. On the 
 other hand, to desire the welfare of others in the interest of 
 ourselves is not benevolence nor virtue. What we have to 
 seek are benevolent afieotions terminating ultimately in the 
 good of others, and constituted by nature (either atone, or 
 mayhap corroborated by some views- of interest) ' the- imme- 
 diate cause of moral approbation.' Now, anything to be had 
 from men could not raise within us such affections,, or make 
 us careful about anything beyond external deportment. Nor 
 conld rewards from God,, or the wish for self-approbation ,. 
 create such affections, although, on the supposition of their 
 existence, these may well help to foster them. It is benevolent 
 dispositions that we morally approve ; but dispositions- are not 
 to be raised by will. Moreover, they are often found where 
 there has been least thought of cidtivating them ; and, some- 
 times, in the form of parental affection, gratitude, &c.,. they 
 are followed so little for the sake of honour and reward, that 
 though their absence is condemned, they are themselves hardly 
 accounted virtuous at all. He then rebuts the idea that gene- 
 rous affections are selfish, because by sympathy we make the 
 pleasures and pains of others our own. Sympathy is a real 
 fact, but has regard only to the distress or suffering beheld or 
 imagined in others, whereas generous affection is varied to- 
 ward different characters. Sympathy can never explain the 
 immediate ardour of our good-will towards the morally ex- 
 cellent character, or the eagerness of a dying man for the 
 prosperity of his children and friends. Having thus accepted 
 the existence of purely disinterested affections, and divided 
 them as before into calm and turbulent, he puts the question, 
 Whether is the selfish or benevolent principle to yield in case 
 of opposition ? And although it appears that, as a fact, the 
 universal happiness is preferred to the individual in the order 
 
584 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HtlTCHESON. 
 
 of the world by the Deity, this is nothing, unless by some 
 determination of the sonl we are made to comply with the 
 Divine intentions. If by the desire of reward, it is selfishness 
 still ; if by the desire, following upon the sight, of moral ex- 
 cellence, then there must necessarily exist as its object some 
 determination of the will involving supreme moral excellence, 
 otherwise there will be no way of deciding between particular 
 affections. This leads on to the consideration of the Moral 
 Faculty. 
 
 But, in the beginning of Chapter IV., he first rejects one by 
 one these various accounts of the reason of our approbation 
 of moral conduct : — pleasure by sympathy ; pleasure through 
 the moral sense ; notion of advantage to i^he agent, or to the 
 approver, and this direct or imagined ; tendency to procure 
 honour; conformity to law, to truth, .fitness, congrnity, &c. ; 
 also education, association, &o. He then asserts a natural 
 and immediate determination in man to approve certain affec- 
 tions and actions consequent on them ; or a natural sense of 
 immediate excellence in them, not referred to any other quality 
 perceivable by our other senses, or by reasoning. It is a sense 
 not dependent on bodily organs, but a settled determination 
 of the soul. It is a sense, in like manner as, with every one of 
 our powers — voice, designing, motion, reasoning, there is bound 
 up a taste, sense, or reUsh, £sceming and recommending their 
 proper exercise ; but superior to all these, because the power 
 of moral action is superior. It can be trained like any other 
 sense — hearing, harmony, &c. — so as to be brought to approve 
 finer objects, for instance the general happiness rather than 
 mere motions of pity. That it is meant to control and regu- 
 late all the other powers is matter of immediate conscionsness ; 
 we must ever prefer moral good to the good apprehended by 
 the other perceptive powers. Tor while every other good is 
 lessened by the sacrifices made to gain it, moral good is 
 thereby increased and relished the more. The objects of 
 moral approbation are primarily affections of the will, but, 
 all experience shows, only such as tend to the happiness 
 of others, and the moral perfection of the mind possessing 
 them. There are, however, many degrees of approbation; 
 and, when we put aside qualities that approve themselves 
 merely to the sense of decency or d^nity, and also the 
 calm desire of private good, which is indifferent, being 
 neither virtuous nor vicious, the gradation of qualities 
 morally approved may be given thus: (1) Dignified abilities 
 (pursuit of sciences, &c.), showing a taste above sensuality 
 
MORAL FACULTY. 585 
 
 and selfishness. (2) Qualities immediately connected with 
 virtuous alGfections — ^candour, veracity, fortitude, sense of hon- 
 our. (3) The kind affections themselves, and the more as 
 they are fixed rather than passionate, and extensive rather 
 than narrow ; highest of all in the form of universal good-will 
 to all. (4) The disposition to desire and love moral excel- 
 lence, whether observed in ourselves or others — in short, true 
 piety towards God. He goes on to give a sim.ilar scale of 
 moral turpitude. Again, putting aside the indifferent quali- 
 ties, and also those that merely make people despicable and 
 • prove them insensible, he cites — (1) the gratification of a 
 narrow kind of affection when the public good might have been 
 served. (2) Acts detrimental to the public, done under fear 
 of personal ill, or great temptation. (3) Sudden angry pas- 
 sions (especially when grown into habits) causing injury. 
 (4) Injury caused by selfish and sensual passions. (5) De- 
 liberate injury springing from calm selfishness. (6) Impiety 
 towards the Deity, as known to be good. The worst conceivable 
 disposition, a fixed, unprovoked original malice, is hardly 
 found among men. In the end of the chapter, he re-asserts 
 the supremacy of the moral faculty, and of the principle of pure 
 benevolence that it involves. The inconsistency of the prin- 
 ciples of self-love and benevolence when it arises, is reduced 
 in favour of the second by the intervention of the moral sense, 
 which does not hold out future rewards and pleasures of self- 
 approbation, but decides for the generous part by ' an imme- 
 diate undefinable perception.' So at least, if human nature 
 were properly cultivated, although it is true that in common 
 life men are wont to follow their particular affections, generous 
 and selfish, without thought of extensive benevolence or calm 
 self-love ; and it is found necessary to counterbalance the 
 advantage that the selfish principles gain in early life, by 
 propping up the moral feculty with considerations of the 
 surest mode of attaining the highest private happiness, and 
 with views of the moral administration of the world by the 
 Deity. 
 
 But before passing to these subjects, he devotes Chapter V. 
 to the confirmation of the doctrine of the Moral Sense, and 
 first from the Sense of Honour. This, the grateful sensation 
 when we are morally approved and praised, with the reverse 
 when we are censured, he argues in his usual manner, involves 
 no thought of private interest. However the facts may 
 stand, it is always under the impression of actions being 
 moral or immoral, that the sense of honour works. In 
 
ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUTCHESO^T. 
 
 defence of the doctrine of a moral sense, against the arga- 
 ment from the varying morality of different nations, he 
 says -it would only prove the sense not uniform, as the 
 palate is not uniform in all men. Bnt the mioral sense is 
 really more uniform. Tor, in every nation, it is the hene- 
 volent actions and affections that are approved, and wher- 
 ever there is an error of fact, it is the reason, not the 
 moral sense, that is at fault. There are no cases of nations 
 where moral approval is restricted to the pursuit of private 
 interest. The chief causes of variety of m.oral approbation 
 are three : (1) Different notions of happiness and the means 
 of promoting it, whereby much that is peculiar in national 
 customs, &a., is explained, without reflecting apoa the -m-oral 
 sense. (2) The larger or more confined field on which men 
 consider the tendencies of their actions — sect, party, country, 
 &c. (3) Different opinions about the divine commands, 
 which are allowed to over-ride the moral sense. The moral 
 sense does not imply innate complex ideas of the several 
 actions and their tendencies, which must be discovered by 
 observation and reasoning ; it is concerned only about Inward 
 affections and dispositions, of which the effects may, be very 
 various. In closing this part of his subject, he considers that 
 all that is needed for the formation of morals, has been given, 
 because from the moral faculty and benevolent affection all 
 the special laws of nature can be deduced. But because the 
 moral faculty and benevolence have difficulty in making way 
 against the selfish principles so early rooted in man, it is 
 needful to strengthen these foundations of morality by the 
 consideration of the nature of the highest happiness. 
 
 With Chapter VI. accordingly he enters on the discussion 
 of Happiness, forming the second half of his first book. The 
 supreme happiness of any being is the full enjoyment of all the 
 gratifications its nature desires or is capable of; but, in case of 
 their being inconsistent, the constant gratification of the higher, 
 intenser, and more durable pleasures is to be preferred. 
 
 In Chapter VII., he therefore directly compares the various 
 kinds of enjoyment and misery, in order to know what of 
 the first mast be surrendered, and what of the second en- 
 dured, in aiming at highest attainable happiness. Pleasures 
 the same in kind are preferable, according as they are more 
 intense and enduring ; of a different kind, as they are more 
 enduring and dignified, a fact decided at once by our imme- 
 diate sense of dignity or worth. In the great diversity of 
 tastes regarding pleasures, he supposes the ultimate decision. 
 
HAPPINESS. 587 
 
 as to the valae of pleasures to rest with the possessors of finer 
 perceptive powers, but adds, that good men are the best 
 judges, because possessed of fuller experience than the vicious, 
 whose tastes, senses, and appetites have lost their natural 
 Vigour through one-sided indulgence. He then goes through 
 the various pleasures, depreciating the pleasures of the palate 
 on the positive side, and sexual pleasure as transitoiy and 
 enslaving when pursued for itself; the sensual enjoyments 
 are, notwithstanding, quite proper within due limits, and 
 then, perhaps, are at their highest. The pleasures of the 
 imagination, knowledge, &c., differ from the last in not being 
 preceded by an uneasy sensation to be removed, and are 
 clearly more dignified and endurable, being the proper exer- 
 cise of the soul when it is not moved by the affections of 
 social virtue, or the ofi&oes of rational piety. The sympathetio 
 pleasures are very extensive, very intense, and may be of very 
 long duration ; they are superior to all the foregoing, if there 
 is a hearty affection, and are at their height along with the 
 feeling of universal good will. Moral Enjoyments, from the 
 consciousness of good affections and actions, when by close 
 reflexion we have attained just notions of virtue and merit, 
 rank highest of all, as well im dignity as in duration. The 
 pleasures of honour, when our conduct is approved, are also 
 among the highest, and when, as commonly happens, they are 
 conjoined with the last two classes, it is the height of human 
 bUss. The pleasures of mirth, such as they are, fall in best 
 with virtue, and so, too, the pleasures of wealth and jiower, 
 in themselves unsatisfying. Anger, m^alice, revenge, &c., 
 are not without their uses, and give momentary pleasure as 
 removing an uneasiness from the subject of them ; but they 
 are not to be compared with the sympathetic feelings, because 
 their effects cannot long be regarded with satisfaction. His 
 general conclusion is, that as the highest personal satisfabtion 
 is had in the most benevolent dispositions, the same course of 
 conduct is recommended alike by the two great determinations 
 of our nature, towards our own good and the good of others. 
 He then compares the several sorts of pain, which, he says, 
 are not necessarily in the proportion of the corresponding 
 pleasures. Allowing the great misery of bodily pain, he yet 
 argues that, at the worst, it is not to be compared tor a 
 moment to the pain of the worst wrong-doing. The imagi' 
 nation, great as are its pleasures, cannot cause much pain. 
 The sympathetic and moral pains of remorse and infamy are 
 the worst of all. 
 
588 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUTCHESON. 
 
 In Chapter VIII. the various Tempers and Characters are 
 compared in point of happiness or misery. Even the private 
 affections, in due moderation, promote the general good ; but 
 that system is the best possible where, along with this, the 
 generous affections also promote private good. No natural 
 affection is absolutely evil ; the evU of excess in narrow gene- 
 rous affection lies in the want of proportion ; in calm extensive 
 good-wiU there can be no excess. The social and moral enjoy- 
 ments, and those of honour, being the highest, the affections and 
 actions that procure them are the chief means of happiness ; 
 amid human mischances, however, they need support from a 
 trust in Providence. The unkind affections and passions 
 (anger, &c.) are uneasy even when innocent, and never were 
 intended to become permanent dispositions. The narrow kind 
 of affections are all that can be expected from the majority of 
 men, and are very good, if only they are not the occasion of 
 unjust partiality to some, or, worse, iU-grounded aversion to 
 others. The rest of the chapter is taken up in painting the 
 misery of the selfish passions when in excess — love of life, 
 sensual pleasure, desire of power, glory, and ease. He has 
 still one ' object of affection to every rational mind ' that he 
 must deal with before he is done with considering the question 
 of highest happiness. This is the Deity, or the Mind that 
 presides in the Universe. 
 
 Chapter IX., at great length, discusses the first part of the 
 subject— the framing of primary ideas regarding the Divine 
 Nature. He proves the existence of an original mind from 
 design, &c., in the world ; he then finds this mind to be bene- 
 volent, on occasion of which he has to deal with, the great 
 question of Evil, giving reasons for its existence, discovering 
 its uses, narrowing its range as compared with good, and 
 finally. reducing it by the consideration and proof of immor- 
 tality ; he ends by setting forth the other attributes of Otod — 
 providence, holiness, justice, &c. 
 
 In Chapter X., he considers the Affections, Duty, and 
 Worship to be exercised towards God. The moral sense quite 
 specially enjoins worship of the Deity, internal and external ; 
 internal by love and trust and gratitude, &c., external by 
 prayer, praise, &c. [He seems to ascribe to prayer nothing 
 beyond a subjective efficacy.] In the acknowledgment of God 
 is highest happiness, and ihe highest exercise of the moral 
 faculty. 
 
 In Chapter XI., he closes the whole book with remarks 
 on the Supreme Happiness of our Nature, which he makes 
 
CIRCUMSTANCES AFFECTING MORAL JUDGMENTS. 589 
 
 to consist in the perfect exercise of the nohler virtaes, espe- 
 cially love and resignation to God, and of aU the inferior 
 virtues consistent with the superior ; also in external pros- 
 perity, so far as virtue allows. The moral sense, and the 
 truest regard for our own interest, thus recommend the same 
 course as the calm, generous determination ; and this makes 
 up the supreme cardinal virtue of Justice, which includes 
 even our duties to God. Temperance in regard to sensual 
 enjoyments, Fortitude as against evils, and Prudence, or Ckin- 
 sideration, in regard to everything that solicits our desires, 
 are the other virtues ; all subservient to Justice. In no 
 station of life are men shut out from the enjoyment of the 
 supreme good. 
 
 Book n. is a deduction of the more special laws of nature 
 and duties of hfe, so far as they follow from the course of life 
 shown above to be recommended by God and nature as most 
 lovely and most advantageous ; all adventitious states or 
 relations among men aside. The three first chapters are of a 
 general nature. 
 
 In Chapter I., he reviews th& circumstances that increase 
 the moral good or evil of actions. Virtue being primarily an 
 affair of the will or affections, there can be no imputation of 
 virtue or vice in action, unless a man is free and able to act ; 
 the necessity and impossibility, as grounds of non-imputation, 
 must, however, have been in no way brought about by the 
 agent himself. In like manner, he considers what effects and 
 consequents of his actions are imputable . to the agent ; re- 
 marking, by the way, that the want of a proper degree of 
 good affections and of solicitude for the public good is morally 
 evil. He then discusses the bearing of ignorance and error, 
 vincible and invincible, and specially the case wherein an 
 erroneous conscience extenuates. The diffictilty of such cases, 
 he says, are due to ambiguity, wherefore he distinguishes 
 three meanings of Conscience that are found, (1) the moral 
 faculty, (2) the judgment of the understanding about the 
 springs and effects of actions, upon which the moral sense 
 approves or condemns them, (3) our judgments concerning 
 actions compared with the law (moralmaxims, divine laws, &c.). 
 
 Tn Chapter 11., he lays down general rules of judgfing about 
 the morality of actions from the affections exciting to them or 
 opposing them ; and first as to the degree of virtue or vice 
 when the ability varies ; in other words, morality as de- 
 pendent on the strength of the affections. Next, and at greator 
 length, morality as dependent on the Mnd of the affections: 
 
590 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUTCHESOS. 
 
 Here he a<)tempts to fix, in the first place, the degree of 
 benevolence, as opposed to private interest, that is necessary 
 to render men virtnons, or even innocent, in accordance 
 with his principle that there is implanted in ns a very high 
 standard of necessary goodness, requiring us to do a public 
 benefit, when clear, however burdensome or hurtful the act 
 may be to ourselves ; in the second place, the proportion that 
 should be kept between the narrower and the more extensive 
 generous afiections, where he does not forget to allow that, in 
 general, a g^eat part of human virtue must necessarily lie 
 within the narrow range. Then he gives a number of special 
 rules for appreciating conduct, advising, for the very sake of the 
 good to others that will result therefrom, that men shonld foster 
 their benevolence by the thought of the advantage accruing 
 to themselves here and hereafter from their virtuous actions ; 
 and closes with the consideration of the cases wherein actions 
 can be imputed to other than the agents. 
 
 In Chapter III., he enters into the general notion of Rights 
 and Laws, and their divisions. Prom right use of such affec- 
 tion or actions as are approved by the moral faculty from 
 their relation to the general good, cr the good of particular 
 persons consistently with the general good, he distinguishes the 
 right of a man to do, possess, demand, &c., which exists when 
 his doing, possessing, &c. tend to the good of society, or to 
 his own, consistent with the rights of others and the general 
 good, and when obstructing him would have the contrary 
 tendency. He proceeds to argue, on utilitarian principles, 
 that the rights that seem to attend every natural desire are 
 perfectly valid when not against the public interest, but never 
 valid when they are against it. 
 
 Chapter IV, contains a discussion upon the state of Nature, 
 maintaining that it is not a state of anarchy or war, but full 
 of rights and obligations. He points out that independent 
 states in their relation to one another are subject to no common 
 authority, and so are in a state of nature. Bights belong (1) 
 to individuals, (2) to societies, (3) to mankind at large. They 
 are also natural, or adventitious, and again perfect or im- 
 perfect. 
 
 Chapter V. Natural rights are antecedent to society, such 
 as the right to life, to liberty, to private judgment, to mar- 
 riage, &c. They are of two kinds — perfect and imperfect. 
 
 Chapter VI. Adventitious rights are divided into Real 
 and Personal (a distinction chiefly of legal value.) He also 
 examines into the nature and foundation of private property. 
 
EIGHTS AND LAWS. 591 
 
 Chapter VIL treats of the Acquisition of property, Hutche- 
 son, as is nsual with, moralists, taking the occv^atio of the 
 Roman Law as a basis of ownership. Property involves the 
 right of (1) nse, (2) exclusive use, (3) alienation. 
 
 Chapter VIIL Rights drawn from property are such as 
 mortgages, servitudes, &c., being rights of what may be 
 called partial or imperfect ownership. 
 
 Chapter IX. discusses the subject of contracts, with the 
 general conditions required for a valid contract. 
 
 Chapter X. Of Veracity. Like most writers on morals, 
 Hutcheson breaks in upon the strict rule of veracity by various 
 necessary, but ill-defined, exceptions. Expressions of courtesy 
 and eti<juette are exempted, so also artifices in war, answers 
 extorted by unjust violence, and some cases of peculiar neces- 
 sity, as when a man tells a lie to save thousands of lives. 
 
 Chapter XI. Oaths and Vows. 
 
 Chapter XII. belongs rather to Political Economy. Its 
 subject is the values of goods in commerce, and the nature of 
 coin. 
 
 Chapter XIII. enumerates the various classes of contracts, 
 foUowi'ng the Roman Law, taking up Mandatum, Depesitum, 
 Letting to Hire, Sale, &o. 
 
 Chapter XIV, adds the Roman quasi-contracts. 
 
 Chapter XV. Rights arising from injuries or wrongs 
 (torts). He condemns duelling, but admits that, where it is 
 established, a man may, in some cases, be justified in sending 
 or accepting a challenge. 
 
 Chapter XVI. Rights belonging to society as against the 
 individual. The perfect rights of society are such as the 
 following: — (1) To prevent suicide ^ (2) To require the pro- 
 ducing and rearing of offspring, at least so far as to tax and 
 discourage bachelors-; (3) To compel men, though not 
 without compensation, to divulge useful inventions ; (4) To 
 compel to some industry, &c. 
 
 Chapter XVII. takes up some cases where the ordinary 
 rights of property or person are set aside by some overbearing 
 necessity. 
 
 Chapter XVIII. The way of deciding controversies in a 
 state of nature by arbitration. 
 
 Book III. — Civil Polity, embracing Domestic and Civil 
 Rights. 
 
 Chapter I. Marriage. Hutcheson considers that Marriage 
 should be a perpetual union upon equal terms, ' and not such 
 a one wherein the one party stipulates to himself a right of 
 
592 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— HUTCHESON. 
 
 governing in all domestic affairs, and the other promises sub- 
 jection.' He would allow divorce for adultery, desertion, or 
 implacable enmity on either side. Upon defect of children, 
 some sort of concubinage would be preferable to divorce, but 
 leaving to the woman the option of divorce with compensation. 
 He notices the misrepresentations regarding Plato's scheme of 
 a community of wives ; ' Never was there in any plan less 
 provision made for sensual gratification.' 
 
 Chapter II. The Rights and Duties of Parents and Chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Chapter III. The Eights and Duties of Masters and Ser- 
 vants. 
 
 Chapter IV. discusses the Motives to constitute Civil Go- 
 vernm.ent. If men were perfectly wise and upright, there 
 would be no need for government. Man is naturally sociable 
 and political (f&oi/ ttoVitikoV.) 
 
 Chapter V. shows that the natural method of constituting 
 civil government is by consent or social compact. 
 
 Chapter VI. The Forms of Government, with their respec- 
 tive advantages and disadvantages. 
 
 Chapter VII. How far the Bights of Governors extend. 
 Their lives are more sacred than the lives of private persons ; 
 but they may nevertheless be lawfully resisted, and, in certain 
 cases, put to death. 
 
 Chapter VIH. The ways of acquiring supreme Power. 
 That government has most divine right that ia best adapted 
 to the public good : a divine right of succession to civil offices 
 is ridiculous. 
 
 ChapterlX. takes up the sphere of civil law. (1) Toenforce 
 the laws of nature ; (2) To appoint the forms &c., of contracts 
 and dispositions, with a view to prevent fi^ud ; (3) To require 
 men to follow the most prudent methods of agriculture, manu- 
 factures, and commerce ; (4) To prescribe rules in matters 
 morally indifferent, where uniformity is advantageous. 
 Opinions should be tolerated; all except Atheism, and the 
 denial of moral obligation. 
 
 Chapter X. The Laws of Peace and War, belonging now 
 to the subject of International Law. 
 
 Chapter XI. (concluding the work) discusses some oases 
 connected with the duration of the ' Politick Union.' 
 
 This bare indication of topics will suffice to give an idea 
 of the working out of Hutcheson's system. For summary : — 
 
 I- — The Standard, according to Hutoheson, is identical 
 with the Moral Faculty. It is the Sense of unique excellence in 
 
THE DIGNIFED VIEW OF HUMAN NATURE. 593 
 
 certain affections and in the actions consequent upon them. 
 The object of approval is, in the main, benevolence. 
 
 n. — His division of the feelings is into calm and tur- 
 bulent, each of these being again divided into self-regarding 
 and benevolent. He affirms the existence of pure Disinterest- 
 edness, a calm regard for the most extended well-being. 
 There are also turbulent passions of a benevolent kind, whose 
 end is their simple gratification. Hutcheson has thus a 
 higher and lower grade of Benevolence ; the higher would 
 correspond to the disinterestedness that arises from the 
 operation oi fixed ideas, the lower to those affections that are 
 generated in us by pleasing objects. 
 
 He has no discussion on the freedom of the will, con- 
 tenting himself with mere voluntariness as an element in 
 moral approbation or censure. 
 
 m. — The Sumraum Bonum is fully discussed. He places 
 the pleasures of sympathy and moral goodness (also of piety) 
 in the highest rank, the passive sensations in the lowest. 
 Instead of making morality, like health, a neutral state 
 (though an indispensable condition of happiness), he ascribes 
 to it the highest positive gratification. 
 
 IV. — In proceeding upon Rights, instead of Duties, as a 
 basis of classification, Hutcheson is following in the wake of 
 the jurisconsults, rather than of the moralists. When he 
 enters into the details of moral duties, he throws aside his 
 ' moral sense,' and draws his rules, most of them from Roman 
 Law, the rest chiefly from manifest convenience. 
 
 V. and YI. — Hutcheson's relation to Politics and Theology 
 requires no comment. 
 
 BERNAED DE MANDEVILLE. [1670-1733.] 
 
 Mantbville was author of ' The Fable of the Bees ; or, 
 Private Vices, Public Benefits' (1714). This work is a satire 
 upon artificial society, having for its chief aim to expose the 
 hoUowness of the so-called dignity of human nature. Dugald 
 Stewart considered it a recommendation to any theory of 
 the mind that it exalted our conceptions of human nature. 
 Shaftesbury's views were entitled to this advantage ; but, 
 observes MandevUle, ' the ideas he had formed of the good- 
 ness and excellency of our nature, were as romantic and 
 chimerical, as they are beautiful and amiable.' MandeviWe 
 examined not what human nature ought to he, but what it 
 really is. In contrast, therefore, to the moralists that dis- 
 tinguish between a higher and a lower in our nature, attribnt- 
 38 
 
594 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MAHDEVILLB. 
 
 ing to the higher everything good and noble, while the lower 
 onght to be persecnted and despised, Mandeville declares the 
 fancied higher parts to be the region of vanity and imposture, 
 while the renowned deeds of men, and the greatness of king- 
 doms, really arise from the passions usually reckoned base and 
 sensual. As his views are scattered through numerous disser- 
 tations, it will be best to summarize them under a few heads. 
 
 1. YirtuB <md Vice. Morality is not natural to man ; it is 
 the invention of wise men, who have endeavoured to infiise 
 the belief, that it is best for everybody to prefer the public 
 interest to their own. As, however, they could bestow no 
 real recompense for the thwarting of self-interest, they con- 
 trived an imaginary one— honour. Upon this they proceeded 
 to divide men into two classes, the one abject and base, in- 
 capable of eelf-denial; the other noble, because they sup- 
 pressed their passions, and acted for the public welfare. Man 
 was thus won to virtue, not by force, but by flattery. 
 
 In regard to praiseworthiness, Shaftesbury, according to 
 Mandeville, was the first to affirm that virtue could exist with- 
 out self-denial. This was opposed to the prevailing opinion, 
 and to the view taken up and criticised by Mandeville. His 
 own belief was different. ' It is not in feeling the passions, or 
 in being affected with the frailties of nature, that vice consists ; 
 but in indulging and obeying the call of them, contrary to the 
 dictates of reason.' 
 
 2. Self-love. 'It is an admirable saying of a worthy 
 divine, that though many discoveries have been made in the 
 world of self-love, there is yet abundance of terra incognita ' 
 lefb behind.' There is nothing so sincere upon earth as the 
 love that creatures bear to themselves. ' Man centres every- 
 thing in himself, and neither loves nor hates, but for his own 
 sake.' Nay, more, we are naturally regardless of the effect of 
 our conduct upon others ; we have no innate love for our 
 fellows. The highest virtue is not without reward ; it has a 
 satis&ction of its own, the pleasure of contemplating one's 
 own worth. But is there no genuine self-denial ? Mandeville 
 answers by a distinction : mortifying one passion to gratify 
 another is very common, but it is not self-denial ; self-inflicted 
 pain without any recompense — ^where is that to be found ? 
 
 ' Charity is that virtue by which part of that sincere love 
 ■v»e have for ourselves is transferred pure and unmixed to 
 others (not friends or relatives), whom we have no obligation 
 to, nor hope or expect anything from.' The counterfeit of 
 true charity is pity or compassion, which is a fellow-feeling for 
 
SELF-LOVE Am) PRIDE. 595 
 
 the safierings of others. Pity is as much a frailty of our 
 nature as anger, pride, or fear. The weakest minds (e.g., 
 women and children) have generally the greatest shai'e of it. 
 It is excited through the eye or the ear ; when the suffering 
 does not strike our senses, the feeling is weak, and hardly 
 more than an imitation of pity. Pity, since it seeks rather our 
 own relief from a painful sight, than the good of others, must 
 he curbed and controlled in order to produce any benefit to 
 society. 
 
 Mandeville draws a nice distinction between self-love, and, 
 what he calls, self-lihing. 'To increase the care in creatures to 
 preserve themselves. Nature has given them an instinct, by 
 which eeery mdwidual values itself above its real wortJi.' The 
 more mettlesome and spirited animals (e.g., horses) are en- 
 dowed with this instinct. In us, it is accompanied with an ap- 
 prehension that we do overvalue ourselves; hence our suscepti- 
 bility to the confirmatory good opinion of others. But if each 
 were to display openly his own feeling of superiority, quarrels 
 would inevitably arise. The grand discovery whereby the ill 
 consequences of this passion are avoided is politeness. ' Good 
 manners consists in flattering the pride of others, and conceal- 
 ing our own.' The first step is to conceal our good opinion 
 of ourselves ; the next is more impudent, namely, to pretend 
 that we value others more highly than ourselves. But it takes 
 a long time to come to that pitch ; the Romans were almost 
 masters of the world before they learned politeness. 
 
 3. Pride, Vanity, Honour. Pride is of great consequence 
 in Mandeville's system. ' The moral virtues are the political 
 offspring which flattery begot upon pride.' Man is naturally 
 innocent, timid, and stupid ; destitute of strong passions or ap- 
 petites, he would remain in his primitive barbarism were it not 
 for pride. Yet all moralists condemn pride, as a vain notion of 
 our own superiority. It is a subtle passion, not easy to trace. 
 It is often seen in the humility of the humble, and the shame- 
 lessness of the shameless. It simulates charity ; ' pride and 
 vanity have built more hospitals than all the virtues together.' 
 It is the chief ingredient in the chastity of women, and in the 
 courage of men. Less cynical moralists than Mandeville have 
 looked with suspicion on posthumous fame ; ' so silly a creature 
 is man, as that, intoxicated with the fumes of vanity, he can 
 feast on the thought of the praises that shall be paid his 
 memory in future ages, with so much ecstasy as to negleet his 
 present Ufe, nay court and covet death, if he but imagines that 
 it will add to the glory he had acquired before.' But the 
 
596 ETHICAIi SYSTEMS— MANDEVILLE. 
 
 most notable institntion of pride is the love of honour. Honour 
 is a ' chimera,' having no reality in nature, but a mere inven- 
 tion of moralists and. politicians, to keep men dose to their 
 engagements, whatever they be. In some families it is heredi- 
 tary, like the gout ; but, luckily, the vulgar are destitute of 
 it. In the time of chivalry, honour was a very troublesome 
 affair ; but in the beginning of the 17th century, it was melted 
 over again, and brought to a new standard ; 'they, put in the 
 same weight of courage, half the quantity of honesty, and a 
 very little justice, but not a scrap of any other virtue.' The 
 worst thing about it is duelling ; but there are more suicides 
 than duels, so that at any rate men do not hate others more 
 than themselves. After a half-satirical apology for duelling, 
 he concludes with one insurmountable objection ; duelling is 
 wholly repugnant to religion, adding with the muffled 
 scepticism characteristic of the 18th century, ' how to reconcile 
 them must be left to wiser heads than mine.' 
 
 4. Prvoate vices, puhUo benefits. Mandeville ventures to 
 compare society to a bowl of punch. Avarice is the souring, 
 and prodigality the sweetening of it. The water is the 
 ignorance and foUy of the insipid, multitude, while honour 
 and the noble qualities of man represent the brandy. To 
 each of these ingredients we may -object in turn, but ex- 
 perience teaches that, when judiciously mixed, they make 
 an excellent liquor. It is not the good, but the evil qualities 
 of men, that lead to worldly greatness. Without luxury 
 we should have no trade. This doctrine is illustrated at 
 great length, and has been better remembered than anything 
 else in the book; but it may be dismissed with two remarks. 
 (1) It embodies an error in political economy, namely, that it 
 is spending and not saving that gives employment to the 
 poor. If Mandeville's aim had been less critical, and had he 
 been less delighted with his famous paradox, we may infer 
 from the acuteness of his reasoning on the subject, that he 
 would have anticipated the true doctrine of political economy, 
 as he saw through the fallacy of the mercantile theory. (2) 
 He employs the term, luxury, with great latitude, as including 
 whatever is not a bare necessary of existence. According to 
 the fashionable doctrine of his day, all luxury was called an 
 evil and a vice ; and in this sense, doubtless, vice is essential 
 to the existence of a great nation. 
 
 5. The origin of society. Mandeville's remarks on this 
 subject are the best he has written, and come nearest to the 
 accredited views of the present day. He denies that we have 
 
OEIGIN OF SOCIETY. 597 
 
 any natnral affection for one another, or any natural aversion 
 or Iiatred. Each, seeks his own happiness, and conflict arises 
 from the opposition of men's desires. To make a society ont 
 of the raw material of uncivilized men, is a work of great diffi- 
 culty, requiring the concurrence of many fevourable accidents, 
 and a long period of time. For the qualities developed among 
 civilized men no more belong to them in a savage state, than 
 the properties of wine exist in the grape. Society begins with 
 families. In the beginning, the old savage has a great wish 
 to rule his children, but has no capacity for government. He 
 is inconstant and violent in his desires, and incapable of any 
 steady conduct. What at first keeps men together is not so 
 much reverence for the father, as the common danger from 
 wild beasts. The traditions of antiquity are full of the prowess 
 of heroes in killing dragons and monsters. The second step 
 to society is the danger men are in from one another. To pro- 
 tect themselves,, several families- would be compelled to accept 
 the leadership of the strongest. The leaders, seeing the mis- 
 chiefs of dissension, would employ all their art to extirpate 
 that evil. Thus they would forbid killing one another, steal- 
 ing one another's wives, &Cr The third and last step is the 
 invention of letters ; this is essential to the growth of society,, 
 and to the corresponding expansion of law.* 
 
 I, — MandeviUe's object being chiefly negative and dialec~ 
 tieal, he has left little of positive ethical theory. Virtue he- 
 regards as de facto an arbitrary institution of society ; what it 
 ought to be, he hardly says, but the tendency of his writings 
 is to make the good' of the whole to be preferred to private 
 interest. 
 
 n. — He denies the existence of a moral sense and of dis- 
 interestedness. The motive to observe moral rules is pride 
 
 * It is instructive to compare MandeviUe's a priori guesses with the 
 results of Mr. Maine's historical investigation into the condition of early 
 societies. The evidence shovps that society originated in the family 
 system. Mandeville eonjeetua-ed that solitary families would never attain 
 to government ; but Mr. Maine considers that there was a complete des- 
 potic government in single families. ' They have neither assemblies for 
 consultation nor themistes, but every one exercises jurisdiction over his 
 wives and children, and they pay no regard to one another.' The next 
 stage is the rise of gmtes and tribes, which took place probably when a 
 family held together instead of separating on the death of thepatriarch. 
 The features of this state were chieftainship and themistes, that is, govern- 
 ment not by laws, but by ex post facto decisions upon cases as they arose. 
 This gradually developed into customary law, which was in its turn super- 
 seded, on the invention of writing, by written codes. Maine's Ancient 
 Law, Chap. V. 
 
"598 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUME. 
 
 and vanity fomented by politicians. He does not regard 
 virtue as an independent end, even by association, but con- 
 siders that pride in its naked form is the ever present incen- 
 tive to good conduct. 
 
 V. — The connexion of virtue with society is already fully 
 indicated. 
 
 In France, the name of Helvetius (author of De I'espnt, 
 Be I'homme, &c., 1715-71) is identified with a serious (in con- 
 trast to Mandeville), and perfectly consistent, attempt to 
 reduce all morality to direct Self-interest. Though he adopted 
 this ultimate interpretation of the facts, Helvetius was by 
 no means the 'low and loose moralist' that he has been 
 described to be ; and, in particular, his own practice displayed 
 a rare benevolence. 
 
 DAYID HTJME. [1711-1776.] 
 
 The Ethical views of Hume are contained in ' An Enquiry 
 concerning the Primovples of Morals' 
 
 In an Introductory Section (I.) he treats of the Geneeal 
 Principles op Moeais. 
 
 After describing those that profess to deny the reality of 
 the distinction of Bight and Wrong, as disingenuous dis- 
 putants, useless to reason with, — he states the great problem 
 of Morals to be, whether the foundation is Reason or Senti- 
 ment ; whether our knowledge of moral distinctions is attained 
 by a chain of argument and induction, or by an immediate 
 feeling or finer internal sense. 
 
 Specious arguments may be urged on both sides. On the 
 side of Reason, it may be contended, that the justice and 
 injustice of actions are often a subject of argument and con- 
 troversy like the sciences ; whereas if they appealed at once to 
 a sense, they would be as unsusceptible of truth or falsehood 
 as the harmony of verse, the tenderness of passion, or the 
 brilliancy of wit. 
 
 In reply, the supporters of Sentiment may urge that the 
 character of virtue is to be amiahle, and of vice to be odiofos, 
 which are not intellectual distinctions. The end of moral 
 distinctions is to influence the feelings and determine the will, 
 which no mere assent of the understanding can do. Extin- 
 guish our feelings towards virtue and vice, and morality 
 would cease to have any influence on our lives. 
 
 The arguments on both sides have so much force in them, 
 that we may reasonably suspect that Reason and Sentiment 
 both concur in our moral determinations. The final sentence 
 
BENEVOLENCE THE HIGHEST HUMAN MERIT. 599 
 
 ■upon actions, -whereby we pronounce them praiseworthy or 
 J>lanieable, may depend on the feelings ; while a process of the 
 understanding may be requisite to make nice distinctions, 
 examine complicated relations, and ascertain matters of fact. 
 
 It is not the author's intention, however, to pursue the 
 subject in the form of adjudicating between these two prin- 
 ciples, but to follow what he deems a simpler method — to 
 analyze that complication of mental quaUties, called Peesonal 
 Merit : to ascertain the attributes or qualities that render a man 
 an object of esteem and affection, or of hatred and contempt. 
 This is a question of fact, and not of abstract science ; and 
 should be determined, as similar questions are, in the modern 
 physics, by following the experimental method, and drawing 
 general maxims from a comparison of particular instances. 
 
 Section 11. is Op Bbnevolencb. 
 
 EGs first remark on Benevolence is, that it is identified in 
 all countries with the highest Inerits that human nature is 
 capable of attaining to. 
 
 This prepares the way for the farther observation, that in 
 setting forth the praises of a humane, beneficent man, the one 
 circumstance that never fails to be insisted on is the happi- 
 ness to society arising through his good of&ces. Like the 
 sun, an inferior minister of providence, he cheers, invigorates, 
 and snstaias the surrounding world. May we not therefore 
 conclude that the UTILITY resulting irom. social virtues, 
 forms, at least, &part of their merit, and is one source of the 
 approbation paid to them. He illustrates this by a number 
 of iateresting examples, and defers the enquiry — how large a 
 part of the social virtues depend on utility, and for what 
 reason we are so much affected by it. 
 
 Section in. is on Justice. That Justice is useful to 
 society, and thence derives jpart of its merit, would be super- 
 fluous to prove. That pnbUc utUity is the sole origin, of 
 Justice, and that the beneficial consequences are the sole foun- 
 dation of its merit, may seem more questionable, but can in 
 the author's opinion be maintaiaed. 
 
 He puts the supposition, that the human race were pro- 
 vided with such abundance of aU external things, that with- 
 out industry, care, or anxiety, every person found every want 
 fully satisfied ; and remarks, that whUe every other social 
 virtue (the aflfections, &c.) might flourish, yet, as property 
 would be absent, mine and thine unknown. Justice would be 
 useless, an idle ceremonial, and could never come into the 
 catalogue of the virtues. In point of fact, where any agent, 
 
600 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— HUME. 
 
 as air, water, or land, is so abundant as to supply everybody, 
 questions of justice do not arise on that partienlar subject. 
 
 Suppose again that in our present necessitous condition, 
 the mind of every man were so enlarged and so replete with 
 generosity that each should feel as much for his fellows as for 
 himself — the heau ideal of communism — -in this case Justice 
 would be in abeyance, and its ends answered by Benevolence. 
 This state is actually realized in well-cultivated families ; and 
 communism has been attempted and maintained for a time in 
 the ardour of new enthusiasms. 
 
 Reverse the above suppositions, and imagine a society in 
 such want that the utmost care is unable to prevent the 
 greater number from perishing, and all from the extremes of 
 misery, as in a shipwreck or a siege ; in such circumstances, 
 justice is suspended in favour of self-preservation ; the possi- 
 bility of good order is at an end, and Justice, the means, is 
 discarded as useless. Or, again, suppose a virtuous man to 
 fall into a society of ruffians on the road to swift destruction ; 
 his sense of justice would be of no avail, and consequently he 
 would arm himself with the first weapon he could seize, con- 
 sulting self-preservation alone. The ordinary punishment of 
 criminals is, as regards.them, a suspension of justice for the 
 benefit of society. A state of war is the remission of justice 
 between the parties as of no use or application. A civilized 
 nation at war with barbarians must (fiscard even the small 
 relics of justice retained in war with other civilized nations. 
 Thus the rules of equity and justice depend on the condition 
 that men are placed in, and are limited by their Utility in 
 each separate state of things. The common state of society 
 is a medium between the extreme suppositions now made : 
 we have our self-partialities, but have learnt the value of 
 equity ; we have few enjojrments by nature, but a considerable 
 number by industry. Hence we have the ideas of Property ; 
 to these Justice is essential, and it thus derives its moral 
 obligation. 
 
 The poetic fictions of the Golden Age, and the philosophic 
 fictions of a State of Nature, equally adopt the same funda- 
 mental assumption ; in the one, justice was unnecessary, in 
 the other, it was inadmissible. So, if there were a race of 
 creatures so completely servile as never to contest any privi- 
 lege with us, nor resent any infliction, which is vcy much 
 our position with the lower animals, justice would have no 
 place in our dealings with them. Or, suppose once more, 
 that each person possessed within himself every faculty for 
 
JUSTICE. 601 
 
 existence, and were isolated from every other ; so solitary a 
 being would be as incapable of justice as of speech. The 
 sphere of this duty begins with society; and extends as 
 society extends, and as it contributes to the well-being of the 
 individual members of society. 
 
 The author next examines the particular laws embodying 
 justice and determining property. He supposes a creature, 
 having reason, but unskilled in human nature, to deliberate 
 with himself how to distribute property. His most obvious 
 thought would be to give the largest possessions to the most 
 virtnous, so as to give the power of doing good where there 
 was the most inclination. But so unpraoticable is this design, 
 that although sometimes conceived, it is never executed ; the 
 civil magistrate knows that it would be utterly destructive of 
 human society ; sublime as may be the ideal justice that it 
 supposes, he sets it aside on the calculation of its bad conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Seeing also that, with nature's liberality, were all her 
 gifts equally distributed, every one would have so good a 
 share that no one would have a title to complaiu ; and seeing, 
 farther, that this is the only type of perfect equality or ideal 
 justice — there is no good ground for falling short of it but the 
 knowledge that the attempt would be pernicious to society. 
 The writers on the Law of Nature, whatever principles they 
 begin with, must assign as the idtimate reason of law the 
 necessities and convenience of mankind. Uniustructed nature 
 could never make the distinction between mine and yours ; it 
 is a purely artificial product of society. Even when this distinc- 
 tion is established, and justice requires it to be adhered to, yet 
 we do not scruple in extraordinary cases to violate justice- in 
 an individual case for the safety of the people at large. 
 
 When the interests of society require a rule of justice, but 
 do not indicate any rule in paxticuJar, the resort is to some 
 analogy with a rule already established on grounds of the 
 general interest. 
 
 For determining what is a man's property, there may be 
 many statutes, customs, precedents, analogies, some constant 
 and inflexible, some variable and arbitrary, but all professedly 
 terminating in the interests of human society. But for this, 
 the laws of property would be undistiuguishable from the 
 wildest superstitions. 
 
 Such a reference, instead of weakening the obligations of 
 justice, strengthens them. What stronger foundations can 
 there be for any duty than that, without it, human nature 
 
602 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^HDME. 
 
 could not subsist ; and that, according as it is observed, the 
 degrees of human happiness go on increasing ? 
 
 Either Justice is evidently founded on Utility, or our 
 regard for it is a simple instinct like hunger, resentment, 
 or self-preservation. But on this last supposition, property, 
 the subject-matter, must be also discerned by an instinct; 
 no such instinct, however, can be affirmed. Indeed, no 
 single instinct would suffice for the number of considerations 
 entering into a fact so complex. To define Inheritance and 
 Contract, a hundred volumes of laws are not enough ; how 
 then can nature embrace such complications in the simplicity 
 of an instinct. For it is not laws alone that we must have, 
 but authorized interpreters. Have we original ideas of 
 prffitors, and chancellors, and juries ? 
 
 Instincts are uniform in their operation ; birds of a species 
 bnUd their nests alike. The laws of states are uniform to 
 about the same extent as houses, which must have a roof and 
 walls, windows and chimneys, because the end in view de- 
 mands certain essentials; but beyond these, there is every 
 conceivable diversity. • 
 
 It is true that, by education and custom, we blame in- 
 justice withotit thinking of its ultimate consequences. So 
 universal are the rules of justice, from the universality of its 
 end, that we approve of it mechanically. Still, we have often 
 to recur to the final end, and to ask, What must become of 
 the world. if such practices prevail ? How could society sub- 
 sist under such disorders ? 
 
 Thus, then, Hume considers that, by an inductive deter- 
 mination, on the strict Newtonian basis, he has proved that 
 the SOLE foundation of our regard to justice is the support 
 and welfare of society : and since no moral excellence is more 
 esteemed, we must have some strong disposition in favour of 
 general useMness. Such a disposition must be a part of the 
 humane virtues, as it is the sole source of the moral appro- 
 bation of fidelity, justice, veracity, and integrity. 
 
 Section IV. relates to Political Societt, and is intended 
 to show that Government, Allegiance, and the Laws of each 
 State, are justified solely by Utility. 
 
 K men had sagacity to perceive, and strength of mind to 
 follow out, distant and general interests, there had been no 
 such thing as government. In other words, if government 
 were totally useless, it would not be. The duty of Allegiance 
 would be no duty, but for the advantage of it, in preserving 
 peace and order among mankind. 
 
WHY XJTIUTY PLEASES. 603 
 
 [Hume is here supposing that men enter into society on 
 equal terms ; he makes no allowance for the exercise of the 
 right of the stronger in making compulsory social unions. 
 This, however, does not affect his reasoning as to the source 
 of our approbation of social duty, which is not usually ex- 
 tended to tyranny,] 
 
 When political societies hold intercourse with one another, 
 certain regulations are made, termed Laws of Nations, which 
 have no other end than the advantage of those concerned. 
 
 The virtue of Chastity is subservient to the utility of 
 rearing the young, which requires the combination of both 
 parents ; and that combination reposes on marital fidelity. 
 Without such a utility, the virtue would never have been 
 thought of. The reason why chastity is extended to cases 
 where child-bearing does not enter, is that general rules are 
 often carried beyond their original occasion, especially in 
 matters of taste and sentiment. 
 
 The prohibition of marriage between near relations, and 
 the turpitude of incest, have in view the preserving of purity 
 of manners among persons much together. 
 
 The laws of good manners are a kind of lesser morality, 
 for the better securing of our pleasures in society. 
 
 Even robbers and pirates must have their laws. Im- 
 moral gallantries, where authorized, are governed by a set of 
 rules. Societies for play have laws for the conduct of the 
 game. War has its laws as well as peace. The fights of 
 boxers, wrestlers, and such like, are subject to rules. For aU 
 such cases, the common interest and utility begets a standard 
 of right and wrong in those concerned. 
 
 Section V. proceeds to argue Why Utilitt pleases. How- 
 ever powerful education may be in forming men's sentiments, 
 there must, in such a matter as morality, be some deep natural 
 distinction to work upon. Now, there are only two natural 
 sentiments that Utility can appeal to : (1) Self-interest, and 
 (2) Generosity, or the interests of others. 
 
 The deduction of morals from Self-Love is obvious, and 
 no doubt explains much. An appeal to experience, however, 
 shows its defects. We praise virtuous actions in remote ages 
 and countries, where our own interests are out of the question. 
 Even when we have a private interest in some virtuous action, 
 our praise avoids that part of it, and prefers to fasten on what 
 we are not interested in. When we hear of the details of a 
 generous action, we are moved by it, before we know when or 
 where it took place. Nor will the force of imagination account 
 
604 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUME. 
 
 for the feeling in those cases ; if we have an eye solely to our 
 own real interest, it is not conceivable how we can be moved 
 by a mere imaginary interest. 
 
 But another view may be taken. Some have maintained 
 that the public interest is our own interest, and is therefore 
 promoted by our self-love. The reply is that the two are 
 often opposed to each other, and still we approve of the pref- 
 erence of the public interest. We are, therefore, driven to 
 adopt a more public affection, and to admit that the interests 
 of society, on their oum account, are not indifferent to us. 
 
 Have we any difficulty to comprehend the force of hu- 
 manity or benevolence P Or to conceive that the very aspect 
 of happiness, joy, prosperity, gives pleasure ; while pain, 
 suffering, sorrow, communicate uneasiness ? Here we have 
 an unmistakeable, powerful, universal sentiment of human 
 nature to build upon. 
 
 The author gives an expanded illustration of the workings 
 of Benevolence or Sympathy, which well deserves to be read 
 for its merits of execution. We must here content ourselves 
 with stating that it is on this principle of disinterested action, 
 belonging to our nature, that he founds the chief part of our 
 sentiment of Moral Approbation. 
 
 Section VI. takes into the account QuaTiITIBS TJSEFtTL to 
 OUESBLVES. We praise in individuals the qualities useful to 
 themselves, and are pleased with the happiness flowing to 
 individuals by their own conduct. This can be no selfish 
 motive on «ur part. For example, Disceetion, so necessary to 
 the accomplishing of any usefttl enterprise, is commended; 
 that measured union of enterprise and caution found in great 
 commanders, is a subject of highest admiration ; and why ? 
 For the usefulness, or the success that it brings. What need 
 ie there to display the praises of Industet, or of FKUGALmr, 
 virtues useful to the possessor in the first instance ? Then 
 the qualities of HoiresTt, Fidelity, and Tedth, are praised, in 
 the first place, for their tendency to the good of society ; and, 
 being esteblished on that foundation, they are also approved 
 as advantageous to the individual's own self. A part of our 
 blame of Unchastitt in a woman is attached to its imprudence 
 with reference to the opinion regarding it. Steength of 
 Mind being to resist present care, and to maintain the search 
 of distant profit and enjoyment, is another quality of great 
 value to the possessor. The distinction between the Fool 
 and the Wise man illustrates the same position. In our 
 approbation of all such qualities, it is evident that the hap- 
 
A6EEEAELE QUALITIES. 605 
 
 piness and misery of others are not indifferent spectacles to 
 ns :_ the one, like sunshine, or the prospect of well-cultivated 
 plains, imparts joy and satisfaction ; the other, like a lowering 
 cloud or a barren landscape, throws a damp over the spirits. 
 
 He next considers the influence of bodily endowments 
 and the goods of fortune as bearing upon the general 
 question. 
 
 Even in animals, one great source of heauty is the suit- 
 ability of their structure to their manner of life. In times 
 when bodily strength in men was more essential to a warrior 
 than now, it was held in so much more esteem. Impotence 
 in both sexes, and barrenness in women, are generally con- 
 temned, for the loss of human pleasure attending them. 
 
 As regards fortune, how can we account for the regard 
 paid to the rich and powerftd, but from the reflexion to the 
 mind of prosperity, happiness, ease, plenty, authority, and the 
 gratification of every appetite. Bank and family, although 
 they may be detached from wealth and power, had originally 
 a reference to these. 
 
 In Section VII., Hume treats of Qualities immedutblt 
 AGEBBABLE TO OURSELVES. Dnder this head, he dilates on the 
 influence of Cheeefulness, as a social quality : on Greatness of 
 Mind, or Dignity of Character ; on Couragb ; on Tranquillity, 
 or equanimity of mind, in the midst of pain, sorrow, and 
 adverse fortune ; on Benevolence in the aspect of an agree- 
 able spectacle ; and lastly, on Delicacy of Taste, as a merit. 
 As manifested to a beholder, all these qualities are engaging 
 and admirable, on account of the immediate pleasure that they 
 communicate to the person possessed of them. They are 
 farther testimonies to the existence of social sympathy, and 
 ^;o the connexion of that with our sentiment of approbation 
 towards actions or persons. 
 
 Section VIII. brings forward the Qualitibs immediately 
 agreeable to others. These are Good Manners or Politeness ; 
 the Wit or Ingenuity that enlivens social intercourse ; 
 Modesty, as opposed to impudence, arrogance, and vanity ; 
 Cleanliness, and Graceful Manner ; aU which are obviously 
 valued for the pleasures they communicate to people generally. 
 Section IX. is the Conclusion. Whatever may have been 
 maintained in systems of philosophy, he contends that in 
 common life the habitual motives of panegyric or censure are 
 of the kind described by him. He will not enter into the 
 question as to the relative shares of benevolence and self-love 
 in the human constitution. Let the generous sentiments be 
 
606 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUME. 
 
 ever so weak, they still direct a preference of what is service- 
 able to what is pernicious ; and on these preferences a moral 
 distinction is founded. In the notion of morals, two things 
 are implied ; a sentiment common to all manMnd, and a senti- 
 ment whose objects comprehend all mankind; and these two 
 requisites belong to the sentiment of humanity or benevolence. 
 Another spring of our constitution, that brings a great 
 addition of force to moral sentiment, is Love of Fame. The 
 pursuit of a character, name, and reputation in the world, 
 leads to a habit of surveying our own actions, begets a rever- 
 ence for self as well as others, and is thus the guardian of 
 every virtue. Humanity and Love of Reputation combine to 
 form the highest type of morality yet conceived. 
 
 The nature of moral apprehation being thus solved, there 
 remains the nature of ohligation ; by which the author means 
 to enquire, if a man having a view to his own welfare, will 
 not find his best account in the practice of every moral virtue. 
 He dwells upon the many advantages of social virtue, of 
 benevolence and friendship, humanity and kindness, of truth 
 and honesty; but confesses that the rule that 'honesty is the 
 best policy' is liable to many exceptions. He makes us 
 acquainted with his own theory of Happiness. How little is 
 requisite to supply the necessities of nature ? and what com- 
 parison is there between, on the one hand, the cheap plea- 
 sures of conversation, society, study, even health, and, on the 
 other, the common beauties of nature, with self-approbation ; 
 and the feverish, empty amusements of luxury and expense ? 
 
 Thus ends the main treatise ; but the author adds, in an 
 Appendix, four additional dissertations. 
 
 The first takes up the question started at the outset, but 
 postponed, how far our moral approbation is a matter of 
 reason, and how far of sentvm&nt. His handling of this topic 
 is luminous and decisive. 
 
 If the utility of actions be a foundation of our approval of 
 them, reason must have a share, for no other faculty can trace 
 the results of actions in their bearings upon human happi- 
 ness. In Justice especially, there are often numerous and 
 complicated considerations ; such as to occupy the delibera- 
 tions of politicians and the debates of lawyers. 
 
 On ttie other hand, reason is iusuf&cient of itself to con- 
 stitute the feeling of moral approbation or disapprobation. 
 Reason shows the means to an end ; but if we are otherwise 
 indifierent to the end, the reasonings fall inoperative on the 
 mind. Here then a sentiment must display itself, a delight 
 
KEASON INSUFFICIENT. 607 
 
 in the happiness of men, and a repngpance to what causes 
 them misery. Reason teaches the consequences of actions ; 
 Humanity or Benevolence is roused to make a distinction in 
 favour of such as are beneficial. 
 
 He adduces a number of illustrations to show that reason 
 alone is insufficient to make a moral sentiment. He bids us 
 examine Ingratitude, for instance ; good offices bestowed on 
 one side, ill-will on the other. Reason might say, whether a 
 certain action, say the gift of money, ,ov an act of patronage, 
 was for the good of the party receiving it, and whether the 
 circumstances of the gift indicated a good intention on the 
 part of the giver ; it might also say, whether the actions of the 
 person obliged were intentionally or consciously hurtful or 
 wanting in esteem to the person obliging. But when all this 
 is made out by reason, there remains the sentiment of abhor- 
 rence, whose foundations must be in the emotional part of our 
 nature, in our delight in manifested goodness, and our abhor- 
 rence of the opposite. 
 
 He refers to Beauty or Taste as a parallel case, where 
 there may be an operation of the intellect to compute propor- 
 tions, but where the elegance or beauty must arise in the 
 region of feeling. Thus, whUe reason conveys the knowledge 
 of truth and falsehood, sentiment or emotion must give beauty 
 and deformity, vice and virtue. 
 
 Appendix No. II. is a discussion of Self-love. The author 
 adverts first to the position that benevolence is a mere pre- 
 tence, a cheat, a gloss of self-love, and dismisses it with a 
 burst of indignation. He next considers the less ofiensive 
 view, that all benevolence and generosity ai-e resolvable in 
 the last resort into self-love. He does not attribute to the 
 holders of this opinion any lasity in their own practice of 
 virtue, as compared with other men. Epicurus and his fol- 
 lowers were no strangers to probity; Atticus and Horace 
 were men of generous dispositions ; Hobbes and Locke were 
 irreproachable in their lives. These men all allowed that 
 friendship exists without hypocrisy ; but considered that, by 
 a sort of mental chemistry, it might be made out self-love, 
 twisted and moulded by a particular turn of the imagination. 
 But, says Hume, as some men have not the turn of imagina- 
 tion, and others have, this alone is -quite enough to make the 
 widest difference of human characters, and to stamp one man 
 as virtuous and humane, and another vicious and meanly inter- 
 ested. The analysis in no way sets aside the reality of moral 
 distinctions. The question is, therefore, purely speculative. 
 
608 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUME. 
 
 As a speonlation, it is open to these objections. (1) Being 
 contrary to the unprejudiced notions of mankind, it demands 
 some very powerfiil aid from philosophy. On the face of 
 things, the selfish passions and the benevolent passions are 
 widely distinguished, and no hypothesis has ever yet so far 
 overcome the disparity as to show that the one could grow 
 out of the other ; we may discern in the attempts that love of 
 simplicity, which has done so much harm to philosophy. 
 
 The Animals are susceptible of kindness ; shall we then 
 attribute to them, too, a refinement of self-interest ? Again, 
 what interest can a fond mother have in view who loses her 
 health in attendance on a sick child, and languishes and dies 
 of grief when relieved from the slavery of that attendance ? 
 
 (2) But farther, the real simplicity lies on the side of inde- 
 pendent and disinterested benevolence. There are bodily 
 appetites that carry us to their objects before sensual enjoy- 
 ment ; hunger and thirst have eating and drinking for their 
 end ; the gratification follows, and becomes a secondary desire. 
 [A very questionable analysis.] So there are mental passions, 
 as fame, power, vengeance, that urge us to act, in the first 
 instance ; and when the end is attained, the pleasure follows. 
 Now, as vengeance may be so pursued as to make us neglect 
 ease, interest, and safety, why may we not allow to humanity 
 and friendship the same privileges ? [This is Butler, improved 
 in the statement.] 
 
 Appendix III. gives some farther considerations with re- 
 gard to Justice. The point of the discussion is to show that 
 Justice differs from Generosity or Beneficence in a regard to 
 distant consequences, and to General Rules. The theme is 
 handled in the author's usual happy siyle, but contains nothing 
 special to him. He omits to state wluit is also a prime attri- 
 bute of Justice, its being indispensable to the very existence 
 of sodety, which cannot be said of generosity, apart from its 
 contributing to justice. 
 
 Appendix IV. is on some Verbal Disputes. He remarks 
 that, neither in English nor in any other modern tongue, is 
 the boundary fixed between virtues and talents, vices and 
 defects ; that praise is given to natural endowments, as well 
 as to voluntary exertions. The epithets mtellectual and moral 
 do not precisely divide the virtues ; neither does the contrast 
 of head and heart; many virtuous qualities partake of both 
 ingredients. So the sentiment of aynsdotis worth, or of its 
 opposite, is affected by what is not in our power, as well as by 
 what is ; by the goodness or badness of our memory, as well 
 
VARIETIES or MORAL SENTIMENT. 609 
 
 as by continence or dissoluteness of conduct. "Without endow- 
 ments of the understanding, the best intentions will not 
 procure esteem. 
 
 The ancient moralists included in the virtues what are 
 obviously natural endowments. Prudence, according to Cicero, 
 involved sagacity or powers of judgment. In Aristotle, we 
 find, among the virtues. Courage, Temperance, Magnanimity, 
 Modesty, Prudence, and manly Openness, as well as Justice 
 and Friendship. Epictetus puts- people on their guard against 
 humanity and compassion. In general, the difference of volun- 
 tary and involuntary was little regarded in ancient ethics. 
 This is changed in modern times, by the alliance of Ethics 
 with Theology. The divine has put all morality on the foot- 
 ing of the civil law, and guarded it by the same sanctions of 
 reward and punishment; and consequently must make the 
 distinction of voluntary and involuntary fundamental. 
 
 Hume also composed a dialogue, to illustrate, in his light 
 and easy style, the great variety, amounting almost to opposi- 
 tion, of men's moral sentiments in different ages. This may 
 seem adverse to his principle of Utility, as it is to the doctrine 
 of an Intuitive Sense of Right and Wrong. He allows, how- 
 ever, for the different ways that people may view Utility, 
 seeing that the consequences of acting are often difficult to 
 estimate, and people may agree in an end without agreeing in 
 the means. Still, he pays too little attention to'the sentimental 
 likings and dislikings that frequently overbear the sense of 
 Utility ; scarcely recognizing it, except in one passage, where 
 he dwells on the superstitions that mingle with a regard to 
 the consequences of actions in determining right. 
 
 We shall now repeat the leading points of Hume's system, 
 in the usual order. 
 
 I. — The Standard of Right and Wrong is Utility, or a refer- 
 ence to the Happiness of mankind. This is the ground, as 
 well as the motive, of moral approbation. 
 
 II. — As to the nature of the Moral Paculty, he contends 
 that it is a compound of Reason, and Humane or Generous 
 Sentiment. 
 
 He does not introduce the subject of Free-will into Morals. 
 
 He contends strongly for the existence of Disinterested 
 Sentiment, or Benevolence; but scarcely recognizes it as 
 leading to absolute and uncompensated self-sacrifice. He 
 does not seem to see that as far as the approbation of benevo- 
 lent actions is concerned, we are anything but disinterested 
 parties. The good done by one man is done to some others ; 
 39 
 
610 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— PKICE. 
 
 and the recipients are moved by their self-love to encourage 
 beneficence. The regard to oar own benefactor makes all 
 benefactors interesting. 
 
 in. — He says little directly bearing on the constituents of 
 Human Happiness ; but that little is all in favour of simplicity 
 of life and cheap pleasures. He does not reflect that the plea- 
 sures singled out by him are far from cheap ; 'agreeable con- 
 versation, society, study, health, and flie beauties of nature,' 
 although not demanding extraordinary wealth, cannot be 
 secured withput a larger share of worldly means than has 
 ever&Uen to the mass of men in any community. 
 
 IF. — As to the substance of the Moral Code, he makes no 
 innovations. He talks eomewhat more lightly of the evils of 
 JJnchastity than is customary; but regards the prevailing 
 restraints as borne out by Utility. 
 
 The inducements to virtue are, in his view, our humane 
 sentiments, on the one hand, and our self-love, or prudence, 
 on the other ; the two classes of motives conspiring to pro- 
 m.ote both our own good and the good of mankind. . ' 
 
 V. — The connexion of Ethics with Polities is not specially 
 brought «nt. The political virtues are moral virtues. He 
 does not dwell upon the sanctions erf morality, so as to dis- 
 tinguish the legal sanction from the popular sanction. He 
 draws no line between Duty and Merit. 
 
 VI. — He recognizes no relationship between Ethics and 
 Theology. The principle of Benevolence in the human mind 
 is, he thinks, an adequate source of moral approbation and 
 disapprobation ; and he takes no note of what even sceptics 
 (Gibbon, for example) often dwell upon, the aid of the Theo- 
 logical sanction in enforcing duties imperfectly felt by the 
 natural and unprompted sentiments of the mind. 
 
 BICHARD PRICE. (1723-1791.) 
 
 Price's work is entitled, ' A Review of the principal ques- 
 tions in Morals ; particularly those respecting the Origin of 
 our Ideas of Virtue, its Nature, Relation to the Deity, Obli- 
 gation, Subject-matter, and Sanctions.' In the third edition, 
 he added an Appendix on ' the Being and Attributes of the 
 Deity.' 
 
 The book is divided into ten chapters. 
 
 Chapter I. is on the origin of our Ideas of Right and 
 Wrong. The actions of moral agents, he says, give rise in us 
 to three different perceptions : Ist, Right and Wrong ; 2nd, 
 
IDEAS OF EIGHT AND WRONG. 611 
 
 Beauty and Deformity; 3rd, Good or HI Desert. It is the 
 first of these perceptions that he proposes mainly to consider. 
 
 He commences by quoting Hutoheson's doctrine of a 
 Moral Sense, which he describes as an implanted and arbitrary 
 principle, imparting a relish or disrelish for actions, like the 
 sensibilities of the various senses. On this doctrine, he 
 remarks, the Creator might have annexed the same sentiments 
 to the opposite actions. Other schemes of morality, such as 
 Self-love, Positive Laws and Compacts, the WUl of the 
 Deity, he dismisses as not meeting the true question. 
 
 The question, as conceived by him, is, ' What is the power 
 within us that perceives the distinctions of Right and Wrong? ' 
 The answer is. The Understanding. 
 
 To establish this position, he enters into an enquiry into 
 the distinct provinces of Sense and of Understanding in the 
 origin of our ideas. It is plain, be says, that what judges 
 concerning the perceptions of the senses, and contradicts 
 their decisions, cannot itself be sense, but must be some 
 nobler faculty. Likewise, the power that views and compares 
 the objects of all the senses cannot be sense. Sense is a mere 
 capacity of being passively impressed ; it presents particular 
 forms to the mind, and is incapable of discovering general 
 truths. It is the understanding that perceives order or pro- 
 portion ; variety and regularity ; design, connexion, art, and 
 power; aptitudes, dependence, correspondence, and adjust- 
 m.ent of parts to a whole or to an end. He goes over our 
 leading ideas in detail, to show that mere sense cannot furnish 
 them. Thus, Solidity, or Impenetrability, needs an exertion 
 of reason; we must compare instances to know that two 
 atoms of matter cannot occupy the same space. Vis Inertics 
 is a perception of the reason. So Substance, Duration, Space, 
 Necessary Existence, Power, and Causation involve the under- 
 standing. Likewise, that all Abstract Ideas whatsoever require 
 the understanding is superfluously proved. The author 
 wonders, therefore, that his position in this matter should not 
 have been sooner arrived at. 
 
 The tracing of Agreement and of Disagreement, which are 
 functions of the Understanding, is really the source of simple 
 ideas. Thus, Equality is a simple idea originating in this 
 source ; so are Proportion, Identity and Diversity, Existence, 
 Cause and Efiect, Power, Possibility and Impossibility; and 
 (as he means ultimately to show) Bight and Wrong. 
 
 Although the author's exposition is not very lucid, his 
 main conclusion is a sound one. Sense, in its narrowest 
 
612 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^PEICE. 
 
 acceptation, gives particular impressions and experiences of 
 Colour, Sound, Touch, Taste, Odour, &c. The Intellectual 
 functions of Discrimination and Agreement are necessary as a 
 supplement to Sense, to recognize these impressions as differ- 
 ing and agreeing, as Equal or Unequal; Proportionate or 
 Disproportionate ; Harmonious or Discordant. And farther, 
 every abstract or general notion,— colours in the abstract, 
 sweetness, pungency, &c. — supposes these powers of the 
 understanding in addition to the recipiency of the senses. 
 
 To apply this to Eight and Wrong, the author begins by 
 affirming [what goes a good way towards begging the ques- 
 tion] that right and wrong are simple ideas, and therefore the 
 result of an immediate power of perception in the human 
 mind. Beneficence and Cruelty are indefinable, and therefore 
 ultimate. There must be some actions that are in the last 
 resort an end in themselvel. This being assumed, the author 
 contends that the power of immediately perceiving these 
 ultimate ideas is the Understanding. Shaftesbury had con- 
 tended that, because the perception of right and wrong was 
 immediate, therefore it must reside in a special Sense. The 
 conclusion, thinks Price, was, to say the least of it, hasty ; for 
 it does not follow that every immediate perception should 
 reside in a special sensibility or sense. He puts it to each 
 one's experience whether, in conceiving Gratitude or Benefi- 
 cence to be right, one feels a sensation merely, or performs an 
 act of understanding. ' Would not a Being purely intelligent, 
 having happiness within his reach, approve of securing it for 
 himself? Would he not think this right; and would it not 
 be right ? When we contemplate the happiness of a species, or 
 of a world, and pronounce on the actions of reasonable beings 
 which promote it, that they are right, is this judging errone- 
 ously? (3r is it no determination of the judgment at all, but 
 a species of mental taste [as •Shaftesbury and Hutcheson sup- 
 posed] ? [As against a moral sense, this reasoning may be 
 efiective ; but it obviously assumes an end of desire,— happi- 
 ness for self, or for others — and yet does not allow to that end 
 any share in making up the sense of right and wrong.] Every 
 one, the author goes on to say, must desire happiness for 
 himself; and our rational nature thenceforth must approve of 
 the actions for promoting happiness, and disapprove of 
 the contrary actions. Surely the understanding has some 
 share in the revulsion that we feel when any one brings upon 
 himself, or upon others, calamity and ruin. A being flattered 
 with hopes of bliss and then plunged into torments would 
 
MORALITY DETEEMINED BY THE UNDERSTANDING. 613 
 
 complain justly ; lie would consider that violence had been 
 done to a perception of the human understanding. 
 
 He next brings out a metaphysical difficulty in applying 
 right and wrong to actions, on the supposition that they are 
 mere efifects of sensation. All sensations, as such, are modes 
 of consciousness, or feelings, of a sentient being, and must be 
 of a nature different from their causes. Colour is in the mind, 
 not an attribute of the object ; but right and wrong are quali- 
 ties of actions, of objects, and therefore must be ideas, not 
 sensations. Then, again, there can be nothing true or untrue 
 in a sensation ; all sensations are alike just ; while the moral 
 rectitude of an action is something absolute and unvarying. 
 Lastly, all actions have a nature, or character ; something 
 truly belonging to them, and truly affirmable of them. If 
 actions have no character, then they are all indifferent ; but 
 this no one can affirm ; we all strongly believe the contrary. 
 Actions are not indifferent. They are good or bad, better or 
 worse. And if so, they are declared such by an act of judg- 
 ment, a function of the understanding. 
 
 The author, considering his thesis established, deduces 
 from it the corollary, that morality is eternal and immutable. 
 As an object of the Understanding, it has an invariable 
 essence. No will, not even Omnipotence, can make things 
 other than they are. Right and wrong, as far as they express 
 the real characters of actions, must immutably and necessarily 
 belong to the actions. By action, is of course understood not 
 a bare external effect, but an effect taken along with its prin- 
 ciple or rule, the motives or reasons of the being that performs 
 it. The matter of an action being the same, its morality 
 reposes upon the end or motive of the agent. 'Nothing can be 
 obligatory in us that was not so from eternity. The will of 
 God could not make a thing right that was not right in its 
 own nature. 
 
 The author closes his first chapter with a criticism of the 
 doctrine of Protagoras — that man is the measure of all things 
 — interpreting it as another phase of the view that he is com- 
 bating. 
 
 Although this chapter is but a small part of the work, it 
 completes the author's demonstration of his ethical theory. 
 
 Chapter II. is on ' our Ideas of the Beauty and Deformity 
 of Actions.' By these are meant our pleasurable and painful 
 sentiments, arising from the consideration of moral right and 
 wrong, expressed by calling some actions amiable, and others 
 odious, shocking, vile. Although, in this aspect of actions. 
 
614 jSTHICAL systems — PRICE. 
 
 it wonld seem that the reference to a sense is the suitable ex- 
 planation, he still contends for the intervention of the Under- 
 standing. The character of the Deity must appear more 
 amiable the better it is knoivn and 'understood. A reasonable 
 being, without any special sensibilities, but knowing what 
 order and happiness are, would receive pleasure from the con- 
 templation of a universe where order prevailed, and pain from 
 a prospect of the contrary. To behold virtue is to admire her ; 
 to perceive vice is to be moved to condemnation. There must 
 always be a consideration of the circumstances of an action, 
 and this involves intellectual discernment. 
 
 The author now qualifies his doctrine by the remark, that 
 to some superior beings the intellectual diEcernment may 
 explain the whole of the appearances, bat inferior natures, 
 such as the human, are aided by mstinctive determinations. 
 Our appetites and passions are too strong for reason by itself, 
 especially in early years. Hence he is disposed to conclude 
 that ' in contemplating the actions of moral agents, we have 
 hoth a perception of the rmderstanding and a feeling of the heart;' 
 but that this feeling of the heart, while partly instinctive, ifl 
 mainly a sense of congruity and incongruity in actions. The 
 author therefore allows something to innate sense, but differs 
 from Shaftesbury^ who makes the whole a matter of intuitive 
 determination. 
 
 Chapter III. relates to the origin of our Desires and 
 Affections, by which he means more especially Self-love and 
 Benevolence. His position here is that Self-love is the essence 
 of a Sensible being, Benevolence the essential of an Intelligent 
 being. By the very nature of our sensitive constitution, we 
 cannot but choose happiness for self; and it is only an act of 
 intellectual consistency to extend the same measure to others. 
 The same qualification, however, is made as to the insufficiency 
 of a mere intellectual impulse in this matter, without consti- 
 tutional tendencies. These constitutional tendencies the 
 author considers as made up of our Appetites and Passions, 
 while our Affections are founded on our rational nature. 
 Then follow a few observations in confirmation of Butler's 
 views as to the disinterested nature of our affections. 
 
 Chapter IV. is on our Ideas of good and ill Desert. These 
 are only a variety of our ideas of right and wrong, being the 
 feelings excited towards the moral Agent. Our reason deter- 
 mines, with regard to a virtuous agent, that he ought to be 
 the better for his virtue. The ground of such determination, 
 however, is not solely that virtuous conduct promotes the 
 
MOKAIi ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY. 615 
 
 liappiness of mankind, and vice detracts from it; this counts 
 for much, but not for all. Virtue is in itself rewardable; 
 vice is of essential demerit. Our understanding recognizes 
 the absolute and eternal rectitude^ the intrinsic fitness of the 
 procedure in both aspects. 
 
 Chapter V. is entitled ' Of the Reference of Morality to 
 the Divine Nature ; the Rectitude of our Faculties ; and the 
 Grounds of Belief.' The author means to reply to the objec- 
 tion that his system, in setting up a criterion independent of 
 God, is derogatory to the Divine nature. He urges that there- 
 must be attributes of the Deity, independent of bis will ; as 
 his Existence, Immensity, Powerj Wisdom'; that Mind sup- 
 poses Truth apart from itself; that without moral distinctions, 
 there could be no Moral Attributes in the Deity, Certain 
 things are inherent in his Nature, and not dependent on his 
 will. There is a limit to the universe itself; two infinities of 
 space or of duration ai'e not possible. The necessary good- 
 ness of the divine nature is a part of necessary truth. Thus, 
 morality, although not asserted to depend on the will of the 
 Deity, is still resolvable into his nature; In all this. Price- 
 avowedly follows Cudworth. 
 
 He then starts another diflaculty. May not our faculties; 
 be mistaken, or be so constituted as to deceive us ? To which 
 he gives the reply, made familiar to us by Hamilton, that the 
 doubt is suicidal ; the faculty that doubts being itself under 
 the same imputation. Nay, more, a being cannot be made 
 such as to be imposed on by falsehood ; what is false is 
 nothing. As to the cases of actual mistake, these refer to 
 matters attended with some difficulty ; and it does not follow 
 that we must be mistaken in cases that are clear. 
 
 He concludes with a statement of the ultimate grounds of 
 our belief. These are, (1)- Consciousness or Peeling, as in 
 regard to our own existence, our sensations, passions, &c. ; 
 (2) Intuition, comprising self-evident truths ; and (3) Deduc- 
 tion, or Argumentation. He discusses under these the exist- 
 ence of a material world, and affirms that we have an Intuition 
 that it is possible. 
 
 Chapter VI. considers Fitness and Moral Obligation, and 
 other prevailing forms of expression regarding morality. 
 Fitness and Unfitness denote Congruity or Incongruity, and 
 are necessarily a perception of the Understanding. 
 
 The term Obligation is more perplexing. StiU, it is but 
 another name for Tightness. What is Right is, by that very 
 fact, obligatory. Obligation, therefore, cannot be the creature 
 
616 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— PRICE. 
 
 of law, for law may command what is morally wrong. The 
 will of God enforced by rewards and punishments cannot 
 make right ; it would only determine what is prudent. Re- 
 wards and punishments do not make obligation, but suppose 
 it. Rectitude is a Law, the authoritative guide of a rational 
 being. It is Supreme, universal, unalterable, and indispen- 
 sable. Self-valid and self-originated, it stands on immovable 
 foundations. Being the one authority in nature, it is, in 
 short, the Divine authority. Even the obligations of religion 
 are but branches of universal rectitude. The Sovereign 
 Authority is not the mere result of his Almighty Power, but 
 of this conjoined with his necessary perfections and infinite 
 excellence. 
 
 He does not admit that obligation implies an obUger. 
 
 He takes notice of the objection that certain actions may 
 be right, and yet we are not bound to perform them ; such are 
 acts of generosity and kindness. But his answer throws no 
 farther light on his main doctrine. 
 
 In noticing the theories of other writers in the same vein, 
 as WoUaston, he takes occasion to remark that, together with 
 the perception of conformity or fitness, there is a simple 
 immediate perception urging us to act according to that 
 fitness, for which no farther reason can be assigned. When 
 we compare innocence and eternal misery, we are struck with 
 the idea of unsuitableness, and are inspired in consequence 
 with intense repugnance. 
 
 Chapter VII. discusses the Heads or Divisions of Virtue ; 
 under which he enquires first what are virtuous actions; 
 secondly, what is the true principle or motive of a virtuous 
 agent ; and thirdly, the estimate of the degrees of virtue. 
 
 He first quotes Butler to show that all virtue is not 
 summed up in Benevolence ; repeating that there is an in- 
 trinsic rectitude in keeping faith ; and giving the usual argu- 
 ments against Utility, grounded on the supposed crimes that 
 might be committed on this plea. He is equally opposed to 
 those that would deny disinterested benevoleiice, or would 
 resolve beneficence into veracity. He urges against Hntcheson, 
 that, these being independent and distinct virtues, a distinct 
 sense would be necessary to each ; in other words, we should, 
 for the whole of virtue, need a plurality of moral senses. 
 
 His classification of Virtue comprehends (1) Duty to God, 
 which he dilates upon at some length. (2) Du^ to Ourselves, 
 wherein he maintains that our sense of self-interest is not 
 enough for us. (3) Beneficence, the Good of others. (4) Grati- 
 
PRACTICAL MOEALITT. 617 
 
 tude. (5) "Veracity, which he inculcates with great earnest- 
 ness, adverting especially to impartiality and honesty in otlt 
 enquiries after truth. (6) Justice, which he treats in its appli- 
 cation to the Eights of Property. He considers that the 
 difficulties in practice arise partly from the conflict of the 
 different heads, and partly from the different modes of apply- 
 ing the same principles ; which he gives as an answer to the 
 objection from the great differences of men's moral sentiments 
 and practices. He allows, besides, that custom, education, 
 and example, may blind and deprave our intellectual and 
 moral powers ; but denies that the whole of our notions and 
 sentiments could result from education. No amount of depra- 
 vity is able utterly to destroy our moral discernment. 
 
 Chapter VIII. treats of Intention as an element in virtnous 
 action. He makes a distinction between Virtue in the 
 Abstract and Virtue in Practice, or with reference to all the 
 circumstances of the agent. A man may do abstract wrong, 
 through mistake, while as he acts with his best judgment and 
 with upright intentions, he is practically right. He grounds 
 on this a powerful appeal against every attempt at dominion 
 over conscience. The requisites of Practical Morality are (1) 
 Liberty, or Free-will, on which he takes the side of free-agency. 
 (2) Intelligence, without which there can be no perception of 
 good and evil, and no moral agency. (3) The Consciousness 
 of Rectitude, or Righteous Intention. On this he dwells at 
 some length. No action is properly the action of a moral 
 agent unless designed by him. A virtuous motive is essential 
 to virtue. On the question — Is Benevolence a virtuous motive? 
 he replies : Not the Instinctive benevolence of the parent, but 
 only Rational benevolence ; which he allows to coincide with 
 rectitude. Reason presiding over Self-love renders it a virtuous 
 principle Hkewise. The presence of Reason in greater or less 
 degree is the criterion of the greater or less virtue of any 
 action. 
 
 Chapter IX. is on the different Degrees of Virtue and Vice, 
 and the modes of estimating them 5 the Difficulties attending 
 the Practice of Virtue ; the use of Trials, and the essentials of 
 a good or a bad Character. The considerations adduced are 
 a number of perfectly well-known maxims on the practice of 
 morality, and scarcely add anything to the elucidation of the 
 author's Moral Theory. The concluding chapter, on Natural 
 Religion, contains nothing original. 
 
 To sum up the views of Price : — 
 
 I. — As regards the Moral Standard, he asserts that a percep- 
 
618 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— PHICE. 
 
 tion of the Reason or the Understanding, — a sense of fitness or 
 congruity between actions and the agents, and all the circnm- 
 stances attending them, — is what determines Right and Wrong. 
 
 He finds it impracticable to maintain his position mthoat 
 sundry qualifications, as we have seen. Virtue is naturally 
 adapted to please- every observing mind ; vice the contrary. 
 Right actions must be grateful, wrong ungrateful to us. To 
 behold virtue is to admire her. In contemplating the actions 
 of moral agents, we have both a perception of the under- 
 standing and a feeling of the heart.. He thus re-admits an 
 element of feeling, along with the intellect, in some undefined 
 degree ; contending only that all morality is not to be resolved 
 into feeling or instinct. We have also noticed another singu- 
 lar admission, to the efiect that only superior natures can dis- 
 cover virtue by the understanding. Reason alone, did we 
 possess it in a high degree, would answer all the ends of the 
 passions. Parental afiection would be unnecessary, if parents 
 were sufficiently alive to the reasons of supporting the young, 
 and were virtuous enough to be always determined by them. 
 
 Utility, although not the sole ground of Justice, is yet ad- 
 mitted to be one important reason ca: ground of many of its 
 maxims. 
 
 II. — The nature of the Moral Faculty, in Price's theory, 
 is not a separate question from the standard, but the same 
 question. His discussion takes the foi-m of an enquiry into 
 the Faculty: — 'What is the power within us that perceives 
 the distinctions of Right and Wrong ? ' The two questions 
 are mixed up throughout, to the detriment of precision in the 
 reasoning. 
 
 With his usual fecility of making concessions to other 
 principles, he says it is not easy to' determine how far our 
 natural sentiments may be altered by custom, education, and 
 example: while it would be unreasonable to conclude that all 
 is derived from these sources. That part of our moral 
 constitution depending on instinct is liable ta be corrupted 
 by custom, and education to almost any length ; but the most 
 depraved can never sink so low as to lose all moral dis- 
 cernment, all ideas of just and unjust j of which he offers the 
 singular proof that men are never wanting in resentment when 
 they are themselves the objects of ill-treatment. 
 
 As regards the Psychology of Disinterested Action, he pro- 
 vides nothing but a repetition of Butler (Chapter IH.) and a 
 vague assertion of the absurdity of denying disiaterested 
 benevolence. 
 
WORKINGS OF SYMPATHY. 619 
 
 in. — On Human Happiness, lie has only a few general 
 remarks. Happiness is an object of essential and eternal 
 valne. Happiness is the end, and the only end, coneeivable 
 by us, of God's providenee and government ; but He pursues 
 this end in subordination to rectitude. Virtue tends to 
 happiness, but does not always secure it. A person that 
 sacrifices his life rather than violate his conscience, or betray 
 his country, gives np all possibility of any present reward^ 
 and loses the more in proportion as his virtue is more-glorious. 
 
 Neither on the Moral Cbde, nor in the relations of Ethics 
 to Politios and to Theology, are any further remarks oa 
 Price called for, 
 
 ADAM SMITH. [1723-90.] 
 
 The "^ Theory of the Moral Sentiments' is a work of great 
 extent and elaboration. It is divided into five Parts ; each 
 part being again divided into Sections, and these subdivided 
 into Chapters, 
 
 Pakp I. is entitled. Of the Pkopeiett op Action. SenUon 
 I. is, ' Of the Sense of Propriety J Propriety is his word for 
 Sectitude or Eight. 
 
 Chapter I., entitled, ' Of Sympathy,' is a felicitous illus- 
 tration of the general nature and workings of Sympathy. 
 He calls in the experience of all mankind to attest the- 
 existence of our sympathetic impulses. He shows through 
 what medium sympathy operates ; namely, by our placing 
 ourselves in the situation of the other party, and imagining- 
 what we should feel in that case. He produces the most 
 notable examples of the impressions made on us by our 
 witnessing the actions, the pleasurable and the painful ex- 
 pression of others ; effects extending even to fictitious repre- 
 sentations. He then remarks that, although on some occasions, 
 we take on simply and purely the feelings manifested in our 
 presence, — the grief or joy of another man, yet this is far from 
 the universal case : a display of angry passion may produce 
 in us hostility and disgust j but this very result may be 
 owing to our sympathy for the person likely to suffer from 
 the anger. So our sympathy for grief or for joy is imperfect 
 until we know the cause, and may be entirely suppressed. 
 We take the whole situation into view, as well as the expression 
 of the feeling. Hence we often feel for another person what 
 that person does not feel for himself; we act out our own 
 view of the situation, not his. We feel for the insane what 
 they do not feel ; we sympathize even with the dead. 
 
620 ETHICAIi SYSTEMS — ^ADAM SMITH. 
 
 Chapter 11. is ' Of the Pleasure of Mutual Sympathy.' It 
 contains illustrations of the delight that we experience in the 
 sympathy of others ; we being thereby strengthened in our plea- 
 sures and relieved in our miseries. He observes that we 
 demand this sympathy more urgently for our painfal emotions 
 than for such as are pleasurable ; we are especially intolerant 
 of the omission of our friends to join in our resentments. On 
 the other hand, we feel pleasure in the act of sympathizing, 
 and find in that a compensation for the pain that the sight of 
 pain gives us. Still, this pleasure may be marred if the other 
 party's own expression of grief or of joy is beyond what we 
 think suitable to the situation. 
 
 Chapter III. considers ' the manner of our judging of the 
 propriety of other men's affections by their consonance with 
 our own.' The author illustrates the obvious remark, that 
 we approve of the passions of another, if they are such as we 
 ourselves should feel in the same situation. We require that 
 a man's expression and conduct should be suitable to the 
 occasion, according to our own standaj^d of judging, namely, 
 our own procedure in such cases. 
 
 Chapter IV. continues the subject, and draws a distinction 
 between two cases ; the case where the objects of a feeling do 
 not concern either ourselves or the person himself, and the 
 case where they do concern one or other. The first case is 
 shown in matters of taste and science, where we derive 
 pleasure from sympathy, but yet can tolerate difference. The 
 other case is exemplified in our personal fortunes ; in these, we 
 cannot endure any one refusing us their sympathy. Still, it 
 is to be noted that the sympathizer does not fuUy attain the 
 level of the sufferer ; hence the sufferer, aware of this, and 
 desiring the satisfaction of a full accord with his friend, tones 
 down his own vehemence till it can be fully met by the other ; 
 which very circumstance is eventually for his own good, and 
 adds to, rather than detracts from, the tranquillizing influence 
 of a friendly presence. We sober down our feelings still more 
 before casual acquaintance and strangers; and hence the 
 greater equality of temper in the man of the world than in 
 the recluse. 
 
 Chapter V. makes an application of these remarks to ex- 
 plain the difference between the Amiable and the Respectable 
 Virtues. The soft, the gentle, and the amiable qualities are 
 manifested when, as sympathizers, we enter fully into the 
 expressed sentiments of another ; the great, the awful and 
 respectable virtues of self-denial, are shown when the prinoi- 
 
THE PASSIONS AS CONSISTENT WITH PKOPKIBTr. 621 
 
 pal person concerned brings down his own case to the level 
 that the most ordinary sympathy can easily attain to. The 
 one is the virtue of giving much, the other of expecting little. 
 
 Section II. is ' Of the Degrees of the different passions which 
 a/re consistent with propriety.' Under this head he reviews the 
 leading passions, remarks how far, and why, we can sympa- 
 thize with each. 
 
 Chapter I. is on the Passions having their origin in the 
 body. "We can sympathize with hunger to a certain limited 
 extent, and in certain oircamstances ; but we can rarely 
 tolerate any very prominent expression of it. The same 
 limitations apply to the passion of the sexes. We partly 
 sympathize with bodily pain, but not with the violent expres- 
 sion of it. These feelings are in marked contrast to the 
 passions seated in the imagination : wherein our appetite for 
 sympathy is complete ; disappointed love or ambition, loss of 
 friends or of dignity, are suitable to representation in art. 
 On the same principle, we can sympathize with danger ; as 
 regards our power of conceiving, we are on a level with the 
 sufferer. From our inability to enter into bodily pain, we the 
 more admire the man that can bear it with firmness. 
 
 Chapter II. is on certain Passions depending on a peculiar 
 turn of the Imagination. Under this he exemplifies chiefly 
 the situation of two lovers, with whose passion, in its inten- 
 sity, a third person cannot sympathize, although one may enter 
 into the hopes of happiness, and into the dangers and calami- 
 ties often flowing from it. 
 
 Chapter III. is on the Unsocial Passions. These neces- 
 sarily divide our sympathy between him that feels them and 
 him that is their object. Resentment is especially hard to 
 sympathize with. We may ourselves resent wrong done to 
 another, but the less so that the sufferer strongly resents it. 
 Moreover, there is in the passion itself an element of the dis- 
 agreeable and repulsive ; its manifestation 'is naturally dis- 
 tasteful. It may be useful and even necessary, but so is a 
 prison, which is not on that account a pleasant object. In 
 order to make its gratification agreeable, there must be many 
 well known conditions and qualifications attending it. 
 
 Chapter IV. gives the contrast of the Social Passions. It 
 is with the humane, the benevolent sentiments, that our sym- 
 pathy is unrestricted and complete. Even in their excess, 
 they never inspire aversion. 
 
 Chapter V. is on the Selfish Passions. He supposes these, 
 in regard to sympathy, to hold a middle place between the 
 
622 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ADAM SMITH. 
 
 Bocial and the nnsocial. We sympathize with small joys and 
 with great sorrows ; and not with great joys (which dispense 
 with our aid, if they do not excite our envy) or with small 
 troubles. 
 
 Section III. ■considers the effects of prosperity and adversity 
 upon the judgments of ma/nikind regarding propriety of action. 
 
 Chapter I. puts forward the proposition that our sympathy 
 with sorrow, although more lively than our sympathy with 
 joy, falls short of the intensity of feeliag in the person con- 
 cerned. * It is agreeable to sympathize with joy, and we do so 
 with the heart ; the painfnlness of entering into grief and 
 misery holds ns back. Hence, as he remarked before, the 
 magnanimity and nobleness of the man that represses his 
 woes, and does not exact our compassionate participation. 
 
 Chapter II. inquires into the origin of Ambition, and of 
 the distinction of Banks. Proceeding upon the principle just 
 enounced, that mankind sympathize with joy rather than with 
 sorrow, the author composes an exceedingly eloquent homily 
 on the worship paid to rank and greatness. 
 
 Chapter III., in continuation of the same theme, illustrates 
 the corruption of onr moral seatiments, arising from this 
 worship of the great. ' We frequently see the respectful 
 attentions of the world more strongly directed towards the 
 rich and the great, than towards the wise and the virtuous.' 
 ' The external graces, the frivolous accomplishments of that 
 impertinent and foolish thing called a man of fashion, are 
 commonly more admired than the solid and masculine virtues 
 of a warrior, a statesman, a philosopher, or a legislator.' 
 
 Paet IL is Op Merit and Demerit ; oe op the objects of 
 Reward and Punishment. It consists of three Sections. 
 
 Section I. is, Of the Sense of Merit and Demerit, 
 
 Chapter L maintains that whatever appears to be the 
 proper object of gratitude, appears to desra-ve reward ; and 
 tha,t whatever appears to be the proper object of resentment, 
 appears to deserve punishment. The author distinguishes 
 between gratitude and mere love or liking ; and, obversely, 
 between resentment and hatred. Love makes us pleased to 
 see any one promoted ; but gratitude urges us to be ourselves 
 the instrument of their promotion. 
 
 Chapter II. determines the proper objects of Gratitude and 
 Besentment, these being also the proper objects of Reward 
 and Panishment respectively. 'These, as well as all the 
 other passions of human nature, seem proper, and are approved 
 of, when the heart ofev&ry impartial spectator entirely sympathizes 
 
MERIT AND DEMEEIT. 623 
 
 vnth them, when every indifferent by-stander entirely enters 
 into, and goes along with them.' In short, a good moral 
 decision is obtained by the unanimous vote of all impartial 
 persons. 
 
 This view is in accordance with the course taten by the 
 mind in the two contrasting situations. In sympathizing with 
 the joy of a prosperous person, we approve of his complacent 
 £ind grateful sentiment towards the author of his prosperity ; 
 we make his gratitude our own : in sympathizing with sorrow, 
 we enter into, and approve of, the natural resentment towards 
 the agent causing it. 
 
 Chapter III. remarks that where we do not approve of the 
 conduct of the person conferring the benefit, we have little 
 sympathy with the gratitude of the receiver ; we do not 
 care to enter into the gratitude of the favourites of profligate 
 monarchs. 
 
 Chapter lY. supposes the case of our approving strongly 
 tie conduct and the motives of a benefactor, in which case we 
 sympathize to a corresponding degree with the gratitude of 
 the receiver. 
 
 Chapter Y. sums up the analysis of the Sense of Merit and 
 of Demerit thus : — The sense of Merit is a compound senti- 
 ment, made up of two distinct emotions ; a direct sympathy 
 with the sentiments of the agent (constituting the propriety 
 of the action), and an indirect sympathy with the gratitude of 
 the recipient. The sense of Demerit includes a direct anti- 
 pathy to the sentiments of the agent, and an indirect sym- 
 pathy with the resentment of .the sufferer. 
 
 Sectian II. is Of Justice and Beneficence. 
 
 Chapter I. compares the two virtues. Actions of * bene- 
 ficent tendency, from proper motives, seem alone to require a 
 reward ; actions of a hurtful tendency, from improper motives, 
 seem alone to deserve punishment. It is the nature of Bene- 
 ficence to be free ; the mere absence of it does not expose to 
 punishment. Of all the duties of beneficence, the one most 
 allied to perfect obligation is gratitude ; but although we talk 
 of the debt of gratitude (we do not say the debt of charity), 
 we do not punish ingratitude. 
 
 Resentment, the source of punishment, is given for defence 
 against positive evil ; we employ it not to extort benefits, but to 
 repel injuries. Now, the injury is the violation of Justice. 
 The sense of mankind goes along with the employment of 
 violence to avenge the hurt done by injustice, to prevent the 
 injury, and to restrain the offender. Beneficence, then, is the 
 
624 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ADAM SMITH. 
 
 subject of reward ; and the want of it is not the subject of 
 punishment. There may be cases where a beneficent act is 
 compelled by punishment, as in obliging a father to support 
 his family, or in punishing a man for not interfering when 
 another is in danger ; but these cases are immaterial excep- 
 tions to the broad definition. He might have added, that in 
 cases where justice is performed under unusual difficulties, 
 and with unusual fidelity, our disposition would be not 
 merely to exempt from punishment, but to reward. 
 
 Chapter II. considers the sense of Justice, Kemorse, and 
 the feeling of Merit. 
 
 Every man is recommended by nature to his own care, 
 being fitter to take care of himself than of another person. 
 We approve, therefore, of each one seeking their own good ; 
 but then it must not be to the hurt of any other being. The 
 primary feeling of self-preservation would not of itself, how- 
 ever, be shocked at causing injury to our fellows. It is when 
 we pass out of this point of view, and enter into the mental 
 state of the spectator of our actions, that we feel the sense of 
 injustice and the sting of Remorse. Though it may be true that 
 every individual in his own breast prefers himself to man- 
 kind, yet he dares not look mankind in the face, and avow 
 that he acts on this principle. A man is approved when he 
 outstrips his fellows in a fair race ; be is condemned when he 
 jostles or trips up a competitor unfairly. The actor takes 
 home to himself this feeling ; a feeling known as Shame, 
 Dread of Punishment, and Remorse. 
 
 So with the obverse. He that performs a generous action 
 can realize the sentiments of the by-stander, and applaud 
 himself by sympathy with the approbation of the supposed 
 impartial judge. This is the sense of Merit. 
 
 Chapter III. gives reflections upon - the utility of this con- 
 stitution of our nature. Human beings are dependent upon 
 one another for mutual assistance, and are exposed to mutual 
 injuries. Society might exist without love or . beneficence, 
 but not without mutual abstinence from injury. Beneficence 
 is the ornament that embellishes the building ; Justice the 
 main pillar that supports it. It is for the observance of 
 Justice that we need that consciousness of Ul-desert, and those 
 terrors of m.ental punishment, growing out of our sympathy 
 with the disapprobation of our fellows. Justice is necessary 
 to the existence of society, and we often defend its dictates on 
 that ground ; but, without looking to such a remote and com- 
 prehensive end, we are plunged into remorse for its violation 
 
INFLUENCE OF FORTUNE ON MEKIT AND DEMERIT. 625 
 
 by the shorter process of referring to the censure of a sup- 
 posed spectator [in other words, to the sanction of public 
 opinion]. 
 
 Section III. — Of the influence of Fortime wpon the senti- 
 ments of mankind, vnth regard to the Merit and the Demerit of 
 actions. 
 
 Every voluntary action consists of three parts : — (1) the 
 Intention or motive, (2) the Mechanism, as when we lift the 
 hand, and give a blow, and (3) the Consequences. It is, in 
 principle, admitted by all, that only the first, the Intention, 
 can. be the subject of blame. The Mechanism is in itself 
 indifferent. So the Consequences cannot be properly imputed 
 to the agent, unless intended by him. On this last point, 
 however, mankind do not always adhere to their general 
 maxim; when they come to particular cases, they are in- 
 fluenced, in their estimate of merit and demerit, by the actual 
 consequences of the action. 
 
 Chapter I. considers the causes of this influence of Fortune. 
 Gratitude requires, in the first instance, that some pleasure 
 should have been conferred ; Resentment pre-supposes pain. 
 These passions require farther that the object of them should 
 itself be susceptible of pleasure and pain ; they should be 
 human beings or animals. Thirdly, It is requisite that they 
 should have produced the efiects from a design to do so. 
 Now, the absence of the pleasurable consequences intended by 
 a beneficent agent leaves out one of the exciting causes of 
 gratitude, although including another ; the absence of the 
 painfal consequences of a maleficent act leaves out one of 
 the exciting causes of resentment ; hence less gratitude seems 
 due in the one, and less resentment in the other. 
 
 Chapter II. treats of the extent of this influence of Fortune. 
 The efiects of it are, first, to diminish, in our eyes, the merit 
 of laudable, and the demerit of blameable, actions, when they 
 fail of their intended effects ; and, secondly, to increase the 
 feelings of merit and of demerit beyond what is due to the 
 motives, when the actions chance to be followed by extra- 
 ordinary pleasure or pain. Success enhances our estimate of 
 all great enterprises ; failure takes ofi' the edge of our resent- 
 ment of great crimes. 
 
 The author thinks (Chapter III.) that final causesPcan be 
 assigned for this irregularity of Sentiments. In the first 
 place, it would be highly dangerous to seek out and to resent 
 mere bad intentions. In the next place, it is desirable that 
 beneficent wishes should be put to the proof by results^ And, 
 40 
 
626 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^ADAM SMITH. 
 
 lastly, as regards the tendency to resent evil, although un- 
 intended, it is good to a certain extent that men should be 
 taught intense circumspection on the point of inMnging 
 one another's happiness. 
 
 Paet III. is entitled Of the FomiDATiON op otje jtjdgments 
 conceeninq que own sentiments and conduct, and of the 
 Sense op Duty. 
 
 Chapter I. is ' Of the Principle of Self-approbation and of 
 Self-disapprobation.' Having previously assigned the origin 
 of our judgments respecting others, the author now proceeds 
 to trace out our judgments respecting ourselves. The explana- 
 tion is still the same. We approve or disapprove of our own 
 conduct, according as we feel that the impartial spectator 
 would approve or disapprove of it. 
 
 To a BoHtary human being, moral judgments would never 
 exist. A man would no more think of the merit and demerit 
 of his sentiments than of the beauty or deformity of his own 
 face. Such criticism is exercised first upon other beings ; but 
 the critic cannot help seeing that he in his turn is criticised, 
 and he is thereby led to apply the common standard to his 
 own actions ; to divide himself as it were into two persons — 
 the examiner or judge, and person examined into, or judged 
 of. He knows what conduct of his wiU be approved of by 
 others, and what condemned, according to the standard he 
 himself employs upon others ; his concurrence in this appro- 
 bation or disapprobation is self-approbation or self-disapproba- 
 tion. The happy consciousness of virtue is the consciousness 
 of the favourable regards of other men. 
 
 Chapter II. is ' Of the loVe of Praise, and of Praise- 
 worthiness ; the dread of Blame, and of Blame-worthiness ;' 
 a long and important chapter. The author endeavours to 
 trace, according to his principle of sympathy, the desire of 
 Praise-worthiness, as well as of Praise. We approve certain 
 conduct in others, and are thus disposed to approve the same 
 conduct in ourselves : what we praise as judges of our feUow- 
 men, we deem praise-worthy, and aspire to realize in our own 
 conduct. Some men may differ from us, and may withhold 
 that praise ; we may be pained at the circumstance, but we 
 adhere to our love of the praise-worthy, even when it does 
 not bring the praise. When we obtain the praise we are 
 pleased, and strengthened in our estimate ; the approbation 
 that we receive confirms our self-approbation, but does not 
 give birth to it. In short, there are two principles at work 
 within us. We are pleased with approbation, and pained by 
 
INFLUENCE AND AUTHORITY OF CONSCIENCE. 627 
 
 reproach. : we are farther pleased if the approbation coin- 
 cides with what we approve when we are ourselves acting as 
 judges of other men. The two dispositions vary in their 
 strength in individuals, confirming each other when in 
 concert, thwarting each other when opposed. The author 
 has painted a number of strLking situations arising out of 
 their conflict.^ He enquires why we are more pained by un- 
 merited reproach, than lifted up by unmerited approbation ; 
 and assigns as the reason that the painful state is more 
 pungent than the correspondiug pleasurable state. He shows 
 how those men whose productions are of uncertain merit, as 
 poets, are more the slaves of approbation, than the authors of 
 unmistakeable discoveries in science. In the extreme cases 
 of unmerited reproach, he points out the appeal to the all- 
 seeing Judge of the world, and to a future state rightly con- 
 ceived; protesting, however, against the view that would 
 reserve the celestial regions for monks and friars, and condemn 
 to the infernal, all the heroes,, statesmen, poets, and philo- 
 sophers of former ages ; all the inventors of the useful arts ; 
 the protectors, instructors, and benefactors of mankind ; and 
 aU those to whom our natural sense of praise-worthiness 
 forces us to ascribe the highest merit and most exalted virtue. 
 Chapter HI. is ' On the influence and authority of Con- 
 science;' another long chapter, occupied more with moral 
 reflections of a practical kind than with the following out of 
 the analysis of our moral sentiment.- Conceding that the testi- 
 mony of the supposed impartial spectator does not of itself 
 always support a man,, he yet asserts its influence to be great, 
 and that by it alone we can see what relates to ourselves in 
 the proper shape and dimensions; It is only in this way that 
 we can prefer the interest of many to the interest of one ; the 
 interest of othera to our own. To fortify us in this hard 
 lesson two different schemes have been proposed; one to 
 increase our feelings for others, the other to diminish our 
 feeUngs for ourselves. The first is prescribed by the whining 
 and melancholy moralists, who will never allow us to be 
 happy, because at every moment many of our fellow-beings 
 are in misery. The second is the doctrine of the Stoics, who 
 annihilate self-interest in favour of the vast commonwealth 
 of nature ; on that the author bestows a lengthened comment 
 and correction, founded on bis theory of regulating the mani- 
 festations of joy or grief by the light of the impartial judge. 
 He gives his own panacea for human misery, namely, the 
 power of nature to accommodate men to their permanent situ- 
 
628 ETHICAX SYSTEMS— ADAM SMITH. 
 
 atioa, and to restore tranquillity, wHoh is the one secret of 
 happiness. 
 
 Chapter IV. handles Self-Deceit, and the Origin and Use 
 of General Rulesi The interference of our passions is the 
 great obstacle to onr holding towards ourselves the position 
 of an impartial spectator. From this notorious fact the author 
 •deduces an argument against a special moral faculty, or moral 
 sense ; he says that if we had such a faculty, it would surely 
 judge our own passions, which are the most clearly laid open 
 to it, more correctly than the passions of others. 
 
 To correct our self-partiality and self-deceit is the use of 
 general rules. Our repeated observations on the tendency of 
 particular acts, teach us what is fit to be done generally ; and 
 our conviction of the propriety of the general rules is a power- 
 ful motive for applying them to our own case. It is a mistake 
 to suppose, as some have done, that rules precede experience ; 
 on the contrary, they are formed by finding from experience 
 that all actions of a certain kind, in certain circumstances, are 
 approved of. When established, we appeal to them as stan- 
 dards of judgment in right and wrong, but they are not the 
 original judgments of mankind, nor the ultimate foundations 
 of moral sentiment. 
 
 Chapter V. continues the subject of the authority and in- 
 fluence of General Rules, maintaining that they are justly 
 regarded as laws of the Deity. The grand advantage of 
 general rules is to give steadiness to human conduct, and to 
 enable us to resist our temporary varieties of temper and dis- 
 position. They are thus a grand security for human duties. 
 That the important rules of morality should be accounted laws 
 of the Deity is a natural sentiment. Men have always ascribed 
 to their deities their own sentiments and passions ; the deities 
 held by them in special reverence, they have endowed with 
 their highest ideal of excellence, the love of virtue and bene- 
 ficence, and the abhorrence of vice and injustice. The re- 
 searches of philosophical inquiry confirmed mankind in the 
 supposition that the moral faculties carry the badge of autho- 
 rity, that they were intended as the governing principles of 
 our nature, acting as the vicegerents of the Deity. This 
 inference is confirmed by the view that the happiness of men, 
 and of other rational creatures, is the original design of the 
 Author of nature, the only purpose reconcilable with the 
 perfections we ascribe to him. 
 
 Chapter VI. is on the cases where the Sense of Duty 
 should be the sole motive of conduct ; and on those where it 
 
THE EFFECT OF UTILITY ON MOSAI APPROBATION. 629 
 
 ought to joia with other motives. Allowing the import- 
 ance of religion among human motives, he does not concur 
 with the view that would make religious considerations the 
 sole laudable motives of action. The sense of duty is not the 
 only principle of our conduct ; it is the ruling or governing 
 one. It may be a question, however, on what occasions we 
 are to proceed strictly by the sense of duty, and on what 
 occasions give way to some other sentiment or affection, The 
 author answers that in the actions prompted by benevolent 
 affections, we are to follow out our sentiments as much as 
 our sense of duty ; and the contrary with the malevolent 
 passions. As to the selfish passions, we are to follow duty in 
 small matters, and self-interest in great. But the rules of 
 duty predominate most in cases where they are determined 
 with exactness, that is, in the virtue of Justice. 
 
 Paet IV. Of the effect op Utility upon the Sentiment 
 OP Appeobation. 
 
 Chapter I. is on the Beauty arising out of Utility. It is 
 here that the author sets forth the dismal career of ' the poor 
 man's son, whom heaven iu the hour of her anger has curst 
 with ambition,,' and enforces his favourite moral lesson of 
 contentment and tranquillity. 
 
 Chapter 11. is the connexion of Utility with Moral Appro- 
 bation. There are many actions possessing the kind of beauty 
 or charm arising from utUity; and hence, it may be main- 
 tained (as was done by Hume) that our whole approbation of 
 virtue may be explained on this principlci And it may be 
 granted that there is a coincidence between our sentiments 
 of approbation or disapprobation, and the useful or hurtfnl 
 qualities of actions. Still, the author holds that this utility 
 or hurtfulness is not the foremost or prLacipal source of our 
 approbation. In the first place, he thinks it incongruous that 
 we should have no other reason for praising a man than for 
 praising a chest of drawers. In the next place, he contends at 
 length that the usefulness of a disposition of mind is seldom 
 the first ground of our approbation. Take, for example, the 
 qualities useful to ourselves — reason and self-command ; we 
 approve the first as just and accurate, before we are aware of 
 its being useful ; and as to self-command, we approve it quite 
 as much for its propriety as for its utility ; it is the coincidence 
 of our opinion with the opinion of the spectator, and not an 
 estimate of the comparative utility, that affects us. BiSgarding 
 the qualities useful to others — humanity, generosity, public 
 spirit and Justice — he merely repeats his own theory that they 
 
630 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ADAM SMITH. 
 
 are approved by onr entering into the view of the impartial 
 spectator. The examples cited only show that these virtues 
 are not approved from self-interest ; as when the soldier throws 
 away his life to gain something for his sovereign. He also 
 puts the case of a solitary hniman being, who might see fitness 
 in actions, but could not feel moral approbation. 
 
 Part Y. The nsPLUENCB op Cdstom on the Mokal Senti- 
 ments. The first chapter is a pleasing essay on the influence 
 of custom and fashion on manners, dress, and in line Art 
 generally. The second chapter makes the application to our 
 moral sentiments. Although custom will never reconcile us to 
 the conduct of a Nero or a Claudius, it will heighten or blunt 
 the deUoaoy of our sentiments on right and wrong. The fashion 
 of the times of Charles II. made dissoluteness reputable, and 
 discountenanced regularity of conduct. There is a custom- 
 ary behaviour that -we expect in the old and in the young, 
 in the clergyman and in the military man. The situations of 
 different ages and countries develop characteristic qualities — 
 endurance in the savage, humanity and softness in the civilized 
 community. But these are not the extreme instances of the 
 principle. We find particular usages, where custom has ren- 
 dered lawful and blameless actions, that shock the plainest 
 principles of right and wrong; the most notorious and universal 
 is infanticide. 
 
 Paet VI. The chaeactebop Virtue. 
 
 Section I. is on Prudence, and is an elegant essay on the 
 heau iddal of the prudential character. Section IL considers 
 character as affeetmg other people. Chapter I. is a disquisition 
 on the comparative priority of the objects of our regard. 
 After self, which must ever have the first place, the members 
 of our own family are recommended to our consideration. 
 Remoter connexions of blood are more or less regarded 
 according to the customs of the coimtry ; in pastoral countries 
 clanship is manifested ; in commercial countries distant rela- 
 tionship becomes indifferent. OfS.cial and business connexions, 
 and the association of neighbourhood, determine friendships. 
 Special estimation is a stUl preferable tie. Favours received 
 determine and require favours in return. The distinction of 
 ranks is so far founded in nature as to deserve our respect. 
 Lastly, the miserable are recommended to our compassion. 
 Next, as regards societies (Chap. IL), since our own country 
 stands first in our regard, the author dilates on the virtues of 
 a good citizen. Finally, although our effectual good offices 
 may not extend beyond our country, our good-will may 
 
THE VIRTUES. 631 
 
 embrace the whole universe. This universal benevolence, 
 however, the author thinks must repose on the belief in a 
 benevolent and all- wise governor of the world, as realized, for 
 example, in the meditations of Marcus Antoninus. 
 
 Section III. Of Self-command. On this topic the author 
 produces a splendid moral essay, in which he describes the 
 various modes of our self-estimation, and draws a contrast 
 between pride and vanity. In so far as concerns his Ethical 
 theory, he has still the same criterion of the virtue, the degree 
 and mode commended by the impartial spectator. 
 
 Part VII. Of Systems op Moral Philosopht. On this 
 we need only tq remark that it is an interesting and valuable 
 contribution to the history and the criticism of the Ethical 
 systems.* 
 
 The Ethical theory of Adam Smith may be thus summed 
 up:— 
 
 I. — The Ethical Standard is the judgment of an impartial 
 spectator or critic ; and our own judgments are derived by 
 reference to what this spectator would approve or disapprove. 
 
 Probably to no one has this ever appeared a sufficient 
 account of Right and Wrong. It provides against one defect, 
 the self-partiality of the agent ; but gives no account whatever 
 of the grounds of the critic's own judgment, and makes no 
 provision against his fallibility. It may be Very well on points 
 where men's moral sentiments are tolerably unanimous, but it 
 
 * It is perhaps worth while to quote a sentence or two, giving the 
 author's opinion on the theory of the Moral Sense. ' Against every 
 account of the principle of approbation, which makes it depend upon a 
 peculiar sentiment, distinct from every other, I would object, that it is 
 strange that this sentiment, which Providence undoubtedly intended to 
 be the governing principle of human nature, should hitherto have been 
 so little taken notice of, as not to have got a name in any language. The 
 word Moral Sense is of very late formation, and cannot yet be considered 
 as making part of the English tongue. The word approbation has but 
 within these few years been appropriated to denote peculiarly anything 
 of this kind. In propriety of language we approve of whatever is entirely 
 to our satisfaction — of the form of a building, of the contrivance of a 
 machine, of the flavour of a dish of meat. The word conscience does not 
 immediately denote any moral faculty by which we approve or disapprove. 
 Conscience supposes, indeed, the existence of some such faculty, and 
 properly signifies our consciousness of having acted agreeably or contrary 
 to its directions. When love, hatred, joy, sorrow, gratitude, resentment, 
 with so many other passions which are aU supposed to be the subjects of 
 this principle, have made themselves considerable enough to get titles to 
 know them by, is it not surprising that the sovereign of them all should 
 hitherto have been so little heeded ; that, a few philosophers excepted, 
 nobody has yet thought it worth while to bestow a name upon it ? ' 
 
&32 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— AUAM SMITH. 
 
 is valueless in all questions where there are fundamental 
 differences of view. 
 
 n. — In the Psychology of Ethics, Smith would consider the 
 moral Faculty as identical with the power of Sympathy, which 
 he treats as the foundation of Benevolence. A man is a moral 
 being in proportion as he can enter into, and realize, the 
 feelings, sentiments, and opinions of others. 
 
 Now, as morality would never have existed hut for the 
 necessity of protecting one human being against another, the 
 power of the mind that adopts other people's interests and 
 views must always be of vital moment as a spring of moral 
 conduct ; and Adam Smith has done great service in develop- 
 ing the workings of the sympathetic impulse. 
 
 He does not discuss TVee-wUl. On the question of Disin- 
 terested Conduct, he gives no clear opinion. While denying 
 that our sympathetic impulses are a refinement of self-love, he 
 would seem to admit that they bring their own pleasure with 
 them ; so that, after aU, they do not detract from our happi- 
 ness. In other places, he recognizes self-sacrifice, but gives 
 no analysis of the motives that lead to it*; and seems to think, 
 with many other moralists, that it requires a compensation in 
 the next world. 
 
 III. — His theory of the constituents of Happiness is 
 simple, primitive, and crude, but is given with earnest convic- 
 tion. Ambition he laughs to scorn, ' What, he asks, can be 
 added to the happiness of the man who is in health, out of 
 debt, and has a clear conscience ? ' Again, ' the chief part of 
 happiness consists in the consciousness of being beloved, 
 hence, sudden changes of fortune seldom contribute to happi- 
 ness.' But what he dwells upon most persistently, as the 
 prime condition of happiness, is Contentment, and Tranquillity. 
 
 TV. — On the Moral Code, he has nothing peculiar. As to 
 the means and inducements to morality, he does not avail 
 himself of the fertility of his own principle of Sympathy. 
 Appeals to sympathy, and the cultivation of the power of 
 entering into the feelings of others, could easily be shown to 
 play a high part in e£B.cacious moral suasion. 
 
 V. — He affords little or no grounds for remarking on the 
 connexion of Morality with Politics. Our duties as citizens 
 are a part of Morality, and that is all. 
 
 VI. — He gives his views on the alliance of Ethics with 
 Religion. He does not admit that we should refer to the 
 Religiotis sanction on all occasions. He assumes a bene- 
 volent and all- wise Governor of the world, who will ultimately 
 
GKOWTH OF DISINTEEESTED FEELINQ. 633 
 
 redress all inequalities, and remedy all outstanding injustice. 
 What this Being approTes, however, is to be inferred solely 
 from the principles of benevolence. Our regard for him is to 
 be shown, not by frivolous observances, sacrifices, ceremonies, 
 and vain supplications, but by just and beneficent actions. 
 The author studiously ignores a revelation, and constructs for 
 himself a Natural Religion, grounded on a benevolent and 
 just administration of the universe. 
 
 In Smith's Essay, the purely scientific enquiry is overlaid 
 by practical and hortatory dissertations, and by eloquent de- 
 lineations of character and of beau-ideals of virtuous conduct. 
 His style being thus pitched to the popular key, he never 
 pushes home a metaphysical analysis; so that even his 
 favourite theme, Sympathy, is not philosophically sifted to 
 the bottom. 
 
 DAVID HARTLEY. [1705-1757] 
 
 The ' Observations on Man ' (1749) is the first systematic 
 efibrt to explain the phenomena of mind by the Law of 
 Association. It contains also a philosophical hypothesis, that 
 mental states are produced by the vibration of infinitesimal par- 
 ticles of the nerves. This analogy, borrowed from the undu- 
 lations of the hypothetical substance aether, has been censured 
 as crude, and has been entirely superseded. But, although 
 an imperfect analogy, it nevertheless kept constantly before 
 the mind of Hartley the double aspect of all mental pheno- 
 mena, thus preventing erroneous explanations, and often 
 suggesting correct ones. In this respect, Aristotle and Hobbes 
 are the only persons that can be named as equally fortunate. 
 
 The ethical remarks contained in the ' Observations,' 
 relate only to the second head of summary, the Psychology of 
 Ethics. We shall take, first, the account of disinterestedness, 
 and, next, of the moral sense. 
 
 1. Disinterestedness. Under the name Sympathy, Hartley 
 includes four kinds of feelings: — (1) Rejoicing at the happi- 
 ness of others — Sociality, Good-will, Generosity, Gratitude ; 
 
 (2) Grieving for the misery of others — Compassion, Mercy ; 
 
 (3) Rejoicing at the misery of others — Anger, Jealousy, 
 Cruelty, MaKce ; and (4) Grieving for the happiness of others 
 — Emulation, Envy. All these feelings may be shown to 
 originate in association. We select as examples of Hartley's 
 method. Benevolence and Compassion. Benevolence is the 
 pleasing affection that prompts us to act for the benefit of 
 others. It is not a primitive feeling ; but grows out of such 
 
634 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HAKTLET. 
 
 circnmstances as the following. Almost all the pleasures, 
 and few, in comparison, of the pains, of children, are caused 
 by others ; who are thus, in the course of time, regarded 
 with pleasure, independently of their usefulness to us. 
 Many of our pleasures are enjoyed along with, and are 
 enhaiiced by, the presence of others. This tends to make us 
 more sociable. Moreover, we are taught and required to put 
 on the appearance of good-will, and to do kindly actions, and 
 this may beget in ns the proper feelings. Finally, we must 
 take into account the praise and rewards of benevolence, 
 together with the reciprocity of benefits that we may justly 
 expect. All those elements may be so mixed and blended as 
 to produce a feeling that shaU teach us to do good to others 
 without any expectation of reward, even that most refined 
 recompense — the pleasure arising from a beneficent act. 
 Thus Hartley conceives that he both proves the existence of 
 disinterested feeling, and explains the manner of its develope- 
 ment. 
 
 His account of Compassion is similar. In the young, the 
 signs and appearances of distress excite a painful feeling, by 
 recalling their own experience of misery. In the pld, the 
 connexion between a feeling and its adjuncts has been 
 weakened by experience. Also, when children are brought 
 up together, they are often annoyed by the same things, and 
 this tends powerfully to create a fellow-feeling. Again, when 
 their parents are iU, they are taught to cultivate pity, and 
 are also subjected to unusual restraints. All those things 
 conspire to make children desire to remove the sufierings of 
 others. Various circumstances increase the feeling of pity, as 
 when the sufierers are beloved by us, or are morally good. 
 It is confirmatory of this view, that the most compassionate 
 are those whose nerves are easily irritable, or whose ex- 
 perience of affliction has been considerable. 
 
 2. — The Moral Sense. Hartley denies the existence of any 
 moral instinct, or any moral judgments, proceeding upon the 
 eternal relations of things. If there be such, let instances of 
 them be produced prior to the influence of associations. Still, 
 our moral approbation or disapprobation is disinterested, and 
 has a factitious independence. (1) Children are taught what 
 is right and wrong, and thus the associations connected with 
 the idea of praise and blame are transferred to the virtues 
 inculcated and the vices condemned. (2) Many vices and 
 virtues, such as sensuality, intemperance, malice, and the 
 opposites, produce immediate consequences of evil and good 
 
THE MORAL SENSE. 635 
 
 respectively. (3) The benefits, immediate or (at least) 
 obvious, flowing from the virtues of others, kindle love 
 towards them, and thereafter to the virtues they exhibit. 
 (4) Another consideration is the lovdmess of virtue, arising 
 from the suitableness of the virtues to each other, and to the 
 beauty, order, and perfection of the world. (6) The hopes 
 and fears -connected with a future life, strengthen the feelings 
 connected with virtue. '(6) Meditation upon God and prayer 
 have a like efiect. ' All the pleasures and pains of sensation, 
 imagination, ambition '(pri^e and vanity), self-interest, sym- 
 pathy, and theopathy (affection towards God), as far as they 
 are consistent with one another, with the frame of our natures, 
 and with the course of the world, beget in us a moral sense, 
 and lead us to the love and approbation of virtue, and to the 
 fear, hatred, and abhorrence of vice. This moral sense, 
 therefore, carries its own authority with it, inasmuch as it is 
 the sum total of aU tihe rest, and the ultimate result from 
 them; and employs the whole force and authority of the 
 whole nature of man against any particular part of it that 
 rebels against the determinations and commands of the con- 
 science or moral judgment.' 
 
 Hartley's analysis of the moral sense is a great advance 
 upon Hobbes and Mandeville, who make self-love the imme- 
 diate constituent, instead of a remote cause, of conscience. 
 Our moral consciousness may thus be treated as peculiar and 
 distinguishable from other mental states, while at the same 
 time it is denied to be unique and irresolvable. 
 
 THOMAS EEID.* [1710-96.] 
 
 Reid's Ethical views are given, in his Essays on the Active 
 Powers of the Mind. 
 
 * Adam Ferguson ^1724-1816), is not of sufficient importance in purely 
 Ethical theory to demand a, full abstract. The following remark on hia 
 views is made by Professor Veitch: — 'Ferguson, while holding with 
 Keid that the notion of Eightness is not resolvable into utility, or to be 
 denved from sympathy or a moral sense, goes a step beyond both Beid 
 and Stewart in the inquiry which he raises regarding the definite nature 
 and ground of Eightness itself.' The following is his definition of Moral 
 Good : — ' Moral good is the specific excellence and felicity of human 
 nature, and moral depravity its specific defect and wretchedness.' The 
 ' excellenoe ' of human nature consists in four things, drawn out after 
 the analogy of the cardinal virtues : (1) Skill (Wisdom) ; (2) Benevolence, 
 the principal excellence of a creature destined to perform a part in 
 social life (Justice); (S) Application of mind (T!em.-geia,-D.ce) ; (4) Force, or 
 energy to overiiome obstacles (Fortitude). Regarding the motives to 
 
636 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BEID. 
 
 Essay III., entitled The Principles of Action, contains 
 (Part III.) a disquisition on the Bational Principles of Action, 
 as opposed to what Keid calls respectively Mechanical Prin- 
 ciples (Instinct, Habit), and Animal Principles (Appetites, 
 ^Desires, Affections). 
 
 The Rational Principles of Action are Prudence, or regard 
 to our own good on the whole, and Duty, which, however, he 
 does not define by the antithetical circumstance — the ' good 
 of others.' The notion of Duty, he says, is too simple for 
 logical definition, and can only b^ explained by synonymes — 
 what we ought to do ; what is fair and honest; what is approv- 
 able ; the professed rule of men's conduct ; what aU men praise; 
 the laudable in itself, though no man praise it. 
 
 Duty, he says, cannot be- resolved into Interest. The 
 language of mankind makes the two distinct. Disregard of 
 our interest is folly ; of honour, baseness. Honour is more 
 than mere reputation, for it keeps us right when we are 
 not seen. This principle of Honour (so-called by men of rank) 
 is, in vulgar phrase, honesty, probity, virtue, conscience ; in 
 philosophical language, the moral sense, the moral faculty, 
 rectitude. 
 
 The principle is universal in men grown up to years 
 of understanding. Such a testimony as Hume's may be 
 held decisive on the reality of moral distinctions. The 
 ancient world recognized it in the leading terms, honestv/m and 
 uUle, &c. 
 
 The abstract notion of Duty is a relation between the action 
 and the agent. It must be voluntary, and within the power 
 of the agent. The opinion (or intention) of the agent gives 
 the act its moral quality. 
 
 As to the Sense of Duty, Reid pronounces at once, -without 
 hesitation, and with very little examination, in favour of an 
 original power or faculty, in other words, a Moral Sense. 
 Intellectual judgments are judgments of the external senses; 
 moral judgments result from an internal moral sense. The 
 external senses give us our intellectual first principles ; the 
 moral sense our moral first principles. He is at pains 
 to exemplify the deductive process in morals. It is a question 
 of moral reasoning. Ought a man to have only one wife? 
 
 virtue, either virtue is its own reward, or divine rewards and punish- 
 ments constitute a sanction; but, in any case, the motive ia our own 
 happiness. All the virtues enumerated are themselves useful or pleasant, 
 but, over and above, they give rise to an additional pleasure, when they 
 are made the subject of reflection. 
 
CONSCIENCE AN ORIGINAL POWER OF THE MIND. 637 
 
 The reasons are, the greater good of the family, and of society 
 in general ; but no reason can be given why we should prefer 
 greater good ; it is an intuition of the morsd. sense. 
 
 He sums up the chapter thus : — ' That, by an original 
 power of the mind, which we call consd&nce, or the moral 
 faeulty, we have the conceptions of right and wrong in human 
 conduct, of merit and demerit, of duty and -moral obligation, 
 and onr other moral conceptions ; and that, by the same 
 faculty, we perceive some things in human conduct to be 
 right, and others to be wrong; that the first principles of 
 morals are the dictates of this faculty ; and that we have the 
 same reason to rely upon those dictates, as upon the determi- 
 nations of our senses, or of our other natural faculties.' 
 Hamilton remarks that this theory virtually founds morality 
 on intelligence. 
 
 Moral Approbation is the afiection and esteem accompauy- 
 ing our judgment of a right moral act. This is in all cases 
 pleasurable, but most so, when the act is our own. So, ob- 
 versely, for Moral Disapprobation. 
 
 Begarding Conscience, Eeid remarks, first, that like all 
 other powers it comes to maturity by insensible degrees, and 
 may be a subject of culture or education. He takes no note of 
 the difficulty of determining what is primitive and what 
 is acquired. Secondly, Conscience is peculiar to man ; it 
 is wanting in the brutes. Thirdly, it is evidently intended 
 to be the director of our conduct ; and fourthly, it is an Active 
 power and an Intellectual power combined. 
 
 Essay IV. is Of the Libeett op Moral Agents, which we 
 pass by, having noticed it elsewhere. Essay V. is Of 
 Morals. 
 
 Chapter I. professes to enumerate the axiomatic first prin- 
 ciples of Morals. Some of these relate (A) to virtue in general : 
 as (1) There are actions deserving of praise, and others de- 
 serving blame ; (2) the involuntary is not an object of praise 
 or blame ; (3) the unavoidable is not an object of praise or 
 blame ; (4) omission may be culpable ; (5) we ought to .in- 
 form ourselves as to duty; (6) we should fortify ourselves 
 against temptation. Other principles relate (B) to particular 
 virtues : (1) We should prefer a greater good to a less ; (2) 
 we should com^ply with the intention of nature, apparent in 
 our constitution ; (3) no man is boi'n for himself alone ; (4) 
 we should judge according to the rule, ' Do to others,' &c. ; 
 (5) if we believe in God, we shoxild venerate and submit to 
 him. A third class of principles (C) settle the preference 
 
638 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — KEID. 
 
 among opposing virtues. Thus, unmerited generosity should 
 yield to gratitude, and both to justice. 
 
 Chapter 11. remarks upon the growth and peculiar advan- 
 tages of Systems of Morals. Chapter HI. is on Systems of 
 Natural Jurisprudence. The four subsequent chapters of the 
 Essay he states to have been composed in answer to- the Ethi- 
 cal doctrines of HumCi 
 
 Chapter IV. enquires whether a moral action must proceed 
 from a moral purpose in the agent.. He decides in the affir- 
 mative, replying to certain objections, and more especially to 
 the allegation of Hume, that justice is not a natural,, but an 
 artificial -virtue. This last question is pursued at great length 
 in Chapter V., and the author takes occasion to- review the 
 theory of Utility or Benevolence, set up by Hume as the basis 
 of morals. He gives Hume the credit of having made an im- 
 portant step in advance of the Epicurean, or Selfish,, system, 
 by including the good of others, as well as our own good, in 
 moral acts. Still, he demands why, if U-tility and Virtue are 
 identical, the same name should not express both. It is true, 
 that virtue is both agreeable and useful in the highest degree ; 
 but that circumstance does not prevent it fronxhaving a quality 
 of its own, not arising from its being useful and agreeable, but 
 arising from its being virtue. The common good of society, 
 though a pleasing object to all men, hardly ever enters into 
 the thoughts of the great majority ; and,, if a regard to it were 
 the sole m.otive of justice, only a select number would ever be 
 possessed of the virtue. The notion of justice carries inse- 
 parably along with it a notion of moral obligation j and no 
 act can be called an act of justice unless promjrf«d by the 
 motive of justice. 
 
 Then, again, good music and good cookery have the merit 
 of utility, in procuring what is agreeable both to ourselves and 
 to society, but they have never been denominated moral virtues ; 
 so that, if Hume's system be true, they have been very unfairly 
 treated. 
 
 Beid illustrates his positions against Hume to a length 
 unnecessary to foUow. The objections are exclusively and 
 eflPectively aimed at the two unguarded points of the Utility 
 system as propotinded by Hume ; namely, first, the not recog- 
 nizing moral rules as established and enforced among men by 
 the dictation of authority, which does not leave to individuals 
 the power of reference to ultimate ends ; and, secondly, the 
 not distinguishing between obligatory, and non-obligatory, 
 ^Xisefid acts. 
 
ARGUMENTS FOR INTUITIVE MORALITY. 639 
 
 Reid continues the controversy, with, reference to Justice, 
 in Chapter VI., on the Nature and Obligation of a Contract ; 
 and in Chapter VII. maintains, in opposition to Hume, that 
 Moral approbation implies a Judgment of the intellect, and is 
 not a mere feeling, as Hume seems to think. He allows the 
 propriety of the phrase ' Moral Sentiment,' because ' Senti- 
 ment' in English means judgment accompanied with feeling. 
 [Hamilton dissents, and thinks that sentiment means the 
 higher feelings.] He says, if a moral judgment be no real 
 judgment, but only a feeling, morals have no foundation but 
 the arbitrary structure of the mind ; there are no immutable 
 moral distinctions ; and no evidence for the moral character 
 of the Deity. 
 
 We shall find the views of Reid substantially adopted, and 
 a little more closely, and concisely argued, by Stewart. 
 
 DUGALD STEWART. [1753-1828.] 
 
 In his ' Essays on the Active Powers of the Mind,' Stewart 
 introduces the Moral Faculty in the same way as Reid. 
 Book Second is entitled Ode Rational and Governing Pbin- 
 GiPLES of Action. Chapter I., on Prudence or Self-love, 
 is unimportant for our present purpose, consisting of some 
 desultory remarks on the connexion of happiness with steadi- 
 ness of purpose, and on the meanings of the words 'self-love' 
 and ' selfishness.' 
 
 Chapter II. is on the Moral Faculty, and is intended to 
 show that it is an original principle of the mind. He first 
 replies to the theory that identifies Morality with Prudence, 
 or Self-love. His first argument is the existence in all lan- 
 guages of difiereut words for duty and for interest. Secondly, 
 The emotions arising from the contemplation of right and 
 wrong are difiereut from those produced by a regard to our 
 own happiness. Thirdly, although in most instances a sense 
 of duty, and an enlightened regard to our own happiness, 
 would suggest to us the same line of conduct, yet this truth 
 is not obvious to mankind generally, who are incapable of 
 appreciating enlarged views and remote consequences. He 
 repeats the common remark, that we secure our happiness 
 best by not looking to it as the one primary end. Fourthly, 
 moral judgments appear in children, long before they can 
 form the general notion of happiness. His examples of this 
 position, however, have exclusive reference to the sentiment 
 of pity, which all moralists regard as a primitive feeling, 
 whUeiifew admit it to be the same as the moral sense. 
 
640 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — STEWAET. 
 
 He then takes notice of the Association Theory of Hartley, 
 Paley, and others, which he admits to be a great refinement 
 of the old selfish system, and an answer to one of his argu- 
 ments. He maintains, nevertheless, that the others are 
 untouched by it, and more especially the third, referring 
 to the amount of experience and reflection necessary to dis- 
 cover the tendency of virtue to promote our happiness, which 
 is inconsistent with the early period when our moral judgments 
 appear. [It is singular that he should not have remarked 
 that the moral judgments of that early age, if we except what 
 springs from the impulses of pity, are wholly communicated 
 by others.] He quotes Paley's reasoning against the Moral 
 Sense, and declares that he has as completely mis-stated the 
 issue, as if one were to contend that because we are not bom 
 with the knowledge of light and colours, therefore the sense 
 of seeing is not an oidginal part of the frame. [It would be 
 easy to retort that all that Paley's case demanded was the 
 same power of discrvminaMon in moral judgments, as the power 
 of discriminating light and dark belonging to our sense of 
 sight.] 
 
 Chapter HI. continues the subject, and examines objections. 
 The first objection taken up is that derived from the influence 
 of education, with which he combines the farther objection (of 
 Locke and his followers) arising from the diversily of men's 
 moral judgments in various nations. With regard to education, 
 he contends that there are limits to its influence, and that 
 however it may modify, it cannot create our judgments of 
 right and wrong, any more than our notions of beauty and 
 deformity. As to the historical facts relating to the diversity 
 of moral judgments, he considers it necessary to make fiill 
 allowance for three circumstances — I. — Difierence of situation 
 with regard to climate and civilization. XL — ^Diversity of 
 speculative opinions, arising from difierence of intellectual 
 capacity ; and, IH. — The diflerent moral import of the same 
 action under difierent systems of behaviour. On the first 
 head he explains the indifierence to theft from, there being 
 little or no fixed property ; he adduces the variety of sentiments 
 respecting Usury, as having reference to circumstances ; and 
 alludes to the difierences of men's views as to political assassin- 
 ation. On the second head he remarks, that men may agree 
 on ends, but may take different views as to means ; they may 
 agree in recognizing obedience to the Deity, but differ in their 
 interpretations of his will. On the third point, as regards tVe 
 different moral import of the same action, he suggests that 
 
MORAL OBLIGATION. 641 
 
 Locke's instance of the killing of aged parents is merely the 
 recognized mode of filial affection ; he also quotes the exceed- 
 ing variety of ceremonial observances. 
 
 Chapter TV. comments farther on the objections to the 
 reality and immntability of moral distinctions and to the 
 universal diffdsion of the moral faculty. The reference is, in 
 the first instance, to Locke, and then to what he terms, after 
 Adam Smith, the Ucentious moralists — La Rochefoucauld and 
 Mandeville. The replies to these writers contain nothing 
 special to Stewart. 
 
 Chapter V. is the Analysis of our Moral Perceptions and 
 Emotions. This is a somewhat singular phrase in an author 
 recognizing a separate inborn faculty of Right. His analysis 
 consists in a separation of the entire fact into three parts : — 
 (1) the perception of an action as right or wrong; (2) an 
 emotion of pleasure or pain, varying according to the moral 
 sensibility : (3) a perception of the merit or demerit of the 
 agent. The first is of course the main question; and the 
 author gives a long review of the history of Ethical doctriues 
 from Hobbes downwards, interspersing reflections and criti- 
 cisms, all in favour of the intuitive origin of the sense. As 
 illustrative parallels, he adduces Personal Identity, Causation, 
 and Equality; all which he considers to be judgments in- 
 volving simple ideas, and traceable only to some primitive 
 power of the mind. He could as easily conceive a rational 
 being formed to beUeve the three angles of a triangle to be 
 equal to one right angle, as to believe that there would be no 
 injustice in depriving a mam of the fruits of his labours. 
 
 On the second point— the pleasure and pain accompanying 
 right and wrong, he remarks on the one-sidedness of systems 
 that treat the sense of right and wrong as an intellectual 
 judgment purely (Clarke, &c.), or those that treat it as a 
 feeling purely (Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and Hume). His 
 remarks on the sense of Merit and Demerit in the agent are 
 trivial or commonplace. 
 
 Chapter VI. is ' Of Moral Obligation.' It is needless to 
 follow Mm on this subject, as his views are substantially a 
 repetition of Butler's Supremacy of Conscience. At the same 
 time, it may be doubted whether Butler entirely and unequi- 
 vocally detached this supremacy from the command of the 
 Deity, a point peculiarly insisted on by Stewart. His words 
 are these : — 
 
 ' Acoordiag to some systems, moral obligation is founded 
 entirely on our belief that virtue is enjoined by the command of 
 41 
 
642 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — STEWAET. 
 
 God. But how, it may be asked, does this belief impose an obli- 
 gation ? Only one of two answers can be given. Either that 
 there is a moral fitness that we should conform our will to that of 
 the Author and the Governor of the universe ; or that a rational 
 self-love should induce us, from motives of prudence, to study 
 every means of rendering ourselves acceptable to the Almighty 
 Arbiter of happiness and misery. On the first supposition we 
 reason in a circle. We resolve our sense of moral obligation into 
 our sense of religion, and the sense of religion into that of moral 
 obligation. 
 
 ' The other system, which makes virtue a mere matter of pru- 
 dence, although not so obviously unsatisfactory, leads to conse- 
 quences which sufficiently invalidate every argument in its favour. 
 Among others it leads us to conclude, 1. That the disbelief of a 
 future state absolves from all moral obligation, excepting in so 
 far as we find virtue to be conducive to our present interest : 
 2. That a being independently and completely happy cannot have 
 any moral perceptions or any moral attributes. 
 
 ' But farther, the notions of reward and pxmishment presuppose 
 the notions of right and wrong. They are sanctions of virtue, or 
 additional motives to the practice of it, but they suppose the 
 existence of some previous obligation. 
 
 ' In the last place, if moral obligation be constituted by a regard 
 to our situation in another Ufe, how shall the existence of a future 
 state be proved, or even rendered probable by the light of nature ? 
 or how shall we discover what conduct is acceptable to the Deity ? 
 The truth is, that the strongest presumption for such a state is 
 deduced from our natural notions of right and wrong ; of merit 
 and demerit; and from a comparison between these and the 
 general course of human affairs.' 
 
 In a chapter (VII.) entitled ' certain principles co-operat- 
 ing with our moral powers,' he discusses (1) a regard to 
 character, (2) Sympathy, (3) the Sense of the Bidicnlous, 
 (4) Taste. The important topic is the second, Sympathy ; 
 which, psychologically, he would appear to regard as deter- 
 mined by the pleasure that it gives. Under this head he 
 introduces a criticism of the Ethical theory of Adam Smith ; 
 and, adverting to the inadequacy of the theory to distinguish 
 the right from tlie actual judgments of mankind, he remarks 
 on Smith's ingenious fiction ' of an abstract man within the 
 breast ;' and states that Smith laid much greater stress on 
 this fiction in the last edition of the Moral Sentiments 
 published before his death. It is not without reason that 
 Stewart warns against grounding theories on metaphorical 
 expressions, such as this of Smiti, or the Platonic Common- 
 wealth of the Soul. 
 
 In Book IV. of the Active Powers, Stewart discusses our 
 
DUTIES. — ^HAPPINESS. 643 
 
 Duties to Men, — both our fellow-creatnres and ourselves. 
 Our duties to our fellows are summed up in Benevolence, 
 Justice, and Veracity. He devotes a chapter to each. In 
 Chapter I., on Benevolence, he re-opens the consideration of 
 the Ethical systems founded on Benevolence or Utility, and 
 argues against them ; but merely repeats the common-place 
 objections — the incompetency of individuals to judge of remote 
 tendencies, the pretext that would be afforded for the worst 
 conduct, and each one's consciousness that a sense of duty is 
 different from enlightened benevolence. 
 
 Chapter II. is on Justice ; defined as the disposition that 
 leads a man, where his own interests or passions are con- 
 cerned, to act according to the judgment he would form of 
 another man's duty in his situation. He introduces a criti- 
 cism on Adam Smith, and re-asserts the doctrine of an innate 
 faculty, explained as the power of forming moral ideas, and 
 not as the innate possession of ideas. For the most part, his 
 exposition is didactic and desultory, with occasional discus- 
 sions of a critical and scientific nature ; as, for example, some 
 remarks on Hume's theory that Justice is an artificial virtue, 
 an account of the basis of Jurisprudence, and a few observa- 
 tions on the Bight of Property. 
 
 In Chapter III., on Veracity, he contends that considera- 
 tions of utility do not account for the whole force of our 
 approbation of this virtue. [So might any one say that con- 
 siderations of what money can purchase do not account for the 
 whole strength of avarice]. 
 
 In Chapter IV. he deals with Duties to ourselves, and 
 occupies the chapter with a dissertation on Happiness. He 
 first gives an account of the theories of the Stoics and the 
 Epicureans, which connect themselves most closely with the 
 problem of Happiness ; and next advances some observations 
 of his own onthe subject. 
 
 His first remark is on the influence of the Temper, by 
 which he means the Resentful or Irascible passion, on Happi- 
 ness. As against a censorious disposition, he sets up the 
 pleasure of the benevolent sentiments ; he enjoins candour 
 with respect to the motives of others, and a devoted attach- 
 ment to truth and virtue for their intrinsic excellence ; and 
 warns us, that the causes that alienate our affections from our 
 fellow-creatures, suggest gloomy and Hamlet-like conceptions 
 of the order of the universe. 
 
 He next adverts to the influence of the Imagination on 
 Happiness. On this, be has in view the addition made to 
 
644 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — STEWART. 
 
 our enjoyments or our sufferings by the respective pre- 
 dominance of hope or of fear in the mind. Allowing for 
 constitational bias, he recognizes, as the two great sources of 
 a desponding imagination, Superstition and Scepticism, whose 
 evils he descants upon at length. He also dwells on the 
 influence of casual associations on happiness, and commends 
 this subject to the care of educators ; giving, as an example, 
 the tendency of associations with Greece and Rome to add to 
 the courage of the classically educated soldier. 
 
 His third position is the Influence of our Opinions on 
 Happiness. He here quotes, from Ferguson, examples of 
 opinions unfavourable to Happiness; such as these: 'that 
 happiness consists in haying nothing to do,' ' that anything is 
 preferable to happiness,' ' that anything can amuse us better 
 than our duties.' He also puts forward as a happy opinion 
 the Stoical view, ' I am in the station that God has assigned 
 me.' [It must be confessed, however, that these prescriptions 
 savour of the Platonic device of inculcating opinions, not 
 because of their truth, but because of their supposed good 
 consequences otherwise : a proceeding scarcely compatible 
 with an Ethical system that proclaims veracity as superior to 
 utility. On such a system, we are prohibited from looking 
 to anything in an opinion but its truth ; we ai"e to sufier for 
 truth, and not to cultivate opinions because of their happy 
 results.] 
 
 Stewart remarks flnally on the influence of the Habits, on 
 which he notices the power of the mind to accommodate 
 itself to circumstances, and copies Paley's observations on the 
 setting of the habits. 
 
 In continuation of the subject of Happiness, he presents a 
 classification of oar most important pleasures. We give the 
 heads, there being little to detain us in the author's brief 
 illustration of them. I. — The pleasures of Activity and 
 Eicpose ; n. — The pleasures of Sense ; IH. — The pleasures of 
 the Imagination ; IV". — The pleasures of the Understanding ; 
 and V. — The pleasures of the Heart, or of the various bene- 
 volent affections. He would have added Taste, or Fine Art, 
 but this is confined to a select few. 
 
 In a concluding chapter (V.), he sums up the general 
 result of the Ethical enquiry, under the title, ' the Nature 
 and Essence of Virtue.' No observation of any novelty 
 occurs in this chapter. Virtue is doing our duty ; the inten- 
 tions of the agent are to be looked to ; the enUgbtened dis» 
 charge of our duty often demands an exercise of the Reason 
 
SUMMABY OF VIEWS. 6'45 
 
 to adjudge between conflicting claims ; there is a close rela- 
 tionship, not defined, between Ethics and Politics. 
 
 The views of Stewart represent, in the chief points, al- 
 though not in all, the Ethical theory that has found the 
 greatest number of supporters. 
 
 I. — The Standard is internal, or intuitive — the judgments 
 of a Faculty, called the Moral Faculty. He does not approve 
 of the phrase ' Moral Sense,' thinking the analogy of the 
 senses incorrect. 
 
 II. — As regards Ethical Psychology, the first question is 
 determined by the remarks on the Standard. 
 
 On the second question, Free-wiU, Stewart maintains 
 Liberty. 
 
 On the third question, he gives, like many others, an 
 uncertain sound. In his account of Pity, he recognizes three 
 things, (1) a painfal feeling, (2) a selfish desire to remove the 
 cause of the uneasiness, (3) a disposition grounded on bene- 
 volent concern about the sufierer. This is at best vagae. 
 Equally so is what he states respecting the pleasures of sym- 
 pathy and benevolence (Book 11., Chapter VII.). There is, 
 he says, a pleasure attached to fellow-feeling, a disposition to 
 accommodate our minds to others, wherever there is a bene- 
 volent afiection ; and, in all probability, the pleasure of 
 sympathy is the pleasure of loving and of being beloved. 
 No definite proposition can be gathered from such loose 
 allegations. 
 
 III. — We have already abstracted his chapter on Happiness. 
 
 IV. — On the Moral Code, he has nothing peculiar. 
 
 V. — On the connexion with Religion, we have seen that 
 he is strenuous in his antagonism to the doctrine of the 
 dependence of morality on the will of God. But, like other 
 moralists of the same class, he is careful to add : — ' Although 
 religion can with no propriety be considered as the sole foun- 
 dation of morality, yet when we are convinced that God is 
 infinitely good, and that he is the friend and protector of 
 virtue, this belief afibrds the most powerful inducements 
 to the practice of every branch of our duty.' He has (Book 
 III.) elaborately discussed the principles of Natural Religion, 
 but, like Adam Smith, makes no reference to the Bible, or to 
 Christianity. He is disposed to assume the benevolence of 
 the Deity, but considers that to affirm it positively is to go 
 beyond our depth. 
 
646 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^BKOWN. 
 
 THOMAS BEOWN. [1778-1820.] 
 
 Brown's Ethical discussion commences in the 73rd of his 
 Lectures. He first criticises the multiplicity of expressions used 
 in the statement of the fundamental question of morals — 'What 
 is it that constitutes the action virtuous ?' ' What constitutes 
 the moral ohligation to perform certain actions ? ' ' What con- 
 stitutes the merit of the agent ? ' — These have been considered 
 questions essentially distinct, whereas they are the very same 
 question. There is at bottom but one emotion in the case, 
 the emotion of approbation, or of disapprobation, of an agent 
 acting in a certain way. 
 
 In answer then to the question as thus simplified, ' What 
 is the ground of moral approbation and disapprobation?' 
 Brown answers — a simple emotion of the mind, of which no 
 farther explanation can be given than that we are so consti- 
 tuted. Thus, without using the same term, he sides with the 
 doctrine of the Innate Moral Sense. He illustrates it by 
 another elementary fact of the mind, involved in the concep- 
 tion of cause and efiect on his theory of that relation — ^the 
 belief that the future will resemble the past. Excepting a 
 teleogicaJ reference to the Supreme Benevolence of the Deity, 
 he admits no farther search into the nature of the moral 
 sentiment. 
 
 He adduces, as another illustration, what he deems the 
 kindred emotion of Beauty. Our feeling of beauty is not the 
 mere perception of forms and colours, or the discovery of the 
 uses of certain combinations of forms ; it is an emotion arising 
 from these, indeed, but distinct from them. Our feeling of 
 moral excellence, in like manner, is not the mere perception 
 of different actions, or the discovery of the physical good that 
 these may produce ; it is an emotion swi gerieris, superadded 
 to them. 
 
 He adverts, in a strain of eloquent indignation, to the 
 objection grounded on differences of men's moral judg- 
 ment. There are philosophers, he exclaims, 'that can turn 
 away from the conspiring chorus of the millions of mankind, 
 in favour of the great truths of morals, to seek in some savage 
 island, a few indistinct murm.urs that may seem to be dis- 
 cordant with the total harmony of mankind.' He goes on to 
 remark, however, that in our zeal for the immutability of 
 moral distinctions, we may weaken the case by contending for 
 too much ; and proposes to consider the species of accordance 
 that may be safely argued for. 
 
UNIVERSALITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 647 
 
 He begins by purging away tbe realistic notion of Virtne, 
 considered as a self-existing entity. He defines it — a term 
 expressing tbe relation of certain actions to certain emotions 
 in the minds contemplating them ; its universality is merely 
 co-extensive with these minds. He then concedes that all 
 mankind do not, at every moment, feel precisely the same 
 emotions in contemplating the same actions, and sets forth 
 the limitations as follows ; — 
 
 First, In moments of violent passion, the mind is in- 
 capacitated for perceiving moral differences ; we must, in such 
 cases appeal, as it were, from Philip drunk to Philip sober. 
 
 Secondly, Still more important is the limitation arising 
 from the complexity of many actions. Where good and evil 
 results are so blended that we cannot easily assign the pre- 
 ponderance, different men may form different conclusions. 
 Partiality of views may arise from this cause, not merely in 
 individuals, but in whole nations. The legal permission of 
 theft in Sparta is a case in point. Theft, as theft, and without 
 relation to the political object of inuring a warlike people, 
 would have been condemned in Sparta, as well as with ns. 
 [The retort of Locke is not out of place here ; an innate moral 
 sentiment that permits a fundamental virtue to be' set aside 
 on the ground of mere state convenience, is of very little 
 value.] He then g*s on to ask whether men, in approving 
 these exceptions to moraKty, approve them because they are 
 immoral ? [The opponents of a moral sense do not contend 
 for an iwimoral sense.] Suicide is not commended because it 
 deprives society of useful members, and gives sorrow to rela- 
 tions and friends ; the exposure of infants is not justified on 
 the plea of adding to human suffering. 
 
 Again, the differences of cookery among nations are much 
 wider than the differences of moral sentiment ; and yet no one 
 denies a fundamental susceptibility to sweet and bitter. It is 
 not contended that we come into the world with a knowledge 
 of actions, but that we have certain susceptibilities of emotion, 
 in consequence of which, it is impossible for us, in after life, 
 unless from counteracting circumstances, to be pleased with 
 the contemplation of certain actions, and disgusted with cer- 
 tain other actions. When the doctrine is thus stated, Paley's 
 objection, that we should also receive from nature the notions 
 of the actions themselves, falls to the ground. As well might 
 we require an instinctive notion of all possible numbers, to 
 bear out our instinctive sense of proportion. 
 
 A third limitation must be added, the influence of the 
 
648 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^BKOWN, 
 
 principle of Association. One way that this operates is to 
 transfer, to a whole class of actions, the feelings peculiar to 
 certain marked individuals. Thus, in a civilized country, 
 where properiy is largely possessed, and under complicated 
 tenures, we become very sensitive to its violation, and acquire 
 a proportionably intense sentiment of Justice. Again, asso- 
 ciation operates in modifying our approval and disapproval of 
 actions according to their attendant cLrcumstances ; as when 
 we extenuate misconduct in a beloved person. 
 
 The author contends that, notwithstanding these limita- 
 tions, we still leave unimpaired the approbation of unmixed 
 good as good, and the disapprobation of unmixed evil as evil. 
 His further remarks, however, are mainly eloquent declama- 
 tion on the universality of moral distinctions. 
 
 He proceeds to criticise the moral systems from Hobbes 
 downwards. His remarks (Lecture 76) on the province of 
 Reason in Morality, with reference to the systems of Clarke 
 and WoUaston, contain the gist of the matter well expressed. 
 
 He next considers the theory of Utility. That Utility 
 bears a certain relation to Virtue is unquestionable. Benevo- 
 lence means good to others, and virtue is of course made up, 
 in great part, of this. But then, if Utility is held to be the 
 measure of virtue, standing in exact proportion to it, the pro- 
 position is very far from true; it is only^a small portion of 
 virtuous actions wherein the measure holds. 
 
 He does not doubt that virtuous actions do aU tend, in a 
 greater or less degree, to the advantage of the world. But he 
 considers the question to be, whether what we have alone in 
 view, in approving certain actions, be the amount of utility 
 that they bring ; whether we have no other reason for com- 
 mending a man than for praising a chest of drawers. 
 
 Consider this question first from the point of view of the 
 agent. Does the mother, in watching her sick infant, think 
 of the good of mankind at that moment ? Is the pity called 
 forth by misery a sentiment of the general good ? Look at it 
 again from the point of view of the spectator. Is his admira- 
 tion of a steam-engine, and of an heroic human action, the 
 same sentiment ? Why do we not worship the earth, the 
 source of all our utilities ? The ancient worshippers of nature 
 always gave it a soul in the first instance. 
 
 When the supporter of Utility arbitrarily confines his 
 principles to the actions of living beings, ho concedes the 
 point in dispute ; he admits an approvableness peculiar to 
 living and voluntary agents, a capacity of exciting moral emo- 
 
OBJECTIONS TO UTILITY AS THE STANDARD. 649 
 
 tions not commensurate with any utility. Hume says, that 
 the sentiments of utility connected with human beings are 
 mixed with affection, esteem, and approbation, which do not 
 attach to the utility of inanimate things. Brown replies, that 
 these are the very sentiments to be accounted for, the moral 
 part of the case. 
 
 But another contrast may be made ; namely, between the 
 Tltihty of virtue and the utility of talent or genius, which we 
 view with very different and unequal sentimen<|^ the inven- 
 tors of the printing press do not rouse the same emotions as 
 the charities of the Man of Eoss. 
 
 StUl, he contends, like the other supporters of innate 
 moral distinctions, for a pre-established harmony between the 
 two attributes. Utility and virtue are so intimately related, 
 that there is perhaps no action generally felt by us as virtuous, 
 but what is generally beneficial. But this is only discovered 
 by reflecting men ; it never enters the mind of the unthinking 
 multitude. Nay, more, it is only the Divine Being that can 
 fully master this relationship, or so prescribe our duties that 
 they shall ultimately coincide with the general happiness. 
 
 He allows that the immediate object of the legislator is the 
 general good ; but then his relationship is to the community 
 as a whole, and not to any particular individual. 
 
 He admits, farther, that the good of the world at large, 
 if not the only moral object, is a moral ebjeot, in common 
 with the good of parents, friends, and others related to us in 
 private life. Farther, it may be requisite for the moralist to 
 correct our moral sentiments by requiring greater attention to 
 public, and less to private, good ; but this does not alter the 
 nature of our moral feelings; it merely presents new objects 
 to our morcd discrimination. It gives an exercise to our 
 reason in disentangling the complicated results of our actions. 
 
 He makes it also an objection to Utility, that it does not 
 explain why we feel approbation of the useful, and disappro- 
 bation of the hurtful 5 forgetting that Benevolence is an 
 admitted fact of our constitution, and may fairly be assigned 
 by the moralist as the source of the moral sentiment. 
 
 His next remarks are on the Selfish Systems, his reply to 
 which is the assertion of Disinterested Affections. He dis- 
 tinguishes two modes of assigning self-interest as the sole 
 motive of virtuous conduct. First, it may be said that in 
 every so-called virtuous action, we see some good to seK, near 
 or remote. Secondly, it may be maintained that we become 
 at last disinterested by the associations of our own interest. 
 
650 Ethical systems — beown. 
 
 He calls in qnestion tliis alleged process of associatioii. 
 Because a man's own cane is interesting to him, it does not 
 follovsr that every other man's cane is interesting. [He here 
 commits a mistake of fact ; other men's walking canes are 
 interesting to the interested owner of a cane. It may not 
 follow that this interest is enough to determine self-sacrifice.] 
 
 It will be inferred that Brown contends warmly for the 
 existence of Disinterested Affection, not merely as a present, 
 but as a punitive, fact of our constitution. He does not 
 always keep this distinct from the Moral Sentiment ; he, in 
 fact, mixes the two sentiments together in his language, a 
 thing almost inevitable, but yet inconsistent with the advocacy 
 of a distinct moral sentiment. 
 
 He includes among the Selfish Systems the Ethical Theory 
 of Paley, which he reprobates in both its leading points — 
 everlasting happiness as the motive, and the will of God as 
 the rule. On the one point, this theory is liable to all the 
 objections against a purely selfish system ; and, on the other 
 point, he makes the usual replies to the founding of morality 
 on the absolute will of the Deity. 
 
 Brown next criticises the system of Adam Smith. Admit- 
 ting that we have the sympathetic feeling that Smith proceeds 
 upon, he questions its adequacy to constitute the moral senti- 
 ment, on the ground that it is not a perpetual accompaniment of 
 our actions. There must be a certain vividness of feeling or of 
 the display of feeling, or at least a sufficient cause of vivid 
 feeling, to call the sympathy into action. In the numerous 
 petty actions of life, there is an absence of any marked 
 sympathy. 
 
 But the essential error of Smith's system is, that it assumes 
 the very moral feelings that it is meant to explain. If there 
 were no antecedent moral feelings, sympathy could not afford 
 them ; it is only a mirror to reflect what is already in existence. 
 The feelings that we sympathize with, are themselves moral 
 feelings already ; if it were not so, the reflexion of them from 
 a thousand breasts would not give them a moral nature. 
 
 Brown thinks that Adam Smith was to some extent misled 
 by an ambiguity in the word sympathy ; a word applied not 
 merely to the participation of other men's feelings, but to the 
 further and distinct fact of the cupprobation of those feelings. 
 
 Although siding in the main with Shaftesbury and Hnt- 
 cheson, Brown objects to their designation Mora^ Sense, as 
 expressing the innate power of moral approbation. If ' Sense ' 
 be interpreted merely as susceptibility, he has nothing to say,- 
 
FOUNDATION OF DISINTEHESTED SENTIMENT. 65l 
 
 but if it mean a primary m.edium of perception, like the eye 
 or the ear, he considers it a mistake. It is, in his view, an 
 emotion, like hope, jealonsy, or resentment, rising up on the 
 presentation of a certain class of objects. He farther objects 
 to the phrase ' moral ideas,' also used by Hutcheson. The 
 moral emotions are more akin to lore and hate, than to per- 
 ception or judgment. 
 
 Brown gives an exposition of Practical Ethics under the 
 usual heads : Duties to Others, to God, to Oarselves. Duties 
 to others he classifies thus : — I. — NeyaUve, or abstinence from 
 injuring others in Person, Property, Affections, Character or 
 Reputation, Knowledge (veracity), Virtue, and Tranquillity; 
 II. Positive, or Benevolence; and III. — Daties growing out of 
 our peculiar ties — Affinity, Friendship, Good offices received, 
 Contract, and Citizenship. 
 
 To sum up — 
 
 I. — As regards the Standard, Brown contends for an Innate 
 Sentiment. 
 
 II. — The Paculty being thus determined, along with the 
 Standai'd, we have only to resume his views as to Disinterested 
 action. For a full account of these, we have to go beyond 
 the strictly Ethical lectures, to his analysis of the Emotions. 
 Speaking of love, he says that it includes a desire of doing 
 good to the person loved ; that it is necessarily pleasurable 
 because there must be some quality in the object that gives 
 pleasure ; but it is not the mere pleasure of loving that makes 
 us love. The qualities are delightful to love, and yet impos- 
 sible not to love. He is more explicit when he comes to the 
 consideration of Pity, recognizing the existence of sympathy, 
 not only without liking for the object, but with positive dis- 
 like. In another place, he remarks that we desire the happi- 
 ness of our fellows simply as human beings. He is opposed 
 to the theory that would trace our disinterested affections to 
 a selfish orio-in. He makes some attempt to refer to the laws of 
 Association, the taking in of other men's emotions, but thinks 
 that there is a reflex process besides. 
 
 Although recognizing in a vague way the existence of 
 genuine disinterested impulses, he dilates eloquently, and 
 often, on the deliciousness of benevolence, aaad of all virtuous 
 feelings and conduct. 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY. [1743-1805]. 
 The First Book of Paley's ' Moral and Political Philosophy' 
 is entitled ' Preliminary Considerations ;' it is in fact an 
 
662 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— PALEY. 
 
 .unmethodical aGConnt of various fandamental points of tl 
 subject. He begins by defining Moral Philosopliy as ' th 
 science which teaches men their dmty, and the reasons of it.' Tl 
 ordinary rules are defective and may mislead, unless aided I 
 a scientific investigation. These ordinary roles are the La 
 of Honour, the Law of the Land, and the Scriptures. 
 
 He commences with the Law of Honour, whicb he viev 
 in its narrow sense, as applied to people of rank and fashioi 
 This is of course a very limited code. 
 
 The Law of the Land also must omit many duties, proper! 
 compulsory, as piety, benevolence, &c. It must also leai 
 unpunished many vices, as luxury, prodigality, partiality, 
 must confine itself to ofiences strictly definable. 
 
 The Scriptures lay down general rules, which, have to 1 
 applied by the exercise of reason and judgment. Moreove 
 they pre-suppose the principles of natural justice, and supp] 
 new sanctions and greater certainty. Accordingly, they c 
 not dispense with a scientific view of morals. 
 
 [The correct arrangement of the common rules would hai 
 been (1) the Law of the Land, (2) the Laws of Sociel 
 generally, and (3) the Scriptures. The Law of Honour 
 merely one application of the comprehensive .agency of sociel 
 in punishing men, by excommunication, for what it prohibits 
 
 Then follows his famous chapter on the Moral Sense. 
 
 It is by way of giving an effective statement of the poii 
 in dispute that he quotes the anecdote of Caius Toranius, s 
 an extreme instance of filial ingratitude, and supposes it ^ 
 be put to the wild boy caught in the woods of Hanover, wil 
 the view of ascertaining whether he would feel the sentimei 
 of disapprobation as we do. Those that affirm an innai 
 moral sense, must answer in the affirmative ; those that dei 
 it, in the negative. 
 
 He then recites the arguments on both sides. 
 
 For the moral sense, it is contended, that we appro^ 
 examples of generosity, gratitude, fidelity, &c., on the instan 
 without deliberation and without being conscious of an 
 assignable reason ; and that this approbation is uniform an 
 universal, the same sorts of conduct being approved or di 
 .approved in all ages and countries; which circumstanc( 
 point to the operation of an instinct, or a moral sense. 
 
 The answers to these allegations are- 
 First, The Uniformity spoken of is not admitted as a fao 
 According to the authentic accounts of historians and traveller 
 there is scarcely a single vice that, in some age or country 
 
THE MORAL SENSE. 653 
 
 the world, has not been countenanced by public opinion. The 
 morder of aged parents, theft, suicide, promiscuous intercourse 
 of the sexes, and unmentionable crimes have been tolerated 
 and approved. Among ourselves, Duelling is viewed with 
 the most opposite sentiments ; forgiveness of injuries is ac- 
 counted by some people magnanimity, and by others meanness. 
 In these, and in many other instances, moral approbation fol- 
 lows the fashions and institutions of the country, which 
 institutions have themselves grown out of local circumstances, 
 the arbitrary authority of some chieftain, or the caprice of the 
 multitude. 
 
 Secondly, That, although, after allowing for these excep- 
 tions, it is admitted that some sorts of actions are more ap- 
 proved than others, the approbation being general, although 
 not universal, yet this may be accounted for, without sup- 
 posing a moral sense, thus : — 
 
 Having experienced a particular line of conduct as bene- 
 ficial to ourselves, for example, telling the truth, a sentiment 
 of approbation grows up in consequence, and this sentiment 
 thereupon arises whenever the action is mentioned, and 
 without our thinking of the consequences in each instance. 
 The process is illustrated by the love of money, which is 
 strongest in the old, who least of all think of applying it to 
 its uses. By such means, the approval of certain actions is 
 commenced ; and being once commenced, the continuance of 
 the feeling is accounted for by authority, by imitation, and by 
 all the usages of good society. As soon as an entire socieiy 
 is possessed of an ethical view, the initiation of the new mem- 
 bers is sure and irresistible. The efficacy of Imitation is 
 shown in cases where there is no authority or express training 
 employed, as in the likings and dislikings, or tastes and anti- 
 pathies, in mere matters of indifference. 
 
 So much in reply to the alleged uniformity. Next come 
 the positive objections to a Moral Instinct. 
 
 In the first place, moral rules are not absolutely and uni- 
 versally true ; they bend to circumstances. Veracity, which 
 is a natural duty, if there be any such, is dispensed with in 
 case of an enemy, a thief, or a madman. The obligation of 
 promises is released under certain circumstances. 
 
 In the next place, the Instinct must bear with it the idea 
 of the actions to be approved or disapproved ; but we are not 
 bom with any such ideas. 
 
 On the whole, either there exist no moral iastincts, or 
 they are nndistinguishable from prejudices and habits, and" 
 
654 ETHICAX SYSTEMS— PALEY. 
 
 are not to be trasted in moral reasonings. Aristotle held it 
 as self-evident that barbarians are meant to be slaves ; so do 
 our modern slave-traders. This instance is one of many to 
 show that the convenience of the parties has much to do with 
 the rise of a moral sentiment. And every system built upon 
 instincts is more likely to find excuses for existing opinions 
 and practices than to reform either. 
 
 Again : supposing these Instincts to exist, what is their 
 authority or power to punish ? Is it the infliction of remorse ? 
 That may be borne with for the pleasures and profits of wick- 
 edness. If they are to be held as indications of the will of 
 God, and therefore as presages of his intentions, that result 
 may be arrived at by a surer road. 
 
 The next preliminary topic is Human Happiness. 
 Happiness is defined as the excess of pleasure over pain. 
 Pleasures are to be held as difiiering only in continuance, and 
 in intensity. A computation made in respect of these two pro- 
 perties, confirmed by the degrees of cheerfulness, tranquillity, 
 and contentment observable among men, is to decide all 
 questions as to human happiness. 
 
 I. — What Human Happiness does not consist in. 
 Not in the pleasures of Sense, in whatever profasion or 
 variety enjoyed ; in which are included sensual pleasures, 
 active sports, and Fine Art. 
 
 1st, Because they last for a short time. [Surely they are 
 good for the time they do last.] 2ndly, By repetition, they 
 lose their relish. [Intermission and variety, h(jwever, are 
 to be supposed.] Srdly, The eagerness for high and intense 
 delights takes away the relish from all others. 
 
 Paley professes to have observed in the votaries of pleasure 
 a restless craving for variety, languor under enjoyment, and 
 misery in the want of it. After all, however, these pleasures 
 have their vahie, and may be too much despised as well as 
 too much followed. 
 
 Next, happiness does not consist in the exemption from 
 pain (?), from labour, care, business, and outward evils ; such 
 exemption leaving one a prey to morbid depression, anxiety, 
 and hypochondria. Even a pain in moderation may be a 
 refreshment, from giving a stimulus to pursuit. 
 
 Nor does it consist in greatness, rank, or station. The 
 reason here is derived, as usual, from the doctrine of Eelativity 
 or Comparison, pushed beyond all just limits. The illustration 
 of the dependence of the pleasure of superiority on comparison 
 is in Paley's happiest style. 
 
DEFINITION OF VIRTUE EQUIVOCAL. 655 
 
 II- — What happiness does consist in. Allowing for the 
 great diffiealties of this vital determination, he proposes to be 
 governed by a reference to the conditions of life where men 
 appear most cheerful and contented. 
 
 It consists, 1st, In the exercise of the social afiections. 
 2ndly, The exercise of our faculties, either of body or of mind, 
 in the pursuit of some engaging end. [This includes the two 
 items of occupation and plot-interest.] Srdly, Upon the pru- 
 dent constitution of the habits ; the prudent constitution being 
 chiefly in moderation and simplicity of life, or in demanding 
 few stimulants ; and 4thly, In Health, whose importance he 
 values highly, but not too highly. 
 
 The consideration of these negative and positive conditions, 
 he thinks, justifies the two conclusions : (1) That happiness 
 is pretty equally distributed amongst the different orders of 
 society; and (2) That in respect of this world's happiness, 
 vice has no advantage over virtue. 
 
 The last subject of the First Book is Virtue. The defini- 
 tion of virtue is ' the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the 
 will of God, and for the sake of everlasting hajppiness.' 
 
 If this were strictly interpreted according to its form, it 
 would mean that three things go to constitute virtue, any one 
 of which being absent, we should not have virtue. Doing 
 good to mankind alone is not virtue, unless coupled with a 
 divine requirement ; and this addition would not sufi&ce, with- 
 out the farther circumstance of everlasting happiness as the 
 reward. But such is not his meaning, nor is it easy to fix 
 the meaning. He unites the two conditions — Human Happi- 
 ness and the Will of the Deity — and holds them to coincide 
 and to explain one another. Either of the two would be a 
 sufiB-cient definition of virtue ; and he would add, as an ex- 
 planatory proposition and a guide to practice, that the one 
 may be taken as a clue to the other. In a double criterion 
 like this, everything depends upon the manner of working it. 
 By running from one of the tests to another at discretion, we 
 may evade whatever is disagreeable to us in both. 
 
 Book II., entitled Moral Obligation, is the full develop- 
 ment of his views. Reciting various theories of moral right 
 and wrong, he remarks, first, that they all ultimately coincide ; 
 in other words, all the theorists agree upon the same rules of 
 duty — a remark to be received with allowances; and next, 
 that they all leave the matter short ; none provide an ade- 
 quate motive or inducement. [He omits to mention the theory 
 of the Divine Will, which is partly his own theory]. 
 
656 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PALEY. 
 
 In proceeding to supply this want, he asks first ' what is 
 meant by being obliged to do a thing;' and answers, ' a violent 
 motive reBulting from the. command, of another.' The motive 
 must be violent, or have some degree of force to overcome 
 reluctance or opposing tendencies. It must also result from 
 the eommoMd of another ; not the mere offer of a gratuity by 
 way of. inducement. Such is the nature of Law ; we should 
 not obey the magistrate, unless rewards or punishments de- 
 pended on our obedience ; so neither should we, without the 
 same reason, do what is right, or obey God. 
 
 He then resumes the general question, under a concrete 
 case, ' Why am I obliged to ke'ep my word ?' The answer 
 accords with the above erplanation ; — Because I am urged to 
 do so by a violent motive (namely, the rewards and punish- 
 ments of a future life), resulting from the command of God. 
 Private happiness is the motive, the will of God the rule. 
 [Although not brought out in the present connexion, it is 
 implied that the wiU of God intends the happiness of man- 
 kind, and is to be interpreted accordingly.] 
 
 Previously, when reasoning on the means of human happi- 
 ness, he declared it to be an established conclusion, that virtue 
 leads to happiness, even in this life ; now he bases his own 
 theory on the uncertainty of that conclusion. His words are, 
 ' They who would establish a system of morality, independent of 
 a future state, must look out for some other idea of moral obli- 
 gation, unless they can show that virtue conducts the possessor 
 to certain happiness in this life, or to a much greater share of 
 it than he could attain by a different behaviour.' He does 
 not make the obvious remark that hwrnan authority, as far as 
 it goes, is also a source of obligation ; -it works by the very 
 same class of means as the divine authority. 
 
 He next proceeds to enquire into the means of determining 
 the Will of God. There are two sources — the express declara- 
 tions of Scripture, when they are to be had ; and the design 
 impressed on the world, in other words, the light of nature. 
 This last source requires him, on his system, to establish the 
 Divine Benevolence ; and he arrives at the conclusion that 
 God wills and wishes the happiness of his creatures, and 
 accordingly, that the method of coming at his will concerning 
 any action is to enquire into the tendency of that action to 
 promote or to diminish the general happiness. • 
 
 _ He then discusses UiCLrrr, with a view of answering the 
 objection that actions may be useful, and yet such as no man 
 wiU allow to be right. This leads him to distinguish between 
 
GENERA! KULES. 657 
 
 the TpwrUcular and the general consequences of actions, and to 
 enforce the necessity of Genbeal Eulbs. An assassin, by- 
 knocking a rich villaia on the head, may do immediate and 
 particular good ; but the liberty granted to individuals to kill 
 whoever they should deem injurious to society, would render 
 human life unsafe, and induce universal terror. ' "Whatever 
 is expedient is right,' but then it must be expedient on 
 the whole, in the long run, in aU its effects collateral and 
 reiliote, as well as immediate and direct. When the 
 honestwm is opposed to the utile, the Jionestv/m means the 
 general and remote consequences, the utile the particuJar and 
 the near. 
 
 The concluding sections of Book II. are occupied with the 
 consideration of Right and Rights. A Right is of course 
 correlative with an Obligation. Rights are Natural or Adven- 
 titious ; Alienable or Inalienable ; Perfect or Imperfect. The 
 only one of these distinctions having any Ethical application 
 is Perfect and Imperfect. The Perfect Eights are, the Imper- 
 fect are not, enforced by Law. 
 
 Under the ' general Rights of mankind,' he has a discus- 
 sion as to our right to the flesh of animals, and contends that 
 it would be difficult to defend this right by any arguments 
 drawn from the light of nature, and that it reposes on the 
 text of Genesis ix. 1; 2, 3. 
 
 As regards the chief bulk of Paley's work, it is necessary 
 only to indicate his scheme of the Duties, and his manner of 
 treating them. 
 
 Book III. considers Rblative Ditties. There are three 
 classes of these. First, Relative Duties that are Determinate, 
 meaning all those that are strictly defined and enforced ; those 
 growing out of Promises, Contracts, Oaths, and Subscriptions 
 to Articles of Eeligion. Secondly, Relative Duties that are 
 Indeterminate, as Charity, in its various aspects of treatment 
 of dependents, assistance to the needy, &c. ; the checks on 
 Anger and Eevenge ; Gratitude, &c. Thirdly, the Eelative 
 Duties growing owt of the Sexes. 
 
 Book rV. is Duties to Oueselves, and treats of Self- 
 defence, Drunkenness, and Suicide. 
 
 Book V. comprises Duties towards God. 
 
 Book yi. is occupied with Politics and Political Economy. 
 It discusses the Origin of Civil Government, the Duty of 
 Submission to Government, Liberty, the Forms of Govern- 
 ment, the British Constitution, the Administration of Justice, 
 
 &XS. 
 
 42 
 
658 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PALET. 
 
 The Ethical Theory of Paley may be briefly resumed 
 thllS: — 
 
 I. — The Ethical Standard with him is the oonjoined 
 reference to the Will of the Deity, and to Utility, or Human 
 Happiness. He is unable to construct a scheme applicable to 
 mankind generally, until they are first converted to a belief 
 in Bevelation. 
 
 II. — The Psychology implied in his system involTes his 
 most characteristic features. 
 
 1. He is unmistakeable in repudiating Innate Moral Dis- 
 tinctions, and on this point, and on this only, is he thoroughly 
 at one with the Utilitariaiis of the present day. 
 
 2. On the Theory of Will he has no remarks. He has 
 an utter distaste for anything metaphysical. 
 
 3. He does not discuss Disinterested Sentiment ; by im- 
 plication, he denies it. ' Without the expectation of a future 
 existence,' he says, ' all reasoning upon moral questions is 
 vain.' He cannot, of course, leave out aU reference to gene- 
 rosity. TJnder ' Pecuniary Bounty ' he makes this remark — 
 ' They who rank pity amongst the original iii^ulses of our 
 nature, rightly contend, that when this principle prompts us 
 to the relief of human misery, it indicates the Divine intention 
 and our duty. Whether it be an instinct or a habit (?), it is, 
 in fact, a property of our nature, which God appointed, &c.' 
 This is his first argument for charity ; the second is derived 
 from the original title of mankind, granted by the Deity, to 
 hold the earth in common; and the third is the strong 
 injunctions of Scripture on this head. He cannot, it seems, 
 trust human nature with a single charitable act apart from 
 the intervention of the Deity. 
 
 HI. — He has an explicit scheme of Happiness. 
 
 IV. — The Substance of his Moral Code is distinguished 
 from the current opinions chiefly by his well-known views on 
 Subscription to Articles. He cannot conceive how, looking 
 to the incurable diversity of human opinion on all matters 
 short of demonstration, the legislature could expect the per- 
 petual consent of a body of ten thousand men, not to one 
 controverted proposition, but to many hundreds. 
 
 His inducements to the performance of duty ai'e, as we should 
 expect, a mixed reference to Public Utility and to Scripture. 
 
 In the Indeterminate Duties, where men are urged by 
 moral considerations, to the exclusion of legal compulsion, he 
 sometimes appeals directly to our generous sympathies, as well 
 as to self-interest, but usually ends with the Scripture authority. 
 
PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY. 659 
 
 V. — The relation of Ethics to Politics is not a prominent 
 feature in Paley. He makes moral rules repose finally, not 
 upon human, but upon Divine Law. Hence (VI.) the con- 
 nexion of his system with Theology is fundamental. 
 
 JEEEMY BENTHAM. [1748-1832.] 
 
 The Ethical System of Jeremy Bentham is given in his 
 work, entitled ' An Introduction to the Principles of Morals 
 and Legislation,' first published in 1789. In a posthumous 
 work, entitled'Deontology,' his principles were farther illus- 
 trated, chiefly with reference to the minor morals and amiable 
 virtues. 
 
 It is the first-named work that we shall here chiefly 
 notice. In it, the author has principally in view Legislation ; 
 but the same common basis, UtiHty, serves, in his judgment, 
 for Ethics, or Morals. 
 
 The first chapter, entitled ' The Peinciple of Utility,' 
 begins thus : — ' Nature has placed mankind under the gover- 
 nance of two sovereign masters, ipavn and pleasure. . It is for 
 them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to 
 determine what we shall do. On the one hand, the standard 
 of right and wrong ; on the other, the chain of causes and 
 efiects, are fastened to their throne. They govern us in all 
 we do, in all we say, in all we think ; every efibrt we can 
 make to throw off our subjection will serve but to demonstrate 
 and confirm it In words a man may pretend to abjure their 
 empire, but in reality he will remain subject to it all the 
 while. The principle of utility recognizes this subjection, and 
 assumes it for the foundation of that system, the object of 
 which is to rear the fabric of felicity by the hand of reason 
 and of law. Systems which attempt to question it, deal in 
 sounds instead of sense, in caprice instead of reason, in dark- 
 ness instead of Ught.' 
 
 He defines tftility in various phrases, all coming to the 
 same thing : — the tendency of actions to promote the happi- 
 ness, and to prevent the misery, of the party under considera- 
 tion, which party is usually the community where one's lot is 
 cast. Of this principle no proof can be offered ; it is the final 
 axiom, on which alone we can found all arguments of a moral 
 kind. He that attempts to combat it, usually assumes it, un- 
 awares. An opponent is challenged to say — (1) if he discards 
 it wholly ; (2) tf he will act without any principle, or if there 
 is any other that he would judge by; (3) if that other be 
 really and distinctly separate from utility ; (4) if he is inclined 
 
660 ETHICAL SYSTEMS -tBENTHAM. 
 
 to set np his own approbation or disapprobation- as the rule ; 
 and if so, whether he will force that upon others, or allow each 
 person to do ±he same ; (5) in the first case, if his principle is 
 not despotioal; (6) in the second case, whether it is not 
 anarchical; (7) supposing him to add the plea of reflection, 
 let him say if the basis of his reflections excludes utility ; (8) 
 if he means to compound the- matter, and take utility for.pa,rt ; 
 and if so, for what partv (-9) why he goes so, far, with Utility, 
 and no farther ; (10) on .what other principle a meaning can 
 be attached to the words motive and right. 
 
 In Chapter .IL, Bentham discusses the Principles adverse 
 TO Utility. He conceives two opposing grounds. The first 
 mode of opposition is direct and constant, as exemplified in 
 Asceticism. A second mode may be only occasional, as in 
 what he terms the principle ■ of Sympathy and Antipathy 
 (Liking and Disliking). 
 
 The principle of Asceticism means the approval of an 
 action according to its tendency to diminish happiness, or 
 obversely. Any one reprobating in any shape, pleasure as 
 such, is a partisan of this principle. Asceticism has been 
 adopted, on the one hand, by certain moralists, from the spur 
 of philosophic pride ; and on the other hand, by certain re- 
 ligionists, under the impulse of fear. It has been much less 
 admitted into Legislation than into Morals, It may have 
 originated, in the first instance, with hasty speculators, look- 
 ing at the pains attending certain pleasures in the long -run, 
 and pushing the abstinence from such pleasures (justified to a 
 certain length, on prudential grounds) so far as to fall in ,love 
 with pain. 
 
 The other principle. Sympathy and Antipathy, means the 
 unreasoning approbation or disapprobation of the individual 
 mind, where, fancy, caprice, accidental liking or disliking, may 
 mix with a regard to human happiness. This is. properly the 
 negation of a principle. "What we expect to find in a principle 
 is some exteirnal consideration, warranting and guiding our 
 sentiments of approbation and disapprobation.; a basis that all 
 are agreed upon. 
 
 It is under this head that Bentham rapidly surveys and 
 dismisses all the current theories of Right and Wrong. 
 They consist all of them, he says, in so many contrivances for 
 avoiding an appeal to any external standard, and for requiring 
 us to accept the author's sentiment or opinion as a reason for 
 itself. The dictates of this principle, however, will often 
 ■unintentionally coincide with utility ; for what more natural 
 
THE SANCTIONS. 661 
 
 ground of hatred to a practice can there be than its mis- 
 chievous tendency ? The things that men suffer by, they 
 will be disposed to ■ hate. Still, it- ii not constant in its 
 operation-; for people, may ascribe the suffering to the wrong 
 cause. The principle is most liable to err on the side of 
 severity; differences of taste and of opinion, are sufficient 
 grounds for quarrel and resentment. It will err on the side 
 of lenity, when a> mischief is remote and imperceptible.- 
 
 The author reserves a distinct handling for the Theological 
 principle ; alleging that it falls under one or other of the three 
 foregoing. The Will of God must mean his will as revealed 
 in the sacred writings,, which, as the labours of divines testify, 
 themselves stand in need of interpretation. What is meant, 
 in fact, is the jpresumptive will of- God ; that is, what is pre- 
 sumed to be his will on account of its conformity with another 
 principle. - We are pretty sure that what is right is conformable 
 to his will, but then this requires us first to know what is right. 
 The usual mode of. knowing God's pleasure (he remarks) is to 
 observe what is our own pleasure, and pronounce that to be his. 
 
 Chapter III. — On Foue Sanctions or Soueces of Pain and 
 Pleasdee whereby men are stimulated to act right; they 
 are termed, physical, political, moral, and religious.-. These are 
 the Sanctions of. Right.. 
 
 The pJiysical sanction- includes the pleasures and pains 
 arising in the ordinary course of nature, unmodified by the 
 will of any human being, or of any supernatural, being. 
 
 The political sanction is what emanates from the sovereign 
 or supreme ruling power of the state. Tie punishments of 
 the Law come under this head. 
 
 The moral or popular sanction results from the action of 
 the community, or of the individuals that each person comes in 
 contact with, acting without any settled or concerted rule. 
 It corresponds to public opinion, and extends in its operation 
 beyond the sphere of the law. 
 
 The religious sanction proceeds from the immediate hand 
 of a superior invisible being, either in the present, or in a 
 future life. 
 
 The name Punishment is applicable only to the three last. 
 The suffering that befalls a man in the course of nature is 
 termed a calamity ; if it happen through imprudence on his 
 part, it may be styled a punishment issuing from the physical 
 sanction. 
 
 Chapter IV. is the Value of a lot op Pleasdee or Pain, 
 HOW TO BE Measueed. A pleasure or a pain is determined to 
 
662 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^BENTHAM. 
 
 be greater or less according to (1) its intensity, (2) its dura- 
 tion, (3) its certainty or wnoertainty, (4) its propinqtiHy or 
 remoteness; all which are obvious di^inotions. To these are 
 to be added (6) its feevmMy, or the chance it has of being 
 followed by other sensations of its own kind ; that is pleasures 
 if it be pleasure, pains if it be pain. Finally (6) its purity, or 
 the chance of its being unmixed with the opposite kind ; a 
 pure pleasure has no mixture of pain. All the six properties 
 apply to the case of an individual person ; where a plurality are 
 concerned, a new item is present, (7) the extent, or the number 
 of persons affected. These properties exhaust the meaning of 
 the terms expressing good and evil ; on the one side, happi- 
 ness, oonveniencoj advantage, benefit, emolument, profit, 
 &o. ; and, on the other, unhappiness, inconvenience, disad- 
 vantage, loss, mischief, and the like. 
 
 Next follows, in Chapter V., a classified enumeration of 
 Pleasures and Pains. In a system undertaking to base all 
 Moral and Political action on the production of happiness, 
 such a classification is obviously required. The author pro- 
 fesses to have grounded it on an analysis of human nature, 
 which analysis itself, however, as being too metaphysical, he 
 withholds. 
 
 The simple pleasures are : — 1. The pleasures of sense. 
 2. The pleasures of wealth. 3. The pleasures of sldll. 4. The 
 pleasures of amity. 5. The pleasures of a good name. 6. The 
 pleasures of power. 7. The pleasures of piety. 8. The plea- 
 sures of benevolence. 9. The pleasures of malevolence. 
 10. The pleasures of memory. 11. The pleasures of imagi- 
 nation. 12. The pleasures of expectation. 13. The pleasures 
 dependent on association. 14. The pleasures of relief 
 
 The simple pains are : — ] . The pains of privfCtion. 2. The 
 pains of the senses. 3. The pains of awkwardness. 4. The 
 pains of enmity. 5. The pains of an ill name. 6. The pains 
 of piety. 7. The pains of benevolence. 8. The pains of male- 
 volence. 9. The pains of the memory. 10. The pains of the 
 imagination. 11. The pains of expectation. 12. The pains 
 dependent on association. 
 
 We need not quote his detailed subdivision and illustration 
 of these. At the close, he marks the important difference 
 between self-regarding and extra-regarding ; the la;St being 
 those of benevolence and of malevolence. 
 
 In a long chapter (VI.), he dwells on CiEcnMSTANCES INPLIT- 
 ENCiNG Sensibility. They are such as the following: — 1. 
 Health. 2. Strength. 3. Hardiness. 4. Bodily imperfection. 
 
PLEASUEES AND PAINS. — MOTIVES. 663 
 
 5. Quanljty and Qtiality of knowledge. 6. Strength of intel- 
 lectual powers. 7. Mrmness of mind. 8. Steadiness of 
 mind. 9. Bent of inclination. 10. Moral sensibility. 11. 
 Moral biases. 12. Religious Sensibility. 13. Religious 
 biases. 14. Sympathetic Sensibility. 15. Sympathetic biases. 
 16. Antipathetic sensibility. 17. Antipathetic biases. 18. 
 Insanity. 19. Habitual occupationB. '"SO. Pecuniary ciroum- 
 stances. 21. Connexions in the way of sympathy. 22. 
 Connexions in the way of antipathy. 23. Radical frame of 
 body. 24. Radical frame of mind. 25. Sex. 26. Age. 27. 
 Rank. 28. Education. 29. Climate. 30. Lineage. 31. 
 Government. 32. Religious profession. 
 
 Chapter VII. proceeds to consider Human Actions in 
 GENERAL. Right and wrong, good and evil, merit and demerit 
 belong to actions. These have to be divided and classified 
 with a view to the ends of the moralist and the legislator. 
 Throughout this, and two other long chapters, he discusses, as 
 necessary in apportioning punishment, the arf itself, the cireum- 
 stanees, the intenUon, and the eonseiousness — or the knowledge 
 of the tendencies of the act. He introduces many subdivisions 
 under each head, and makes a number of remarks of import- 
 ance as regards penal legislation. 
 
 In Chapter X., he regards pleasures and pains in the 
 aspect of Motives. Since every pleasure and every pain, as 
 a part of their nature, induce actions, they are often de- 
 signated with reference to that circumstance. Hunger, thirst, 
 lust, avarice, curiosity, ambition, &c., are names of this class. 
 There is not a complete set of such designations ; hence the 
 use of the circumlocutions, appetite for, love of, desire of — sweet 
 odours, sounds, sights, ease, reputation, &o. 
 
 Of great importance is the Order of pre-eminence a/mong 
 motives. Of all the varieties of motives, Good-will, or Bene- 
 volence, taken in a general view, is that whose dictates are 
 surest to coincide with Utility. In this, however, it is taken 
 for granted that the benevolence is not so confined in its 
 sphere, as to be contradicted by a more extensive, or enlarged, 
 benevolence. 
 
 After good-will, the motive that has the best chance of 
 coinciding with Utility,is Love of Reputation. The coincidence 
 would be perfect, if men's likings and dislikings were governed 
 exclusively by the principle of Utility, and not, as they often 
 are, by the hostile principles of Asceticism, and of Sympathy 
 and Antipathy. Love of reputation is inferior as a motive to 
 Good-will, in not governing the secret actions. These last 
 
664 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BENTHAM. 
 
 are affected, only as they have a chance of becoming public, 
 or as men contract a habit of looking to public approbation in 
 all they do. 
 
 The desire of Amity, or of close personal affections, is 
 placed next in order, as a motive. According as we extend 
 the number of persons whose amity we desire, this prompting 
 approximates to the love of reputation. 
 
 After these three motives, Bentham places the Dictates of 
 Religion, which, however, are so various in their suggestions, 
 that he can hardly speak of them in common. Were the 
 Being, who is the object of religion, universally supposed to- 
 be as benetolent as he is supposed to be wise and powerful, and 
 were the notions of his benevolence as correct as the notions 
 of bis wisdom and power, the dictates of religion., would 
 correspond, in all cases, with Utility. But while men call 
 him benevolent in words, they seldom mean that he is so in 
 realiiy. They do not mean that he is benevolent as man is 
 conceived to be benevolent; they do not mean that he is 
 benevolent in the only sense that benevolence has a meaning. 
 The dictates of religion are in all countries intermixed, more 
 or less, with dictates unconformable to utility, deduced &om 
 texts, well or ill interpreted, of the writings held for sacred 
 by each sect. These dictates, however, gradually approach 
 nearer to utiUly, because the dictates of the moral sanction 
 do so. 
 
 Such are the four Social or Tutelary Motives, the anta- 
 gonists of the Dissocial and Self-regarding motives, which 
 include the remainder of the catalogue. 
 
 Chapter XI. is on Dispositions. A man is said to be of a 
 mischievous disposition, when he is presumed to be apt to 
 engage rather in actions of an apparently pernicious tendency, 
 than in such as are apparently beneficial. The author lays 
 down certain B/ules for indicating Disposition. Thus, ' The 
 strength of the temptation being given, the noiscMevousness 
 of the disposition manifested by the enterprise, is as the 
 apparent mischievousness of the act,' and others to a like 
 effect. 
 
 Chapter XII. — Op the consequences of a mischievous 
 ACT, is meant as the concluding link of the whole previous 
 chain of causes and effects. He defines the shapes that 
 bad consequences may assume. The mischief may be 
 primiM-y, as when sustained by a definite number of indi- 
 viduals ; or seconda/ry, by extending over a multitude of un- 
 assignable individuals. The evil in this last case may be 
 
PEIVATE ETHICS — DUTIES TO OURSELVES. 665 
 
 either actual pain, or danger, which, is the chance of pain. 
 Thus, a successful robbery affects, primarily, a number of 
 assignable persons, and secondarily, all persons in a like 
 situation of risk. 
 
 He then proceeds to the theory of Punishment (XIII., 
 XrV., XV.), to the classification of Opmnces (XVI.), and to 
 the Limits of the Penal Branch of Jurisprudence (XVII.). 
 The two first subjects — Punishments and Offences — are inter- 
 esting chiefly in regard to Legislation. They have also a 
 bearing on Morals ; inasmuch as society, in its private adminis- 
 tration of punishments, ought, no less thau the Legislator, to 
 be guided by sound scientific principles. 
 
 As respects Punishment, he marks off (1) cases where it is 
 groundless ; (2) where it is mefficaoious, as in Infancy, Insanity, 
 Intoxication, &c.; (3) cases where it is unprofitable; and (4) 
 cases where it is needless. It is under this last herd that he 
 excludes from punishment the dissemination of what may be 
 deemed pernicious principles. Punishment is needless here, 
 because the end can be served by reply and exposure. 
 
 The first part of Chapter XVII. is entitled the ' Limits 
 between Private Ethics and the Art of Legislation ;' and a 
 short account of it will complete the view of the author's 
 Ethical Theory. 
 
 Ethics at large, is defined the art of directing men's actions 
 to the production of the greatest possible quantity of happi- 
 ness, on the part of those whose interest is in view. Now, 
 these actions may be a man's own actions, in which case they 
 are styled the art of self-government, or primate ethics. Or they 
 may be the actions of other agents, namely, (1) Other human 
 beings, and (2) Other Animals, whose interests Bentham con- 
 siders to have been disgracefully overlooked by jurists as well 
 as by mankind generally. 
 
 In so far as a man's happiness depends on his own con- 
 duct, he may be said to owe a duty to himself ; the quality 
 manifested in discharge of this branch of duty (if duty it is to 
 be called) is prudence. In so far as he affects by his conduct 
 the interests of those about him, he is under a duty to others. 
 The happiness of others may be consulted in two ways. Firsi^ 
 negatively, by forbearing to diminish it ; this is called 
 PBOBITT. Secondly, in a positive way, by studying to increase 
 it ; which is expressed by BENEnCBNCE. 
 
 But now the question occurs, how is it that under Private 
 Ethics (or apart from legislation and religion) a man can be 
 under a motive to consult other people's happiness ? By what 
 
666 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^BENTHAM. 
 
 obligations can he be bound to prdbiiy and ienefioence? A 
 man can have no adequate motives for consulting any interests 
 bat his own. Still there are motives for makmg us consult 
 the happiness of others, namely, the purely social motive of 
 Sympathy or Benevolence, and the semi-social motives of Love 
 of Amity and Love of Bieputation. [He does not say here 
 whether Sympathy is a motive grounded on the pleasure it 
 brings, or a motive irrespective of the pleasure ; although from 
 other places we may infer that he inclines to the first view.] ' 
 
 Private Ethics and Legislation can have but the same end, 
 happiness. Their means, the actions prompted, must be 
 nearly the same. StiU they are different. There is no case 
 where a man ought not to be guided by his own, or his fellow- 
 creatures', happiness; but there are many cases where the 
 legislature should not compel a man to perform such actions. 
 The reason is that the Legislature works solely by Punish- 
 ment (reward is seldom applied, and is not properly an act of 
 legislation). Now, there are cases where the punishment of 
 the political sanction ought not to be used ; and if, in any of 
 these cases, there is a propriety of using the punishments of 
 private ethics (the moral or social sanction), this circumstance 
 would indicate the line of division. 
 
 First, then, as to the cases where punishment would be 
 groundless. In such cases, neither legislation nor private 
 ethics should interfere. 
 
 Secondly. As to cases where it would be mefficaeious, where 
 punishment has no deterring motive power, — as in Lifancy, 
 Insanity, overwhelming danger, &c., — the public and the pri- 
 vate sanctions are aJso alike excluded. 
 
 Thirdly. It is in the cases where Legislative punishment 
 would be wnprofitable, that we have the great field of Private 
 Ethics. Punishment is unprofitable in two ways. First, 
 when the danger of detection is so small, that nothing but 
 enormous severity, on detection, would be of avail, as in the 
 illicit commerce of the sexes, which has generally gone un- 
 punished by law. Secondly, when there is danger of in- 
 volving the innocent with the guilty, from inability to define 
 the crime in precise language. Hence it is that rude be- 
 haviour, treachery, and ingratitude are not punished by law ; 
 and that ia countries where the voice of the people controls 
 the hand of the legislature, there is a great dread of making 
 defamation., especially of the government, an offence at law. 
 
 Private Ethics is not liable to the same difficulties as 
 Legislation in dealing with such offences. 
 
PROVINCE OF LEGISLATION. 667 
 
 Of the three departments of Moral Duty — Prudence, 
 Probity, and Beneficence — the one that least requires and 
 admits of being enforced by legislative punishment is the 
 first — Prudence. It can only be through some defect of the 
 understanding, if people are wanting in duty to themselves. 
 Now, although a man may know little of himself, is it 
 certain the legislator knows more ? Would it be possible to 
 extirpate drimkenness or fornication by legal punishment? 
 All that can be done in this field is to subject the offences, in 
 cases of notoriety, to a slight censure, so as to cover them 
 with a slight shade of artificial disrepute, and thus give 
 strength and influence to the moral sanction. 
 
 Legislators have, in general, carried their interference too 
 far in this class of duties ; and the mischief has been most 
 conspicuous in religion. Men, it is supposed, are liable to 
 errors of judgment; and for these it is the determination of a 
 Being of infinite benevolence to punish them with an infinity 
 of torments. The legislator, having by his side men perfectly 
 enlightened, unfettered, and unbiassed, presumes that he has 
 attained by their means the exact truth ; and so, when he sees 
 his people ready to plunge headlong into an abyss of fire, shall 
 he not stretch forth his hand to save them ? 
 
 The second class of duties — the rules of Probity, stand 
 most in need of the assistance of the legislator. There are 
 few cases where it would be expedient to punish a man for 
 hurting himself, and few where it would not be expedient to 
 punish a man for hurting his neighbour. As regards ofiences 
 against property, private ethics presupposes legislation, which 
 alone can detentiine what things are to be regarded as each 
 man's property. If private ethics takes a difierent view from 
 the legislature, it must of course act on its own views. 
 
 The third class of duties — Beneficence — must be aban- 
 doned to the jurisdiction of private ethics. In many cases 
 the beneficial quality of an act depends upon the disposition 
 of the agent, or the possession by him of the extra-regarding 
 m,otives — sympathy, amity, and reputation ; whereas political 
 action can work only through the self-regarding motives. In 
 a word these duties must be free or vohmtary. Still, the limits 
 of law on this head might be somewhat extended ; in particular, 
 where a man's person is in danger, it. might be made the duty 
 of every one to save him from mischief, no less than to ab- 
 stain from bringing it on him. 
 
 To resume file Ethics of Bentham. L — The Standard or 
 End of Morality is the production of Happiness, or Utility. 
 
668 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— BENTHAM. 
 
 Bentham is thus at one in his first principle with Hame and 
 with Paley ; his peculiarity is to make it frnitfiil in numerous 
 applications both to legislation and to morals. He carries 
 out the principle with an unflinching rigour, and a logical 
 force pecnUarly his own. 
 
 n. — His Psychological Analysis is. also studied and 
 thorough-going. 
 
 He is the first person to provide a classification of plea- 
 sures and pains, as an indispensable preliminary alike to 
 morals and to legislation. The ethical applications of these 
 are of less importance than the legislative ; they have a direct 
 and practical bearing upon the theory of Punishment. 
 
 He lays down, as the constituents of the Moral Faculty, 
 Good-will or Benevolence, the love of Amity, the love of 
 Reputation, and the dictates of Religion — with a view to the 
 Happiness of others ; and Prudence — with a view to our own 
 happiness. He gives no special account of the acquired senti- 
 ment of Obligation or Authority — the characteristic of Con- 
 science, as distinguished from other impulses having a 
 tendency to the good of others or of self And yet it is the 
 peculiarity of his system to identify morality with law ; so 
 that there is only one step to connecting conscience with our 
 education under the difierent sanctions — legal and ethical. 
 
 He would of course give a large place to the Intellect or 
 Reason in making up the Moral Faculty, seeing that the con- 
 sequences of actions have to be estimated or judged ; but he 
 woidd regard this as merely co-operating with our sensibiUties 
 to pleasure and pain. 
 
 The Disinterested Sentiment is not regarded by Bentham 
 as arising from any disposition to pure self-sacrifice. He 
 recognizes Pleasures of Benevolence and Fains of Benevolence ; 
 thus constituting a purely interested motive for doing good to 
 others. He describes certain pleasures of Imagination or 
 Sympathy arising through Association — the idea of pleniy, 
 the idea of the happiness of animals, the idea of health, the 
 idea of gratitude. Under the head of Circumstances influencing 
 Sensibility, he adverts to Sympathetic SensibilHy, as being the 
 propensity to Aeri-vei pleasure from the ha/ppiness, and pain, from 
 the unhappiness, of other sensitive beimgs. It cannot but be ad- 
 mitted, he says, that the only interest that a man at all 
 times, and on all occasions, is sure to find adequate motives for 
 consulting, is his own. He has no metaphysics of the WiU. 
 He uses the terms ^ee and voVumiary only with reference to spon- 
 taneous beneficence, as opposed to the compulsion of the law. 
 
SUMMARY. 669 
 
 ni. — As regards Happiness, or the Samnmm Bonum, he 
 presents his scientific classification of Pleasures and Pains, 
 without, however, indicating any plan of life, for attaining the 
 one and avoiding the other in the best manner. He makes no 
 distinction among pleasures and pains excepting what strictly 
 concerns their value as such — intensity, duration, certainiy, 
 and nearness. He makes happiness to mean only the presence 
 of pleasure and the absence of pain. The renunciation of 
 pleasure for any other motive than to procure a greater plea- 
 sure, or avoid a greater pain, he, disapprovingly, terms 
 asceticism. 
 
 IV. — It being the essence of his system to consider Ethics 
 as a Code of Laws directed by Utility, and he being himself 
 a law reformer on the greatest scale, we might expect from 
 him suggestions for the improvement of Ethics, as well as for 
 Legislation and Jurisprudence. His inclusion of the interests 
 of the lower animals has been mentioned. He also contends for 
 the partly legislative and partly ethical innovation of Freedom 
 of Divorce. 
 
 The. inducements to morality are ■ the motives assigned as 
 working in its favour. 
 
 V. — The connexions of Ethics with PoUtics, the points of 
 agreement and the points of difference of the two departments, 
 are signified with unprecedented care and precision (Chap. 
 XVIL). 
 
 VI. — As regards the connexions with Theology, he gives 
 no uncertain sound. It is on this point that he stands in 
 marked contrast to Paley, who also professes Utility as his 
 ethical foundation. 
 
 He recognizes religion as furnishing one of the Sanctions 
 of morality, although often perverted into the enemy of 
 utility. He considers that the state may regard as offences 
 any acts that tend to diminish or misapply the influence of 
 rehgion as a motive to civil obedience. 
 
 While Paley makes a conjoined reference to Scripture and 
 to Utility in ascertaining moral rules, Bentham insists on 
 Utility alone as the final appeal. He does not doubt that if 
 we had a clear unambiguous statement of the divine wUl, we 
 should have a revelation of what is for human happiness ; but 
 he distrusts all interpretations of scripture, unless they coin- 
 cide with a perfectly independent scientific investigation of 
 the consequences of actions. 
 
670 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MACKINTOSH. 
 
 SIE JAMES MACKINTOSH. [1765-1832.] 
 
 la the ' Dissertation on the progress of Ethical Philosophy 
 chiefly dnring the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centnries,' 
 Mackintosh advocates a distinct Ethical theory. His views 
 and arguments oocnr partly in the coarse of his criticism of 
 the other moralists, and partly in his concluding General 
 Eemarks (Section VII.). 
 
 In Section I., entitled Pijeliminaet Obseevations, he_ re- 
 marks on the universality of the distinction between Bight 
 and Wrong. On no subject do men, ia all ages, coincide on 
 80 many points as on the general rules of conduct, and the 
 estimable qualities of character. Even the grossest deviations 
 may be explained by ignorance of facts, by errors with respect to 
 the consequences of actions, or by inconsistency with admitted 
 piiaciples. In tribes where new-bom infants are exposed, 
 the abandonment of parents is condemned ; the betrayal and 
 murder of strangers is conderoned by the very rules of faith 
 and humanity, acknowledged in the case of countrymen. 
 
 He complains that, in the enquiry as to the foxmdation of 
 morals, the two distinct questions — as to the Standard and the 
 Faculty — have seldom been folly discriminated. Thus, Paley 
 opposes Utility to a Moral Sense, not perceiving that the 
 two terms relate to diflferent subjects ; and Bentham repeats 
 the mistake. It is possible to represent Utility as the oritsnon 
 of Bight, and a Moral Sense as the faculty. In another place, 
 he remarks that the schoolmen failed to draw the distinction. 
 
 In Section V., entitled ' Controversies concerning the 
 Moral Faculty and the Social Affections,' and including the 
 Ethical theories coming between Hobbes and Butler, namely, 
 Cumberland, Cudworth, Clarke, &c., he gives his objections 
 to the scheme that founds moral distinctions solely on the 
 Reason. Reason, as such, can never be a motive to action ; 
 an argument to dissuade a man from dronkenness must appeal 
 to the pains of ill-health, poverty, and infamy, that is, to 
 Peelings. The influence of Reason is indirect ; it is merely a 
 channel whereby the objects of desire are brought into view, 
 so as to operate on the WiU. 
 
 The abused extension of the term Reason to the moral 
 faculties, he ascribes to the obvious importance of Reason in 
 choosing the means of action, as well as in balancing the ends, 
 during which operation the feelings are suspended, delayed, 
 and poised in a way favourable to our lasting interests. Hence 
 the antithesis of Reason and Passion. 
 
IMPORTANCE OF VIRTUOUS DISPOSITIONS. 671 
 
 In remarking upon Leibnitz's view of Disinterested Senti- 
 ment, and the coincidence of Virtue with Happiness, he sketches 
 his own opinion, which is that although every virtuous aci 
 may not lead to the greater happiness of the ageut^ yet the 
 dAspodtion to virtuous acts, in its intrinsic pleasures, for out- 
 weighs all the pains of self-sacrifice that it can ever occasion. 
 ' The whole sagacity and ingenuity of the world may be fairly 
 challenged to point out a case in which virtuous dispositions, 
 habits, and feelings are not conducive in the highest degree 
 to the happiness of the individual ; or to maintain that he is 
 not the happiest, whose moral sentiments and affections are 
 such as to prevent the possibility of any unlawfol advantage 
 being presented to his mind.' 
 
 Section VI. is entitled 'Foundations of a more Just Theory 
 of Ethics,' and embraces a review of all the Ethical writers, 
 from Butler downwards. The most palpable defect in Butler's 
 scheme, is that it affords no answer to the question, ' What is 
 the distinguishing quality of right actions ? ' in other words, 
 What is the Standard ? There is a vicious circle in answering 
 that they are commanded "by Conscience, for Conscience 
 itself can be no otherwise defined than as the faculty that 
 approves and commands right actions. Still, he gives warm 
 commendation to Butler generally ; in connexion with him he 
 takes occasion to give some farther hints as to his own opinions. 
 Two positions are here advanced : 1st, The moral sentiments, 
 in their mature state, are a class of feelings with no other 
 objects than the dispositions to voluntary actions, and (he tictions 
 flowing from these dispositions. We approve some dispositions 
 and actions, and disapprove others ; we desire to cultivate 
 them, and we aim at them for something in, themselves. This 
 position receives light from the doctrine above quoted as to 
 the supreme happiness of virtuous dispositions. His second 
 position is that Conscience is an aequired principle ; which he 
 repeats and unfolds in subsequent places. 
 
 He finds fault with Hume for ascribing Virtue to qualities 
 of the Understanding, and considers that this is to confound 
 admiration with moral approbation. Hume's general Ethical 
 doctrine, that Utility is a uniform ground of moral distinc- 
 tion, he says can never be impugned until some example be 
 produced of a virtue generally pernicious, or a vice gener- 
 ally beneficial. But as to the theory of moral approbation, 
 or the nature of the Faculty, he considers that Hume's 
 doctrine of Benevolence (or, still better. Sympathy) does not 
 account for our approbation of temperance and fortitude, 
 
672 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— MACKINTOSH. 
 
 nor for the sv^emacy of the Moral raonlty over all other 
 motives. 
 
 He objects to the theoiy of Adam Smith, that no allowance 
 is made in. it for the transfer of onr feelings, and the disap- 
 pearing of the original reference from the view. Granting 
 that our approbation began in sympathy, as Smith says, cer- 
 tain it is, that the adult man approves actions and dispositions 
 as right, while he is distinctly aware that no process of sym- 
 pathy intervenes between the approval and its object. He 
 repeats, against Smith, the criticism on Hume, that the sym- 
 pathies have no imperaUiie character of supremacy. He further 
 remarks that the reference, in our actions, to the point of view 
 of the spectator, is rather an expedient for preserving our im- 
 partiality than a fundamental principle of Ethics. It nearly 
 coincides with .the Christian precept of doing unto others as 
 we would they should do unto us, — an admirable practical 
 maxim, but, as Leibnitz has said truly, intended only as a cor- 
 rection of self-partiality. Lastly, he objects to Smith, that 
 his system renders all morality relative to the pleaaure of onr 
 coinoidiug in feeling with others, which is merely to decide 
 on the Faculty, without considering the Standard. Smith 
 shrinks from Utility as a standard, or ascribes its power over 
 our feelings to our sense of the adaptation of means to ends. 
 
 He commends Smith for grounding Benevolence on Sym- 
 pathy, whereas Butler, Huteheson, and Hume had grounded 
 Sympathy on Benevolence. 
 
 It is in reviewing Hartley, whose distinction it was to 
 open up the wide capabilities of the principle of Association, 
 that Mackintosh develops at greatest length his theory of the 
 derived nature of Conscience. 
 
 Adverting to the usual example of the love of money, he 
 remarks that the benevolent man might begin with an in- 
 terested affection, but might end with a disinterested delight 
 in doing good. Self-love, or the principle of permanent weU- 
 being, is gradually formed from the separate appetites, and is 
 at last pursued without having them specially in view. So 
 Sympathy may perhaps be the transfer, first, of our own per- 
 sonal feelings to other beings, and next, of their feelings to 
 ourselves, thereby engendering the social affections. It is an 
 ancient and obstinate error of philosophers to regard these 
 two principles — Self-love and Sympathy — as the source of the 
 impelling passions and affections, instead of being the last 
 results of them. 
 
 The chief elementary feelings that go to constitute the 
 
ELEMENTS OF THE MORAL SENSE. 673 
 
 moral Bentiments appear to be Gratitude, Pity, Resentment, 
 and Shame. To take the example of Gratitude. Acts of 
 beneficence to ourselves give us pleasure ; we associate this 
 pleasure with the benefactor, so as to regard him with a feel- 
 ing of complacency ; and when we view other beneficent 
 beings and acts there is awakened within us our own agree- 
 able experience. The process is seen in the child, who con- 
 tracts towards the nurse or mother all the feelings of com- 
 placency arising from repeated pleasures, and extends these 
 by similarity to other resembling persons. As soon as com- 
 placency takes the form of aetion, it becomes (according to 
 the author's theory, connecting conscience with will), a part 
 of the Conscience. So much for the development of Grati- 
 tude. Next as to Pity. The likeness of the outward signs of 
 emotion makes us transfer to others our own feelings, and 
 thereby becomes, even more than gratitude, a source of bene- 
 volence ; being one of the first motives to impart the benefits 
 connected with affection. In our sympathy with the sufferer, 
 we cannot but approve the actions that relieve suffering, and 
 the dispositions that prompt them. We also enter into his 
 Resentanent, or anger towards the causes of pain, and the 
 actions and dispositions corresponding ; and this sympathetic 
 anger is at length detached from special cases and extended 
 to all wrong-doers ; and is the root of the most indispensable 
 compound of our moral faculties, the ' Sense of Justice.' 
 
 To these internal growths, from Gratitude, Pity, and Re- 
 sentment, must be added the education by means of well- 
 framed penal laws, which are the lasting declaration of the 
 moral indignation of mankind. These laws may be obeyed as 
 mere compulsory duties ; but with the generous sentiments 
 concurring, men may rise above duty to virtue, and may con- 
 tract that excellence of nature whence acts of beneficence 
 flow of their own accord. 
 
 He next explains the growth of Remorse, as another ele- 
 ment of the Moral Sense. The abhorrence that we feel for 
 bad actions is extended to the agent ; and, in spite of certain 
 obstacles to its fuU manifestation, that abhorrence is prompted 
 when the agent is self. 
 
 The theory of derivation is bound to account for the fact, 
 recognized in the language of mankind, that the Moral Faculty 
 is ONE. The principle of association would account for the 
 fusion of many different sentiments into one product, wherein 
 the component parts would cease to be discerned ; but this is 
 not enough. Why do these particular sentiments and no 
 43 
 
674 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MACKINTOSH. 
 
 others coalesce in the total — Conscience. The answer is what 
 was formerly given with reference to Bntler; namely, while 
 all other feelings relate to ontward objects, the feelings 
 brought together in conscience, contemplate exclusively the 
 dispositions and actions of voluntary agents. Conscience is thus 
 an acquired faculty, but one that is wnive/rsaUy and necessarily 
 acquired. 
 
 The derivation is farther exemplified by a comparison with 
 the feelings of Taste. These may have an original reference 
 to fitness — as in the beauty of a horse — but they do not attain 
 their proper character until the consideration of fitness dis- 
 appears. So far they resemble the moral faculty. They 
 differ from it, however, in this, that taste ends in passive con- 
 templation or quiescent delight^ conscience looks solely to the 
 acts and dispositions of voluntary agents. This is the author's 
 favourite way of expressing what is otherwise called the au- 
 thority and supremacy of conscience. 
 
 To sum up : — the principal constituents of the moral sense 
 are Gratitude, Sympathy (or PityJ, Resentment, and Shame; 
 the secondary and auxiliary causes are Education, Imitation, 
 General Opinion, Laws and Government. 
 
 In criticising Paley, he illustrates forcibly the position, 
 that Religion must pre-suppose Morality. 
 
 His criticism of Benthajn gives him an opportunity of 
 remarking on the modes of carrying into effect the principle 
 of Utility as the Standard. He repeats his favourite doctrine 
 of the inherent pleasures of a virtuous disposition, as the 
 grand circumstance rendering virtue profitable and vice un- 
 profitable. He even uses the Platonic figure, and compares 
 vice to mental distemper. It is his complaint against Bentham 
 and the later supporters of Utility, that they have mii^laced 
 the application of the principle, and have encouraged the too 
 frequent appeal to calculation in the details of conduct. 
 Hence arise sophistical evasions of moral rules ; men will slide 
 from general to particular consequences; apply the test of 
 ntility to actions and not to dispositions ; and, in short, take 
 too much upon themselves in settling questions of moral right 
 and wrong. [He might have remarked that the power of per- 
 verting the standard to individual interests is not confined to 
 the followers of Utility.] He introduces the saying attributed 
 to Andrew Fletcher, ' that he would lose his Hfe to serve his 
 country, but would not do a base thing to save it.' 
 
 He farther remarks on the tendency of Bentham and his 
 followers to treat Ethics too jimdically. He would probably 
 
UTILITY DEFENDED. 675 
 
 admit that Ethics is strictly speaking a code of laws, bat draws 
 the line between it and the juridical code, by the distinction 
 of dispositions and actions. We may have to approve the 
 author of an injurious action, because it is well-meant ; the 
 law must nevertheless punish it. Herein Ethics has its 
 alliance with Kehgion, which looks at the disposition or the 
 heart. 
 
 He is disappointed at finding that Dugald Stewart, who 
 made applications of the law of association and appreciated its 
 powers, held back from, and discountenanced, the attempt of 
 Hartley to resolve the Moral Sense, styling it ' an ingenious 
 refinement on the Selfish system,' and representing those 
 opposed to himself in Ethics as deriving the affections from 
 'self-love.' He repeats that the derivation theory afi&rms the 
 disinterestedness of human actions as strongly as Butler him- 
 self; while it gets over the objection from the multiplication 
 of original principles ; and ascribes the result to the operation 
 of a real agent. 
 
 In replying to Brown's refusal to accept the deriva- 
 tion of Conscience, on the ground that the process belongs 
 to a time beyond remembrance, he afB.rms it to be a snfiicient 
 theory, if the supposed action resembles what we know to be 
 the operation of the principle where we have direct experience 
 of it. 
 
 ' His concluding Section, VH., entitled General Remarks, 
 gives some farther explanations of his characteristic views. 
 
 He takes up the principle of UtiUty, at the point where 
 Brown bogled at it ; quoting Brown's concession, that Utility 
 and virtue are so related, that there is perhaps no action 
 generally felt to be virtuous that is not beneficial, and that 
 every case of benefit willingly done excites approbation. He 
 strikes out Brown's word ' perhaps,' as making the afiB.rmation 
 either conjectural or useless ; and contends that the two facts, — 
 morality and the general benefit, — being co-extensive, should 
 be reciprocally tests of each other. He qualifies, as usual, by 
 not allowing utility to be, on aU occasions, the immediate 
 incentive of actions. He holds, however, that the main doctrine 
 is an essential corollary from the Divine Benevolence. 
 
 He then replies specifically to the question, ' Why is utility 
 not to be the sole end present to the mind of the virtuous 
 agent ? ' The answer is found in the limits of man's faculties. 
 Every man is not always able, on the spur of the moment, to 
 calculate all the consequences of our actions. But it is not to 
 be concluded from this, that the calculation of consequences is 
 
676 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MACKINTOSH. 
 
 impracticable in moral subjects. To calculate the general 
 tendency of every sort of human action is, he contends, a pos- 
 sible, easy, and common operation. The general good effects 
 of temperance, prudence, fortitude, justice, benevolence, grati- 
 tude, veracity, fidelity, domestic and patriotic affections, may 
 be pronounced with as little error, as the best founded maxim s 
 of the ordinary business of life. 
 
 He vindicates the rules of sexual morality on the grounds 
 of benevolence. 
 
 He then discusses the question, (on which he had charged 
 Hume with mistake), ' "Why is approbation confined to volun- 
 tary acts ? ' He thinks it but a partial solution to say that 
 approbation and disapprobation are wasted on what is not in 
 the power of the will. The full solution he considers to be 
 found in the mode of derivation of the moral sentiment; 
 which, accordingly, he re-discusses at some length. He pro- 
 duces the analogies of chemistry to show that compounds 
 may be totally different fi-om their elements. He insists on 
 the fact that a derived pleasure is not the less a pleasure ; it 
 may even survive the primary pleasure. Self-love (impro- 
 perly so called) is intelligible if its origin be referred to Asso- 
 ciation, but not if it be considered as prior to the appetites 
 and passions that furnish its materials. And as the pleasure 
 derived from low objects may be transferred to the most pure, 
 so Disinterestedness may originate with self, and yet become 
 as entirely detached from that origin as if the two had never 
 been connected. 
 
 He then repeats his doctrine, that these social or dis- 
 interested sentiments prompt the will as the means of their 
 gratification. Hence, by a farther transfer of association, the 
 voluntary acts share in the delight felt in the affections that 
 determine them. We ' then desire to experience benefieeni 
 volitions, and to cultivate the dispositions to these. Such 
 dispositions are at last desired for &eir own sake ; and, when 
 so desired, constitute the Moral Sense, Conscience, or the 
 Moral Sentiment, in its consummated form. Thus, by a 
 fourth or fifth stage of derivation from the original pleasures 
 and pains of our constitution, we arrive at this highly complex 
 product, called our moral nature. 
 
 Nor is this all. "We must not look at the side of indigna- 
 tion to the wrong-doer. We are angry at those who dis- 
 appoint our wish for the happiness of others ; we make their 
 resentment our own. We hence approve of the actions and 
 dispositions for punishing such offenders; while we so far 
 
CONSCIENCE AND WILL CO-EXTENSIVE. 677 
 
 sympathize with the culprit as to disapprove of excess of 
 ptmishinent. Sach moderated anger is the sense of Justice, 
 and is a new element of Conscience. Of aU the virtues, this is 
 the one most directly aided by a conviction of general interest 
 or utility. AU laws profess it as their end. Hence the 
 importance of good criminal laws to the moral education of 
 mankind. 
 
 Among contributary streams to the moral faculty, he 
 enumerates courage, energy, and decision, properly directed. 
 
 He recognizes ' duties to ourselves,' although condemning 
 the expression as absurd. Intemperance, improvidence, 
 timidity are morally wrong. Still, as in other cases, a man 
 is not truly ■ virtuous on such points, till he loves them for 
 their own sake, and even performs them without an effort. 
 These prudential qualities having an influence on the will, 
 resemble in that the other constituents of Conscience. As 
 a final result, all those sentiments whose object is a state 
 of the wm become intimately and inseparably blended in the 
 unity of Conscience, the arbiter and judge of human actions, 
 the lawful authority over every motive to conduct. 
 
 In this grand coalition of the public and the private feel- 
 ings, he sees a decisive illustration of the reference of moral 
 sentiments to the Will. He forther recognizes in it a solution 
 of the great problem of the relation of virtue to private interest. 
 Qualities useful to ourselves are raised to the rank of virtues ; 
 and qualities useful to others are converted into pleasures. 
 In moral reasonings, we are enabled to briug home virtuous 
 inducements by the medium of self-interest ; we can assure a 
 man that by cultivating the disposition towards other men's 
 happiness he gains a source of happiness to himself. 
 
 The question. Why we do not morally approve in- 
 voluntary actions, is now answered. Conscience is associated 
 exclusively with the dispositions and actions of voluntary 
 agents. Conscience and Will are co-extensive. 
 
 A difficulty remains. ' If moral approbation involve no 
 perception of beneficial tendency, how do we make out the 
 coincidence of the two ? ' It might seem that the foundation 
 of morals is thus made to rest on a coincidence that is 
 mysterious and fantastic. According to the author, the con- 
 clusive answer is this. Although Conscience rarely con- 
 templates anything so distant as the welfare of all sentient 
 beings, yet in detail it obviously points to the production of 
 happiness. The social affections all promote happiness. 
 Every one must observe the tendency of justice to the welfare 
 
678 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MACKINTOSH. 
 
 of society. The angry passions, as ministers of morality, 
 remove hindrances to hnman welfare. The private desires 
 have respect to our own happiness. Every element of con- 
 science has thus some portion of happiness for its object. All 
 the affections contribute to the general well-being, although it 
 is not necessary, nor would it be fit, that the agent should be 
 distracted by the contemplation of that vast and remote object. 
 
 To sum up Mackintosh : — 
 
 I. — On the Standard, he pronounces for Utility, _ with 
 certain modifications and explanations. The Utility is the 
 remote and final justification of all actions accounted right, 
 but not the immediate motive in the mind of the agent. [It 
 may justly be feared, that, by placing so much stress on the 
 delights attendant on virtuous action, he gives an opening for 
 the admission of sentiment into the consideration of Utility.] 
 
 II. — In the Psychology of Ethics, he regards the Con- 
 science as a derived or generated faculty, the result. of a 
 series of associations. He assigns the primary feelings that 
 enter into it, and traces the different stages of the growth. 
 The distinctive feature of Conscience is its close relation to 
 the Will. 
 
 He does not consider the problem of Liberty and Necessity. 
 
 He makes Disinterested Sentiment a secondary or derived 
 feeling — a stage on the road to Conscience. While maintain- 
 ing strongly the disinterested character of the sentiment, he 
 considers that it may be fully accounted for by derivation 
 from our primitive self-regarding feelings, and denies, as 
 against Stewart and Brown, that this gives it a selfish cha- 
 racter. 
 
 He carries the process of associative growth a step 
 farther, and maintains that we re-convert disinterestedness 
 into a lofty delight — the delight in goodness for^its own saJje ; 
 to attain this characteristic is the highest mark of a virtuous 
 character. 
 
 III. — 'His Summum Bonum, or Theory of Happiness, is 
 contained in his much iterated doctrine of the delicionsness 
 of virtuous conduct, by which he proposes to effect the recon- 
 ciliation of our own good with the good of others — prudence 
 with virtue. Virtue is ' an inward fountain of pure delight ;' 
 the pleasure of benevolence, ' if it could become lasting and 
 intense, would convert the heart into a heaven ;' they alone 
 are happy, or truly virtuous, that do not need the motive of a 
 regard to outward consequences. 
 
 His chief Ethical precursor in this vein is Shaftesbury ; 
 
PLEASUEEABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS. 679 
 
 but lie is easily able to produce from Theologians abundant 
 iterations of it. 
 
 rV. — He bas no special views as to the Moral Code. With 
 reference to the inducements to virtue, he thinks he has a 
 powerful lever in the delights that the virtuous disposition 
 confers on its owner. 
 
 V. — His theory of the connexion of Ethics and Politics is 
 stated in his account of Bentham, whom be- charges with 
 making morality too judicial. 
 
 VI. — The relations of Morality to Religion are a matter of 
 frequent and special consideration in Mackintosh. 
 
 JAMES MILL. [1783-1836.1 
 
 The work of James Mill, entitled the ' Analysis of the 
 Human Mind,' is distinguished, in the first place, by the 
 studied precision of its definitions of all leading terms, giving 
 it a permanent value as a logical discipline ; and in the second 
 place, by the successful carrying out of the principle of Asso- 
 ciation in explaining the powers of the mind. The author 
 endeavours to show that the moral feelings are a complex 
 product or growth, of which the ultimate constituents are our 
 pleasurable and painful sensations. We shall present a brief 
 abstract of the course of his exposition, as given in Chapters 
 XVII.— XXm. of the Analysis. 
 
 The pleasurable and painful sensations being assumed, it 
 is important to take notice of their Causes, both immediate 
 and remote, by whose means they can be secured or avoided. 
 We contract a habit of passing rapidly from every sensation 
 to its procuring cause ; and, as in the typical case of money, 
 these causes are apt to rank higher in importance, to take a 
 greater hold on the mind, than the sensations themselves. 
 The mind is not much interested in attending to the sensa- 
 tion ; that can provide for itself. The mind is deeply interested 
 in attending to the cause. 
 
 The author next (XIX.) considers the Ideas of the plea- 
 surable sensations, and of the causes of them. The Idea of 
 a pain is not the same as the pain ; it is a complex state, con- 
 taining, no doubt, an element of pain ; and the name for it is 
 Aversion. So the name for an idea of pleasure is Desire. 
 Now, these states extend to the causes of pains and pleasures, 
 though in other respects indifferent ; we have an aversion for 
 a certain drug, but there is in this a transition highly illustra- 
 tive of the force of the associating principle ; our real aversion 
 
680 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— JAMES MILL 
 
 being to a bitter sensation, and not to the visible appearance 
 of the drug. 
 
 Alluding (XX.) to the important difference between past 
 and future time in our ideas of pleasure and pain, he defines 
 Sope and Fear as the contemplation of a pleasurable or of a 
 painful sensation, as future, but not certain. 
 
 When the immediate causes of pleasurable and painful 
 sensations are viewed as past or fiiture, we have a new 
 series of states. In the past, they are called Love and 
 Hatred, or Aversion ; in the future, the idea of a pleasure, as 
 certain in its arrival, is Joy — as probable, Hope ; the idea of 
 future pain (certain) is not marked otherwise than by the 
 names Hatred, Aversion, Horror; the idea of the pain as 
 probable is some form of dread. 
 
 The remote causes of our pleasures and pains are more 
 interesting than the immediate causes. The reason is their 
 wide command. Thus, Wealth, Power, and Dignity are causes 
 of a great range of pleasures : Poveriy, Impotence, and Con- 
 temptibility, of a wide range of pains. For one thing, the 
 first are the means of procuring the services of our fellow- 
 creatures ; this fact is of the highest consequence in morals, as 
 showing how deeply our happiness is entwined with the 
 actions of other beings. The author illustrates at length the 
 influence of these remote ajid comprehensive agencies ; and as 
 it is an influence entirely the result of association, it attests 
 the magnitude of that power of the mind. 
 
 But our fellow -creatures are the subjects of affections, not 
 merely as the instrumentality set in motion by Wealth, Power, 
 and Dignity, but iu their proper personality. This leads the 
 author to the consideration of the pleasurable affections of 
 Friendship, Eindness, Family, Country, Party, Mankind. He 
 resolves diem all into associations with our primitive plea- 
 sures. Thus, to take the example of Kindness, which will 
 show how he deals with the disinterested affection j — tThe idea 
 of a man enjoying a train of pleasures, or happiness, is felt by 
 everybody to be a pleasurable idea; this can arise fiom 
 nothing but the association of our own pleasures with the 
 idea of his pleasures. The pleasurable association composed 
 of the ideas of a man and of his pleasures, smd the painful 
 association composed of the idea of a man and of his pains, are 
 both Affections included under one name Kindness ; although 
 in the second case it has the more specific name Compasaion. 
 
 Under the other heads, the autiior'a elucidation is fuller, 
 but his principle is the same. 
 
THE SPECIES OF ACTIONS ENTERING INTO MORALITY. 681 
 
 He next goes on (XXII.) to Motives. When the idea of 
 a Pleasure is associated with an action of onr own as the 
 cause, that peculiar state of mind is generated, called a 
 motive. ■ The idea of the pleasure, without the idea of an 
 action for gaining it, does not amount to a motive. Every 
 pleasure may become a motive, but every motive does not end 
 in action, because there may be counter-motives; and the 
 strength attained by motives depends greatly on education. 
 The facility of being acted on by motives of a particular kind 
 is a Disposition. We have, in connexion with all our leading 
 pleasures and pains, names indicating their motive efficacy. 
 Gluttony is both motive and disposition; so Lust and Drunken- 
 ness ; with the added sense of reprobation in all the three. 
 Friendship is a name for Affection, Motive, and Disposition. 
 
 In Chapter XXIII., the author makes the application of his 
 principles to Ethics. The actions emanatiug from ourselves, 
 combined with those emanating from our fellow-creatures, ex- 
 ceed all other Causes of our Pleasures and Paios. Consequently 
 such actions are objects of intense affections or regards. 
 
 The actions whence advantages accrue are classed under 
 the four titles, Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Benevolence. 
 The two first — Prudence and Fortitude [in fact. Prudence] — 
 express aicts useful to ourselves in the first instance, to others 
 in the second instance. Justice and Benevolence express acts 
 useful to others in the first instance, to ourselves ia the second 
 instance. We have two sets of association with all these acts, 
 one set with them as our own, another set with them as other 
 people's. With Prudence (and Fortitude) as our own acts, 
 we associate good to ourselves, either in the shape of positive 
 pleasure, or as warding off para. Thus Labour is raised to 
 importance by numerous associations of both classes. Farther, 
 Prudence, involving the foresight of a train of consequences, 
 requires a large measure of knowledge of things animate and 
 inanimate. Courage is defined by the author, incurring the 
 chance of Evil, that is danger, for the sake of a preponderant 
 good ; which, too, stands in need of knowledge. Now, when 
 the ideas of acts of Prudence and acts of Courage have been 
 associated sufficiently often with beneficial consequences, they 
 become pleasurable ideas, or Affections, and they have also, 
 from the nature of the case, the character of Motives. In 
 short, there is nothing in prudential conduct that may not be 
 explained by a series of associations, grounded on our plea- 
 surable and painful sensations, on the ideas of them, and on 
 the ideas of their causes. 
 
682 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— JAMES MILL 
 
 The real difficulty attaches to Justice and to Beneficence. 
 
 As to Justice. Men, in society, have found it essential for 
 mutual benefit, that the powers of Individuals over the general 
 causes of good should be fixed by certain rules, that is, Laws. 
 Acts done in accordance with these rules are Just Acts ; al- 
 though, when duly considered, they are seen to include the 
 main fact of beneficence, the good of others. To the perform- 
 ance of a certain class of just acts, our Fellow-creatures annex 
 penalties ; these, therefore, are determined partly by Prudence ; 
 others remain to be performed voluntarily, and for them the 
 motive is Beneficence. 
 
 What then is the source of the motives towards Bene- 
 ficence ? How do the ideas of acts, having the good of our 
 fellows for their end, become Affections and Motives ? In the 
 first place, we have associations of pleasure with all the 
 pleasurable feelings of fellow-creatures, and hence, with such 
 acts of ours as yield them pleasure. In the second place, 
 those are the acts fco- procuring to ourselves the favourable 
 Disposition of our Fellow-men, so that we have farther asso- 
 ciations of the pleasures flowing from such favourable dispo- 
 sitions. Thus, by the union of two sets of influences — two 
 streams of association — the Idea of our beneficent acts becomes 
 a pleasurable idea, that is, an Affection, and, being connected 
 with actions of ours, is also a Motive. Such is the genesis of 
 Beneficent or Disinterested impulses. 
 
 We have next a class of associations with other men's 
 performance of the several virtues. The Prudence and the 
 Fortitude of others are directly beneficial to them, and in- 
 directly beneficial to us ; and with both these consequencbs 
 we have necessarily agreeable associations. The Justice and 
 the Beneficence of other men are so directly beneficial to the 
 objects of them, that it is impossible for us not to have plea- 
 surable associations with acts of Justice and Beneficence, first 
 as concerns ourselves in particular, and next as concerns the 
 acts generally. Hence, therefore, the rise of Affections and 
 Motives in favour of these two virtues. As there is nothing 
 so deeply interesting to me as that the acts of men, regarding 
 myself immediately, should be acts of Justice and Beneficence, 
 and the acts regarding themselves immediately, acts of Pru- 
 dence and Fortitude ; it follows that I have am interest in all 
 such acts of my own as operate to cause those acts in others. 
 By similar acts of our own, by the manifestation of dispositions 
 to perform those acts, we obtain their reciprocal performance 
 by others. There is thus a highly complex, concurring stimulus 
 
SUPPORTS TO BENEFICENCE. 683 
 
 to acts of virtue, — a large aggregate of inflnences of association, 
 the power at bottom being still our own pleasurable and pain- 
 ful sensations. We mnst add the ascription of Praise, an 
 influence remarkable for its wide propagation and great effi- 
 cacy over men's minds, and no less remarkable as a proof of 
 the range of the associating principle, especially in its character 
 of Fame, which, in the case of future fame, is a purely ideal 
 or associated delight. Equally, if not more, striking are the 
 illustrations from Dispraise. The associations of Disgrace, 
 even when not sufficient to restrain the performance of acts 
 abhorred by mankind, are able to produce the hon-ors of 
 Remorse, the most intense of human sufferings. The love of 
 praise leads by one step to the love of Praiseworthiness ; the 
 dread of blame, to the dread of Blameworthiness. 
 
 Of these various Motives, the most constant in operation, 
 and the most in use in moral training, are Praise and Blame. 
 It is the sensibility to Praise and Blame — the joyful feelings 
 associated with the one, and the dread associated with the 
 other — that gives effect to Popular Opinion, or the Popular 
 Sanction, and, with reference to men generally, the Moral 
 Sanction. 
 
 The other motives to virtue, namely, the association of our 
 own acts of Justice and Beneficence, as cause, with other 
 men's as effects, are subject to strong counteraction, for we 
 can rarely perform such acts without sacrifice to ourselves. 
 StUl, there is in all men a certain surplus of motive from this 
 cause, just as there is a surplus from the association of acts of 
 ours, hostile to other men, with a return of hostility on their 
 part. 
 
 The best names for the aggregate Affection, Motive, and 
 Disposition in this important region of conduct, are Moral 
 Approbation and Disapprobation. The terms Moral Sense, 
 Sense of Eight and Wrong, Love of Virtue and Hatred of 
 Vice, are not equally appropriate. Virtue and Morality are 
 other synonyms. , 
 
 In the work entitled, ' A Fragment on Mackintosh,' there 
 are afforded farther illustrations of the author's derivation of 
 the Moral Sentiment, together with an exposition and defence 
 of Utility as the standard, in which his views are substantially at 
 one with Bentham. Two or three references wUl be sufficient. 
 
 In the statement of the questions in dispute in Morals, 
 he objects to the words ' test' and ' criterion,' as expressing 
 the standard. He considers it a mistake to designate as a 
 ' test' what is the thing itself; the test of Morality is Morality. 
 
684 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— JAMES MILL. 
 
 Properly, the thing testing is one thing; the thing tested 
 another thing. The same objection would apply to the use or 
 the word Standard ; so that the only form of the first question 
 of Ethics would be, What is morality ? What does it con- 
 sist in ? [The remark ia just, but somewhat hyperaritical. 
 The illustration from Chemical testing is not true in fact ; 
 the test of gold is some essential attribute of gold, as its weight. 
 And when we wish to determine afi to a certain act, whether 
 it is a moral act, we compare it with what we deem the essen- 
 tial quahty of moral acts — Utility, our Moral Instinct, &c. — 
 and the operation is not improperly called testing the act. 
 Since, therefore, whatever we agree upon as the essence of 
 morality, must be practically used by us as a test, criterion, 
 or standard, there cannot be much harm in calling this essen- 
 tial quaUiy the standard, although the designation is to a cer- 
 tain extent figurative.] 
 
 The author has some additional remarks on the derivation 
 of our Disinterested feelings : he reiterates the position ex- 
 pressed in the 'Analysis,' that although we have feelings 
 directly tending to the good of others, they are nevertheless 
 the growth of feelings that are rooted in self. That feelings 
 should be detached from their original root is a well known 
 phenomenon of the mind. 
 
 His illustrations of Utility are a valuable contribution to 
 the defence of that doctrine. He replies to most of the com- 
 mon objections. Mackintosh had urged that llie reference to 
 Utility would be made a dangerous pretext for allowing ex- 
 ceptions to common rules. Mill expounds at length (p. 246) 
 the formation of moral rules, and retorts that there are rules 
 expressly formed to make exceptions to other rules, as justice 
 before generosity, charity begins at home, &c. 
 
 He animadverts with great severity on Mackintosh's doc- 
 trines, as to the delight of virtue for its own sake, and the 
 special contact of moral feelings with ^e will. Allowance 
 being made for the great difierence in the way that the two 
 writers express themselves, they are at one in maintainiog 
 Utility to be the ultimate standard, and in regarding Conscience 
 as a derived fsujulty of the mind. 
 
 The author's handling of Ethics does not extend beyond 
 the first and second topics. — the Standaed and the Faculty. 
 His "Standard is Utility. The Faculty is based on our Plea- 
 sures and Pains, with which there are multiplied associations. 
 Disinterested Sentiment is a real fact, but has its origin in 
 our own proper pleasures and pains. 
 
MORALITY COMES UNDER LAW. 685 
 
 MiU considers that the existing moral rules are aU based 
 on our estimate, correct or incorrect, of Utility. 
 
 JOHN AUSTIN. [1790-1859.] 
 Austin, in his Lectures on ' The Province of Jurispru- 
 dence determined,' has discussed ■ the leading questions of 
 Ethics. We give an abstract of the Ethical part. 
 
 Lecture L Law, in its largest meaning, and omitting 
 metaphorical applications, embraces Laws set by God to his 
 creatures, and Laws set by man to man. Of the laws set by 
 man to man, some are established hy political superiors, or by 
 persons exercising government in nations or political societies. 
 This is law in the usual sense of the word, forming the subject 
 of Jurisprudence. The author terms it Positive Law. There 
 is another class of laws not set by political superiors in that 
 capacity. Yet some of these are properly termed laws, 
 although others are only so by a close analogy. There is no 
 name for the laws proper, but to the others are applied such 
 names as 'moral rules,' 'the moral law,' 'general ov public 
 opinion,' ' the law of honour or of fashion.' The author pro- 
 poses for these laws the name positwe morality. The laws now 
 enumerated differ in many important respects, but agree in 
 this — that all of them are set hij intelligent and rational beings 
 to intelligent and rational beings. There is a figurative appli- 
 cation of the word ' law,' to the uniformities of the natural 
 world, through which the field of jurisprudence and morals 
 has been deluged with muddy speculation. 
 
 Laws properly so called are commands. A command is 
 the signification of a desire or wish, accompanied with the 
 power and the purpose to inflict evU if that desire is not com- 
 plied with. The person so desired is lound or obliged, or 
 placed under a duty, to obey. Biefasal is disobedience, or 
 violation of duty. The evil to be inflicted is called a sanction, 
 or an enforcement of obedience ; the term punishment expresses 
 one class of sanctions. 
 
 The term sanction is improperly applied to a Reward. 
 We cannot say that an action is commxmded, or that obedience 
 is constrained or enforced by the offer of a reward. Again, 
 when a reward is ofiered, a right and not an obligation is cre- 
 ated : the imperative function passes to the parly receiving 
 the reward. Li short, it is only by conditional eoil, that duties 
 are soMctioned or enforced. 
 
 The correct meaning of superior and inferior is determined 
 by command and obedience. 
 
686 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— AUSTIN. 
 
 Lbotuee II. The Diviaie Laws are the known commands 
 of the Deity, enforced by the evils that we may suffer here or 
 hereafter for breaking them. Some of these laws are revealed, 
 others unrevealed. Paley and others have proved that it was 
 not the purpose of Revelation to disclose the whole of our 
 duties ; the light of Nature is an additional source. But 
 how are we to interpret this Light of Nature ? 
 
 The various hypotheses for resolviag this question may be 
 reduced to two: (1) an Innate Sentiment, called a Moral 
 Sense, Common Sense, Practical Reason, &o. ; and (2) the 
 Theory of Utility. 
 
 The author avows his adherence to the theory of Utility, 
 which he connects with the Divine Benevolence in the manner 
 of Bentham. God designs the happiness of sentient beings. 
 Some actions forward that purpose, others frustrate it. The 
 first, God has enjoined; the second. He has forbidden. 
 Knowing, therefore, the tendency of any action, we know the 
 Divine command with respect to it. 
 
 The tendency of an action is all its consequences near and 
 remote, certain and probable, direct and collateral. A petty 
 theft, or the evasion of a trifling tax, may be insignificant, or 
 even good, in the direct and immediate consequences ; but 
 before the full tendency can be weighed, we must resolve the 
 question : — What would be the' probable efiect on the general 
 happiness or good, if similar acts, or omissions, were general 
 or frequent ? 
 
 When the theory of Utility is correctly stated, the current 
 objections are easily refuted. As viewed by the author, 
 Utility is not the fountain or souroe of our duties ; this must 
 be commands and sanctions. But it is the index of the will 
 of the law-giver, who is presumed to have for his chief end 
 the happiness or good of mankind. 
 
 The most specious objection to Utility is the supposed 
 necessity of going through a calculation of the consequences 
 of every act that we have to perform, an operation often 
 beyond our power, and likely to be abused to forward our 
 private wishes. To this, the author replies first, that sup- 
 posing utility our only index, we mnst make the best of it. 
 Of course, if we were endowed with a moral sense, a special 
 organ for ascertaining our duties, the attempt to displace 
 that invincible consciousness, and to thrust the principle of 
 utility iuto the vacant seat, would be impossible and absurd. 
 
 According to the theory of Utility, our conduct would 
 conform to rules inferred from the tendencies of actions, but 
 
OBJECTIONS TO UTILITY ANSWERED. 687 
 
 ■would not be determined by a direct resort to the principle of 
 general utility. Utility would be the ultimate, not the im- 
 mediate test. To preface each act or forbearance by a con- 
 jecture and comparison of consequences were both superfluous 
 and mischievous: — superfluous, inasmuch as the result is 
 already embodied in a known rule ; and mischievous, inas- 
 much as the process, if performed on the spur of the occasion, 
 would probably be faulty. 
 
 With the rules are associated sentiments, the result of the 
 Divine, or other, command to obey the rules. It is a gross 
 and flagrant error to talk of substituting calculation for senti- 
 ment; this is to oppose the rudder to the sail. Sentiment 
 without calculation were capricious ; calculation without 
 sentiment is inert. 
 
 There are cases where the sjpecifie consequences of an 
 action are so momentous as to overbear the rule ; for ex- 
 ample, resistance to a bad government, which the author 
 calls an anomalous question, to be tried not by the rule, but 
 by a direct resort to the ultimate or presiding principle, and 
 by a separate calculation of good and evil. Such was the 
 political emergency of the Commonwealth, and the American 
 revolution. It would have been well, the author thinks, if 
 utility had been the sole guide in both cases. 
 
 There is a second objection to Utility, more perplexing 
 to deal with. How can we know fally and correctly all the 
 consequences of actions ? The answer is that Ethics, as a 
 science of observation and induction, has been formed, through 
 a long succession of ages, by many and separate contributions 
 from many and separate discoverers. Like all other sciences, 
 it is progressive, although unfortunately, subject to special 
 drawbacks. The men that have enquired, or affected to 
 enquire, into Ethics, have rarely been impartial ; they have 
 laboured under prejudices or sinister interests ; and have been 
 the advocates of foregone conclusions. There is not on this 
 subject a concurrence or agreement of n/mnerous and impartial 
 enquirers. Indeed, many of the legal and moral rules of the 
 most civilized communities arose in the infancy of the human 
 mind, partly from caprices of the fancy (nearly omnipotent 
 with barbarians), and partly from an imperfect apprehension 
 of general utility, the result of a narrow experience. Thus 
 the diffusion and the advancement of ethical truth encounter 
 great and pecuhar obstacles, only to be removed by a better 
 general education extended to the mass of the people. It is 
 desirable that the community should be indoctrinated with 
 
688 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— AUSTIN. 
 
 sound views of property, and with the dependence of wealth 
 upon the true principle of population, discovered by Malthns, 
 aU which they are competent to understand. 
 
 The author refers to Paley's Moral Philosophy as an 
 example of the perverting tendency of narrow and domineering 
 interests iu the domaLu of ethics. With many commendable 
 points, there is, in that work, much ignoble tmokUng to the 
 dominant and influential few, and a deal of shabby sophistry 
 in defending abuses that the few were interested in upholding. 
 
 As a farther answer to the second objection, he remarks, 
 that it applies to every theory of ethics that supposes our 
 duties to be set by the Deity. Christianity itseK is defective, 
 considered as a system of rules for the guidance of human 
 conduct. 
 
 He then turns to the alternative of a Moral Sense. This 
 involves two assumptions. 
 
 Krst, Certain sentiments, or feelings of approbation or 
 disapprobation, accompany our conceptions of certain human 
 actions. These feelings are neither the result of our reflection 
 on the tendencies of actions, nor the result of education ; the 
 sentiments would follow the conception, although we had 
 neitier adverted to the good or evil tendency of the actions, 
 nor become aware of the opinions of others regarding them. 
 This theory denies that the sentiments known to exist can be 
 produced by education. We approve and disapprove of 
 actions we hnow not why. 
 
 The author adapts Paley's supposition of the savage, in 
 order to express strongly what the moral sense implies. But 
 we will confine ourselves to his reasonings. Is there, he asks, 
 any evidence of our being gifted with such feelings ? The 
 very putting of such a question would seem a sufficient proof 
 that we are not so endowed. There ought to be no more 
 doubt about them, than about hunger or thirst. 
 
 It is alleged in their favour that our judgments of rectitude 
 and depravity are immediate and voluntary. The reply is 
 that sentiments begotten by association are no less prompt and 
 iavoluntary than our instincts. Our response to a money 
 gain, or a money loss, is as prompt as our compliance with the 
 primitive appetites of the system. We begin by loving know- 
 ledge £is a means to ends ; but, in time, the end is inseparably 
 associated with the instrument. So a moral sentiment 
 dictated by utility, if often exercised, would be rapid and 
 direct in its operation. 
 
 It is farther alleged, as a proof of the innate character of 
 
PREVAILING MISCONCEPTIONS KEGAEDING XJTILITT. 689 
 
 the moral judgments, that the moral sentiments of all men are 
 precisely alike. The argument may be put thus : — No opinion 
 or sentiment resulting from observation and induction is held 
 or felt by aU mankind : Observation and induction, as applied 
 to the same subject, lead difiFerent men to different conclusions. 
 Ifow, the judgments passed internally on the rectitude or 
 pravily of actions, or the moral sentiments, are precisely alike 
 with all men. Therefore, our moral sentiments are not the 
 result of our inductions- of the tendencies of actions ; nor were 
 they derived from others, and impressed by authority and 
 example. Consequently, the moral sentiments are instinctive, 
 or ultimate and inscrutable facta. 
 
 To refute such an argument is superfluous ; it is based on 
 a groundless assertion. The moral sentiments of men have 
 differed to infinity. With regard to a few classes of actions, the 
 moral judgments of most, though not of all, men have been 
 alike. With regard to others, they have differed, through every 
 shade or degree, from slight diversity to direct opposition. 
 
 But this is exactly what we should expect on the principle 
 of utility. With regard to some actions, the dictates of utility 
 are the same at all times and places, and are so obvious as 
 hardly to admit of mistake or doubt. On the other hand, 
 men's positions in different ages and nations are in many 
 respects widely different ; so that what was useful there and 
 then is useless or pernicious here and now. Moreover, since 
 human tastes are various, and human reason is fallible, men's 
 moral sentiments often widely differ in the same positions. 
 
 He next alludes to some prevailing misconceptions in 
 regard to utility. ' One is the confusion of the test with the 
 motive. The general good is the test, or rather the index to 
 the ultimate measure or test, the Divine commands ; but it is 
 not in all, or even in most cases, the motive or inducement. 
 
 The principle of utility does not demand that we shall 
 always or habitually attend to the general good ; although it 
 does demand that we shall not pursue our own particular 
 good by means that are inconsistent with that paramount 
 object. It permits the pursuit of our own pleasures as plea- 
 sure. Even as regards the good of others, it commonly re- 
 quires us to be governed by partial, rather than by general 
 benevolence ; by the narrower circle of family and friends 
 rather than by the larger humanity that embraces mankind. 
 It requires us to act where we act with the utmost effect ; that 
 is, within the sphere best known to us. The limitations to 
 this principle, the adjustm^ent of the selfish to the social mo- 
 44 
 
690 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— AUSTIN. 
 
 tives, of partial sympathy to general' benevolence, belong to 
 the detail of ethics. 
 
 The second misconception of Utility is to confound it with 
 a particular hypothesis concerning the Origin of Benevolence, 
 commonly styled the selfish si/stem. Hartley and some others 
 having affirmed that benevolence is not an ultimate fact, but 
 an emanation from self-love, through the association of ideas, 
 it has been fancied that these writers dispute the existence of 
 disinterested benevolence or sympathy. Now, the selfish 
 system, in its literal import, is flatly inconsistent with obvious 
 facts, but this is not the system contended for by the writers in 
 question. Still, this distortion has been laid hold of by the 
 opponents of utility, and maintained to be a necessary ^art of 
 that system ; hence the supporters of utnity are styled ' selfish, 
 sordid, and cold-blooded calculators.' Bat, as already said, 
 the theory of utUity is not a theory of motives ; it holds equally 
 good whether benevolence be what it is called, or merely a 
 provident regard to self : whether it be a simple fact, or eur 
 gendered by association on self-regard. Paley mixed up Utility 
 with self-regarding motives ; but his theory of these is miserably 
 shallow and defective, and amounted to a denial of genuine 
 benevolence or sympathy. 
 
 Austin's Fifth Lecture is devoted to a fuU elucidation of 
 the meanings of Law. He had, at the outset, made the dis- 
 tinction between Laws properly so called, and Laws impro- 
 perly so called. Of the second class, some are closely aUied 
 to Laws proper, possessing in fact their main or essential 
 attributes ; others are laws only by metaphor. Laws proper, 
 and those closely allied to them among laws proper, are 
 divisible into three classes. The first are the Divine Law or 
 Laws. The second is named Positive Law or Positive Laws ; 
 and corresponds with Legislation. The third he calls Positive 
 Morality, or positive moral rules ; it is the same as Morals or 
 Ethics. 
 
 Reverting to the definition of Law, he gives the following 
 three essentials : — 1. Every law is a command, and emanates 
 ftom a determinate source or another. 2. Every sanction is 
 an eventual evil annexed to a command. 3. Every duty sup- 
 poses a command whereby it is created. Now, tried by these 
 tests, the laws of iGrod are laws proper ; so are positive laws, 
 by which are meant laws established by monarchs as supreme 
 political superiors, by subordinate political superiors, and by 
 subjects, as private persons, in pursuance of legal rio'hts. 
 
 But as regards Positive Morality, or moral rales, some 
 
MORAL EULES AS LAWS. 691 
 
 have so far the essentials of an imperative law or rule, that they 
 are rales set by men to men. But they are not set by men as 
 political superiors, nor by men as- private persons, in pursu- 
 ance of legal rights ; in this respect they differ from positive 
 laws, they are not clothed with legal sanctions. 
 
 The most important department of positive morality 
 includes the laws set or imposed hy general opinion, as for ex- 
 ample the laws of honour, and of fashion. Now these are not 
 laws in the strict meaning of the word, because the authors 
 are an indehrminate or uncertain aggregate of persons. Still, 
 they have the closest alliance with Laws proper, seeing that 
 being armed with a sanction,, they impose a duty. The per- 
 sons obnoxious to the sanction generally do op forbear the 
 acts enjoined or forbidden ; which is all that can happen under 
 the highest type of law. 
 
 The author then refers to Locke's division of law, which, 
 although faulty in the analysis, and inaptly expressed, tallies 
 in the main with what he has laid down. 
 
 Of Metaphorical or figurative laws, the most usual is that 
 suggested by the fact of uniformity, which is one of the ordi- 
 nary consequences of a law proper. Such are the laws of 
 nature, or the uniformities of co-existence and succession in 
 natural phenomena. 
 
 Another metaphorical extension is to a model or pattern, 
 because a law presents something as a guide to human con- 
 duct. In this sense, a man may set a law to himself, meaning 
 a plan or model, and not a law in the proper sense of a com- 
 mand. So a rule of art is devoid of a sanction, and therefore 
 of the idea of duty. 
 
 A confusion of ideas also exists as to the meaning of a 
 sanction. Bentham styles- the evils arising in the course of 
 nature physical sanctions, as if the omission to guard against 
 fire were a sin or an immorality,, punished by the destruction 
 of one's house. But although this is an evil happening to a 
 rational being, and brought on, by a voluntary act or omission, 
 it is not the result of a law in the proper sense of the term- 
 What is produced naturallif, says Locke, is produced without 
 the intervention of a law. 
 
 Austin is thus seen to be one of the most strenuous advo- 
 cates of Utility as the Standard, and is distinguished for the 
 lucidity of his exposition, and the force of his repHes to the 
 objections made against it. 
 
 He is also the best expounder of the relationship of 
 Morality to Law. 
 
692 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — WHEWfiLL. 
 
 WILLIAM WHEWELL. [1794-1866.] 
 
 Dr. Whewell's chief Ettical works are, 'Elements of 
 Morality, including Polity,' and ' Lectures on the History of 
 Moral Philosophy in England.' 
 
 We may refer for his vie-ws to either -work. The follow- 
 ing ahstract is taken from the latest (4th) edition of his 
 Elements (1864). 
 
 In the Preface he indicates the general scope of the work. 
 Morality has its root in the Common Nature of Man ; a 
 scheme of Morality must conform to the Common Berne of 
 mankind, in so far as that is .consistent with itself. Now, 
 this Common Sense of Mankind has in every age led to two 
 seemingly opposite schemes of Morality, the one making 
 Virtue, and the other making Pleasure, the rule of action. 
 On the one side, men urge the -claims of Rectitude, Duty, 
 Conscience, the Moral Faculty; on the other, they declare 
 trtUity, Expediency, Interest, Enjoyment, to be the proper 
 guides. 
 
 Both systems are liable to objections. Against the scheme 
 of Pleasure, it is urged that we never, in fact, identify virtue 
 as merely useful. Against the scheme of Virtue, it is main- . 
 tained that virtue is a matter of opinion, and that Conscience 
 varies in different ages, countries, and persons. It is necessary 
 that a scheme of Morality should surmount both classes of 
 objections ; and the author therefore attempts a reconciliation 
 of the two opposing theories. 
 
 He prepares the way by asking, whether there are any 
 actions, or qualities of actions, universally approved ; and 
 whether there are any moral rules accepted by the Common 
 Sense of mankind as universally valid ? The reply is that 
 there are such, as, for example, the virtues termed Veracity, 
 Justice, Benevolence. He does not enquire why these are 
 approved ; he accepts the fact of the approval, and considers 
 that here we have the basis of a Moral System, not liable to 
 either of the opposing objections above recited. 
 
 He supposes, however, that the alleged agreement may be 
 challenged, ^rs<, as not existing ; and n«d, as insufficient to 
 reason from. 
 
 1. It may be maintained that the excellence of the three 
 virtues named is not universally assented to ; departures from 
 them being allowed both in practice and in theory. The 
 answer is, that the principles may be admitted, although the 
 interpretation varies. Men allow Fidelity and Kindness to 
 
THERE ARE ACTIONS UNIVERSALLY APPROVED. 693 
 
 be virtues, althongh in an early stage of moral progress they 
 do not make the application beyond their own friends ; it is 
 only at an advanced stage that they include enemies.. The 
 Romans at first held stranger and enemy to be synonymous ; 
 but afterwards they applauded the sentiment of the poet^ 
 homo sum, &c. Moral principles must be what we approve 
 of, when we speak in the name of the whole human species. 
 
 2. It may be said that such principles are too vague and 
 loose to reason from^ A verbal agreement in employing the 
 terms truthful,, jvist,. humane,, does not prove a real agreement 
 as to the actions ; and the particulars must be held as 
 explaining the generalities. 
 
 The author holds this objection to be erroneous ; and the 
 scheme of his work is intended to^ meet it. He proceeds as 
 follows : — 
 
 He allows that we must fix what is meant by right, which 
 carries with it the meaning of Virtue and of Duty.. Now, in, 
 saying an action is right,, there is this idea conveyed, namely,, 
 that we render such a reason for- it, as shall be paramount 
 to all other considerations. Eight must be the Supreme Rule. 
 How then are we to arrive at this rule ? 
 
 The supreme rule is the- authority over cdl the faculties 
 and impulses j and is made up of the partial rules according 
 to the separate faculties, powers, and impulses. We are to 
 look, in the first instance, to the- several faculties or depart- 
 ments of the mind ; for^ in connexion with each of these, we 
 shall find an irresistible propriety inherent in the very nature 
 of the faculty- 
 
 For example, man lives in the society of fellow-men ; his 
 actions derive their meaning from this position. He has the 
 faculty of Speech,, whereby his actions are connected with 
 other men. Now, as man is under a supreme moral rule, 
 [this the author appears to assume in the very act of proving 
 it], there must be a rule of right as regards the use of Speech ; 
 which rule can be no other than truth and falsehood. In, 
 other words, veracity is a -virtue. 
 
 Again, man, as a social being, has to divide with others 
 the possession of the world, in odier words, to possess Pro- 
 perty; whence there must be a rule of Property, that is, 
 each man is to have his own. Whence Justice is seen to be 
 a virtue. 
 
 The author thinks himself at one with the common notions 
 of mankind in pronouncing that the Faculty of Speech, the 
 Desire of Possessions, and the Affections, are properly regn- 
 
694 BTHICAL SYSTEMS — ^WHEWELL. 
 
 lated, not by any extraneous purposes or ends to be served 
 by them, but by Veracity, Justice, and Humanity, respec- 
 tively. 
 
 He explains bis position farther, by professing to follow 
 Butler in the doctrine that, through the mere contemplation 
 of our human faculties and springs of action, we can discern 
 certain relations which must exist among them by the neces- 
 sity of man's moral being. Butler maintains that, by merely 
 comparing appetite with conscience as springs of action, we 
 see conscience is superior and ought to rule ; and Whewell 
 conceives this to be self-evident, and expresses it by stating 
 that the Lower parts of our nature are to be governed by the 
 Higher. Men heing considered as social beings, capable of 
 mutual understanding through speech, it is self-evident that 
 their rule must include veracity. In Uke manner, it is self- 
 evident from the same consideration of social relationship, 
 that each man should abstain from violence and anger to- 
 wards others, that is, 'love his fellow-men. 
 
 Remarking on the plea of the utilitarian, that truth may 
 be justified by the intolerable consequences of its habitual 
 violation, he urges that this is no reason against its being 
 intuitively perceived-; just as the axioms of geometry, although 
 intuitively felt, are confirmed by showing the incongruities 
 following on their denial. He repeats the «ommon allegation 
 in favour of 3 priori principles generally, that no consideration 
 of evil consequences would give the sense of universality of 
 obligation attaching to the fundamental moral maxims ; and 
 endeavours to show that his favourite antithesis of Idea and 
 Faot conciliates the internal essence and the external conditions 
 of morality. The Idea is invariable and universal ; the Fact, 
 or outward circumstances, may vary historically and geo- 
 graphically. Morality must in some measure be dependent 
 on Law, but yet there is an Idea of Justice above law. 
 
 It very naturally occurred to many readers of Whewell's 
 scheme, that in so far as he endeavours to give any reason for 
 the foundations of morality, he runs in a vicious circle. He 
 proposes to establish his supreme universal rule, by showing 
 it to be only a summing up of certain rules swaying the several 
 portions or departments of our nature — Veracity, Justice, &c., 
 while, in considering the obligation of these rules, he assumes 
 that man is a moral being, which is another way of saying 
 that he is to be under a supreme moral rule. In his latest 
 edition, the author has replied to this charge, but so briefly 
 as to cast no new %ht on his position. He only repeats that 
 
THE SPRINGS OF ACTION. 695 
 
 the Supreme rule of Haman Action is given by the constitu- 
 tion and conditions of human nature. His ethical principle 
 may be not unfairly expressed by saying, that he recognizes a 
 certain intrinsic fitness in exercising the organ of speech 
 according to its social uses, that is, in promoting a right 
 understanding among men ; and so with Justice, as the fitness 
 of property, and Humanity, as the fitness of the Afiections. 
 This fitness is intuitively felt. Human happiness is admitted 
 to be a consequence of these rules ; but happiness is not a 
 sufficient end in itself; morality is also an end in itself. Human 
 happiness is not to be conceived or admitted, except as con- 
 taining a moral element ; in addition to the direct gratifications 
 of human life, we must include the delight of virtue. [How 
 men can be compelled to postpone their pleasurable sense of 
 the good things of life, till they have contracted a delight in 
 virtue for its own sake, the author does not say. It has been 
 the great object of moralists in all ages to impart by education 
 such a state of mind as to spoil the common gratifications, 
 if they are viciously procured ; the comparatively little suc- 
 cess of the endeavour, shows that nature has done little to 
 favour it.] 
 
 The foregoing is an abstract of the Introduction to the 
 4th Edition of the Elements of Morality. "We shall present 
 the author's views respecting the other questions of Morality 
 in the form of the usual summary. 
 
 I. — As regards the Standard, enough has been already 
 indicated. 
 
 II. — The Psychology of the Moral Faculty is given by 
 "Whewell as part of a classification of our Active Powers, or, 
 as he calls them. Springs of Action. These are : I. — The 
 Appetites or Bodily Desires, as Hunger and Thirst, and the 
 desires of whatever things have been found to gratify the 
 senses. II. — The Affections, which are directed to persons ; 
 they fall under the two heads Love and Anger. III. — The 
 Mental Desires, having for their objects certain abstractions. 
 They are the desire of Safety, including Security and Liberty ; 
 the desire of Having, or Property ; the desire of Society in 
 all its forms — Family Society and Civil Society, under which 
 is included the njeed of Mutual Understanding ; the desire of 
 Superiority ; and the Desire of Knowledge. IV. — The Moral 
 Sentiments. Our judgment of actions as right or wrong is 
 accompanied by certain Affections or Sentiments, named 
 Approbation and Disapprobation, Indignation and Esteem; 
 these are the Moral Sentiments. V. — The Beflex Sentiments, 
 
696 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^WHEWELU 
 
 namely, the desires of being Loved, of Esteem or Admiration, 
 of our own Approval;, and generally all springs of action 
 designated by the word self — for example, self-love. 
 
 With regard to the Moral Sentiment, or Conscience, in 
 particular, the author's resolution of Morality into Moral 
 Rules, necessarily supposes an exercise of the Reason, to- 
 gether with the Affections above described. He expressly 
 mentions ' the Practical Reason, which guides us in applying 
 Rules to our actions, and in discerning the consequences of 
 actions.' He does not allow Individual Conscience as an ulti- 
 mate or supreme authority, but requires it to be conformed to 
 the Supreme Moral Rules, arrived at in the manner above 
 described. 
 
 On the subject of Disinterestedness, he maintaius a modi- 
 fication of Paley's selfish theory. He allows that some persons 
 are so far disinterested as to be capable of benevolence and 
 self-sacrifice; without any motive of reward or punishment ; 
 but ' to require that all persons should be such, would be not 
 only to require what we certainly shall not find, but to put 
 the requirements of our Morality in a shape in which it can- 
 not convince men.' Accordingly, like Paley, he places the 
 doctrine that ' to promote the happiness of others will lead to 
 our own happiness,' exclusively on the ground of Religion. 
 He honours the principle that ' virtue is happiness,' but pre- 
 fers for mankind generally the form, 'virtue is the way to 
 happiness.' In short, he places no reliance on the purely 
 Disinterested impulses of mankind, although he admits the 
 existence of such. 
 
 III. — He discusses the Summum Bonum, or Happiness, 
 only with reference to his Ethical theory. The attaining of 
 the objects of our desires yields Enjoyment or Pleasure, which 
 cannot be the supreme end of life, being distinguished fipom, 
 and opposed to, Duty. Happiness is Pleasure and Duty com- 
 bined and harmonized by Wisdom. ' As moral beings, our 
 Happiness must be found in our Moral Progress, and in the 
 consequences of our Moral Progress ; we must be happy by 
 being virtuous.' 
 
 He complains of the moralists that reduce virtue to 
 Happiness (iij the sense of human pleasure), that they fail 
 to provide a measure of happiness, or to resolve it into 
 definite elements ; and again urges the impossibility of calcu- 
 lating the whole consequences of an action upon human 
 happiness. • I 
 
 IV. — With respect to the Moral Code, Whewell's arrange- 
 
THE MOKAL CODE. 697 
 
 ment is interwoven with his derivation of moral rules. He 
 enumerates five Cardinal Virtues as the substance of morality : 
 — Benevolence, which gives expansion to our Love ; Justice, 
 as prescribing the measure of our Mental Desires ; Truth, the 
 law of Speech in connexion with its purpose ; Pueitt, the con- 
 trol of the Bodily Appetites; and Oedeb (obedience to the 
 Laws), which engages the Beason in the consideration of 
 Rules and Laws for defining Virtue and Vice. Thus the five 
 leading branches of virtue have a certain parallelism to the five 
 chief classes of motives — Bodily Appetites, Mental Desires, 
 Love and its opposite, the need of a Mutual Understanding, 
 and Beason. 
 
 As already seen, he considers it possible to derive every 
 one of these virtues from the consideration of man's situation 
 with reference to each : — Benevolence, or Humanity, from our 
 social relationship ; Jtistice, from the nature of Property ; 
 Truth, from the employment of Language for mutual Under- 
 standing; Purity, from considering the lower parts of our 
 nature (the Appetites) as governed by the higher ; and Order, 
 from the relation of Governor and Governed. By a self- 
 evident, intuitive, irresistible consideration of the circum- 
 stances of the case, we are led to these several virtues in the 
 detail, and their sum is the Supreme Rule of Life. 
 
 Not content with these five express moral principles, he 
 considers that the Supreme Law requires, as adjuncts, two 
 other virtues ; to these he gives the names Eaenestnbss, or 
 Zeal, and Moeal Purpose, meaning that everything whatso- 
 ever should be done for moral ends. 
 
 V. — The relation of Ethics to Politics in Whewell's system 
 is one of intimacy, and yet of independence. The Laws of 
 States supply the materials of human action, by defining pro- 
 perty, &e., for the time being ; to which definitions morality 
 must correspond. On the other hand, morality supplies the 
 Idea, or ideal, of Justice,, to which the Laws of Society should 
 progressively conform themselves. The Legislator and the 
 Jurist must adapt their legislation to the point of view of the 
 Moralist ; and the moralist, while enjoining obedience to their 
 dictates, should endeavour to correct the inequalities produced 
 by laws, and should urge the improvement of Law, to make 
 it conformable to morality. The Moral is in this way con- 
 trasted with the Jural, a useful word of the author's coining. 
 He devotes a separate Book, entitled ' Rights and Obligations,' 
 to the foundations of jurisprudence. He makes a five-fold 
 division of Rights, grotlnded on his classification of the Springs 
 
698 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — FEKEIEE. 
 
 of Humaii Action ; Rights of Fersonat Security, Property, Gon- 
 tract, Marriage, Oovemment; and justifies this division as 
 against others proposed by jurists. 
 
 VI. — He introduces the Morality of Breligion as a supple- 
 ment to the Morality of Reason. The separation of the two, 
 he remarks, ' enables us to trace the results of the moral 
 guidance of human Reason consistently and continuously, 
 while w« still retain a due sense of the superior authority of 
 Religion.' As regards the foundations of Natural and Revealed 
 Religion, he adopts the line of argument most usual with 
 English Theologians. 
 
 JAMES FREDERICK PERRIER [1808-64.] 
 
 In his ' Lectures on Greek Philosophy' (Remains, Vol. I.), 
 Terrier has indicated his views on the leading Ethical con- 
 troversies. 
 
 These will appear, if we select his conclusions, on the three 
 following points : — The Moral Sense, the nature of Sympathy, 
 and the Summum Bonum. 
 
 1. He considers that the Sophists first distinctly broached 
 the question — What is man by nature, and what is he by con- 
 vention or fashion ? 
 
 ' This prime question of moral philosophy, as I have called 
 it, is no easy one to answer, for it is no easy matter to efiiect 
 the discrimination out of which the answer must proceed. It 
 is a question, perhaps, to which no complete, but only an ap- 
 proximate, answer can be returned. One common mistake is 
 to ascribe more to the natural man than properly belongs to 
 him, to ascribe to him attributes and endowments which 
 belong only to the social and artificial man. Some writers — 
 Hutcheson, for example, and he is followed by many others- 
 are of opinion that man naturally has a conscience or moral 
 sense which discriminates between right and wrong, just as 
 he has naturally a sense of taste, which distinguishes between 
 sweet and bitter, and a sense of sight, which discriminates 
 between red and blue, or a sentient organism, which dis- 
 tinguishes between pleasure and pain. That man has by 
 njiture, and from the first, the possibility of attaining to a con- 
 science is not to be denied. That he has within him by birth- 
 right something out of which conscience is developed, I firmly 
 believe ; and what this is I shall endeavour by-and-by to show 
 when I come to speak of Sokrates and his philosophy as 
 opposed to the doctrines of the Sophists. But that the man 
 
WHAT IS MAN BY NATURE? 699 
 
 is furnished by nature with a conscience ready-made, just as 
 he is furnished with a ready-made sensational apparatus, this 
 is a doctrine in which I have no faith, and which I regard as 
 altogether erroneous. It arises out of the disposition to 
 attribute more to ihe natural man than properly belongs to 
 him. The other error into which inquirers are apt to fall in 
 making a discrimination between what man is by nature, and 
 what he is by convention, is the opposite of the one just men- 
 tioned. They sometimes attribute to the natural man less 
 than properly belongs to him. And this, I think, was the 
 error into which the Sophists were betrayed. They fell into 
 it inadvertently, and not with any design of embracing or 
 promulgating erroneous opinions.' 
 
 2. With reference to Sympathy, he differs from Adam 
 Smith's view, that it is a native and original affection of the 
 heart, like hunger and thirst. Mere feeling, he contends, 
 can never take a man out of self. It is thought that overleaps 
 this boundaty.; not the feeling of sensation, but the thought 
 of one's self and one's sensations, gives the ground and the 
 condition of sympathy. Sympathy has self- consciousness for 
 its foundation. Very young children have little sympathy, 
 because in them the idea of self is but feebly developed. 
 
 3. In his chapter on the Cynic and Cyrenaic schools, he 
 discusses at length the summum bonum, or Happiness, and, 
 by implication, the Ethical end, or Standard. He considers 
 that men have to keep in view two ends ; the one the main- 
 tenance of their own nature, as rational and thinking beings ; 
 the other their happiness or pleasure. He will not allow that 
 we are io do right at all hazards, irrespective of utility ; yet 
 he considers that there is something defective in the scheme 
 that sets aside virtue as the good, and enthrones happiness in 
 its place. He sums up as follows : — 
 
 ' We thus see that a complete body of ethics should embrace 
 two codes, two systems of rules, the one of which we may call 
 the fundamental or antecedent, or under-groxmd ethics, as 
 underlying the other ; and the other of which we may call the 
 upper or subsequent, or above-ground ethics, as resting on, 
 and modified by the former. The under-ground ethics would 
 inculcate on man the necessity of being what he truly is, 
 namely, a creature of reason and of thought ; in short, the 
 necessity of being a man, and of preserving to himself this 
 status. Here the end is virtue, that is, the life and health of 
 the soul, and nothing but this. The above-ground ethics 
 would inculcate on man the necessity of being a happy man. 
 
700 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^MANSEL. 
 
 It is not enough for man to ie ; he must, moreover, if possible, 
 he happy. The ftindamental ethics look merely to his being, 
 i.e., his being rational ; the upper ethics look principally to 
 his being happy, but they are bonnd to. take care that in all 
 bis happiness he does nothing to violate his rationality, the 
 health and virtue of the soul.' 
 
 HENEY LONGITEVILLB MANSEL. 
 
 Mr. Hansel, in his * Metaphysics,' has examined the question 
 of a moral standard, and the natxire of the moral faculty, ac- 
 cepting, with slight and unimportant modifications, the cur- 
 rent theory of a moral sense. 
 
 1. The Moral Faculty. That the conceptions of right and 
 wrong are sui generis, is proved (1) by the fact that in all 
 languages there are distinct terms for ' right ' and ' agreeable ;' 
 (2) by the testimony of consciousness ; and (3) by the 
 mutual inconsistencies of the antagonists of a moral sense. 
 The moral faculty is not identical with Bieason ; for the 
 understanding contributes to truth only one of its ele- 
 ments, namely, the concept; in addition, the concept must 
 agree with the fact as presented iu intuition. The moral 
 sense is usually supposed to involve the perception of qualities 
 only ia so far as they are pleasing or displea^ng. To this 
 representation Mr. Mansel objects. In an act of moral con- 
 sciousness two things are involved : a perception or judgment, 
 and a sentiment or feeling. But the judgment itself may be 
 farther divided into two parts : ' the one, an individual fact, 
 presented now and here; the other, a general law, valid 
 always and everywhere.' This is the distinction between 
 presentative and representatwe Knowledge. In every act of 
 consciousness there is some individual fact presented, and an 
 operation of the understanding. 'A conscious act of pure 
 moral sense, like a conscious act of pure physical sense, if it 
 ever takes place at all, takes place at a time of which we have 
 no remembrance, and of whidi we can give no account.' The 
 mtuitive element may be called eonseiience; the representing 
 element is the undersiamddn^. On another point he differs 
 from the ordinary theory. It is commonly said that we imme- 
 diately perceive the moral character of acts, whether by our- 
 selves or by others. But this would implicate two facts, 
 neither of which we can be conscious of: (1) a law binding 
 on a certain person, and (2) his conduct as agreeing or dis- 
 agreeing with that law. Now, I can infer the existence of 
 
THE MORAL NATURE OF GOD. 701 
 
 such a law only by r^resenting his mind as constituted Uke 
 my own. We can, in fact,, immediately perceive moral quali- 
 ties only in our own actions. 
 
 2. The Moral Standard. This is treated as a branch of 
 Ontology, and designated the ' Real in morality.' He declares 
 that Kant's notion of an absolute moral law, binding by its 
 inherent power over the mind, is a mere fiction. The differ- 
 ence between inclination and the moral imperative is merely 
 a difference between lower and higher pleasure. The moral 
 law can have no authority unless imposed by a superior, as a 
 law emanating from a lawgiver. If man is not accountable 
 to some higher being, there is no distinction between duty 
 and pleasure. The standard of right and wrong is the moral 
 nature (not the arbitrary will) of God.* 'Sow, as we cannot 
 know God — an infinite being, — so we have but a relative con- 
 ception of morality. "We may have lower and higher ideas of 
 duty. Morality therefore admits of progress. But no advance 
 in morality contradicts the principles previously acknowledged, 
 however it may vary the acts whereby those principles are 
 carried out. And each advance takes its place iu the mind, 
 
 • ' The theory which places the standard of morality iu the Divine 
 nature must not he confounded with that 'which places it in the aihitrary 
 wUl of God. God did not create morality hy his will ; it is inherent in 
 his nature, and co-eternal with himself; nor can he he conceived as 
 capahle of reversing it.' The distinction here drawn does not avoid the 
 fafeil ohjection to the simpler theory, namely, that it takes away the moral 
 character of God. The acts of a sovereign cannot, with any propriety, as 
 Austin has shown, he termed either legal or illegal ; in like manner, if 
 God is a moral lawgiver, if ' he is accountable to no one,' then ' his duty 
 and his pleasure are undistinguishable from each other,' and he cannot 
 without self-contradictiou be called a moral being. Even upon Mr. 
 Mansel's own theory, it is hardly correct to say that ' God did not create 
 morality by his will.' Morality involves two elements — one, rules of 
 conduct, the other, an obligation to observe them. Now, the authority 
 or obligatoriness of moral laws has been made to depend upon the will of 
 God, so that, prior to that will, moralitj- could not exist. Hence the only 
 part of morality that can be oo-eternsd with God, is simply the rules of 
 morality, without their obligatoriness, the salt without its savour. The 
 closing assertion that God cannot reverse morality, may mean either that 
 it would be inconsistent with his immutability to reverse the laws he had 
 himself established, or that he is compelled by his nature to impose 
 certain rules, and no others. The first supposition is a truism; the 
 second is not proved. For, since Mr. Mansel has discarded as a fiction any 
 ' absolute law of duty,' it is hard to conjecture whence he could derive 
 any compulsory choice of rules. Why God commands some things in 
 preference to others — whether from a regard to the happiness of all his 
 creatures, or of some only ; whether with a view to his own glory, or 
 from conformity with some abstract notion — has been much iSsputed; 
 and it is quite conceivaile that he may not adopt any of those objects. 
 
702 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUAET MILL. 
 
 not as a question to be supported by argument, but as an 
 axiom to be intuitively admitted. Each principle appears 
 true and irreversible so far as it goes, but it is liable to be 
 merged in a more comprehensive formula.. It is an error of 
 philosophers to imagine that they have an absolute standard 
 of morals, and thereupon to set out & priori the criterion of a 
 possibly true revelation. Kant said that the revealed com- 
 mands of God could have no religious value,, unless approved 
 by the moral reason ; and Fichte held that no true revelation 
 could contain any intimation of future rewards and punish- 
 ments, or any moral rule not deducible from the principles of 
 the practical reason. But revelation has enlightened the 
 practical reason, as by the maxim — to love God with all thy 
 heart, and thy neighbour as thyself — a maxim, says Mr. 
 Mansel, that philosophy in vain toiled after, and subsequently 
 borrowed without acknowledgment. 
 
 JOHN STUAET MILL. 
 
 Mr. J. Si Mill examines the basis of Ethics in a small work 
 entitled TTtilitarianism. 
 
 After a chapter of General Remarks,, he proposes (Chapter 
 II.) to enquire. What Utilitarianism is ? This creed holds 
 that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote 
 happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of 
 happiuess. By happiness is intended pleasure, and the abr 
 sence of pain ;. by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of 
 pleasure. The things included under pleasure and pain may 
 require farther explanation ; but this does not affect the, 
 general theory. To the accusation that pleasure is a mean 
 and grovelling object of pursuit, the answer is, that human 
 beings are capable of pleasures that are not grovelling. It is 
 compatible with utility to recognize some Mnds of pleasure as 
 more valuable than others. There are pleasures that, irre- 
 spective of amount, are held by all persons that have experi- 
 enced them to be preferable to others. Few human beings, 
 would consent to become beasts, or fools, or base, in con- 
 sideration of a greater allowance of pleasure. Inseparable 
 from the estimate of pleasure is a sense of dignity, which 
 determines a preference among enjoyments. 
 
 But this distinction in kind is not essential to the justi- 
 fication of the standard of Utility. That standard is not the 
 agent's own greatest happiness, but the greatest amount of 
 happiness altogether. However little the higher virtues 
 
HAPPINESS THE ETHICAL END. 703 
 
 might contribute to one's own happiness, there can be no 
 doubt that the world in general gains by them. 
 
 Another objection to the doctrine is, that happiness is a 
 thing unattainable, and that no one has a right to it. Not 
 only can men do without happiness, but renunciation is the 
 first condition of all nobleness of character. 
 
 In reply, the author remarks that, supposing happiness 
 impossible, the prevention of unhappiness might still be an 
 object, which is a mode of Utility. But the alleged impossi- 
 bility of happiness is either a verbal quibble or an exaggera- 
 tion. No one contends for a life of sustained rapture ; 
 occasional moments of such, in an existence of few and 
 transitory pains, many and various pleasures^ with a pre- 
 dominance of the active over the passive, and moderate 
 expectations on the whole, constitute a life worthy to be 
 called happiness. Numbers of mankind have been satisfied 
 with much less. There are two great factors of enjoyment — 
 tranquillity and excitement. With the one, little pleasure, 
 will suffice ; with the other, considerable pain can be endured. 
 It does not appear impossible to secure both in alternation. 
 The principal defect in persons of fortunate lot is to care for 
 nobody but themselves ; this curtails the excitements of life, 
 and makes everything dwindle as the end approaches. Another 
 circumstance rendering life unsatisfactory is the want of 
 mental cultivation, by which men are deprived of the inex- 
 haustible pleasures of knowledge, not merely in the shape of 
 science, but as practice and fine art. It is not at all difficult 
 to indicate sources of happiness ; the main stress of the prob- 
 lem lies in the contest with the positive evils of life, the great 
 sources of physical and of mental sufiering — indigence, disease, 
 and the unkindness, worthlessness, or premature loss of objects 
 of afiection. Poverty and Disease may be contracted in 
 dimensions ; and even vicissitudes of fortune are not wholly 
 beyond control. 
 
 It is unquestionably possible to do without happiness. 
 This is the lot of the greater part of mankind, and is often 
 voluntarily chosen by the hero or the martyr. But self- 
 sacrifice is not its own end; it must be made to earn for 
 others immunity from sacrifice. It must be a very imperfect 
 state of the world's arrangements that requires any one to 
 serve the happiness of others by the absolute sacrifice of their 
 own ; yet undoubtedly while the world is in that imperfect 
 state, the readiness to make such a sacrifice is the highest 
 virtue that can be found in man. Nay, farther, the conscious 
 
704 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUAT.T MILL. 
 
 ability to do without happiness, in snch a condition of the 
 ■world, is the best prospect of realizing such happiness as is 
 attainable. Meanwhile, self-devotion belongs as much to the 
 Utilitarian as to the Stoic or the Transcendentalist ; with the 
 reservation that a sacrifice not tending to increase the sum of 
 happiness is to be held as wasted. The golden rule, do as 
 you would be done by, is the ideal perfection of utilitarian 
 morality. The means of approaching this ideal are, first, 
 that laws and society should endeavour to place the interest 
 of the individual in harmony with the interest of the whole ; 
 and, secondly, that education and opinion should establish 
 in the mind of each individual an indissoluble association 
 - between his own good and the good of the whole. 
 
 The system of Utility is objected to, on another side, as 
 being too high for humanity; men cannot be perpetually 
 acting with a view to the general interests of society. But 
 this is to mistake the meaning of a standard, and to confound 
 the rule of action with the motive. Ethics tells us what are 
 our duties, or by what test we are to know them; but no 
 system of ethics requires that the motive of every action 
 should be a feeling of duty ; our actions are rightly done pro- 
 vided only duty does not condemn them. Tho great majority 
 of actions have nothing to do with the good of the world — 
 they end with the individual ; it happens to few persons, and 
 that rarely, to be public benefactors. Private utility is in the 
 mass of cases all that we have to attend to. As regards 
 abstinences, indeed, it would be unworthy of an intelligent 
 agent not to be aware that the action is one that, if practised 
 generally, would be generally injurious, and to not feel a sense of 
 obligation on that ground ; but such an amount of regard for 
 the general interest is required under every system of morals. 
 It is farther alleged against Utility, that it renders men 
 cold and unsympathizing, chills the moral feelings towards 
 individuals, and regards only the dry consequences of actions, 
 without reference to the moral qualities of the agent. The 
 author replies that Utility, like any other system, admits that 
 a right action does not necessarily indicate a virtruous charac- 
 ter. Still, he contends, in the long run, the best proof of a 
 good character is good actions. If the objection means that 
 utilitarians do not lay sufGicient stress on the beauties of cha- 
 racter, he replies that this is the accident of persons cultivating 
 their moral feelings more than their sympathies and artistic 
 perceptions, and may occur under every view of the foundation 
 of morals. 
 
OBJECTIONS TO TJTILITT ANSWERED. 705 
 
 The next objection considered is that Utility is a godlesg 
 doctrine. The answer is, that whoever believes in the perfect 
 goodness and wisdom of God, necessarily believes that what- 
 ever he has thought fit to reveal on the subject of morals 
 must fulfil the requirements of utility in a supreme degree. 
 
 Again, Utility is stigmatized as an immoral doctrine, by 
 carrying out Expediency in opposition to Principle. But the 
 Expedient in this sense means what is expedient for the agent 
 himself, and, instead of being the same thing with the useful, 
 is a branch of the hurtful. It would often be expedient to tell 
 a he, but so momentous and so widely extended are the utilities 
 of truth, that veracity is a rule of transcendent expediency. 
 Tet all moralists admit exceptions to it, solely on account of 
 the manifest inexpediency of observing it on certain occasions. 
 
 The author does not omit to notice the usual charge that 
 it is impossible to make a calculation of consequences previous 
 to every action, which is as much as to say that no one can 
 be under the guidance of Ohristianify, because there is not 
 time, on the occasion of doing anything, to read through the 
 Old and New Testaments. The real answer is (substantially 
 the same as Austin's) that there has been ample time during 
 the past duration of the species. Mankind have all that time 
 been learning by experience the consequences of actions ; on 
 that experience they have founded both their prudence and 
 their morality. It is an inference from the principle of utility, 
 ■which regards morals as a practical art, that moral rules are 
 improvable ; but there exists under the ultimate principle a 
 number of intermediate generalizations, applicable at once to 
 the emergencies of human conduct. Nobody argues that 
 navigation is not founded on astronomy, because sailors can- 
 not wait to calculate the Nautical Almanack. 
 
 As to the stock argument, that people will pervert utility 
 for their private ends, Mr. Mill challenges the production of 
 any ethical creed where this may not happen. The fault is' 
 due, not to the origin of the rules, but to the complicated 
 nature of human affairs, and the necessity of allowing a certain 
 latitude, under the moral responsibility of the agent,, for ac- 
 commodation to circumstances. And in cases of conflict, 
 utility is a better guide than anything found in systems whose 
 moral laws claim independent authority. 
 
 Chapter III. considers the Ultimate Sanction of the 
 Peinciplb of Utility. 
 
 It is a proper question with regard to a supposed moral 
 standard, — What is its sanation ? what is the source of its 
 45 
 
V06 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUAET MILL. 
 
 obligation ? -wherein lies its binding force ? The customary 
 morality is consecrated by education and opinion, and seems 
 to be obligatory m itself; but to present, as the source of 
 obligation, some general principle, not surrounded by the 
 halo of consecration, seems a paradox; the superstructure 
 seems to stand better without such a foundation. This diffi- 
 culty belongs to every attempt to reduce morality to first 
 principles, unless it should happen that the principle chosen 
 has as much sacredness as any of its applications. 
 
 Utility has, or might have, all the sanctions attaching to 
 any other system of morals. Those sanctions are either 
 External or Internal. The External are the hope of favour 
 and the fear of displeasure (1) from our fellow-ereatures, or 
 (2) from the Euler of the Universe, along with any sympathy 
 or affection for them, or love and awe of Him, inclining us 
 apart from selfish motives. There is no reason why these 
 motives should not attach themselves to utilitarian morality. 
 
 The Internal Sanction, under every standard of duty, is 
 of one uniform character — ^a feeling in our own mind ; a pain, 
 more or less intense, attendant on violation of duty, which in 
 properly cultivated moral natures ris^s, in the more serious 
 cases, into shrinking fi-om it as an impossibility. This feeling, 
 when disinterested, and connecting itself with the pure idea 
 of duty, is the essence of Oonscienoe ; a complex phenomenon, 
 involving associations from sympathy, from love, and still 
 more from fear; from the recollections of childhood, and of 
 all our past life ; from self-esteem, desire of the esteem of 
 others, and occasionally even self-abasement. This extreme 
 complication is an obstacle to our supposing that it can attach 
 to other objects than what are found at present to excite it. 
 The binding force, however, is the mass of feelin-g to he broken 
 through in order to violate our standard of right, and which, 
 if we do violate that standard, will have to be afterwards 
 encountered as remorse. 
 
 Thus, apart from external sanctions, the ultimate sanction, 
 under Utility, is the same as for other standards, namely, the 
 conscientious feelings of mankind. If there be anything 
 innate in conscience, there is nothing more likely than that it 
 should be a regard to the pleasures and pains of others. If 
 so, the_ intuitive ethics would be the same as the utilitarian ; 
 and it is admitted on all hands that a large portion of morality 
 turns upon what is due to the interests of fellow-creatures. 
 
 On the other hand, if, as the author believes, the moral 
 feelings are not innate, they are not for that reason less 
 
NATURAL SENTIMENT IN FAVOUE OF UTILITY. 707 
 
 natural. It is natural to man to speak, to reason, to cultivate 
 the ground, to build cities, though these are acquired faculties. 
 So the moral faculty, if not a part of our nature, is a natural 
 outgrowth of it; capable, in a certain small degree, of 
 springing up spontaneously, and of being brought to a high 
 pitch by means of cultivation. It is also susceptible, by the 
 use of the external sanctions and the force of early impres- 
 sions, of being cultivated iu almost any direction, and of being 
 perverted to absurdity and mischief. 
 
 The basis of natural sentiment capable of supporting the 
 utilitarian morality is to be found in the social feelings ofman- 
 Mnd. The social state is so natural, so necessary, and so 
 habitual to man, that he can hardly conceive himself otherwise 
 than as a member of society ; and as civilization advances, 
 this association becomes more firmly riveted. All strength- 
 ening of social ties, and all healthy growth of society, give to 
 each individual a stronger personal interest in consulting the 
 welfare of others. Each comes, as though instinctively, to be 
 conscious of himself as a being that of course pays regard to 
 others. There is the strongest motive in each person to 
 manifest this sentiment, and, even if he should not feel it 
 strongly himself, to cherish it in everybody else. The smallest 
 germs of the feeling are thus laid hold of, and nourished by 
 the contagion of sympathy and the influences of education ; 
 and by the powerful agency of the external sanctions there is 
 woven around it a complete web of corroborative association. 
 In an improving state of society, the influences are on the 
 inci'ease that generate in each individual a feeling of unity 
 with all the rest ; which, if perfect, would make him never 
 think of anything for self, if they also were not included. Sup- 
 pose, now, that this feeling of unity were taught as a religion, 
 and that the whole force of education, of institutions, and of 
 opinion, were directed to make every person grow up sur- 
 rounded with the profession and the practice of it ; can there 
 be any doubt as to the sufficiency of the ultimate sanction for 
 the Happiness morality ? 
 
 Even in our present low state of advancement, the deeply- 
 rooted conception that each individual has of himself as a 
 Booial being tends to make him wish to be in harmony with 
 his fellow-creatures. The feeling may be, in most persons, 
 inferior in strength to the selfish feelings, and may be altogether 
 wanting ; but to such as possess it, it has all the characters of 
 a natural feeling, and one that they would not desire to be 
 without. 
 
708 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUAKT MILL. 
 
 Chapter IV. is Of what sort op peoof the peinoiple of 
 UTILITY IS SUSCEPTIBLE. Questions about ends are questions as 
 to what, things are desirable. According to the theory of 
 Utility, happiness is desirable as an end ; aU other things are 
 desirable as means. What is the proof of this doctrine ? 
 
 As the proof, that the sun is visible, is that people actually 
 see it, so the proof that happiness is desirable, is that people 
 do actually desire it. No reason can be given why the general 
 happiness is desirable, beyond the fact that each one desires 
 their own happiness. 
 
 But granting that people desire happiness as one of their 
 ends of conduct, do they never desire anything else ? To all 
 appearance they do; they desire virtue, and the absence of 
 vice, no less surely than pleasure and the absence of pain. 
 Hence the opponents of utility consider themselves entitled to 
 infer that happiness is not the standard of moral approbation 
 and disapprobation. 
 
 But the utilitarians do not deny that virtue is a thing to 
 be desired. The very reverse. They maintain that it is to be 
 desired, and that for itself. Although considering that what 
 makes virtue is the tendency to promote happiness, yet they 
 hold that the mind is not in a right state, not in a state con- 
 formable to Utility, not in the state conducive to the general 
 happiness, unless it has adopted this essential instrumentality 
 so warmly as to love it for its own sake. It is necessary to 
 the carrying out of utility that certain things, originally of 
 the nature of means, should come by association to be a part 
 of the final end. Thus health is but a means, and yet we 
 cherish it as strongly as we do any of the ultimate pleasures 
 and pains. So virtue is not originally an end, but it is capable 
 of becoming so ; it is to be desired and cherished not solely 
 as a means to happiness, but as a part of happiness. 
 
 The notorious instance of money exemplifies this operation. 
 The same may be said of power and fame ; although these are 
 ends as well as means. We should be but ill provided with 
 happiness, were it not for this provision of nature, whereby 
 things, originally indifierent, but conducive to the satisfaction 
 of our primitive desires, become in themselves sources of 
 pleasure, of even greater value than the primitive pleasures, 
 both in permanency and in the extent of their occupation of 
 our life. Virtue is originally valuable as bringing pleasure 
 and avoiding pain ; but by association it may be felt as a good 
 in itself, and be desired as intensely as any other good; with 
 this superiority over money, power, or fame, that il makes 
 
HAPPINESS THE ULTIMATE OBJECT OF DESIRE. 709 
 
 the individual a blessing to society, wMe these others may 
 make him a curse. 
 
 With the allowance thus made for the effect of association, 
 the author considers it proved that there is in reality nothing 
 desired except happiness. Whatever is desired otherwise than 
 as a means to some end beyond itself, and ultimately to hap- 
 piness, is not desired for itself till it has become such. Human 
 nature is so constituted, he thinks, that we desire nothing but 
 what is either a part of happiness or a means of happiness ; 
 and no other proof is required that these are the only things 
 desirable. Whether this psychological assertion be correct, 
 must be determined by the self-consciousness and observation 
 of the most practised observers of human nature. 
 
 It may be alleged that, although desire always tends to 
 happiness, yet Will, as shown by actual conduct, is different 
 from desire. We persist in a course of action long after the 
 original desire has faded. But this is merely an instance of 
 that familiar fact, the power of habit, and is nowise confined 
 to the virtuous actions. Will is amenable to habit ; we may 
 will from habit what we no longer desire for itself, or desire 
 only because we will it. But the will is the child of desire, 
 and passes out of the dominion of its parent only to come 
 under the sway of habit. What is the result of habit may 
 not be intrinsically good ; we might think it better for virtue 
 that habit did not come in, were it not that the other influ- 
 ences are not sufficiently to be depended on for unerring 
 constancy, until they have acquired this farther support. 
 
 Chapter V. is On the connexion between Josticb and 
 Utility. 
 
 The strongest obstacle to the doctrine of Utility has been 
 drawn from the Idea of Justice. The rapid perception and 
 the powerful sentiment connected with the Just, seem to show 
 it as generically distinct from every variety of the Expedient. 
 
 To see whether iii& sense of justice can be explained on 
 grounds of Utility, the author begins by surveying in the 
 concrete the things usually denominated just. In the first 
 place, it is commonly considered unjust to deprive any one of 
 their personal liberty, or property, or anything secured to 
 them by law : in other words, it is unjust to violate any one's 
 legal rights. Secondly, The legal rights of a man may be such 
 as cmghi not to have belonged to him ; that is, the law con- 
 ferring those rights may be a bad law. When a law is bad, 
 opinions will differ as to the justice or injustice of infringing 
 it ; some think that no law should be disobeyed by the indi- 
 
710 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— JOHN STUAKT MILL, 
 
 Tidnal citizen; others hold that it is just to resist unjust 
 laws. It is thus admitted by all that there is such a thing as 
 moral right, the refusal of -which is injustice. Thirdly, it is 
 considered just that each person should receive what he de- 
 serves (whether good or evil). And a person is understood 
 to deserve good if he does right, evil if he does wrong ; and 
 in particular to deserve good in return for good, and evil in 
 return for evil. Fourthly, it is unjust to break faith, to 
 violate an engagement, or disappoint expectations knowingly 
 and voluntarily raised. Like other obligations, this is not 
 absolute, but may be overruled by some still stronger demand 
 of justice on the other side. Fifthly, It is inconsistent with 
 justice to he partial; to show favour or preference in matters 
 where favour does not apply. We are expected in certain 
 cases to prefer our friends to strangers ; but a tribunal is 
 bound to the strictest impartiality ; rewards and punishments 
 should be administered impartially ; so likewise the patronage 
 of important public offices. Nearly allied to impartiality is 
 the idea of equality. The justice of giving equal protection 
 to the rights of all is maintained even when the rights them- 
 selves are very unequal, as in slavery and in the system of 
 ranks or castes. There are the greatest differences as to what 
 is equality in the distribution of the produce of labour ; some 
 thinking that all should receive alike ; others that the neediest 
 should receive most ; others that the distribution should be 
 according to labour or services. 
 
 To get a clue to the common idea running through all 
 these meanings, the author refers to the etymology of the 
 word, which, in most languages, points to something ordained 
 by law. Even although there be many things considered just, 
 that we do not usually enforce by law, yet in these cases it 
 would give us pleasure if law could be brought to bear upon 
 offenders. When we think a person bound in justice to do a 
 thing, we should like to see him punished for not doing it ; we 
 lament the obstacles that may be in the way, and strive to 
 make amends by a strong expression of our own opinion. The 
 idea of legal constraint is thus the generating idea of justice 
 throughout all its transformations. 
 
 The real turning point between morality and simple expe- 
 diency is contained in the penal sanction. Duty is what we 
 may exact of a person ; there may be reasons why we do not 
 exact it, but the person himself would not be entitled to com- 
 plain if we did so. Expediency, on the other hand, points to 
 things that we may wish people to do, may praise them for 
 
CONNEXION BETWEEN JtTSTICE AND UTILITY. 711 
 
 doing, and despise them for not doing, wUle we do not con- 
 sider it proper to bring in the aid of punishment. 
 
 There enters farther into the idea of Justice what has been 
 expressed by the ill-chosen phrase, ' perfect obligation,' mean- 
 ing that the duty involves a moi-al right on the part of some 
 definite person, as in the case of a debt ; an imperfect obliga- 
 tion is exemplified by charity, which gives no l^al claim to 
 any one recipient. Every such right is a ease of Justice, 
 and not of Beneficence. 
 
 The Idea of Justice is thus shown to be grounded in Law ; 
 and the next question is, does the strong feeling or sentiment 
 of Jastice grow out of considerations of utility ? Mr. Mill 
 conceives that though the notion of expediency or utility does 
 not give birth to the sentiment, it gives birth to what is 
 moral in it. 
 
 The two essentials of justice are (1) the desire to punish 
 some one, and (2) the notion or belief that harm has been 
 done to some definite individual or individuals. Now, it 
 appears to the author that the desire to punish is. a spon- 
 taneous outgrowth of two sentiments, both natural, and, it 
 may be, instinctive ; the impulse of self-defence, and the feel- 
 ing of sympathy. We naturally resent, repel, and retaliate, 
 any harm done to ourselves and to any one that engages our 
 sympathies. There is nothing moral in mere resentment ; 
 the moral part is the subordination of it to our social regards. 
 We are moral beings, in proportion as we restrain our private 
 resentment whenever it conflicts with the interests of society. 
 All moralists agree with Kant in saying that no act is right 
 that could not be adopted as a law by all rational beings (that 
 is, consistently with the well-being of society). 
 
 There is in Justice a rule of conduct, and a right on the 
 part of some one, which right ought to be enforced by society. 
 If it is asked why society ought to enforce the right, there is 
 no answer but the general ntUity. If that expression seem, 
 feeble and inadequate to account for the energy of retalia- 
 tion inspired by injustice, the author asks us to advert to 
 the extraordinarily important and impressive kind of utility 
 that is concerned. The interest involved is security, to every 
 one's feelings the most vital of all interests. All other earthly 
 benefits needed by one person are not needed by another ; 
 and many of them, can, if necessary, be cheerfully foregone, or 
 replaced by something else ; but security no human being can 
 possibly do without ; on it we depend for all our immunity 
 from evil, and for the whole value of all and every good. 
 
712 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUART MILL. 
 
 beyond the passing moment. Now, this most indispensable 
 of all necessaries, after physical nutriment, cannot be had 
 unless the machinery for providing it is kept -aidntermittedly in 
 active play. Our notion, therefore, of the claim we have on 
 our fellow-creatures to join in marking safe for us the very 
 groundwork of our existence,, gathers feelings around it so 
 much more intense than those concerned in any of the more 
 common cases of utOity, that the difference in degree (as is 
 often the case in psychology) becomes a real difference in 
 kind. The claim assumes that -character of absoluteness, that 
 apparent infinity, and incommensurability with all other con- 
 siderations, which constitute the distinction between the 
 feeling of rigjit and wrong, and that of ordinary expediency 
 ^nd injBxpediency. 
 
 Having presented his own analysis of the sentiment of 
 Justice, the author proceeds to examine the inlndtime theory. 
 The charge is constantly brought against Utility, that it is an 
 uncertain standard, differently interpreted by each person. 
 The only safety, it is pretended, is found in the immutable, 
 ineffaceable, and unmistakeable dictates of Justice, carrying 
 their evidence in themselves, and independent of the fluctua- 
 tions of opinions. But so far is this from being the fact, that 
 there is as much difference of opinion, and as much discussion, 
 about what is just, as about what is useful to society. 
 
 To take a few instances. On the question of Punislunent, 
 some hold it unjust to punish any one by way of example, or 
 for sny end but the good of the sufferer. Others maintain 
 that the good of the society is th^ only admissible end of 
 punishment. Bobert Owen affirms that punishment altogether 
 is unjust, and tha/t we should deal with crime only through 
 education. Now, without an appeal to expediency, it is im- 
 possible to arbitrate among these conflicting views ; each cme 
 has a maxim of justice on its side. Then as to the apportipn- 
 ing of punishm.ents to offences. The rule that recommends 
 itself to the primitive sentiment of justice is an eye for an eye, 
 a tooth for a tooth ; a rule formally abandoned in European 
 countries, although not without its hold upon the popular 
 mind. With many, the test of justice, in penal infliction, is 
 that it should be proportioned to the offence ; while others 
 maintain that it is just to inflict only such an amount of 
 punishment as will deter from the conmiission of the offence. 
 
 Besides the differences of opinion already aUuded to, as to 
 the payment of labour, how many, and irreconcileaJ>le, are the 
 standards of justice appealed to on the matter of taxation ? 
 
DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE JUST AND THE EXPEDIENT. 713 
 
 One opinion is, that taxes should be in proportion to pecuniary 
 means ; others think the wealthy should pay a higher propor- 
 tion. In point of natural justice, a case might be made out 
 for disregarding means, and taking the same sum from each, 
 as the privileges are equally bestowed : yet from feelings ot 
 humanity and social expediency no one advocates that view. 
 So that there is no mode of extricating the question but the 
 utilitarian. 
 
 To sum up. The great distinction between the Just and 
 the Expedient is the distinction between the essentials oi 
 well-being — the moral rules forbidding mankind to hurt one 
 another — and the rules that only point out the best mode oi 
 managing some department of human affairs. It is in the 
 higher moralities of protection from harm that each individual 
 has the greatest stake ; and they are the moralities that com- 
 pose the obligations of justice. It is on account of these that 
 punishment, or retribution of evil for evil, is universally in- 
 cluded in the idea. For the carrying out of the process of 
 retaliation, certain maxims are necessary as instruments or as 
 checks to abuse ; as that involuntary acts are not punishable ; 
 that no one shall be condemned unheard ; that punishment 
 should be proportioned to the offence. Impartiality, the first 
 of judicial virtues, is necessary to the fulfilment of the other 
 conditions of justice : while from the highest form of doing 
 to each according to their deserts, it is the abstract standard 
 of social and distributive justice ; and is in this sense a direct 
 emanation from the first principle of morals, the principle of 
 the greatest Happiness. All social inequalities that have 
 ceased to be considered as expedient, assume the character, 
 not of simple inexpediency, but of iajastice. 
 
 Besides the * D tilitarianism,' Mr. Mill's chief Ethical disser- 
 tations are his review of Whewell's Moral Treatises (Disserta- 
 tions and Discussions, Vol. IL), and parts of his Essay on 
 Liberty. By collecting his views generally under the usual 
 heads, we shall find a place for some points additional to what 
 are given in the foregoing abstract. 
 
 I. ^Enough has been stated as to his Ethical Standard, 
 the Principle of Utility. 
 
 II. — We have seen his Psychological explanation of the 
 Moral Faculty, as a growth from certain elementary feelings 
 of the mind. 
 
 He has also discussed extensively the Freedom of the 
 Will, maintaining the steict oaasation of human actions, and 
 refuting the supposed fatalistic tendency of the doctrine. 
 
714 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BAILEY. 
 
 He believes, as we have seen, in Disinterested impulses, 
 but traces them to a purely self-regarding origin. 
 
 III. — He does not give any formal dissertation on Human 
 Happiness, but indicates many of its important conditions, as 
 in the remarks cited above, p. 702. In the chapter of the 
 work on 'Liberty,' entitled Individuality, he illustrates the 
 great importance of special tastes, and urges the fall right of 
 each person to the indalgence of these in every case where 
 they do not directly injure others. He reclaims against the 
 social tyranny prevailing on such points as dress, personal 
 habits, and eccentricities. 
 
 IV. — As regards the Moral Code, he would repeal the 
 legal and moral rule that makes marriage irrevocable. He 
 would also abolish all restraints on freedom of thought^ and 
 on Individuality of conduct, qualified as above stated. 
 
 He wonld impose two new moral restraints. He con- 
 siders that every parent should be bound to provide a suit- 
 able education for his own children. Farther, for any one to 
 bring into the world human beings without the means of Sup- 
 porting them, or, in an over-peopled country, to produce 
 children in such number as to depress the reward of labour 
 by competition, he regards as serious offences. 
 
 SAMTJBL BAILEY. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Bailey devotes the last four in his Third Series 
 of ' Letters on the Philosophy of the Human Mind,' to the sub- 
 ject of the Moral Sentiments, or the feelings inspired in us 
 by human conduct. He first sets down five facts in the 
 human constitution, in which moral phenomena originate — 
 
 1. Man is susceptible of pleasure and pain of various kinds 
 and degrees. 
 
 2. He likes and dislikes respectively the causes of them. 
 
 3. He desires to reciprocate pleasure and pain received, 
 when intentionally given by other sentient beings. 
 
 4. He himself expects such reciprocation from his fellows, 
 coveting it in the one case, and shunning it in the other. 
 
 5. He feels, under certain circumstances, more or less 
 sympathy with the pleasures and pains given to others, ac- 
 companied by a proportionate desire that those afiections 
 should be reciprocated to the givers. 
 
 These rudimentary afiections, states and operations of 
 consciousness [he is carefiil to note that, besides feelings, 
 intellectual conditions and processes are involved in them] 
 
HUDIMENTARY SUSCEPTIBILITIES OF THE MIND. 713 
 
 are found more or less developed in all, or nearly all the 
 human race. In support of the limitation now made, he 
 adduces what are given as authentic accounts of savages 
 devoid of all gratitude and fellow-feeling ; and then goes on to 
 trace the nature and development of moral sentiment from the 
 rudimentary powers and susceptibilities mentioned, in those 
 that do possess them. In doing so, he follows the convenient 
 mode of speech, that takes actions for the objects that excite 
 the susceptibilities, although, in reality, the objects are no 
 other than human beings acting in particular ways. 
 
 The feelings he supposes to be modified in manner or 
 degree, according as actions are (1) done by ourselves to 
 others, or (2) done to others by others, or (3) done to others 
 by ourselves ; i.e., according as we ourselves are the subjects, 
 the spectators, or doers of them. 
 
 First, then, he considers our feelings in regard to actions 
 done to us by others, and the more carefully, because these 
 lie at the foundation of the rest. When a fellow-creatnre 
 intentionally contributes to our pleasure, we feel the pleasure ; 
 we feel a liking to the person intentionally conferring it, and 
 we feel an inclination to give him pleasure in return. The 
 two last feelings — liking and inclination to reciprocate, con- 
 stitute the simplest form of moral approbation ; in the contrary 
 case, dislike and resentment give the rudimentary form of moral 
 disapprobation. It is enough to excite the feelings, that the 
 actions are merely thougM to be done by the person. They 
 are moral sentiments, even although it could be supposed 
 that there were no other kinds of actions in the world except 
 actions done to ourselves ; but they are moral sentiments in 
 the purely selfish form. That, for moral sentiment, mere 
 liking and disliking must be combined with the desire to 
 reciprocate good and evil, appears on a comparison of our 
 different feelings towards animate and inanimate causes of 
 pleasure and pain ; there being* towards inanimate objects no 
 desire of reciprocation. To a first objection, that the violent 
 sentiments, arising upon actions done to ourselves, should not 
 get the temperate designation of moral approbation and dis- 
 approbation, he replies, that such extremes as the passions of 
 gratitude and resentment must yet be identified in their origin 
 with our cooler feelings, when we are mere spectators or 
 actors. A second objection, that the epithet moral is inappli- 
 cable to sentiments involving purely personal feeling, and 
 destitute of sympathy, he answers, by remarking that the 
 word moral, in philosophy, should not eulog^stioally be op- 
 
716 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BAILEY, 
 
 posed to immoral, but shoxtld be held as neutral, and to mean 
 'relating to condnct, whatever that conduct may be.' He 
 closes the first head with the observation, that in savage life 
 the violent desire of reciprocation is best seen; generally, 
 however, as he gives instances to show, in the form of revenge 
 and reciprocation of evil. 
 
 In the second place, he considers our feelings when we 
 are spectators of actions done to others by others. These 
 form the largest class of actions, but to us they have a mean- 
 ing, for the most part at least, only as they have an analogy 
 to actions done to ourselves. The variety of the resulting 
 feelings, generally less intense than when we are the subjects 
 of the actions, is illustrated first by supposing the persons 
 affected to be those we love; in this case, the feelings are 
 analogous to those already mentioned^ and they may be even 
 more intense than when we ourselves are personally afiected. 
 If those affected are indifferent to us, our feelings are less 
 intense, but we are still led to feel as before, from a natural 
 sympathy with other men's pains and pleasures — always sup- 
 posing iSoB sympathy is not (as often happens) otherwise 
 counteracted or superseded ; and also from the influence of 
 association, if that, too, happen not to be countervailed. Of 
 sympathy for human beings in general, he remarks that a 
 certain measure of civilization seems required to bring it 
 properly out, and he cites instances to prove how much it is 
 wanting in savages. In a third case, where the persons 
 affected are supposed to be those we hate, we are displeased 
 when they are made to rejoice, and pleased when they suffer, 
 unless we are overcome by our habitual associations with 
 good and evil actions. Such associations weigh least with 
 rude and savage peoples, but even the most civilized nations 
 disregard them in times of war. 
 
 He takes up, in the third place, actions done by ourselves 
 to others. Here, when the action is beneficent, the peculi- 
 arity is that an expectation of receiving good in return from 
 our neighbours takes the place of a desire to reciprocate ; we 
 consider ourselves the proper object of grateful thoughts, &c., 
 on the part both of raseiver and of specto,tors. We are affected 
 with the gratification of a benevolent desire, with self-com- 
 placency, and with undefined hopes. When we have inflicted 
 injury, there is the expectation of evil, and a combination of 
 feelings summed up in the word Remorse. But Remorse, 
 like other sentiments, may fail in the absence of cultivation of 
 mind or under special circumstances. 
 
DIFFERENT CLASSES OF ACTIONS. 717 
 
 Having considered the three different kinds of actions 
 separately, he next remarks that the sentiment prevailing in 
 each case must be liable to a reflex influence from the other 
 cases, whereby it wiU be strengthened or intensified ; thus we 
 come to associate certain intensities of moral sentiment with 
 certain kinds of action, by whomsoever or to whomsoever 
 performed. He also notes, that in the first and third cases, 
 as well as in the second, there is a variation of the sentiment, 
 according as the parties affected are friends, neutrals, or 
 enemies. Finally, a peculiar and important modification of 
 the sentiments results from the outward manifestations of 
 them called forth from the persons directly or indirectly 
 affected by actions. Such are looks, gestures, tones, words, 
 or actions, being all efforts to gratify the natural desire of 
 reciprocating pleasure or pain. Of these the most notable are 
 the verbal manifestations, as they are mostly irrepressible, and 
 can alone always be resorted to. While relieving the feelings, 
 they can also become a most powerful, as they are often the 
 only, instrument of reward and punishment. Their power of 
 giving to moral sentiments greater precision, and of acting 
 upon conduct like authoritative precepts, is seen in greatest 
 force when they proceed from bodies of men, whether they are 
 regarded as signs of material consequences or not. He ends 
 this part of the subject by defending, with Butler, the place 
 of resentment in the moral constitution. 
 
 He proceeds to inquire how it is that not only 
 the perfection of moral sentiment that would apportion 
 more approbation and disapprobation according to the 
 real tendencies of actions, is not attained, but men's 
 moral feelings are not seldom in extreme contrariety 
 with the real effects of human conduct. First, he finds 
 that men, from partial views, or momentarily, or from 
 caprice, may bestow their sentiments altogether at variance 
 with the real consequences of actions. Next there is the diffi- 
 culty, or even impossibility, of calculating all the consequences 
 far and near ; whence human conduct is liable to be appreciated 
 on whimsical grounds or on no discernible grounds at all, 
 and errors in moral sentiment arise, which it takes increased 
 knowledge to get rid of. In the third place, it is a fact that 
 our moral sentiments are to a very great extent derived from 
 tradition, while the approbation and disapprobation may have 
 originally been wrongly applied. The fcarce of teadition he 
 illustrates, by supposing the case of a patriarchal family, and 
 he cannot too strongly represent its strength in overcoming 
 
718 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BAILEY. 
 
 or at least struggling against natural feeling. The authorita- 
 tive precept of a superior may also make actions be approved 
 or disapproved, not because they are directly perceived or 
 even traditionally held to be beneficial or injurious, but solely 
 because they are commanded or prohibited. Lastly, he dwells 
 upon the influence of superstition in perverting moral senti- 
 ment, finding, however, that it operates most strongly in the 
 way of creating false virtues and false vices and crimes. 
 
 These circumstances, explaining the want of conformity in 
 our moral sentiments to the real tendencies of actions, he 
 next employs to account for discrepancies in moral sentiment 
 between difierent communities. Having given examples of 
 such discrepancies, he supposes the case of two families, 
 endowed with the rudimentary qualities mentioned at the 
 beginning, but placed in different circumstances. Under the 
 influence of dissimilar physical conditions, and owing to the 
 dissimilar personal idiosynoracies of the families, and espe- 
 cially of their chiefs, there will be left few points of complete 
 analogy between them in the first generation, and in course 
 of time they will become two races exceedingly unlike in 
 moral sentiment, as in other respects. He warns strongly 
 against making moral generalizations except under analogous 
 circumstances of knowledge and civilization. Most men have 
 the rudimentary feelings, but there is no end to the variety of 
 their intensity and direction. As a highest instance of dis- 
 crepant moral sentiment, he cites the fact that, in our own 
 country, a moral stigma is still attached to intellectual error 
 by many people, and even by men of cultivation. 
 
 He now comes to the important question of the test or 
 criterion that is to determine which of these diverse sentiments 
 are right and which wrong, since they cannot all be right 
 from the mere fact of their existence, or because they are felt 
 by the subjects of them to be right, or believed to be in con- 
 sonance with the injunctions of superiors, or to be held also 
 by other people. The foregoing review of the genesis of 
 moral sentiments suggests a direct and simple answer. As 
 they arise from likings and dislikings of actions that cause, or 
 tend to cause, pleasure and pain, the first thing is to see that 
 the likings and dislikings are well founded. Where this does 
 not at once appear, examination of the real effects of actions 
 must be resorted to ; and, in dubious cases, men in general, 
 when unprejudiced, allow this to be the natural test for 
 applying moral approbation and disapprobation. If, indeed, 
 the end of moral sentiment is to promote or to prevent the 
 
THE CEITERIOil OF CONSEQUENCES VINDICATED. 719 
 
 actions, there can be no better way of attaining that end. 
 And, as a fact, almost all moralists virtually adopt it on occa- 
 sion, though often unconsciously ; the greatest happiness- 
 pnnciple is denounced by its opponents as a mischievous 
 doctrine. 
 
 The objection that the criterion of consequences is difficult 
 of application, and thus devoid of practical utility, he rebuts 
 by asserting that the difficulty is not greater than in other 
 cases. ^ "We have simply to follow effects as far as we can; 
 and it is by its ascertainable, not by its unascertainable, con- 
 sequences, "that we pronounce an action, as we pronounce an 
 article of food or a statute, to be good or bad. The main 
 effects of most actions are already very well ascertained, and 
 the consequences to human happiness, when unascertainable, 
 are of no value. If the test were honestly applied, ethical 
 discrepancies would tend gradually to disappear. 
 
 He starts another objection : — The happiness-test is good 
 as far as it goes, but we also approve and disapprove of 
 actions as they are just or generous, or the contrary, and with 
 no reference to happiness or unhappiness. In answering this 
 argument, he confines himself to the case of Jnstice. To be 
 morally approved, a just action must in itself be peculiarly 
 pleasant or agreeable, irrespective of its other effects, which 
 are left out : for on no theory can pleasantness or agreeable- 
 ness be dissociated from moral approbation. Now, as Hap- 
 piness is but a general appellation for all the agreeable 
 affections of our nature, and unable to exist except in the 
 shape of some agreeable emotion or combinations of agreeable 
 emotions; the just action that is moi'ally commendable, as 
 giving naturally and directly a peculiar kind of pleasure 
 independent of any other consequences, only produces one 
 species of those pleasant states of mind that are ranged under 
 the genus happiness. The test of justice therefore coincides 
 with the happiness-test. But he does not mean that we are 
 actually affected thus, in doing just actions, nor refuse to 
 accept justice as a criterion of actions ; only in the one case 
 he maintains that, whatever association may have effected, 
 the just act must originally have been approved for the sake 
 of its consequences, and, in the other, that justice is a criterion, 
 because proved over and over again to be a most beneficial 
 principle. 
 
 After remarking that the Moral Sentiments of praise and 
 blame may enter into accidental connection with other feelings 
 of a distinct character, like pity, wonder, &c., he criticises the 
 
720 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— BAILET. 
 
 use of the word Utility in Morals. He avoids the term as 
 objectionable, because the useful in common language does 
 not mean what is directly productive of happiness, but only 
 what is instrumental in its production, and in most cases 
 customarily or recurrently instrumental. A blanket is of 
 continual utility to a poor wretch through a severe winter, 
 but the benevolent act of the donor is not termed useful, 
 because it confers the benefit and ceases. Utility is too narrow 
 to comprehend all the actions that deserve approbation. We 
 want an unoompiounded substantive expressing the two attri- 
 butes of conferring and conducing to happiness ; as a descrip- 
 tive phrase, prodMcing happiness is as succinct as any. ■ The 
 term useful is, besides, associated with the notion of what is 
 serviceable in the affairs and objects of common life, whence 
 the philosophical doctrine that erects utility as its banner is 
 apt to be deemed, by the unthinking, low, mean, and deroga- 
 tory to human nature and aspirations, although its real 
 import is wholly free from such a reproach. Notwithstanding, 
 therefore, the convenience of the term, and because the asso- 
 ciations connected with it are not easily eradicated, whilst most 
 of the trite objections to the true doctrine of morals turn upon 
 its narrow meanings, he thinks it shotdd be as much as pos- 
 sible disused. 
 
 Mr. Bailey ends by remarking of the common question, 
 whether our moral sentiments have their origin in Reason, or 
 in a separate power caUed the Moral Sense, that in his view 
 of man's sensitive and intellectual nature it is easily settled. 
 He recognizes the feelings that have been enumerated, and, in 
 connexion with them, intellectual processes of discerning and 
 inferring ; for which, if the Moral Sense and Heason are meant 
 as anything more than unnecessary general expressions, they 
 are merely fictitious entities. So, too, Conscience, whether 
 as identified with the moral sense, or put for sensibility in 
 regard to the moral qualities of one's own mind, is a mere 
 personification of certain mental states. The summary of 
 Bailey's doctrine falls within the two first heads. 
 
 I. — The Standard is the production of Hiappiness. [It 
 shotdd be remarked, however, that happiness is a wider aim 
 than morality ; although aU virtue tends to produce happiness, 
 very much that produces happiaess is not virtue.] 
 
 II- — The Moral Faculty, while involving. processes of dis- 
 cernment and inference, is mainly composed of certain senti- 
 ments, the chief being Reciprocity and Sympathy. [These are 
 undoubtedly the largest ingredients in a mature, self-acting 
 
HAPPINESS NOT THE PROXIMATE END. 721 
 
 conscience ; and the way that they conMbxite to the pro- 
 duction of moral sentiment deserved to be, as it has been, well 
 handled. The great omission in Mr. Bailey's aoconnt is the 
 absence of the element of amthoriby, which is the main instru- 
 ment in imparting to us the sense of obligation.] 
 
 HEEBEET SPENCEE. 
 
 Mr. Spencer's ethical doctrines are, as yet, nowhere folly 
 expressed. They form part of the more general doctrine of 
 Evolution which he is engaged in working out ; and they are 
 at present to be gathered only from scattered passages. It is 
 true that, in his first work. Social Statics, he presented what 
 he then regarded as a tolerably complete view of one division 
 of Morals. But without abandoning this view, he now regards 
 it as inadequate — more especially in respect of its basis. 
 
 Mr. Spencer's conception of Morality as a science, is con- 
 veyed in the following passages in a lette- written by him to 
 Mr. Mill; repudiating the title anti-utilitarian, which Mr. 
 Mill had applied to hi-m : — 
 
 ' The note in question greatly startled me by implicitly 
 classing me with Anti-utilitarians. I have never regarded 
 myself as an Anti-utilitarian. My dissent from the doctrine 
 of Utility as commonly understood, concerns not the object 
 to be reached by men, but the method of reaching it. While 
 I admit that happiness is the ultimate end to be contem- 
 plated, I do not admit that it should bC the proximate end. 
 The Expediency- Philosophy having concluded that happiness 
 is a thing to be achieved, assumes that Morality has no othet 
 business than empirically to generalize the results of conduct, 
 and to supply for the guidance of conduct noiMng more thail 
 its empirical generaUzatitins. 
 
 ' But the view for which I contend is, that Morality pro- 
 perly so called — the science of right conduct — has for its 
 object to determine how and why certain modes of conduct 
 are detrimental, and certain other modes beneficial. These 
 good and bad results cannot be accidental, but must be neces- 
 saiy consequences of the constitution of things ; and I con- 
 ceive it to be the business of Moral Science to deduce, from 
 the laws of life and the conditions of existence, what kinds of 
 action necessarily tend to produce happiness, and what kinds 
 to produce unhappiness. Having done this, its deductions 
 are to be recognized aS laws of conduct ; and are to be coti- 
 formed to irrespective of a ditect estimation of happiness or 
 misery. 
 
 ^ 46 
 
722 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SPENCEK. 
 
 ' Perhaps an analogy will most clearly show my meaning. 
 During its early stages, planetary Astronomy consisted of 
 nothing more than accnmnlated observations respecting the 
 positions and niotions of the son and planets; from which 
 accnmnlated observations it came by and by to be empirically 
 predicted, with an approach to truth, that certain of the 
 heavenly bodies wonld have certain positions at certain times. 
 But the modem science of planetary Astronomy consists of 
 deductions from the law of gravitation — deductions showing 
 why the celestial bodies necessarily occupy certaiin places 
 at certain times. iNow, the kind of relation which thus exists 
 between ancient and modern Astronomy, is analogous to the 
 kind of relation which, I conceive, exists between the Expedi- 
 ency-Morality, and Moral Science properly so-called. And the 
 objection which I have to the current Utilitarianism, is, that it 
 recognizes no more developed form of morality — does not see 
 that it has reached but the initial stage of Moral Science. 
 
 ' To make my position fully understood, it seems needful 
 to add that, corresponding to the fundamental propositions of 
 a developed Moral Science, there have been, and still are, 
 developing in the race, certain fundamental moral intuitions ; 
 and that, though these moral intuitions are the results of 
 accumulated experiences of Utility, gi-adnally organized and 
 inherited, they have come to be quite independent' of con- 
 scious experience. Just in the same way that I believe 
 the intuition of space, possessed by any living individual, to 
 have arisen from organized and consolidated experiences of all 
 antecedent individuals who bequeathed to bim their slowly- 
 developed nervous organizations — just as I believe that this 
 intuition, requiring only to be made definite and complete by 
 personal experiences, has practically become a form of thought, 
 apparently quite independent of experience ; so do I believe 
 that the experiences of utility organized and consolidated 
 through all past generations of the human race, have been 
 producing corresponding nervous modifications, which, by 
 continued transmission and accumulation, have become in 
 us certain faculties of moral intuition — certain emotions re- 
 sponding to right and wrong conduct, which have no ap- 
 parent basis in the individual experiences of utility. I also 
 hold that just as the space-intuition responds to the exact 
 demonstrations of Geometry, and has its rough conclusions 
 interpreted and verified by them; so will moral intuitions 
 respond to the demonstrations of Moral Science, and wiU have 
 their rongli conclusions interpreted and veidfied by them.' 
 
MOKAL INTUITIONS ATTAINED BY DEVELOPMENT. 723 
 
 _ The relations between the Expediency-MoraKty, and Moral 
 Science, conceived by Mr. Spencer to be, the one transitional, 
 and the other nltimate,, are further explained in the following 
 passage from his essay on 'Prison-Ethics' : — 
 
 * Progressing civilization, which is of necessity a succession 
 of compromises between old and new^ requires a perpetual 
 re-adjustment of the compromise between the ideal and the 
 practicable in social arrangements : to which end both ele- 
 ments of the compromise must be kept in view. If it is true 
 that pure rectitude prescribes a system of things far too good 
 for men as they are ; it is not less true that mere expediency 
 does not of Wiself tend to establish a system of things any 
 better than that which exists. WhUe absolute morality owes 
 to expediency the checks which prevent it from rushing into 
 ntopian absurdities ; expediency is indebted to absolute 
 morality for all stimulus to improvements Granted that we 
 are chiefly interested in ascertaining what is relatwely right ; 
 it stiU follows that we must first consider what is absolutehf 
 right ; since the one conception presupposes the other. That 
 is to say, though we must ever aim to do- what is best for the 
 present times, yet we must ever bear in mind what is ab- 
 stractedly best ; so that the changes we make may be towards 
 it, and not away from it.' 
 
 By the word absolute as thus applied, Mr. Spencer does 
 not mean to imply a right and wrong existing apart from 
 Humanity and its relations. Agreeing with Utilitarians in 
 the belief that happiness is the end, and that the conduct 
 called moral is simply the best means of attaining it, he of 
 course does not assert that there is a morality which is absolute 
 in the sense of being true out of relation to human existence. 
 By absolute morality as distinguished from relative, he here 
 meajis the mode of conduct which, under the conditions arising 
 from social union, must be pursued to achieve the greatest 
 welfare of each and all. He holds, that the laws of Life, 
 physiologically considered, being fixed, it necessarily foUows 
 that when a number of individuals have to live in social 
 union, which necessarily involves fixity of conditions in the 
 shape of mutual interferences and limitations, there result 
 certain fixed principles by which conduct must be restricted, 
 before the greatest sum of happiness can be achieved. These 
 principles constitute what Mr. Spencer distinguishes as abso- 
 lute Morality; and the absolutely moral man is the man 
 who conforms to these principles, not by external coercion 
 nor self-coercion, but who acts them out spontaneously. 
 
724 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— SPENCEE. 
 
 To be fully understood, this^conception must be taken along 
 with the general theory of Evolution. Mc. Spencer argues 
 that all things whatever are inevitably tending towards equi- 
 librium; and that consequently the progress of manMnd 
 cannot cease until there is equilibrium between the human 
 constitutian.aud the conditions of human existence. Or, as 
 he argues in First Frmciples (Second Edition, p. 512), 
 ' The adaptation . of man's nature to the conditions of his 
 existence cannot cease .imtil the internal ibrces which we 
 know as feehngs are in equilibrium with the external forces 
 they encounter. And the establishment of this equilibrium, is 
 the arrival at a state of human nature and social organization, 
 such that the individual has no desires but those which may 
 be satisfied without exceeding his proper sphere of action, 
 while society maintains no restraints but those which the 
 individual voluntarily respects. The progressive extension of 
 the liberiy of citizens, and ihe .reciprocal removal of political 
 restiictiaas, are the steps by which we advance towards this 
 state. And the ultimate abolition of all limits to the freedom 
 of each, save those imposed by, the like freedom of all, must 
 result from the complete equilibration between man's desires 
 and the conduct necessitated by surrounding conditions.' 
 
 The conduct proper to such a state, -which Mr Spencer 
 thus conceives to be the subject-matter .■of Moral Science, 
 truly so-called, he proposes, in the Prospectus to his 
 System of Philosophy, to treat under the following heads. 
 
 Personal Moeals. — The principles of private conduct — 
 physical, intellectual, moral, and religious — ttiat follow from the 
 conditions to complete individual life ; or, what is the same 
 thing, those modes of private action whidi must result from the 
 eventual equilibration of internal desires and external needs. 
 
 Justice. — The mutual limitation of men's actions neces- 
 sitated by their co-existence as units of a society — ^limitations, 
 the perfect observance of which constitutes that state of 
 equilibrium forming the goal of political progress. 
 
 Negative Beneficence. — Those secondary limitations, 
 similarly necessitated, which, though less important and 
 not cognizable by law, are yet requisite to prevent mutual 
 destruction of happiness in various indirect ways : in other 
 words — ^those minor self-restraints dictated by what may be 
 called passive sympathy. 
 
 PosrrtvE Beneficence. — Comprehending all modes of con- 
 duct, dictated by active sympathy, which imply pleasure in 
 giving pleasure — modes of conduct that social adaptation 
 
CONTmENTAL MOBAUSTS. 725 
 
 lias induced and must render ever more general ; and whicli, 
 in becoming universal, must fill to the full the possible mea- 
 sure of human happiness.. 
 
 This completes the long succession of British' moralists 
 during the three last centuries.- It has been possible, and 
 even necessary,, to- present- them thus in an unbroken line-, 
 because the insular movement inethioal philosophy has been 
 ' hardly, if at all, afifectedi by anyttiing- done abroad.- In 'the 
 earlier part of the modern period,. little of any kind was done 
 in ethics by the great continental thinkers. Descartes has 
 only a, few allusions to the subject; the 'Ethica' of Spinoza 
 is chiefly a work of speculative philosophy ; Leibnitz has no 
 systematic treatment of moral questions. The case is very 
 difierent in the new German philosophy since ■ the time oi 
 Kant J- besides Kant himself, Fichte,- Hegel, Schleiermacher, 
 and many later and contemporary thinkers having devoted a 
 lai'ge amount of attention ta/practical philosophy; But unless 
 it be Kant — and he not to any great extent — none of these has 
 influencedi the later attempts at ethical speculation amongst 
 ourselves : nor, again with^ the exception of Kant, are we as 
 yet in a position properly to deal with them. One reason for 
 proceeding to expound the ethical system of the founder ot 
 the later German philosophy, without regard to his successors, 
 lies in the fact- that he stood, on the practical side,, in as 
 definite a relation to the English moralists of last century, as, 
 in his speculative philosophy, to Locke and Eume.- 
 
 IMMANUEL KANT. [1724-1804.] 
 
 The ethical writings of Kant, in the order of their appear- 
 ance, axe—rFcnmdation for the Metaphysic of Morals (1785); 
 Critique of the Practical Reason (1788) ; Metaphysic of Morals 
 (1797, in two parts — {1), Doctrine of Bight or JrmspTadeaoe, 
 (2) Doctrine- of Virtue or Ethics proper).- The third work 
 contains the details of his system ; the general theory is pre- 
 sented in the two others^ Of these we select for analysis, the 
 earlier, containing, as it does, in less artificial form, an ampler 
 discussion of the fundamental questions of morals ; but 
 towards the end it must be supplemented, in regard to certain 
 characteristic doctrines, from the second, in some respects 
 more developed, work.* 
 
 • For help in understanding Kant's peculiar phraseology and general 
 point of view, the reader is referred to the short exposition of his Specu- 
 lative Philosophy in Appendix B. 
 
?26 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— KANT. 
 
 In the introduction to the Metaphysic of Morals, Kant 
 distinguishes between the emgirical and the rational mode 
 of treating Ethics. He announces his intention to depart 
 from the common plan of mixing up the two together, and to 
 attempt for once to set forth, lihe ^re -moral philosophy that 
 is implied even in the vulgar ideas t)f duty and moral law. 
 Because a moral law means an absolute necessity laid on all 
 rational beings whatever, its foundation is to be sought, not 
 in human nature or circumstances, but A priori in the con- 
 ception of pure reason. The most universal precept founded 
 on mere erperience is only a practical rule, and never a moral 
 law. A purely rational moral philosophy, or Metapbysic of 
 Morals, wiU serve the double end of -meeting a speculative 
 requirement, and of furnishing the -only true norm of practice. 
 It investigates iie idea and principles of a potentially pure 
 Will, instead of the acts and conditions of "human volition as 
 known from psychology. Not a complete Metaphysic of 
 Morals, however, (which would be .a Critique of the pure 
 Practical Keason), but merely ra foundation for such -will be 
 given. The supreme principle of morality is to be established, 
 apart from detailed application. 'First, common notions wiU 
 be analyzed in order to get at this highest principle; and 
 then, when the principle has been sought out, they will be 
 returned upon'by way of synthesis. 
 
 In the first oi the three main sections of the work, he 
 makes the passage from Common Ilational KJnowledge of 
 Morals to Philosophical. Nothing in the world, he begins, 
 can without qualification be called good, except WiU. Qua- 
 lities of temperament, like courage, &c., gifts of fortune, like 
 wealth and power, are good only with reference to a good 
 wiU. As 'to a good will, when it is really such, the circum- 
 stance that it can, or cannot, be executed does not matter ; its 
 value is independent of the utility or fruitlessness of it. 
 
 This idea of the absoluste worth of mere WiU, though it is 
 allowed even by the vulgar understanding, he seeks to estab- 
 lish beyond dispute, by an argument from the natural suhjec- 
 Hon of WiU to Reason. In a being weU-organized, if Con- 
 servation or Happiness were the grand aim, such subjection 
 would be a great mistake. When Instinct could do the work 
 far better and more surely, Reason should have been deprived 
 of aU practical fanction. Discontent, in fact, rather than 
 happiness comes of pursuit of mere enjoyment by rational 
 calculation ; and to make light of the part contributed by 
 Reason to happiness, is really to make out that it exists for a 
 
NOTHING GOOD EXCEPT WILL. 727 
 
 nobler purpose. But now, since Reason is a practical faculty 
 and governs the will, its function can only be to produce a Will 
 good in itself. Sucb a WUl, if not the only good, is certainly 
 the highest; and happiness, unattainable by Reason as a 
 primary aim, and subject in this life altogether to much limi- 
 tation, is to be sought only in the contentment that arises 
 from the attainment by Reason of its true aim, at the sacriflce 
 often of many a natural inclination. 
 
 He proceeds to develop this conception of a Will in itself 
 good and estimable, by dealing with the commonly received 
 ideas of Duty. Leaving aside profitable actions that are plain 
 violations of duty, and also actions conformed to duty, but, 
 while not prompted directly by nature, done from some 
 special inclination — in which case it is easy to distinguish 
 whether the action is done from duty or from self-interest ; 
 he considers those more difficult cases where the same action 
 is at once duty, and prompted by direct natural inclination. 
 In all such, whether it be duty of self-preservation, of bene- 
 volence, of securing one's own happiness (this last a duty, 
 because discontent and the pressure of care may easily lead 
 to the transgression of other duties), he lays it down that 
 the action is not allowed to have true moral value, unless 
 done m the abeyance or absence of the natural inclination 
 prompting to it. A second position is, that the moral value 
 of an action done from duty lies not in the intention of it, but 
 in the maxim that determines it ; not in the object, but in the 
 vrinoiple of Volition. That is to say, in action done out of 
 regard to duty, the will must be determined by its formal d 
 vriori principle, not being determined by any materitil d 
 vosteriori motive. A third position follows then from the 
 other two ; Duty is the necessity of an action out of respect 
 for Law. Towards an object there may be inclination, and 
 this inclination may be matter for approval or liking ; but it 
 is Law only — the ground and not the effect of Volition, 
 bearing down inclination rather than serving it — that can 
 inspire Sespeet. When inclination and motives are both 
 excluded, nothing remains to determine WUl, except Law 
 objectively ; and, subjectively, pure respect for a law of prac- 
 tice — i.e., the maxim to follow such a law, even at the sacrifice 
 of every inclination. The conception of Law-in-itself alone 
 determining the will, is, then, the surpassing good that is 
 called moral, which exists already in a man before his action 
 has any result. Conformity to Law in general, all special 
 motive to follow any single law being excluded, remains as 
 
728 ■ ETHICAL SYSTEMS— KAIfT. 
 
 the one principle of Volition : I am never to act otherwise, 
 than so as to be able .also to wish that my maxim (i.e., my 
 subjective principle of volition) should become a universal 
 ' iW. This is what he finds implied in the common notions of 
 
 Having illustrated at length this reading, in regard to the 
 duty of keeping a promise, he conftasts, at the dose of the 
 section, the all but infallibility of common human reason in 
 practice with its helplessness in speculation. Notwithstanding, 
 it finds itself unable to settle the contending claims of Beason 
 ^jid Ipiclination, and so is driven to devise a practical philo. 
 sophy, owing to the rise of a ' Natural Dialectic ' or tendency 
 to refine upon the strict laws of duty in order to make them 
 more pleasant. But, as in the speculative region, the Dialectic 
 cannot be properly got rid of without a complete Critique of 
 Be^on. 
 
 In Section 11. the passage is made from the popular moral 
 philosophy thus arising to the metaphysic of morals. He denies 
 that the notion of duty that has been taken above &om common 
 sage is empirical. It is proved not to be such from the very as- 
 sertions of philosophers that men always act from more or less 
 refined self-love; assertions that are founded upon the difB.- 
 culty of proving that acts most apparently conformed to duty 
 are really suqK The fact is, no act can be proved by expe- 
 rience to be absolutely moral, i.e., done solely from regardt to 
 duty, tq the exclusion of aU inclination; and therefore to 
 concede tha,t morality and duty are ideas to be had from 
 experience, is the surest way to get rid of them altogether. 
 Dutyi and respect, for its law, are not to be preserved at all, 
 unless Bicason is allowed to lay absolute injunctions on the 
 win, whatever e7;perience says of their non-execution. How, 
 indeed, is experience to disclose a moral law, that, in applying 
 to all rational beings as well as men, and to men only as 
 rational, must origina,te & priori in pure (practical) Beason ? 
 Instead of yielding the principles of morality, empirical exam- 
 ples of moral conduct have rather to be judged by these. 
 
 AU supreme principles of morality, that are genuine, must 
 rest on pure Benson solely ; and the mistake of the popular 
 practical philosophies in vogue, one and aU— whether advance 
 ing as their principle a special determination of human nature, 
 or Perfection, or Happiness, or Moral Feeling, or Fear of God, 
 or a little of this a/ad a little of that-— ig that there has been 
 no previous consideration whether the principles of morality 
 are to be sot^ht for in our empirical knowledge of human 
 
MORALITY BESTS ON PUEE KEASOK. "729 
 
 natnre at all. Sach consideration wotild have shown them to 
 be altogether & priori, and would have appeared as ai pme 
 practical philosophy or metaphysic of morals (upon the com- 
 pletion of which any popularizing might have waited), kept 
 free &om admixture of Anthropology, Theology, Physics, 
 Hyperphysics, &o., and setting forth the conception of Duty 
 as purely rational, without the conftision of empirical motives. 
 To a metaphysic of this kind, E!ant is now to ascend from the 
 popular philosophy, with its stock-in-trade of single instances, 
 following out the practical faculty of Reason from the general 
 rules determining it, to the point where the conception of 
 Duty emerges. 
 
 While things in natnre work according to laws, rational 
 beings alone can act according to a conceived idea of laws, 
 i.e., to principles. This is to have a Will, or, what is the 
 same. Practical Heason, reason being required in deduciag 
 actions from laws. If the Will follows Reason exactly and 
 without fail, actions objectively necessary are necessary also 
 subjectively J if, through subjective conditions (inclinations, 
 &c.), the Will does not follow Reason inevitably, objectively 
 necessary actions become subjectively contingent, and towards 
 the objective laws the attitude of the will is no longer unfailing 
 choice, but constraint. A constraining objective principle 
 mentally represented^ is a command; its formula is called 
 Irwperaivoe, for which the expression is Ought. A will perfectly 
 good — i.e., subjectively determiued to follow the objective 
 laws of good as soon as conceived — knows no Ought. Impera- 
 tives are only for an imperfect, such as is the human, will. 
 Hypothetical Imperatives represent the practical necessity of 
 an action as a means to an end, hemgproblematioal or assertory 
 principles, according as the end is possible or real. Categorical 
 Imperatives represent an action as objectively necessary for 
 itself, and count as apodeieUeal principles. 
 
 To the endless number of possible aims of human action 
 correspond as many Imperatives, directing merely how they 
 are to be attained, without any qaestion of their value ; these 
 are Imperatives of Fitness. To one real aim, existing neces- 
 sarily for all rational beings, viz.. Happiness, corresponds the 
 Imperative of Prudence (in the narrow sense), being assertory 
 while, hypothetical. Th* categorical Imperative, enjoiuing a 
 mode of action for itself, and concerned about the form and 
 principle of it, not its nature and result, is the Imperative of 
 Morality. These various kinds of Imperatives, as influencing 
 the will may be distinguished as Rules (of fitness). Cornish 
 
730 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^KANT. 
 
 (of pinidence), Oonvmands or Laws (of morality) ; also as 
 technical, pragmatical, moral. 
 
 "Sow, as to the question of the possibility of these diSerent 
 Imperatives — ^how they can be supposed able to influence or 
 act upon the Will — there is in the first case no difficoliy ; in 
 wishing an end it is necessarily implied that we wish the 
 indispensable means, when this is in onr power. In like 
 manner, the Imperatives of Pmdence are also analytical in 
 character (i.e., givenbyimplication),if only it were possible to 
 have a definite idea of the end sought, viz., happiness. But^ in 
 fact, with the elements of happiness to be got &om experience 
 at the same time that the idea requires an absolute whole, or 
 mazimam, of satisfaction now and at every future moment, no 
 finite being can know precisely what he wants, or what may 
 be the efiFeot of any of his wishes. Action, on fixed principles, 
 with a view to happiness, is, therefore, not possible ; and one 
 can only follow empirical directions, about Diet, Frugality, 
 Politeness, &c., seen on the whole to promote it. Although, 
 however, there is no certainty of causing happiness, and the 
 Imperatives with reference thereto are mere counsels, they 
 retain their character of analytical propositions, and their 
 action on the will is not less possible than in the former case. 
 
 To prove the possibiUfy of the Imperative of morality is 
 more difficult. As categorical, it presupposes nothing else to 
 rest its necessity upon ; while by way of experience, it can 
 never be made out to be more than a prudential precept — i.e., 
 a pragmatic or hypothetic principle. Its possibility must 
 therefore be established a priori. But the difficulty wiU then 
 appear no matter of wonder, when it is remembered (&om the 
 Critique of Pure Season) how hard it is to establish synthetic 
 propositions & priori. 
 
 The question of the possibility, however, meanwhile post- 
 poned, the mere conception of a categorical Imperative is 
 found to yield the one formula that can express it, from its 
 not being dependent, Uke a hypothetical Imperative, on any 
 external condition. Besides the Law (or objectiye principle 
 of conduct), the only thing implied in the Imperative being 
 the necessity laid upon the Maxim (or subjective principle) 
 to conform to the law — a law limited by no condition; 
 there is nothing for the maxim to be conformed to but 
 the universality of a law in general, and it is the conformity 
 alone that properly constitutes the Imperative neoessaiy. 
 The Imperative is thus single, and runs : Act according to that 
 maxi/m only which you can wish at the same time to iecome a 
 
FORMULA. OF THE CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE. 731 
 
 tiniversal law. Or, since universality of law as determining 
 effects is what we understand by nature : Aot as if the maxim 
 of your aetion <mgM by your will te become the vnwersal law of 
 natwre. 
 
 Taking cases of duties according to the common divisions 
 of duties to ourselves and to others, perfect and imperfect, he 
 proceeds to show that they may be all deduced from the single 
 Imperative ; the question of the reality of duty, which is the 
 same as the estabUshment of the possibility of the Imperative 
 as a synthetic practical proposition d, priori, at present alto- 
 gether apart. Suppose a, man tempted to commit suicide, 
 with the view of bettering his evil condition.; but it is contra- 
 dictory that the very principle of self-conservation should 
 lead to self-destruction, and such a miixim of conduct cannot 
 therefore become a -universal law of nature. Ifeit, the case ot 
 a man borrowing without meaning to repay, has only to be 
 turned into a umversal law, and the thing becomes impossible ; 
 nobody would lend. Again, to neglect a talent that is generally 
 useful for mere ease and self-gratification, can indeed be sup- 
 posed a universal practice, but can never be wished to be. 
 Finally, to refuse help to others universally might not ruin 
 the race, but can be wished by no one that knows how soon 
 he must himself need assistance. Now, the rule was, that a 
 inaxim of conduct should be wished to become the universal 
 law. In the last two cases, it cannot be wished; in the 
 others, the maxim cannot even be conceived in universal 
 form. Thus, two grades of duty, one admitting of merit, the 
 other so strict as to be irremissible, are established on the 
 general principle. The principle is moreover confirmed in the 
 case of transgression of duty : the transgressor by no means 
 wishes to have his act turned into a general rule, but only 
 seeks special and temporary exemption from a law allowed 
 by himself to be universal. 
 
 Notwithstanding this force and ease of application, a cate- 
 gorical Imperative ha& not yet been proved h priori actually 
 existent; and it was allowed that it could not be provted 
 empirically, elements of inclination, interest, &c., being incon- 
 sistent with morality. The real question is this : Is it a neces- 
 sary law that all rational beings should act on maxims that 
 they can wish to become universal laws P If so, this must be 
 bound up with the very notion of the will of a rational being ; 
 the relation of the will to itself being to be determined d 
 vriwi by pure Reason. The Will is considered as a power of 
 self-determination to act according to certain laws as repre- 
 
732 ■ ETHICAL SYSTEMS— KANT. 
 
 sented to the mind, existing only in rational beings. And, if 
 the objective ground of self-determination, or Und, is supplied 
 by niiere Beason, it mnst be the same for all rational beings. 
 Ends may be divided into Suhjeetwe, resting upon individual 
 Impulses or subjective grounds of desire ; and Objeetive, de- 
 pending on Moiwes or objective grounds of Volition valid for 
 all rational beings. The principles of action are, in the one 
 case, Material, and, in the other. Formal, i.e., abstracted from 
 all subjective ends. Material ends, as relative, beget only 
 hypothetical Imperatives. But, supposed some thing, the 
 presence of which in itself has an absolute value, and which, 
 as End-in-self, can be a ground of fixed laws ; there, and there 
 only, can be the ground of a possible categorical Imperative, 
 OP Law of Practice. 
 
 Now, such an End-in-self (not a thing with merely con- 
 ditional value, — a means to be used arbitrarily) is Man 
 and every rational being, as Person. There is no other objec- 
 tive end with absolute value that can supply to- the Season 
 the supreme practical principle requisite for taming subjective 
 principles of action into objective principles of volition. Ea- 
 tional Nature as End-in-seM is a! subjective principle to a man 
 having this conception of his own being, but becomes objec- 
 tive when every rational being has the same from^ the same 
 ground in Beason. Hence anew form (the second) to the 
 practical Imperative : Act so as to> use Hwmamty (BJumwn 
 Nature) as well in yov/f' own person, as in the person of another, 
 ever as end also, omd never merely as means. 
 
 To this new formula, the old examples are easily squared. 
 Suicide is using one's persou as a mere means to a tolerable 
 existence ; breaking faith to others is using them as means, 
 not as ends-in-self; neglect of self-cultivation is the not 
 farthering human nature as end-in-self in one's own person; 
 withholding help is refusing to further Humanity as end-ia-seli 
 through the medium of the aims of others.- [;In a note he 
 denies that ' the trivial. Do to others as you would,* &c., is a 
 full expression of the Mw of duty :- it contains the ground, 
 neither of duties to self j . nor of duties of benevolence to others, 
 for many would forego receiving good on conditions of not 
 conferring it; nor of the duty of retribution-, for the male- 
 factor could turn it against his judge, &c.]. 
 
 The universaliiy of this principle of Human and Bational 
 Nature aa End-in-self, as also its character of objective end 
 limiting merely subjective ends, prove that its source is in pure 
 Beason. Objectively, the ground of all practical legislation is 
 
THE WILL IS AUTONOMOUS. 733 
 
 Rule and the Form of Universality that enahles rule to be 
 Law (of Nature), according to principle first (in its double 
 form) ; subjectively, it is End, the subject of aJl ends being 
 every rational being as End-in-self, according to principle 
 second. Hence follows the third practical principle of the 
 Will, as supreme condition of its agreement with universal 
 practical Reason — the idea of the Will of every rational ievmg as 
 a Will tJiat legislates unvuersally. The Will, if subject to law, 
 has first itself imposed it. 
 
 This new idea — of the Will of every rational being as univer- 
 sally legislative — is what, in the implication of the Categorical 
 Imperative, specifically marks it off from any Hypothe- 
 tical : Interest is seen to be quite incompatible with Duty, if 
 Duty is Volition of this kind. A will merely subject to laws 
 can be bound to them by interest ; not so a will itself legis- 
 lating supremely, .for that would imply another law to keep 
 the interest of self-love from trenching upon the validity of 
 the universal law. Illustration is not needed to prove that a 
 Categorical Imperative, or law for the will of every rational 
 being, if it exist at all, cannot exclude Interest and be uncon- 
 ditional, except as enjoining everything to be done from the 
 maxim of a wiU that in legislating universally can have itself 
 for object. This is the point that has been always missed, 
 that the laws of duty shall be at once self-imposed and yet 
 universal. Subjection to a law not springing from one's own 
 wiU implies interest or constraint, and constitutes a certain 
 necessity of action, but never makes Duty. Be the interest 
 one's own or another's, the Imperative is conditional only. 
 Kant's principle is the Autonomy of the WiU; every other 
 its Heteronomy. 
 
 The new point of view opens up the very fruitfiil concep- 
 tion of an Empire .or Bealm of Ends. As a Realm is the sys- 
 tematic union of rational beings by means of common laws, so 
 the ends determined by the laws may, abstractly viewed, be 
 taken to form a systematic whole. Rational beings, as subject 
 to a law requiring them to treat themselves and others as 
 ends and never merely as means, enter into a systematic union 
 by means of conamon objective laws, i.e. into an (ideal) Em- 
 pire or Realm of Ends, from the laws being concerned about 
 the mutual relations of rational beings as Ends and Means. 
 In this Realm, a rational being is either Head or Member : 
 Head, if legislating universally and with complete indepen- 
 dence ; Member, if also universally, but at the same time sub- 
 ject to the laws. When now the maxim of the wiU does not 
 
734 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— KANT. 
 
 by nature accord necessarily with the demand of the objective 
 principle — that the will through its maxim be able to regard 
 itself at the same time as legislating universally — a, practical 
 constraint is exerted by the principle, which is I)uty, lying on 
 every Member in the Realm of Ends (not on the Head) alike. 
 This necessity of practice reposes,, not on feeling, impulse, or 
 inclination, but on the relation between rational beings arising 
 from the fact that each, as End-in-self, legislates universally. 
 The Reason gives a universal application to every maxim of 
 the Will ; not from any motive of interest, but from the idea 
 of the Dignity of a rational being that follows no law that it 
 does not itself at the same time give. 
 
 Everything in the Realm of Ends has either a Prioe or a 
 Dignity. Skill, Diligence, &e., bearing on human likings and 
 needs, have a Mourket-price ; Qualities like Wit, Fancy, &c., 
 appealing to Taste or Emotional Satisfaction, have an AffeeUon- 
 price. But Morality, the only way of being End-in-self, and 
 legislating member in the Realm of Ends, has an intrinsic 
 Worth, or Dignity, calculable in nothing else. Its worth is not 
 in results, but in dispositions of Will ; its actions need neither 
 recommendation from a subjective disposition or taste, nor 
 prompting from immediate tendency or feeling. Being laid 
 on the Will by Reason, they make the Will, in the execution, 
 the object of an immediate Bespect, testifying to a Dignity 
 beyond all price. The grounds of these lofty claims in moral 
 goodness and virtue are the participation by a rational being 
 in the universal legislation, fitness to be a member in a possible 
 Realm of Ends, subjection only to self-imposed laws. Nothing 
 having value but as the law confers it, an unconditional, in- 
 comparable worth attaches to the giving of the law, and Bespect 
 is the oiJy word that expresses a rational being's appreciation 
 of that. Autonomy is thus the foundation of the dignity of 
 human and of all rational nature. 
 
 The three different expressions that have been given to 
 the one general principle of morality imply each the others, 
 and differ merely in their mode of presenting one idea of 
 the Reason to the mind. UnvBersaZ (vppUeation of the Maxim 
 of Conduct, as if it were a law of nature, is the formula 
 of the Will as absolutely good ; unvoersal prohibition against 
 the use of rational beings ever as means only, has reference 
 to the fact that a good will in a rational being is an 
 altogether independent and ultimate End, an End-in-self in 
 all ; universal legislation of each for all recognizes the preroga- 
 tive or special dignity of rational beings, that they necessarily 
 
THEORIES FOUNDED ON THE HETEEONOMT OF THE WILL. 735 
 
 take their maxims from the point of view of all, and must 
 regard themselves, being Ends-in-self, as members in a Realm 
 of Ends (analogous to the Realm or Kingdom of Natm-e), 
 which, though merely an ideal and possible conception, none 
 the less really imposes an imperative upon action. Morality, 
 he concludes, is the relation of actions to the Autonomy of the 
 Witt, i.e., to possible universal legislation through its maxims. 
 Actions that can co-exist with this autonomy are allowed ; all 
 others are not. A will, whose maxims necessarily accord with 
 the laws of Autonomy, is holy, or absolutely good ; the de- 
 pendence of a wUl not thus absolutely good is Obligation. The 
 objective necessity of an action from obligation is I)toty. Sub- 
 jection to law is not the only element in duty ; the fact of the 
 law being self-imposed gives Dignity. 
 
 The Autonomy of the will is its being a law to itself, with- 
 out respect to the objects of volition ; the principle of autonomy 
 is to choose only in such a way as that the maxims of choice 
 are conceived at the same time as a universal law. This rule 
 cannot be proved analytically to be an Imperative, absolutely 
 binding on every wUl ; as a synthetic proposition it requires, 
 besides a knowledge of the objects, a critique of the subject, 
 i.e., pure practical Reason, before, in its apodeictio character, 
 it can be proved completely d, priori. Still the mere analysis 
 of moral conceptions has sufficed to prove it the sole principle 
 of morals, because this principle is seen to be a categorical 
 Imperative, and a categorical Imperative enjoins neither more 
 nor less than this Autonomy. If, then, Autonomy of Will 
 is the supreme principle, Heteronomy is the source of all 
 ungenuine principles, of Morality. Heteronomy is whenever 
 the Will does not give itself laws, but some object, in relation 
 to the WiU, gives them. There is then never more than a 
 hypothetical Imperative : I am to do something because I 
 wish something else. 
 
 There follows a division and criticism of the various 
 possible principles of morality that can be set up on the 
 assumption of Heteronomy, and that have been put forward 
 by human Reason in default of the required Critique of 
 its pure use. Such are either Umpirioal or Rational. The 
 Empirical, embodying the principle oi Happiness, are founded 
 on (1) physical or (2) moral feeling ; the Rational,' embodying 
 the principle ot perfection, on (1) tiie rational conception of it 
 as a possible result, or (2) the conception of an independent 
 perfection (the Will of God), as the determining cause of the 
 will. The Empirical pidnciples are altogether to be rejected, 
 
736 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^KANT. 
 
 because they can give no universal law for all rational beings ; 
 of the Rational principles, the first, though setting np an 
 empty and indefinite conception, has the merit of at least 
 making an appeal &om sense to pure reason. Sut the fatal 
 objection to all four is their implying Heteronomy ; no impera- 
 tive foanded on them can ntter moral, i.e., categorical 
 commands. 
 
 That the absolutely good Will must be autonomous — 
 i.e., without any kind of motive or interest, lay commands 
 on itself that are at the same time fit to be laws for 
 all rational beings, appears, then, from a deeper considera- 
 tion of even the popular conceptions of moralify. But 
 now the question can no longer be put off: Is Morality, of 
 which this is the only conception, a reality or a phantom ? 
 All the different expressions given to the Categorical Impera- 
 tives are synthetic practical propositions d priori ; they postu- 
 late a possible synthetic use of' the pure practical reason. Is 
 there, and how is there, such a possible synthetic use ? This 
 is the question (the same as the other) that Kant proceeds to 
 answer in the Third- Section, by giving, in default of a com- 
 plete Critique of the faculty, as much as is necessary for the 
 purpose. But here, since he afterwards undertook the full 
 Critique, it is better to stop the analysis of the earlier work, 
 and summarily draw upon both for the remainder of the 
 argument, and the rather because some important points 
 have to be added that occur only in the later treatise. The 
 foregoing is a sufficient example of his method of treatment. 
 
 The synthetic use of the pure practical reason, in the Cate- 
 gorical Imperative, is legitimized ; Autonomy of the Will is 
 explained; Duty is shown to be no phantom — ^through the 
 conception of Freedom of WiU, properly understood. Theoreti- 
 cally (speculatively). Freedom is undemonstrable ; being 
 eternally met, in one of the (cosmological) Antinomies of the 
 Pure Beason, by the counter-assertion thajj everything in the 
 universe takes place according to unchangfing laws of nature. 
 Even theoretically, however, Freedom is not inconceivable, 
 and morally we become certain of it ; for we axe conscious of 
 the ' ought' of duty, and with the ' ought' there must go a 
 ' can.' It is not, however, as Phenomenon or Sensible Ens 
 that a man ' can,' is free, has an absolute initiative ; all pheno- 
 mena or Sensible Entia, being in space and time, are subject 
 to the Natural Law of Causality. Bat man is also Noumenon, 
 Thing-in-self, Intelligible Ens ; and as such, being free from 
 conditions of time and space, stands outside of the sequence 
 
POSTULATES OF THE PBACTICAL EEASON. 737 
 
 of Nature. Now, the. Noamenon or Ens of the Reason (he 
 aBsumes) stands higher than, or has a value above, the Pheno- 
 menon or Sensible 3ins (as much as Beason stands higher 
 than Sense and Inclination) ; accordingly, while it is only man 
 as Nonmenon that ' can,' it is to man as Phenomenon tlmt the 
 ' ought ' is properly addressed ; it is upon man as Phenomenon 
 that the law of Duty, prescribed, with perfect freedom &om 
 motive, by Man as Noumenon, is laid. 
 
 Freedom of Will in Man as Bational End or Thing-in-self 
 is thus the great Postulate of the pure Practical Beason ; we 
 can be sure of the fact (although it. must always remain spe- 
 cula,tively undemonstrable), because else there could be no 
 explanation of the Categorical Imperative of Duty. But inas- 
 much as the Practical Beason, besides enjoining a law of 
 Duty, must provide also a final end of action in the idea of an 
 unconditioned Supreme Good, it contains also two other Pos- 
 tulates : Man being a sentient as well as a rational being, 
 Happiness as well as Perfect Virtue or Moral Perfection must 
 enter into the Summum Bonum (not, one of them to the 
 exclusion of the other, as the Stoics and Epicureans, in dif- 
 ferent senses, declared). Now, since there is no such necessary 
 conjunction of the two in nature, it must be sought otherwise. 
 It is found in postulating Immortality and God. 
 
 Immortality is required to render possible the attainment 
 of moral perfection. Virtue au,t of ra^ect for law, with a con- 
 stant tendency to fall away, is all that is attainable in life. 
 The Holmess, at com:plete accommodation of the will to the 
 Moral Law, implied in the Summum Bonum, can be attained 
 to only in the course of an infinite progression ; which means 
 personal Immortality. [As in the former case, the speoala- 
 tive impossibility of proving the immateriality, &c., of the 
 supernatural soul is not here overcome ; but Immortality is 
 morally certain, being demanded by the Practical Beason.] 
 
 Moral perfection thus provided for, God must be postulated 
 in order to find the ground of the required conjunction of 
 Felicity. Happiness is the condition of the rational being in 
 whose whole existence everything goes according to wish and 
 will ; and this is not the condition of man, for in him observ- 
 ance of the moral law is not conjoined with power of disposal 
 over the laws of nature. But, as Practical Beason demands 
 the conjunction, it is to be found only in a being who is the 
 author at once of Nature and of the Moral Law ; and this is 
 God. [The same remark once more applies, that here what 
 is obtained is a m^/ral certainty of the existence of the Deity : 
 47 
 
738 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ^KANT. 
 
 the negative result of the Critique of the Pore (speculaMve) 
 Beason abides what it was.] 
 
 We may now attempt to summarize this abstmse Ethical 
 theory of Kant. 
 
 I. — The Stahdaeb of morally good action (or rather Will), 
 as expressed in the different forms of the Categorical Impera- 
 tive, is the possiHlity of its being universally extended as a 
 law for all rational beings. His meaning comes out still better 
 in the obverse statement : The a,otion is bad that cannot be, or 
 at least cannot he wished to he, turned unto a universal law. 
 
 n. — Kant would expressly demur to being questioned as 
 to his PsTCHOLOGT of Ethics ; since he puts his own theory in 
 express opposition to every other founded upon any empirical 
 view of the mental constitution. Nevertheless, we may 
 extract some kind of answers to the usual queries. 
 
 The Faculty is the (pure Practical) Beason. The appre- 
 hension of what is morally right is entirely an affair of Beason ; 
 the only element of Feeling is an added Sentiment of Awe or 
 Bespect for the law that Beason imposes, this being a law, 
 not only for me who impose it on myself, but at the same 
 time for every rational agent. [The Pure Beason, which 
 means with Kant the Faculty of Principles, is SpecviUMoe or 
 Praetical. As Speculative, it requires us to bring our know- 
 ledge (of the understanding) to certain higher unconditioned 
 unities (Soul, Cosmos, God) ; but there is eri:or if these are 
 themselves regarded as facts of knowledge. As PracUeal, it 
 sets up' an unconditional law of Bnty in Action (unconditioned 
 by motives) ; and in this and in the related conception of the 
 Summujn Bonum is contained a moral certainty of the Immor- 
 tality (of the soul), Freedom (in the midst of Natural Neces- 
 sity), and of God as existent.] 
 
 As to the point of Fre^-wiU, nothing more need be said. 
 
 Disinterested Sentiment, as sentiment, is very little re- 
 garded : disinterested euition is required with such rigour that 
 every act or disposition is made to lose its character as moral, 
 according as any element of interested feeling of any kind 
 enters into it. Kant obliterates the line between Duty and 
 Virtue, by making a duty of every virtue ; at least he con- 
 ceives clearly that there is no Virtue in doing what we are 
 •strongly prompted to by inclination-r-that virtue must involve 
 "Self-sacrifice. 
 
 III. — His position with respect to Happiness is peculiar. 
 Happiness is not the end of action : the end of action is rather 
 the self-assertion of the rational faculty over the lower man. 
 
DUTIES. 739 
 
 If the_ constitnents of Happiness cotdd be known — and they 
 cannot be — there would be no morality, but only prudence in 
 the pursuit of them. To promote our own happiness is indeed a 
 duty, but in order to keep us from neglecting our other duties. 
 
 Nevertheless, he conceives it necessary that there should 
 be an ultimate equation of Virtue and Happiness ; and the 
 need of Happiness he then expressly connects with the sen- 
 suous side of our being. 
 
 rV. — His Moral Code may here be shortly presented 
 from the second part of his latest work, where it is fuUy given. 
 Distinguishing Moral Duties or (as he calls them) ' Virtue- 
 duties,' left to be enforced internally by Conscience, from 
 Legal Duties {Beehtspflichten), externally enforced, he divides 
 them into two classes — (A) Duties to Self; (B) Duties to 
 Othei-s. 
 
 (A) Duties to Self. These have regard to the one private 
 Aim or End that a man can make a duty of, viz., his own 
 Perfection ; for his own Happiness, being provided for by a 
 natural propensity or inclination, is to himself no duty. They 
 are (a) perfect (negative or restrictive) as directed to mere 
 Self-Conservation ; (6) imperfect (positive or extensive) as 
 directed to the Advancement or Perfecting of one's being. 
 The perfect are concerned about Self (o), as an Animal crea- 
 ture, and then are directed against — (1) Self-destruction, (2) 
 Sexual Excess, (3) Intemperance in Eating and Bnnking ; 
 (/3) as a Moral creature, and then are directed against — (1) 
 Lying, (2) Avarice, (3) Servility. The imperfect have reference 
 to (a) physical, 0) moral advancement or perfection (subjec- 
 tively. Purity or Holiness). 
 
 (B) Duties to Others. These have regard to the only Aim 
 or End of others that a man can make a duty of, viz., their 
 Happiness ; for their Perfection can be promoted only by them- 
 selves. Duties to others as men are metaphysically deducible ; 
 and application to-special conditions of men is to be made empiri- 
 cally. They include (a) Duties of Love, involving Merit or 
 Desert (i.e., return from the objects of them) in the perform- 
 ance : (1) Beneficence, (2) Gratitude, (3) Fellow-feeling; (b) 
 Duties of Respect, absolutely due to others as men; the 
 opposites are the vices : (1) Haughtiness, (2) Slander, (3) Scorn- 
 fulness. In Friendship, Love and Respect are combined in 
 the highest degree. Lastly, he notes Social duties in human 
 intercourse {AffahilUy, &c.) — these being outworks of morality. 
 
 He allows no special Duties to God, or Inferior Creatures, 
 beyond what is contained in Moral Perfection as Duty to Self. 
 
740 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — COUSIN. 
 
 V. — The conception of Law enters largely ijito Kant's 
 theory of morals, bnt in a sense purely transcendental, and 
 not as sabjectiag or assimilating morality to positive political 
 institution. The Legality of external afil^ns, as well as the 
 Morality of internal digposjUwas, is determined by reference 
 to the one nniTersal moral Imperative. The principle under- 
 lying all leffaZ or juml (as opposed to moral or ethical) pro- 
 visions, is the necessity of uniting in a universal law of 
 freedom the spontaneity of each with the spontaneity of all 
 the others: individual &eed<nn and freedom of all must be 
 made to subsist together in a universal law. 
 
 VI. — With Kant, Beligion and Morality are very closely 
 connected, or, in a sense, even identified ; but the alUance is 
 not at the expense of Morality. Bo far from making this 
 dependent on Beligion, he can find nothing but the moial 
 conviction whereon to establish the religions doctrines of 
 Immortality and the Existence of God ; while, in a specif 
 work, he declares further that BieUgion consists merely in the 
 practice of Morality as a system of divine commands, and 
 claims to judge of all religions institutions and dogmas by the 
 mural consoioogjeiess. Besides, the Post-dates themselves, in 
 which the passage to Religion is made, are not all equaUy 
 imperative, — Freedom, as the ground of the fact of Duty, being 
 more urgently demanded thaju others ; and he even goes so 
 far as to maike the allowance, that whoever has su£B.cient moral 
 strength to fulfil the Law ojf Season without them, is, not 
 required to subscribe to them. 
 
 The modem French school, that has arisen in this cen- 
 tury under the combined influence of the Scotch and the 
 German phUosophy, has bestowed some attention on Ethics. 
 We end by noticwg under it Cousin and Jonffroy. 
 
 VIOTOE COUSIN. [1792-1867.] 
 
 The analysis of Cousin's ethical views is made upon his 
 historical lectures Svr les Idees du Vrai, du Beau et cht Bien, 
 as delivered in 1817-18. They contain a dogmaitic exposition 
 of his own opinions, beginning at llie 20th lecture ; the three 
 preceding lectures, in the section of the whole course devoted 
 to the Grood, being taken up with the preliminary review <rf 
 other opinions required for his edeotical purpose. 
 
 He determines tp consider, by way of psycholog^ical analysis, 
 the ideas ai^d sentiments gf every kind caUed up by the spec* 
 
FUNDAMENTAL ANALYSIS. 741 
 
 tacle of hnman actions ; and first he notes acstiofis that please 
 and displease the senses, or in some way affect our interest : 
 those that are agreeable and nseftd we naturally choose, avoid- 
 ing the opposites, and in this we are jirudent. But there is 
 another set of actions, having no reference to our own per- 
 sonal interest, which yet we qualify as good or bad. When 
 an armed robber kiUs and spoils a defenceless man, we, though 
 beholding the sight ia safety, are at once stirred up to disin- 
 terested horror and indignation. This is no mere passing sen- 
 timent, but includes a two-fold judgment, pronounced then 
 and ever after ; that the action is in itself bad, and that it 
 ought not to be committed. Still farther, our anger implies 
 that the object of it is conscious of the evil and the obligation, 
 and is therefore responsible ; wherein again is implied that he 
 is a ft-ee agent. And, finally, demanding as we do that he 
 should be punished, we pass what has been called a judgment 
 of merit and demerit, which is built upon an idea in our minds 
 of a supreme law, joining happiness to virtue and misfortune 
 to crime. 
 
 The analysis thus far he claims to be strictly scientific ; he 
 now proceeds to vary the case, taking actions of our own. I 
 am supposed entrusted by a dying Mend with a deposit for 
 another, and a struggle ensues between interest and probity 
 as to whether I should pay it. K interest conquers, remorse 
 ensues. He paints the state of remorse, and analyzes it into 
 the same elements as before, the idea of good and evil, of an 
 obligatory law, of liberty, of merit and demerit ; it thus includes 
 the whole phenomenon of morality. The exactly opposite state 
 that follows upon the victory of probity, is proved to imply 
 the same facts. 
 
 The Moral Sentiment, so striking in its character, has by 
 some been supposed the foundation of all morality, but in 
 point of fact it is itself constituted by these various judgments. 
 Now that they are known to stand as its elements, he 
 goes on to subject each to a stricter analysis, taking first 
 the judgment of good and evil, which is at the bottom of 
 aU the rest. It He's in the original consbitntion of human 
 nature, being simple and indecomposable, like the jndg- 
 inent of the True and the Beautiful. It is absolute, and 
 cannot be withheld in presence of certain acts ; but it only 
 declares, and does not constitute, good and evil, these being 
 real and independent qualities of actions. Applied at first to 
 special cases, the judgment of good gives birth to general 
 principles that become rules for judging other actions. Like 
 
742 BTHICiLL SYSTEMS — COUSHT. 
 
 other sciences, morality has its axioms, justly called moral 
 truths ; if it is good to keep an oath, it is also tme, the oath 
 being made with no other purpose than to be kept Faith- 
 ful guarding as much belongs to the idea of a deposit, as the 
 equality between its three angles and two right angles to the 
 idea of a triangle. By no caprice or effort of will can a moral 
 verity be made in the smallest degree other than it is. 
 
 But, he goes on, a moral verity is not simply to be be- 
 lieved; it must also be practised, and this is obligation, the 
 second of the elements of moral sentiment. ObU^tion, like 
 moral truth, on which it rests, is absolute, immutable, univer- 
 sal. Eant even went so fe,r as to make it the principle of our 
 morality ; but this was snbjectivizing good, as he bad subjec- 
 tivized truth. Before there is an obligation to act, there must 
 be an intrinsic goodness in the action ; the real first truth of 
 morality is justice, i.e., the essential distinction of good and 
 evil. It is justice, therefore, and not duty, that strictly de- 
 serves the name of a principle. 
 
 The next element is liberty. Obligation implies the facuHy 
 of resisting desire, passion, &c., else there would be a contra- 
 diction in human nature. But the truest proof of liberty is to 
 be sought in the constant testimony of consciousness, that, in 
 wishing this or that, I am equally able to will the contrary. 
 He distinguishes between the power of willing and the power 
 of executing ; also between will and desire, or passion. In the 
 conflict between will and the tyranny of desire lies liberty ; 
 and the aim of the conflict is the fulfilment of duty. For the 
 will is never so free, never so much itself, as when yielding to 
 the law of duty. Persons are distinguished from Things in 
 having responsibility, dignity, intrinsic value. Because there 
 is in me a being worthy of respect, I am bound in duly to 
 respect myself, and have the right to be respected by you. 
 My duty (he means, of course, wlmt I owe to self) is the exact 
 measure of my light. The character of being a ^person is in- 
 violable, is the foundation of property, is inalienable by self 
 or others, and so forth. 
 
 He passes to the last element of the phenomenon of 
 morjJity, the judgment of merit and demerit The judgment 
 follows, as the agent is supposed free, and it is not affected 
 by lapse of time. It depends also essentially on the idea that 
 the agent knows g^od from evU. Upon itself foUow the 
 notions of reward and punishment. Merit is the natural right 
 to be rewarded ; demerit, paradox as it may appear, the right 
 to be punished. A criminal would claim to be punished, if 
 
ETHICAL SENTIMENT. 743 
 
 he coald comprehend the absolate necessity of expiation ; and 
 are there not real cases of each criminals ? Bat as there can 
 be merit without actual reward, so to be rewarded does not 
 constitute merit. 
 
 If good, he continues, is good in itself, and ought to be 
 done without regard to consequences, it is no less true that 
 the consequences of good cannot fail to be happy. Virtue 
 without happiness and crime without misfortune are a con- 
 tradiction, a disorder; which are hardly met with in the 
 world, even as it is, or, where in a few cases they are found, 
 are sure to be righted in the end by eternal justice. The 
 sacrifice supposed in virtue, if generously accepted and cour- 
 ageously undergone, has to be recompensed in respect of the 
 amount of happiness sacrificed. 
 
 Once more, he takes up the Sentmient, which is the general 
 echo of all the elements of the phenomenon. Its end is to 
 make the mind sensible of the bond between virtue and hap- 
 piness ; it is tlie direct and vivid application of the law of 
 merit. Again, he touches the states of moral satisfaction and 
 remorse, speaks of our sympathy with the moral goodness of 
 others and our benevolent feeling that arises towards them — 
 emotions all, but covering up judgments ; and this is the end 
 of his detailed analysis of the actual facts of the case. But 
 he still goes on to sum up in exact expressions the foregoing 
 results, and he claims especially to have overlooked neither 
 the part played by Season, nor the function of Sentiment. 
 The rational character of the idea of good gives morality its 
 firm foundation ; the lively sentiment helps to lighten the 
 often heavy burden of duty, and stirs up to the most heroic 
 deeds. Self-interest too is not denied its place. In this con- 
 nexion, led again to allude to the happiness appointed to 
 virtue here or at least hereafter, he allows that God may be 
 regarded as the fountain of morality, but only in the sense 
 that his wUl is the expression of his eternal wisdom and 
 justice. Religion crowns morality, but morality is based 
 upon itself. The rest of the lecture is in praise of Eclecticism, 
 and advocates consideration of all the facts involved in 
 morality, as against exclusive theories founded upon only 
 some of the facts. 
 
 Lectures 21st and 22nd, compressed into one (Ed. 1846) 
 contain the application of the foregoing principles, and the 
 answer to the question, what our duties are. Duty being 
 absolute, ta-uth becomes obligatory, and absolute truth being 
 known by the reason only, to obey the law of duty is to obey 
 
744 EnaiCAX systems — cousin. 
 
 reason. JBnt what actions are conformable to reason ? The 
 characteidstic of reason he takes to be nnirersaUty, and this 
 will appear in the motives of actions, since it is these that 
 confer on actions their morality. Accordingly, the sign where- 
 by to disooviBr whether an action is duty, is, if iisa motive 
 when generalized appear to the reason to be a maxim of 
 nniversal legislation for all free and intelligent beings. This, 
 the norm set up by Elant, as certainly discovers what is and 
 is not duty, as the syllogism detects the error and tra<^ of an 
 argument. 
 
 To obey reason is, then, the first duty, at t^e root of all 
 ethers, and itself resting directly upon the relation between 
 liberty and reason ; in a sense, to remain reasonable is the 
 sole duty. But it assumes special forms amid the diversity of 
 human relations. He first considers the relations wherein 
 we stand to ourselves and the corresponding duties. That 
 there should be any snch duties is at first sight strange, 
 seeing we belong to ourselves ; but this is not the same as 
 having complete power over ourselves. Possessing liberty, 
 we must not abdicate it by yielding to passions, and treat 
 ourselves as if there were nothing in us that merits respect. 
 We are to distinguish between what is peculiar to each c$ us, 
 and what we share with humanity. • Individual peculiarities 
 are things indififerent, but the liberty and intelligence that 
 constitute us persons, rather than individuals, demand to be 
 respected even by ourselves. There is an obligation of self- 
 respect imposed upon us as moral persons that was not estab- 
 lished, and is "not to be destroyed, by us. As special cases 
 of this respect of the moral person in us, he cites (1) the 
 duty of se^'Control against anger or melancholy, not for their 
 pernicious consequences, but as trenching upon the moral 
 dignity of liberty and intelligence ; (2) the duty of jtrudence, 
 meaning providence in all things, which regulates courage, 
 enjoins temperance, is, as the ianciente said, the mother of all 
 the virtaes,-^ia short, the government of Kberty by reason ; 
 (3) veracity; (4) duty towards the body; (5) duty o{ per- 
 foeUa.g (and not merely keeping intact) the intelligence, 
 liberty, and sensibility that constitute us moral beings. 
 
 But the same liberty and intelligence that constitute me a 
 moral person, and need thus to be respected even by myself, 
 exist also in others, conferring rights on them, and imposing 
 new duties of respect on me relatively to them. To their 
 intelligence I owe IVuth; their liberty I am bound to respect, 
 sometimes even to the extent of not hindering them from 
 
GROUNDS OF THE SEVERAL DDTIES. 745 
 
 making a wrong use oiP it. I must tespeot also their afifedtions 
 (family, &c.) which form part of themselves ; their bodies ; 
 their goods, whether Sioquired by labour or heritage. All these 
 duties are summed up im the one great duty of Justice or 
 respect for the rights of others; of which the greatest violation 
 iS slavery. 
 
 The whole of duty towards others ifi not however compre- 
 hended in justice. Constdenoe complains, if we have only not 
 done injustice to one in suffering. There is a new class of 
 duties — consolation, charity, iaarifice — to which indeed cor- 
 respond no rights, and which therefore are not so obligatory 
 as justice, but whidi cannot be said not to be obligatory. 
 From their nature, they cannot be reduced to an exact for- 
 mula ; their beauty lies in liberty. But in charity, he adds, 
 there is also a danger, from its effacing, to a certain extent, the 
 moral personality of the object of it. In acting upon others, 
 we risk interfering with their natural rights ; charity is there- 
 fore to be proportioned to the liberty and reason of the person 
 benefited, and is never to be made the means of usurping 
 power over another. 
 
 Justice and Charity are the two elements composing social 
 morality. But what is social ? and on what is Society founded, 
 existing as it does everjTvhere, and making man to be what 
 he is ? Into the hopeless question of its origin he revises to 
 enter ; its present state is to be studied by the light of the 
 knowledge of human nature. Its invariable foundations are 
 
 (1) the need we have of each other, and om* social instincts, 
 
 (2) the lasting and indestructible idea and sentiment of right 
 and justice. The need and instinct, of which he finds many 
 proofs, begin society ; justice crowns the work. The least 
 consideration of the relations of man to man, suggest the 
 essential principles of Society — justice, liberty, equality, 
 government, punishment. Into each of these he enters. 
 Lib^ty is made out to be assured and developed in society, 
 instead of diminished. Hquality is established upon the char- 
 acter of moral personality, which admits of no degtee. The 
 need of some repression upon liberty, where the liberty of 
 others is trenched upon, conducts to the idea of Government — 
 a disinterested third party armed with the necessary power to 
 assure and defend the Uberfy of all. To government is to be 
 ascribed, first its inseparable function of protecting the com- 
 mon liberty (without unnecessary repression), and next, bene- 
 ficent action, corresponding to the duty of charity. It requires, 
 for its griiidance, a rule superior to itself i.e., law, the expres- 
 
746 - ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOUFF?OY. 
 
 sion of -universal aiid absolnte jnsMce, Here follows the nsnal 
 distinction of positive and natnral law. The sanction of law 
 is punishment ; the right of punishing, as was seen, depend- 
 ing on the idea of demerit. Punishment is not mere venge- 
 ance, but the expiation by the criminal of violated justice ; it is 
 to be measured therefore chiefly by the demerit and not by the 
 injury only. Whether, in punishing, allowance should be 
 made for correction and amelioration, is to put the same case 
 over agaia of charity coming in after justice. 
 
 Here the philosopher stops on the threshold of the special . 
 science of politics. But already the fixed and invariable prin- 
 ciples of sociely and government have been given, and, even 
 in the relative sphere of politics, the rule still holds that all 
 forms and institutions are to be moulded as far as possible on 
 the eternal principles supplied by philosophy. 
 
 The following is a sunmiary of Cousin's views : — 
 
 I. — The Standard is the jud^nent of good or evU in 
 actions. Cousin holds that good and evil are qualities of 
 actions independent of our judgment, and having a sort of 
 objective existence. 
 
 II. — The Moral Faculty he analyzes into four judgments : 
 (1) good and evil; (2) obligation; (3) freedom of the will ; 
 and (4) merit and demerit. The moral sentiment is the 
 emotions connected with those judgments, and chiefly the 
 feeling connected with the idea of merit. [This analysis is 
 obviously redundant. ' Good ' and ' evil ' apply to many 
 things outside ethics, and to be at all appropriate, they must, 
 be qualified as moral {i.e., obligatory') good and evil. The, 
 connexion between obligation and demerit has been previously 
 explained.] 
 
 III. — In regard to the Summum Bonum, Cousin considers 
 that virtue must bring happiness here or hereafter, and vice, 
 misery. 
 
 IV. — He accepts the criterion of duties set forth by Xant. 
 He argues for the existence of duties towards ourselves. 
 
 V. and VI. require no remark. 
 
 THEODORE SIMON JOtJFFBOY. [1796-1842.] 
 
 In the Second Lecture of his unfinished Covrs de Droit 
 Naturel, Joufiroy gives a condensed exposition of the Moral 
 Facts of human nature fi-om his own point of view^ 
 
 What distinguishes, he says, one being fi-om another, is its 
 Organization ; and as havingaspeoial nature, every creature ha? 
 
EVERY BEING HAS ITS SPECIAL END. 747" 
 
 a special end. Its end or destination is its good, or its good 
 consists in the accomplishment of its end. Farther, to have 
 an end implies the possession of faculties wherewith to attain 
 it ; and all this is applicable also to man. In man, as in other 
 creatnres, &om the tery first, his nature tends to itF end, by 
 means of purely instinctive movements, which may be called 
 primitive and instinctive tendencies of human nature ; later 
 they are called passions. Along with these tendencies, and 
 under their influence, the intellectual faculties also awake and 
 seek to procure for them satisfaction. The faculties work, 
 however, at first, in an indeterminate fashion, and only by 
 meeting obstacles are driven to the concentration necessary to 
 attain the ends. He illustrates this by the case of the intel- 
 lectual faculty seeking to satisfy the desire of knowledge, and 
 not succeeding until it concentrates on a single point its 
 scattered energies. This spontaneous concentration is the 
 first manifestation of Will, but is proved to be not natural 
 from the feeling of consia-aint always experienced, and the 
 glad rebound, after effort, to the indetermiuate condition. 
 One fact, too, remains even after everything possible has been 
 done, viz., that the satisiaction of the primitive tendencies ia 
 never quite complete. 
 
 When, however, such satisfaction as may be, has been 
 attained, there arises pleasure ; and pain, when our faculties 
 fail to attain the good or end they sought. There could be 
 action, successful and unsuccessful, and so good and evil, 
 without any sensibility, wherefore good and evil are not to be 
 confounded with pain and pleasure ; but constituted as we 
 are, there is a sensible echo tiiat varies according as the result 
 of action is attained or not. Pleasure is, then, the conse- 
 quence, and, as it were, the sign of the realization of good, 
 and pain of its privation. 
 
 He next distinguishes Secondary passions from the great 
 primaiy tendencies and passions. These arise apropos of 
 external objects, as they are found to further or oppose the 
 satisfaction of the fundamental tendencies. Such objects are 
 then called useful or perrddous. Finally, he completes his 
 account of the infantile or primitive condition of man, by 
 remarking that some of our natural tendencies, like Sympathy, 
 are entirely disinterested in seeking the good of others. The 
 main feature of the whole primitive state is the exclusive 
 domination of passion. The will already exists, but there is 
 no liberty ; the present passion triumphs over the future, the 
 Btronger over the weaker. ^ 
 
748 ETHICAL SYSTEMS^— JOUFFKOY. 
 
 He now passes to co&sider the donble tmnsformation of 
 this original state, that takes place when reason appears. 
 Beason is the factilty of eompfehendmg, which is different from 
 knowing, and is peculiar to man. As soon as it awakes in man, 
 it compreheilds, and penetrates to the meaning of, the whole 
 spectacle of human activity. It first forms tibe general idea 
 of Good, as the resultant of the satisfaction of all the primary 
 tendencies, and as the true End of man. Then, comprehend- 
 ing the actual situation of man, it resolves this idea into the 
 idea of the greatest possible good. All that conduces to the 
 attainment of this good, it includes under the general idea of 
 the Useful; and finally, it constructs the general idea of 
 Happiness out of all that is common to the agreeable sensa- 
 tions that follow upon the satisfaction of the primary ten- 
 dencies. 
 
 But besides forming theSe three perfeotiy distinct ideas, 
 and exploring the secret of what has been passing within, the 
 reason also comprehends the necessity of subjecting to control 
 the faculties and forces that are the condition of the greatest 
 satisfaction of human nature. In the place of the merely 
 mechanical impulsion of passion, which is coupled with grave 
 disadvantages, it puts forward, as a new principle of action, 
 the rational calculsition of interest. The faculties are brought 
 into the service of this idea of the reason, by the same process 
 of concentration as was needful in satisfying the passions ; 
 only now voluntarily instead of spontaneously. Being an idea 
 instead of a passioti, the new principle supplies a real motive, 
 under whose guidance our natural power over our faculties 
 is developed and strengthened. All partial ends are merged 
 in the one gr^at Bud of Interest, to which the means is self- 
 control. The first great change thus wrought by reason is, 
 that it takes the direction of the human forces into its own 
 hand, and although, even when by a natural transformation 
 the new system of conduct acquires all the force of a passion, 
 it is not able steadily to procure for the idea of interest the 
 victo^ over the single passions, the change ueverilieless 
 abides. To the state of Passion has succeeded the state of 
 Egoism. 
 
 Reason must, however, he thinks, make another discoveiy 
 before there is a truly moral state — must from general ideas 
 rise to ideas that are universal and absolute. There is no 
 real equation, he holds, between Good and the satisfaction of 
 the primitive tendebciefi, which is the good of egoism. Not 
 till the special ends of all creatures are regarded as elements 
 
IDEA OF UNIVEESAL OKDEB. 749 
 
 of one great End of creation, of Universal Order, do we obtain 
 an idea whose equivalence to the idea of the Good requires no 
 proo£ The special ends are good, because, through their 
 realization, the end of creation, which is the absolute Good, 
 is realized ; hence they acquire the sacred character that it 
 has in the eye of reason. 
 
 No sooner is the idea of Universal Order present to the 
 reason, than it is recognized as an absolute law ; and, in con- 
 sequence, the special end of our being, by participation in its 
 character of goodness and sacreduess, is henceforth pursued 
 as a duty, and its satisfaction claimed as a right. Also every 
 creature assumes the same position, and we no longer merely 
 concede that others have tendencies to be satisfied, and con- 
 sent from Sympathy or Egoism to promote their good ; but 
 the idea of Universal Order makes it as much our duty to re- 
 spect and contribute to the accomplishment of their good as 
 to accomplish our own. Erom the idea of goodriuritself, i.e.. 
 Order, flow all duty, right, obligatifflpi, omorality, and natural 
 legislation. 
 
 He carries the idea of Order still farther back to the 
 Deity, making it the expression of the divine thought, and 
 opening up the religious side of morality ; but he does not 
 mean that its obligatoriness as regards the reason is thereby 
 increased. He also identifies it, in the last resort, with the 
 ideas of the Beautiful and the True. 
 
 We have now reached the truly moral condition, a state 
 perfectly distinct &om either of the foregomg. Even when 
 the egoistic and the moral determination prescribe the same 
 conduct, the one only counsels, while the other obliges. The 
 one, having in view only the greatest satisfaction of our 
 nature, is personal even when counselling benefits to others ; 
 the other regarding only the law of Order, something distinct 
 &om seli^ is impersonal, even when prescribJJig our own good. 
 Hence there is in the latter case devouemsnt of self to some- 
 thing else, and it is exactly the dSvouement to a something 
 that is not self, but is regarded as good, that gets the name 
 of virtue or moral good. Moral good is voluntatry and intel- 
 ligent obedience to the law that is, the rule of our conduct. 
 As an additional distinction between the egoistic and the moral 
 determination, he mentions the judgment of merit or demerit 
 that ensues upon actions when, and only when, they have a 
 moral character. No remorse follows an apt of mere 
 imprudence involving no violation of universal order. 
 
 He denies that there is any real contradiction among ih^ 
 
750 ETHICAL STSTEMS-^-JOUFFKOT. 
 
 three different determinations. Nothing is prescribed in the 
 moral law that is not also in accordance with some primitive 
 •tendency, and with self-interest rightly understood ; if it were 
 not so, it would go hard with virtue. On the other hand, if 
 everything not done from regard to duty were opposed to 
 moral law and order, society could not only not subsist, but 
 would never have been formed. When a struggle does ensue 
 between passion and self-interest, passion is blind; when 
 between egoism and the moral determination, egoism is at 
 fault. It is in the true interest of Passion to be sacrificed to 
 Egoism, and of Egoism to be sacrificed to Order. 
 
 He closes the review of the various moral facts by 
 explaining in what sense the succession of the three states 
 is to be understood. The state of Passion is historically 
 first, but the Egoistic and the Moral states are not so sharply 
 defined. As soon as reason dawns it introduces the moral 
 motive as well as the egoistic, and to this extent the two 
 states are contemporaneous. Only, so far is the moral law 
 from being at this stage folly conceived, that, in the majority 
 of men, it is never conceived in its full clearness at all. Their 
 confused idea of moral law is the so-called moral conscience, 
 which works more like a sense or an instinct, and is inferior 
 to the clear rational conception in everything except that it 
 conveys the full force of obligation. In its grades of guilt 
 human justice rightly makes allowance for different degrees 
 of intelligence. The Egoistic determination and the Moral 
 state, such as it is, once developed, passion is not to be sup- 
 posed abolished, but henceforth what really takes place in 
 all is a perpetual alternation of the various states. Yet though 
 no man is able exclusively to follow the moral determination, 
 and no man Will constantly be under the influence of any one 
 of the motives, there is one motive commonly uppermost 
 whereby each can be characterized. Thus men, according 
 to their habitnal conduct, are known as passionate, egoistic, or 
 virtuous. 
 
 We now summarize the opinions of Jouffroy : — 
 I. — The Standard is the Idea of Absolute Grood or TJni- 
 versal Order in the sense explained by the author. Like 
 Cousin, he identifies the ' good ' with the ' true.' What, 
 then, is the criterion that distinguishes moral from other 
 truths ? If obligation be selected as the differentia, it is in 
 effect to give up the attempt to determine what truths are 
 obligatory. The idea of ' good ' is obviously too vague to be 
 a differentia. How far the idea of ' Universal Order ' gets ua 
 
SUMMABT. 751 
 
 out of the difficulty may be doubted, especially after the 
 candid admission of the author, that it is an idea of which the 
 majority of men have never any very clear notions. 
 
 n, — The moral faculty is Reason ; Conscience is hardly 
 more than a confused feeling of obligatoriness. 
 
 Sympathy is one of the primitive tendencies of our nature. 
 Jouflfroy's opinion on the subject is open to the objections 
 urged against Butler's psychology. 
 
 He upholds the freedom of the Will, but embarrasses his 
 argument by admitting, like Eeid, that there is a stage in our 
 existence when we are ruled by the passions, and are destitute 
 of liberty. 
 
 in. — The Summum Bonum is the end of every creature ; 
 the passions ought to be subordinated to self-interest, and 
 self-interest to morality. 
 
 In regard to the other points, it is unnecessary to continue 
 the summary. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 A. — History of Nominalism omd Realism^ p. 181. 
 
 The controversy respeoting TJniversals first obtained its place 
 in philosophy from the colloquies of Sokrates, and the -writings 
 and teachings of Plato. We need not here touch upon their pre- 
 decessors Farmenides and Heracleitus, who, in a confused and 
 unsytematic manner, approached this question from opposite 
 sides, and whose speculations worked much upon the mind of 
 Plato in determining both his aggressive dialectic, and his con- 
 structive theories. Parmenides of Elea, improving upon the ruder 
 conceptions of Xenophanes, was the first to give emphatic pro- 
 clamation to the celebrated Eleatic doctrine, Absolute Eria as 
 opposed to Eelative Fientia : i.e., the Cogitable, which Parmenides 
 conceived as the One and All of reality, "Ei/ Kai Hav, enduring and 
 unchangeable, of which the negative was unmeaning; and the 
 Sensible or Perceivable, which was in perpetual change, succes- 
 sion, and multiplicity, without either unity, or reality, or endur- 
 ance. To the last of these two departments Heracleitus assigned 
 especial prominence. In place of the permanent underlying Ens, 
 which he did not recognize, he substituted a cogitable process of 
 change, or generalized concept of what was common to all the 
 successive phases of change — a perpetual stream of generation and 
 destruction, or implication 6f contraries, in which everythmg 
 appeared only that it might disappear, without endurance or 
 uniformity. In this doctrine of Heracleitus, the world of sense 
 and particulars could not be the object either of certain knowledge 
 or even of correct probable opinion ; in that of Parmenides, it was 
 recognized as an object of probable opinion, though not of certain 
 knowledge. But in both doctrines, as well as in the theories of 
 Democritus, it was degraded, smd presented as incapable of yield- 
 ing satisfaction to the search of a philosophizing mind, which 
 could find neither truth nor reality except in Qie world of Concepts 
 and Cogitata. 
 
 Besides the two theories above-mentioned, there were current 
 in the Hellenic world, before the maturity of Sokrates, several 
 other veins of speculation about the Cosmos, totally divergent 
 one from the other, and by that very divergence sometimes stimu- 
 lating curiosity, sometimes discouraging tSl study, as though the 
 48 
 
2 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND BEALISM. 
 
 problems were hopeless. But Parmenides and Heradeitus, to- 
 gether with the arithmetical and geometrical hypotheses of the 
 Pythagoreans, are expressly noticed by Aristotle as having specially 
 contributed to form the philosophy of Plato. 
 
 Neither Parmenides, nor Heracleitns, nor the Pythagoreans, 
 were Dialecticians. They gave out their own thoughts in their 
 own way, with little or no regard to dissentients. • They did 
 not cultivate the art of argumentative attack or defence, nor the 
 correct application and diversified confrontation of universal terms, 
 which are the great instruments of that art. It was Zeno, the dis - 
 ciple of Parmenides, that first employed Dialectic in support of his 
 master's theory, or rather against the counter theories of oppo- 
 nents. He showed, by arguments memorable for their subuety, 
 that the hypothesis of an Absolute, composed of Mntia Plwra Dia- 
 amtinva, led to consequences even more absurd than those that 
 opponents deduced from the Parmenidean hypothesis of Ens Unum 
 Cmtmuvm. The Dialectic, thus inaugurated by Zeno, reached 
 still higher perfection in the colloquies of Sokrates ; who not only 
 employed a new method, but also introduced new topics of debate 
 — ethical, political, and social matters instead of physics and the 
 Cosmos. 
 
 The peculiar originality of Sokrates is well known : a man who 
 wrote nothing, but passed his life in indiscriminate colloquy with ■ 
 every one ; who professed to have no knowledge himself, but in- 
 terrogated others on matters that they talked about familiarly 
 and professed to know well; whose colloquies generally ended by 
 puz^ing the respondents, and by proving to themselves that they 
 neither knew nor could explain even matters that they had 
 begun by affirming confidently as too dear to need explana- 
 tion. Aristotle tells us* that Sokrates was the first that set him- 
 self expressly and methodically to scrutinize the definitions of 
 general or universal terms, and to confront them, not merely with 
 each other, but also, by a sort of inductive process, with many 
 particular cases that were, or appeared to be, included under 
 them. And both Xenophon and Plato give us abundant ex- 
 amples of the terms to which Socrates applied his interroga- 
 tories:— What is the Holy? What is the Unholy? What is the 
 Beautiful or Honourable? What is the Ugly or Base? What is 
 Justice — Injustice — ^Temperance — Madness — Courage — Cowardice 
 — A City — ^A man fit for civil life ? What is the Command of Men ? 
 What is the character fit for commanding men? Such are the 
 specimens, furnished by a hearer, t of the universal terms whereon 
 the interrogatories of Sokrates bore. All of them were terms 
 spoken and heard familiarly by citizens in the market-place, as if 
 each understood them perfectly; but when Sokrates, professing 
 Ids ov?n ignorance, put questions asking for solutions of difficul- 
 ties that perplexed his own mind, the answers showed that these 
 
 * Metaphysics, A. 987, b. 2 ; M. 1078, b. 18. 
 t Xenophon Memorab. I. 1, 16 ; IV. 6, 1-13, 
 
SOKRATES ON UNIVERSAL TEEMS. 3 
 
 difficulties were equally insoluble by respondents, who had never 
 thought of them, before. The confident persuasion of knowledge, ^ 
 with which the colloquy began, stood exposed as a false persua- 
 sion without any basis of reality. Such illusory semblance of 
 knowledge was proclaimed by Sokrates to be the chronic, though 
 unconscious, intellectual condition of his contemporaries. How he 
 undertook, as the mission of a long life,, to expose it, is impres- 
 sively set forth in the Platonic Apology. 
 
 It was thus by Sokrates that the meaning of omiversal terms 
 and universal propositions, and the relation of each respectively 
 to particular terms and particular propositions, were first made a 
 subject of express enquiry and analytical interrogation. His 
 influence was powerful in imparting the same dialectic impulse 
 to several companions i but most of all to Plato : who not only 
 enlarged and amplified the range of Sokratic enquiry, but also 
 brought the meaning of universal terms into something like 
 system and theory, as a portion of the conditions of trustworthy 
 science. Plato was the first to affirm the doctrine afterward 
 called £l!ALiSM, as the fundamental postulate of all true and 
 proved cognition. He affirmed it boldly, and in its most ex- 
 tended sense, though he also produces (according to his frequent 
 practice) many powerful arguments and unsolved objections 
 against it. It was he (to use the striking phrase of Milton *) 
 that first unported into the schools the portent of SeaUsm. The 
 doctrine has been since opposed,, confuted, curtailed, transformed, 
 diversified in many ways: but it has maintained its place in 
 logical speculation, and has remained, under one phraseology or 
 another, the creed of various philosophers, from that time down 
 to the present. 
 
 The following account of the problems of Kealism was handed 
 down to the speculations of the mediaeval philosophers, by 
 Porhpyry (between 270-300 A.D.), in his Introduction to the 
 treatise of Aristotle on the Categories. After informing 
 Chrysaorius that he will prepare for him a concise statement 
 of the doctrines of the old philosophers respecting Genus, Dif- 
 ferentia, Species, Proprium, Accidens — ' abstaining from the 
 deeper enquiries, but giving suitable development to the more 
 simple,' — Porphyry thus proceeds — ' For example, I shall decline 
 discussing, in respect to Genera and Species--(1) "Whether they 
 have a substantive existence, or reside merely in naked mental 
 conceptions; (2) Whether, assuming them to have substantive 
 existence, they are bodies or incorporeals ; (3) Whether their 
 substantive existence is in and along with the objects of sense, or 
 apart and separable. Upon this ta^ I shall not enter, since it is 
 of the great^t depth, and requires another larger investigation ; 
 but shall try at once to show you how the ancients (especially 
 
 * See the Latin verses — ^De Ide^ Flatonica quemadmodum Anstoteles 
 
 ictellezit — 
 
 * At tn, perenne nms Academi decns, 
 Hsc monstia si tu piimos iudazti Bcholis,' &c. 
 
4 APPENDIX — nominalism; and realism. 
 
 ths Peripatetics), with a -view to logical discourse, dealt with the 
 topics now propounded.' * 
 
 Before Porphyry, all these three problems had been largely 
 debated, first by Plato, nest by- Aristotle against Plato, again by 
 the Stoics against both, and kstly by Plotinus and the Neo- 
 Platonists as conciliators of Plato with Aristotle. After Porphyry, 
 problems the same, or similar, continued to stand in the fore- 
 ground of speculation, until "Hie authority of Aristotle became 
 discredited at all points by the influences of the sixteenth and 
 seventeenth centuries. But in order to find the beginning of 
 them^ as questions provoking curiosity and opening dissentient 
 points of view to inventive dialecticians, we must go back to the 
 age and the dialogues of Plato. 
 
 The real Sokrates {i.e., as he is described by Xenophon) incul- 
 cated in his conversation steady reverence for the invisible, as 
 apart from and overriding the phenomena of sensible experience : 
 but he interpreted the term 'in a religious sense, as signifying the 
 agency of the personal gods, employed to produce effects beneficial 
 or injurious to niankind.'t H-e also puts forth his dialectic acute- 
 ness to prepare consistent and tenable definitions of familiar 
 general terms (of which instances have already been given), 
 at least so far as to maike others feel, for the first time, that 
 fhey did not understand these terms, though they had been 
 always talking like persons that did understand. But the Platonic 
 Sokrates {i.e., as spokesman in the dialogues of Plato) enlarges 
 both these discussions materially. Plato recognizes, not simply 
 the invisible persons or gods, but also a separate world of in- 
 visible, impersonal entities or objects : one of wWch he postulates 
 as the objective reality, though only a cogitable reality, correlating 
 with each general term. These Entia he considers to be not xaieiAj 
 distinct realities, but the only true and knowable restlities : they 
 are eternal and unchangeable, manifested by the fact that parti- 
 culars partake in them, and imparting a partial show of stability 
 to the indeterminate flux of particulars : and tmless such separate 
 Universal Entia be supposed, there is nothing whereon cognition 
 can fasten, and consequently there can be no cognition at aU.^ 
 These are the substantive, self-existent Ideas or Forms that 
 Plato first presented to the philosophical world : sometimes with 
 logical acuteness, oftener stSl with rich poetical and imaginative 
 colouring. They constitute the main body and characteristic of 
 the hypothesis of Bealism. 
 
 But though the main hypothesis is the same, the accessories 
 and manner of presentation differ materially among its dif- 
 ferent advocates. In these respects, indeed, Plato differs not 
 only from others, but also from himself. Systematic teaching or 
 exposition is not his purpose, nor does he ever give ojHnions in 
 
 * Pcrpiyry— Introd. in Categor. init.' 
 
 t Xenophon Memorabil. I. 4, 9-17 j IV. 3, 14. 
 
 t Aristotel. Mptaphys. I. 6, p. 987. b. 6 ; XIII. 4, p. 1078, b. 16. 
 
PLATONIC IDEAS. 5 
 
 his own name. We have from him an aggregate of detached 
 dialogues, in many of which this same hypoSiesis is brought 
 under discussion. But in each dialogue, the spokesmen approach it 
 from a dififerent side : while in ottiers {distmguished by various 
 critics as the Sokratic dialogues), it does not come under dis- 
 cussion at all ; Plato being content to remain upon the Sokratic 
 platform., and to debate the meaning of gener^ terms without 
 postulating in correlation! witlu them, an objective reality, apart 
 from th^. respective particulars.. 
 
 At the close of the Platonic dialogue called Keattlus, 
 Sokrates is introduced as presenting the hypothesis of sdf -existent, 
 eternal, unchangeable Ideas (exactly in the way that Aristotle 
 ascribes to Plato), as the counter-proposition to the theory of 
 universal ;flux and change announced by Heracleitus. Particulars 
 are ever changiiig (it is here argued) and are thus out of the reach 
 of cognition; but unless the Universal Ideas above them, such as 
 the S^-beautifiil, the Self -good, &c., be admitted as unchangeable 
 objective realities, there can be nothing either nameable or know- 
 able I. cognition becomes impossible. 
 
 In the TxMAErs, Plato describes the construction of the 
 Cosmos by a divine Architect,, and the model followed by the 
 latter in his work.- Hie distinction is heie again brought out, 
 and announced, as capital, between the permanent, unalterable 
 Entia, and. the- transient,, ever-fluctuating, Fientia, which come 
 and go, but never really ore. Enti(t are apprehended by the cogi- 
 tant or intelligent soul of the Eosmos, Fientia by Idie sentient or 
 percipient soid ;. the oosmical soul as a whole, in order to suffice 
 for both these tasks, is made up of diverse component elements^— 
 Idem, correlating with the first of the two — Biversumi,. eoorelatiug 
 with the second— and Idem implicated with Diversum, correspond- 
 ing to both in conjunction. The Divine Architect is descriibed 
 as constructing a Cosmos,, composed both of soul andbody, upon 
 the pattern of the grand pre-existent Idea-'Auto-zoon or the 
 Self-animal :. which included in itself as a genus the four distinct 
 species — celestial (gods,, visible and invisible), terrestrial, aerial, 
 and aquatic. 
 
 The main point that Plato here insists upon is, the eternal 
 and unchangeable reality of the cogitable objects called Ideas, 
 prior both in time and in logical ordeK to the transient objects of 
 sight and touch, and serving as an exemplar to which these latter 
 are made to approximate imperfectly. He assumes such priority, 
 without proof, in the case of the Idea of Animal ; but when he 
 touches upon the four elements — Fire, Air, Water, Earth — he 
 hesitates to make the same assumption, and thinks himself re- 
 quired to give a reason for it. The reason that he assigns 
 (annoimced distinctly as his own) is as follows : If intellection 
 (cogitation, NoCg), and true opinion, are two genera distinct from 
 each other, there must clearly exist Forms or Ideas imperceptible 
 to our senses, and apprehended only by cogitation or intellection : 
 But if, as some persons think, true opinion is noway different 
 
6 APPKNDIX — NOMINALISM AND EEALISM. 
 
 from intellection, then we mnst admit all the objects perceived by 
 our senses as firm realities. Kow, the fact is (he proceeds to say) 
 that true opinion is not identical with intellection, but quite dis- 
 tinct, separate, and unlike to it. Intellection is communicated by 
 . teaching, through true reasoning, and is unshakeable by persua- 
 sion ; true opinion is communicated by persuasion and removed by 
 counter-persuasion, without true reasoning. True opinion may 
 belong to any jnan ; but intellection is the privilege only of gods 
 and of a small section of mankind. Accordingly, since the two 
 are distinct, the objects correlating with-each of them must also be 
 distinct from each other. There must exist, first, primary, eternal, 
 imchangeable Forms, apprehended by intellect or cogitation, but 
 imperceptible by sense; and, secondly, resemblances of these 
 bearing the «ame name, generated and destroyed each in some 
 place, and apprehended first by sense, afterwards by opinion. 
 Thirdly^ there must be the place wherein such resemblances are 
 generated^ a place itself imperceptible by sense, yet postulated, 
 as a receptacle indispensable for them, by a dreamy and spurious 
 kind of computation. 
 
 We see here that the proof given by Plato, in support of the 
 existence of Forms as the primaiy realities, is essentially psycho- 
 logiad.: resting upon the fact that there is a distinct mental 
 energy or faculty called Intellection (apart from sense and 
 opinion), which must have its distinct objective correlate; and 
 upon the farther fact, that Intellection is the high preroga- 
 tive of the gods, fihared only by a few chosen men. This last 
 point of the case is more largely and emphatically brought out in 
 the PHLffiDRTJs, where Sokrates delivers a highly poetical effusion 
 respecting the partial inter-eonmiunion of the human soul with 
 these eternal intdl^ctual BeaUa. To contemplate them is the 
 constant privilege of the gods; to do so is also the aspiration of 
 the immortal soul of man generally, in thepre-existent state, prior 
 to incorporation with the human body ; though only in a few cases 
 is such aspiration realized. Even those few buman souls, that 
 have- succeeded in getting sight of the intellectual Ideas (essences 
 without colour, figure, or tactile properties), lose all recollection 
 of them when first entering into partnership with a human body ; 
 but are enabled gradually to recall them, by combining repeated 
 impressions and experience of their resemblances in the world of 
 sense. The revival of these divine elements is an inspiration of 
 the nature of madness — ^though it is a variety of madness as much 
 better than uninspired human reason as other varieties are worse. 
 The soul, becoming insensible to ordinary pursuits, contracts a 
 passionate devotion to these Universal Ideas, and to that dialectic 
 communion especially with some pregnant youthful miud, that 
 brings them into clear separate contemplation, disengaged from 
 the limits and confusion of sense. 
 
 Here philosophy is represented as the special inspiration of a 
 few, whose souls during the period of pre-existence have sufficiently 
 caught sight of the Universal Ideas or Essences ; so that these 
 
THE COGITABLE AGAINST THE SENSIBLE. 7 
 
 last, though overlaid and buried when the soul is first plunged 
 in a body, are yet revivable afterwards under favourable circum- 
 stances, through their imperfect copies in the world of sense : 
 especially by the sight of personal beauty in an ingenuous and 
 aspiring youth, in which case the visible copy maies nearest 
 approach to the p^ection of the Universal Idea or Type. At the 
 same time, Plato again presents to us the Cogitable TJniversals as 
 the only objects of true cognition — ^the Sensible Particulars being 
 objects merely of opinion. 
 
 In the PBLaaJON, Sokrates advances the same doctrine, that 
 the perceptions of sense are full of error and confusion, and can at 
 best suggest nothing higher than opinion ; that true cognition can 
 never be attained except when the Cogitant Mind disengages itself 
 from the body and comes into direct contemplation of the Univer- 
 sal Entia, objects eternal and always the same — ^The Self -beautiful. 
 Self -good. Self -just. Self -great. Healthy, Strong, &c., all which 
 objects are invisible, and can be apprehended only by the cogita- 
 tion or intellect. It is this cogitable Universal that is alone 
 resil ; Sensible Particulars are not real, nor lasting, nor trust- 
 worthy. None but a few philosophers, however, can attain such 
 pure mental energy during this life ; nor even they, fully and per- 
 fectly. But they wiU attain it fully after death, (their souls being 
 ■ immortal), if their Uves have been passed in sober philosophical 
 training. And their souls enjoyed it before birth, during the 
 period of pre-existence : having acquired, before junction with the 
 body, the knowledge of these Universals, which are forgotten dur- 
 ing childhood, but recalled in the way of reminiscence, by sensible 
 perceptions that make a distant approach to them. Thus, 
 according to the Phaedon and some other dialogues, all learning 
 is merely reminiscence ; the mind is brought back, by the laws of 
 association, to the knowledge of Universal Realities that it had 
 possessed in its state of pre-existence. Particulars of sense partici- 
 pate in these Universes to a certain extent, or resemble them 
 imperfectly; and they are therefore called by the same name. 
 
 In the Eeptjblio, we have a repetition and copious illustration 
 of this antithesis between the world of Universals or Cogitabilia, 
 which are the only unchangeable realities, and the only objects of 
 knowledge, — and the world of Sensible Particulars, which are 
 transitory and confused shadows of these Universals, and are 
 objects of opinion only. Full and Eeal Sns is knowable, Non- 
 Ens is altogether imknowable; what is midway between the 
 two is matter of opinion, and in such midway are the particulars 
 of sense.* Respecting these last, no truth is attainable ; when- 
 ever you affir m a proposition respecting any of them, you may 
 with equal truth affirm the contrary at the same time. Nowhere 
 is the contrast between the Universals or Seal Ideas (among which 
 the Idea of Good is the highest, predominant over all the rest), 
 and the unreal Particulars, or Peroepta of sense, more forcibly in- 
 
 • Plato Republ. V. p. 477-478. 
 
8 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM. 
 
 sisted upon than fn the Bepublie. Eyea the celestial bodies and 
 their movements, being among these Percepta of sense, are ranked 
 among phantoms interesting but nseless to observe; tiiey are the 
 best of all Perqepta, but they fall very short of tiie perfection 
 that the mental eye contemplates in the Ideal — in the true 
 Kgures and l^'umbers, in the Ee^l Velocity and the Eeal Slowness. 
 In the simile commencing the seventh book of the Kepu]blio, Plato 
 compares mankind to prisoners in a cave, chained in one particidar 
 attitude, so as to behold only an ever-varying multiplicity pf 
 shadows, projected, through the opening of the cave, iipon the 
 wall before them, by certain unseen Bealities beluna. The 
 philosopher is one among a few, who by training or inspiration, 
 have been enabled to face about firom this original attitude, and to 
 contemplate with his mind the real unchangeable TTniversals, 
 instead of having his eye fixed upon their particular manifesta- 
 tions, at once shadowy and transient. By such mental revolutiopi 
 he comes round from the perceivable to the co^^ble, from opioiop 
 to knowledge. 
 
 The distmotion between these two is farther argued in the 
 elaborate dialogixe called The«tbttjs, where Sokrates, trying to 
 explain what Knowledge or Cognition is, refutes three proposed 
 explanations ; and shows, to his own satisfaction, that it is not sen- 
 sible perception, that it is. not true opinion, that it ig not time 
 opinion coupled v^ith rational explanation. But he confesses 
 miDself unable to ghow what Knowledge or Cognition is, though 
 hg continues to announce it as corr^ating with realities Cogitable 
 and Universal only.* 
 
 In the passages above noticed, and in many others besides, we 
 find Plato drawing a capital distinction between Universals eter- 
 nal and unchangeable — (each of them a Unit as well as a 
 Universal),t which he afiBixas to be the only Beal Entia — ^and 
 Particulars transient and variable, which are not Entia at all, but 
 are always coming or going; the Universals being objects of 
 cogitation and of a psychological fact called Cognition, which he 
 declares to be infallible; and the Particulars being objects of 
 sense, and of another psychological fact radically different, cfdled 
 Opinion, which he pronounces to be fallible and misleading. 
 Plato holds, moreover, that the Particulars, though generical^ 
 distinct and separate from the Universals, have nevertheless a 
 certain communion or participation with them, by virtue of which 
 they become half-existent and half-cognizable, but never attain 
 to full reality or cognizability. 
 
 This is the first statement of the theory of complete and un- 
 
 • Plato TheaatSt., p. 173, 176, 186. Grote's Plato, vol. II. oh. 26, 
 p. 370-395. 
 
 t Plato Phjllbiis, p. 16, A — B, tvaStov povaSac, iilav (Kaartiv oiaav iti 
 Tip) iivHiv, &o., Eepublio X., p. 696, A. The phrase of Milton— Unus et 
 Uniyersus— esptesses this idea : — 
 
 * Sed quamlibet satnra sit oommanior, 
 Tomeu Bcomua extat ad modum luiiua/ &o. 
 
FIRST STATEMENT OF EEALISM. 9 
 
 qualified Bealism, which came to be known in the Middle Ages 
 under the phrase Universalia ante rem or eistra rem, and to be 
 distinguished from the two counter theories Universalia in re 
 (Aristotelian), and Universalia post rem (Nominalism). Indeed, the 
 Platonic theory goes even farther than the phrase Universalia ante 
 rem, which recognizes the particular as a reality, though posterior 
 and derivative, for Plato attenuates it into phantom and 
 shadow. The problem was now clearly set out in philosophy-r- 
 What are the objects correlating with Universal terms, and with 
 Partictdar terms ? What is the relation between the two ? Plato 
 first gave to the world the solution called BeaUsm, which lasted 
 so long after his time. We shall presently find Aristotle taking 
 issue with him on both the a£Bxmations included in his theory. 
 
 But though Plato first introduced this theory into philosophy, 
 he was neither blind to the objections against it, nor disposed to 
 conceal them. His mind was at once poetically constructive and 
 dialectically destructive ; to both these impulses the theory fur- 
 nished ample scope, while the form of his compositions (separate 
 dialogues, with no mention of his own name) rendered it easy to 
 give expression either to one or the other. Before Aristotle 
 arose to take issue with him, we shall find him taking issue with 
 himself, especially in the dialogues called Sophistes and Parmenides, 
 not to mention the PhilSbus, wherein he breaJrs down the unity 
 even of his sovereign Idea, which in the £epublic governs the 
 Cogitable World — the Idea of Good.* 
 
 Both in the Sophistes and in the Parmenides, the leading dis- 
 putant introduced by Plato is not Sokrates, but Parmenides and 
 another person (unnamed) of the Eleatic school. In both dialogues 
 objections are ta^en against the BeaUstic theory elsewhere pro- 
 pounded by Plato, though the objections adduced in the one are 
 quite distinct from those noticed in the other. In the Sophistes, 
 the Eleatic reasoner impugns successfully the theories of two 
 classes of philosophers, one the opposite of the other ; first, the 
 MataiaUsts, who recognized no Entia exqept the Percepta of 
 Sense; next, the Kealistic Idealists, who refused to recognize 
 these last as real Mntia, or as anything more than transient and 
 mutable Generata or Fientia, while they confined the title of 
 Entia to the Forms, cogitable, incorporeal, eternal, immutable, : 
 neither acting on anything, nor acted upon by anything. These 
 persons are called in the Sophistes ' Friends of Forms,' and their 
 theory is exactly what we have already cited out of so many 
 other dialogues of Plato, drawing the marked line of separation 
 between Entia and Fientia ; between the Immutable, which alone 
 is real and cognizable, and the Mutable, neither reed nor cogniz- 
 able. The Eleate in the Sophistes controverts this Platonic 
 theory, and maintains — that among the Universal Entia there are 
 included items mutable as well as immutable; that both are real 
 
 * Plato PhilSbns, p. 65-68 ; see Grote's Plato, voL II. oh. 30, p. 
 531-685. 
 
10 APPENDI?:— NOMINALISM AND BEALISM. 
 
 and both cognizable ; that Non-Em (instead of being set in glar- 
 ing conlarast with Ens, as the totally incogitable against the 
 infallibly cognizable)* is one among the multiplioity of Eeal 
 Forms, ma amwg only what is different from Ens, and therefore 
 cognizable not less than Ens; that Percepta and Gogitaia are alike 
 real, yet both only relatively real, correlating with minds per- 
 (dpient and cogitant. Thus, the reasoning in the Sophistes, while 
 it sets aside the doctrine of TJniversalia ante rem, does not mark 
 <mt any other relation between Universals and Particulars (neither 
 in re nor jpost rem). It discusses chiefly the intercommunion or 
 reciprocal exclusion ef Universals with respect to each other; and, 
 upon this point, far from representing them as Objects of infal- 
 lible Cognition as contrasted with Opinion, it enrolls both Opinion 
 and Discourse among the Universals themselves, and declares 
 both of them to be readily combinable with Non-Ens and False- 
 hood. So that we have here error and fallibility recognized in 
 the region of Universals, as well as in that of Particulars. 
 
 But it is principally in &e dialogue Pahicesnides that Plato 
 discusses with dialectical acuteness the relation of Universals to 
 their Particulars; putting aside the intercommunion (afSrmed in 
 the Sophistes) or reciprocal exclusion between one Univeisal and 
 enother, as an hypo&esis at least supremely difficult to vindi- 
 cate, if at all admissible.t In the dialogue, Sokrates is in- 
 troduced in the unusual character of a youthful and ardent 
 aspirant in philosophy, defending the Platonic theory of Ideas, as 
 we have seen it proclaimed in the Kepublic and m Timssus. The 
 veteran Parmenides appears as the opponeat to cross-examine 
 him; and not only impugns the theory by several interrogatories 
 which Sokrates cannot answer, but also intimates that there 
 remain behind other objections equally serious requiring answer. 
 Yet at the same time he declares that imless the theory be ad- 
 mitted, and unless Vmversalia ante rem. can be sustained as existent, 
 tiiere is no trustworthy cognition attainable, nor any end to be 
 served by philosophical debate. Moreover, Parmenides warns 
 Sokrates that before be can acquire a mental condition competent 
 to defend the theory, he must go through niunerous preliminary 
 dialectical exercises ; following out both the affirmative and the 
 negative hypotheses in respect to a great variety of Universalia 
 severally. To illustrate the course prescribed, Parmenides gives 
 a long specimen of this dialectic in handling his own doctrine of 
 .©718 Umrni. He takes first the hypothesis Si Unum Est — next, 
 the hypothesis St Unvmi non est ; and he deduces from each, by 
 ingenious subtleties, double and contradictory conclusions. These 
 he sums up at the end, challenging Sokrates to solve the puzzles 
 before a^ffinning his thesis. 
 
 Apart from these antinomies at the close of the dialogue, the 
 
 * Plato EepubUo, V., 478-479. 
 
 t Plato Parmenid. p. 129 E ; with Stallbaura's Frolegomena to that 
 Dialogue, p. 38-42. 
 
PLATO'S OBJECTIONS TO HIS OWN THEORY. 11 
 
 cross-examination of Sofaates by Parmenides, in the middle of it, 
 brings out forcibly against the Realistic theory objections such as 
 those urged against it by the NominaUsts of the iSfiddle Ages. In 
 the first place, wo find that Plato conceived the theory itseU differ- 
 ently from Porphyry and the philosophers that wrote subse- 
 quently to the Peripatetic criticism. Porphyry and his successors 
 put the question, Whether Genera and Species had a separate 
 existence, apart from the individuals composing them P Now, the 
 world of Forms (the Cogitable or Ideal world as opposed to the 
 Sensible), is not here concaved by Plato as peopled in the first 
 instance by Genera and Species. Its first tenants are attrifmtes, 
 and attributes distinctly relative — Likeness, One and Many, Jus- 
 tice, Beauty, tjl-oodness, &c. Sokrates, being asked by Parmenides 
 whether he admits Forms corresponding with these names, 
 answers unhesitatingly in the affirmative. He is next asked 
 whether he admits Forms corresponding to the names Man, Vixe, 
 Water, i&c, and instead of xeplying in the affirmative, intimates 
 that he does not feel sure. Lastly, the question is put whether 
 there are Forms corresponding to the names of mean objects — 
 mud, hair, dirt, &c. At first he answers emphatically in the 
 negative, and treats the afEtrmative as preposterous ; there exists 
 no cogitable hair, &c., but only the object of sense that we so 
 denominate. Yet, on second thoughts, he is -not without misgiving 
 that there maybe Forms even of these; though the supposition 
 is mo repulsive to him that he shakes it off as much as he can. 
 Upon this last expression of sentiment Parmenides comments, 
 ascribing it to the juvenility of Sokrates, and intimating that 
 wh«i Sokrates has become more deeply imbued with philosophy, 
 he will cease to set aside any of these objects as unworthy. 
 
 Here we see that in the theory of BeaUsm as conceived by 
 Sokrates, the Self-Existent Universals are not Genera and Species 
 as such, but Attributes (not Second Substances or Essences, but 
 Accidents or Attributes, «.jr.. Quality, Quantity, Eelation, &c., to 
 use the language afterwards introduced by the Aristotelian Cate- 
 gories)^ that no G«nera or Species are admitted except with hesi- 
 tation; and that the mean and undignified among them are 
 scarcely admissible at all. This sentiment of dignity, associated 
 with the Universalia ante rem, and the emotional necessity for 
 tracing back particulars to an august and respected origin — ^is to 
 be noted as a marked and lasting feature of the Realistic creed ; 
 and it even passed on to the Urwveraalia m re as afterwards 
 affirmed by Aristotle. Parmenides here takes exception to it 
 (and so does Plato elsewhere*) as inconsistent with faithful ad- 
 herence to scientific analogy. 
 
 Parmenides then proceeds (interrogating Sokrates) first to 
 state what the Realistic theory is (Universals apart from Parti- 
 culars — Particidars apart from Universals, yet having some parti- 
 cipation in them, and named after them), next to bring out the 
 
 * Plato Sophist. 227 A. Politikus, p. 266 D. 
 
12 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND RKALISm 
 
 difficulties attaching to it. The Universal or Form (lie argues) 
 cannot be entire in each of its many separate particulars ; nor yet 
 is it divisible, so that a part can be in one particular, and a part 
 in another. For take the Forms Oreat, Egml, Small; Equsl 
 magnitudes are equal because they partake in the Fonn of equa- 
 lity. But how can a part of the Form FqaiaJity, less than the 
 whole Form, cause the magfnitudes to be equal ? How can the 
 Form Smallness have aay parts less than itself, or how can it be 
 greater than anything P 
 
 The Form cannot be divided, nor can it eo-exist undivided in 
 each separate particular ; accordingly, particulars can ha;ve no par- 
 ticip»tio;qL in it at all. 
 
 Again, you assume a Form of Greatness, because you see many 
 parti(ailar objects, each of which appears to you great ; this being 
 the point of igesemblance between them;. But if you compare the 
 Fona of Greatness with any or aU of the pardcular great objects, 
 you wiU perceive a resemblance between them- ; this wiH require 
 you to assume a higher Form, and so on upward, without lunit. 
 
 Sokrates, thus embarrassed, starts the hypothesis that perhaps 
 each of these Forms may be- a cogitation, g.nd oothing more, 
 ejdsting only within the mind. How ? rejoins Farmenides. Can 
 there be la, cogitation of nothing at all P Must not each cogitation 
 have a real cegitaium correlating with it — in this case, the one 
 Form th;iit is identical throughout many particulars P If you say 
 that particnlaxs partake in^ the Form, and that each Form is 
 notlung but a cogitation,, does not this- imply that each particular 
 is itself cogitant P 
 
 Ag^in, Sokrates urges that the- Forms ai!e constant, unalter- 
 able, stationary in nature; that particulars resemble them, and 
 participate ip. tbem only so tax as to resemble them. But (rejoins 
 Farmenides) if partici^ars resemble the Fonn; the- Fomu must 
 resemble them ; accca^dingly, yon must admit anoAer a^d high^ 
 Form, as the point of resemblance between the Form>and its par- 
 ticulars ; and so on, upwards. 
 
 And farther (continues F&rmenides), even admitting-these Uni- 
 versal Forms as- self-existent, how can we know anything about 
 them? Forms can correlate only with Fwms, Farticulars only 
 with Particulars. Thus, if I, an iudividual man, am master, I 
 correlate -with another indi-vidual man, who is my servant, and he 
 on his side with me. But the Form of mastership, the universal 
 self -existent master, must correlate with the-Form of servantship, 
 the universal servant, The correlation does not subsist between 
 members of thetwo diff^ent worlds, but between different mem- 
 bers of the same world- respectively; Thus the Form of Cognition 
 correlates -with the Form, of TratHi,r and the Form, of each variety 
 of Cognition, with the Fi>rmi of-' the coinsesponding variety of 
 Truth. But we, as inxlividual subjects, db not possess in ourselves 
 the Form of Cognition/ our Cognition is our own, correlating 
 with such truth as belongs to it and to ourselves. Our Cognition 
 cannot reach to the Form of Truth, nor therefore to any other 
 
ABISTOTLB. 13 
 
 Fonn; we can kaow nothing of the Self-good, Self -beautiful, 
 Selfrjust, &c., even supposing such Forms to exist. 
 
 These acute and subtle arguments are no'rt'here answered by- 
 Plato. ^ They remain as unsolved difficulties, embarrassing the 
 Bealistic theory ; they are reinforced by farther difficidties no less 
 grave, included in the dialectic Antinomies of Parmenides at the 
 close of the dialogue, and by an unknown number of others indi- 
 cated as producible, though not actually jjroduoed. Yet still 
 Plato, with full consciousness of these difficulties, asserts unequivo- 
 cally, that unless the EeaUstie theory can be sustained, philoso- 
 phical research is fruitless, and truth cannot be reached. We see 
 thus that the author of the theory has also left on record some of 
 the most forcible arguments against it. It appears from Aristotle 
 (though we do not learn the fact from the Platonic dialogues), 
 that Plato, in his later years, symbolized the Ideas or Forms under 
 the denomination of Ideal Numbers, generated by implication of 
 The One with what Tie called The Great and Little, or the Indeter- 
 miilate Dyad. This last, however, is not the programme wherein 
 the Eealistic theory stands opposed to Nominalism. 
 
 But the dialogue Parmenides, though full of aeuteness on the 
 nega,tive side, not only furnishes no counter-theory, but asserts 
 continued allegiance to the Eealistic theory, which passed as 
 Plato's doctrine to his successors. To impugn, forcibly and even 
 unanswerably, a tibeory at once so sweeping and so little fortified 
 by positive reasons, was what many dialecticians of the age could 
 do. But- to do this, and at the same time to construct a counter- 
 theory, was a task requiring higher powers of mind. One, how- 
 ever, of Plato's disciples and successors was found adequate to the 
 task — Aeistotle. 
 
 The Eealistic Ontology of Plato is founded (as Aristotle him- 
 self remarks), upon mMrust and contempt of perception of sense, as 
 bearing entirely on the flux of partioularsj which never stand still 
 so as to become objects of knowledge. All reality, and all cog- 
 noscibihty, were supposed to reside in the separate world of 
 Cogitable Universals feastra rem or ante rem,), of which, in some 
 confused manner, particulars were supposed to partake. The 
 Universal, apart from its particulars, was clearly and fully 
 knowable, furnishing propositions constantly and infallibly true : 
 the Universal, as manifested in its particulars, was never fully 
 knowable, nor could ever become the subject of propositions, 
 except such as were sometimes true and sordetimes false. 
 
 Against this separation of the Universal from its Particulars, 
 "Aristotle entered a strong protest: as well as against the sub- 
 sidiary hypothesis of a participation of the latter in the former : 
 which participation, when the two had been declared separate, 
 appeared to him not only untenable and uncertified, but unin- 
 telligible. His arguments are interesting, as being among the 
 earliest objections known to us against Bealisiil. 
 
 . 1, Eealismis a useless multiplication of existences, sei'Ving 
 no purpose. Wherever a number of particulars-^be thfey SUb- 
 
14 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM. 
 
 stances eternal or perishable — be they substances, qnalitieB, or 
 relations — bear the same name, and tiius have a Universal in re 
 predicable of them in common — in every such case Plato assumes 
 a Universal extra rem, or a separate self -existent Form ; which 
 explains nothing, and merely doubles the total to be summed np.* 
 
 2. Plato's arguments in support of BeaUsni are either incon- 
 clusive, or prove too much. Wherever there is cognition (he 
 axgues), there must exist an eternal and unchangeable object of 
 cognition, apart from particulars, which are changeable and 
 perishable. TSo, replies Aristotle : cognition does not require the 
 UniversaUa extra rem : for the Universalia in re, the constant pre- 
 dicate of all the particulars, is sufficient as an object of cognition. 
 Moreover, if the argument were admitted, it would prove that 
 there existed separate Forms or Universak of mere negations — 
 for many of tibie constant predicates are altogether negative. 
 Again, if Self-Existent Universals are to be assumed corre- 
 spondmg to all our cogitations, we must assume Universals of 
 extinct particulars, and even of fictitious particulars, such as EGp- 
 pocentaurs or Chimeras : for of these, too, we have phantasms or 
 concepts in our minds.f 
 
 3. The most subtle disputants on this matter include Belata, 
 among the Universals Ideas or Forms. This is absurd, because 
 these do not constitute any Genus by themselves. These dis- 
 putants have also urged against the Be^stic theory that powerful 
 and unsolved objection, entitled T7te Third Man,.% 
 
 4. The supporters of these Self-Existent Universals trace them 
 to two priiuiipia — The One, and the Indeterminate Dyad; which 
 they affirm to be prior in existence even to the Universals them- 
 selves. But this can never be granted : for in the first place, the 
 Idea of Number must be logically prior to the Idea of the Dyad; 
 but the Idea of Number is relative, and the Belative can never be 
 prior to the Absolute or Self -Existent. 
 
 5. If we grant that wherever there is one constant predicate 
 belonging to many particulars, or wherever there is s^ble and 
 trustworthy cognition, in all such cases a Self -Existent Universal 
 correlate extra rem is to be assumed, we shall find that this 
 applies not merely to Substances or Essences, but ako to the 
 other Categories — Quality, Quantity, Belation, £c. But hereby 
 we exclude the possibility of participation in them by Particulars : 
 
 * Ariatot. Metaph. A. 990, a. 34 ; M. 1079, a. 2. Here we have the 
 first appearance of the argument that William of Ockham, the 
 
 NominaliBt, put in the foreground of his case against Bealism <£ntia 
 
 non sunt midtiplicanda prseter necessitatem,' &c. 
 
 + Ariatot. Metaphys. A. 990, h. 14; Scholia, p. 565, b. 10, Brandit 
 _ t Ariatot. Metaph. A. 990, h. 15, ei iKpipiarepoi tUv \6yuv. Both the 
 points here noticed appear in the Pannenidea of Plato. 
 
 The objection called The Third Man, is expressed by saying, that if 
 there be a Pormof man, resembling individual men, you must farther 
 postulate some higher Form, marking the point of resemblance between 
 the two : and so on higher, without end. 
 
AKISTOTLE'S criticism of PLATO. 15 
 
 since from such participation the Particular derives its Substance 
 or Essence alone, not its accidental predicates. Thus the Self- 
 Existent TJniverssJ. Dyad is eternal : but a particular pair, which 
 derives its essential property of doubleness from partaking in this 
 Universal Dyad, does not at the same time partake of eternity, 
 unless by accident. Accordingly, there are no Universal Ideas, 
 except of Substances or Essences : the common name, when 
 applied to the world of sense and to that of cogitation, signifies 
 the same thing — substance or essence. It is unmeaning to talk 
 of anything else as signified — any other predicate common to 
 many. Wdl then, if the Form of the UniversaJs, and the Form 
 of those particulars that participate in the Universals, be the 
 same, we shall have something common to both the one and the 
 other, so that the objection called The Third Man will become 
 applicable, and a higher Form must be postulated. But if the 
 Form of the Universals and the Form of the participating paiti- 
 culars, be not identical, then the same name, as signifying both, 
 will be used equivocally ; just as if you applied the same denomi- 
 nation Man to Kallias and to a piece of wood, without any 
 common property to warrant it. 
 
 6. But the greatest difficulty of all is to und»'stand how these 
 Cogitable Universals, not being causes of any change or move- 
 ment, contribute in any way to the objects of sense, either to the 
 eternal or to the perishable : or how they assist us towards the 
 knowledge thereof, being not in them, and therefore not their 
 substance or essence : or how they stand in any real relation to 
 their participants, being not immanent therein. Particulars cer- 
 tainly do not proceed from these Universals, in any inteUigible 
 sense. To say that the Universals are archetypes, and that par- 
 ticulars partake in them, is unmeaning, and mere poetic metaphor. 
 For where is the working force to mould them in conformity with 
 the UniversaJs ? Any one thing may he like, or may Jecome like, to 
 any other particular thing, by accident; or without any regular 
 antecedent cause to produce such assimilation. The same particular 
 substance, moreover, will have not one Universal archel^fpe only, 
 but several. Thus, the same individual man will have not only the 
 Self-animal and the Self -biped, but also the Self-man, as Archetype. 
 Then again, there will be Universal Archetypes, not merely for par- 
 ticular sensible objects, but also for Universals themselves : thus the 
 Genus will be an archetype for its various species : so that the same 
 which is now archetype, will, under other circumstances, be copy. 
 
 7. Furthermore, it seems impossible that what is Substance or 
 Essence can be separate from that whereof it is the Substance or 
 Essence. How then can the Universals, if they be the Essences 
 of Sensible things, have any existence apart from those Sensible 
 tilings ? Plato teUs us in the Phaedon, that the Forms or Uni- 
 versals are the causes why particulars both exist at all, and come 
 into such or such modes of existence. But even if we assume 
 Universals as existing, still the Particulars participant therein 
 will not come into being, unless there be some efficient cause to 
 
16 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM ANB EEALISM. 
 
 ^rbETttCe movement; moreover, tnaiiy other things come into 
 being, tiiough there be no Universsils correlating therewith, e.g., 
 a house, or a ring. The same causes that were sufficient to bring 
 these last into being, will be sufficient to bring all particulars into 
 beiiig, without assuming any Universals extra rem at aU. 
 
 8. Again, if the Universals or Forms axe Numbers, how can 
 they ever be causes ? Even if we suppose Particulars to be Nimi- 
 bers also, how can one set of Numbers be causes to the others ? 
 There can be no sneh causal influence, even if one set be eternal, 
 and the other perishablei.* 
 
 Out of the many objections raised by Aristotle agaifist Plato, 
 we have selected such as bore princxpally Upon the theory of 
 Eealism;: that is; upon the theory of Umversalia ante rem or extra 
 rem-^seif-ei^tent, archetypal, cogitable substances, in which Par- 
 ticulars fsdntly participated. The objections are not superior in 
 acuteness, and they are decidedly inferior, in clearness of enunci- 
 ation, to those that Plato himself produces in the Parmeioides. 
 Moreover, several of them are founded upon Aristotle's point of 
 view, and would haire failed to convince Plato. The great merit of 
 Aristotle is, that he went beyond the negative of the Parmenides, 
 asserted this new point of view of his own, and formulated it into 
 a counter-theory. He rejected altogether the separate and ex- 
 clusive reality which Plato had claimed for his Absolutes of the 
 Cogitable world, as well as the derivative and unreal semblance 
 that alone Plato accorded to the sensible world. Without 
 denying the distinction of the two, as conceivable and nameable, 
 he maintained that truth and cognition required that they should 
 be looked at in implication with each other. And he went even 
 a step farther, in antithesis to Plato, by reversing the order of the 
 two. IttBtead of considering the Cogitable TJniversals alone as real 
 and complete in themselves, and the Sensible Particulars as degene- 
 rate and confused semblances of them, he placed complete reality 
 in the sensible particulars alone, t and treated the cogitable uni- 
 versals as contnbutory appendages' thereto ; some being essential, 
 
 * Aristot. Metapb., A. 991, b. 13, Sevetal other ohjections are made 
 by Aristotle against that variety of the Platonic theory whereby the 
 Ideas were commuted into Ideal numbers. These objections do not be- 
 long to the controTersy of Bealism against Nominalism. 
 
 i* Aristotle takes pains to vindicate against both Plato and the Hera- 
 cleiteana the dignity of the Sensible World. They that depreciate sen- 
 sible objects as perpetually changing, unstable, and unknowable, make 
 the mistake (he observes) of confining their attention to the sublunary 
 interior of the Cosmos, where, indeed, generation and destruction largely 
 prevail. But this is only a small portion of the entire Cosmos. In the 
 largest portion — the visible, celestial, superlunary regions — ^there is no 
 generation or destruction at all, nothing but permanence and uuiformitf . 
 In api)reciating the sensible World (Aristotie says), philosophers ought to 
 pardon the shortcomings of the smaller portion on account of the exod- 
 lencies of theleirger; and not condemn both together on account of the 
 smaller-r(Metaphys., r. 1010, a. 32)^ 
 
IMPEOVED ONTOLOGY OF AEISTOTLB. 17 
 
 others non-essential, but all of them relative, and none of them 
 independent integers. His philosophy was a complete revolution 
 as compared mth Parmenides and Plato ; a revolution, too, the 
 more calculated to last, because he embodied it in an elaborate and 
 original theory of Logic, Metaphysics, and Ontology. He was 
 the first philosopher that, besides recognizing the equivocal cha- 
 racter of those general terms whereon speculative debate chiefly 
 turns, endeavoured methodically to set out and compare the dif- 
 ferent meanings of each term, and their relations to each other. 
 
 However much the Ontology of Aristotle may fail to satisfy 
 modem exigencies, still, as compared with the Platonic Bealism, 
 it was a considerable improvement. Instead of adopting Ens 
 as a self-explaining term, contrasted with the Generated and 
 Perishable (the doctrine of Plato in the Bepublic, Phsedon, and 
 TimSBus), he discriminates several distinct meanings of Ens ; a 
 discrimination not always usefully pursued, but tending in the 
 main towards a better theory. The distinction between Ens 
 potential, and Ens actual, does not belong directly to the question 
 between Bealism and Nominalism, yet it is a portion of that 
 philosophical revolution wrought by Aristotle against Plato — 
 displacement of the seat of reality, and transfer of it from the 
 Cogitable Universal to the Sensible Particular. The direct enun- 
 ciation of this change is contained in his distinction of Ens into 
 Fundamental and Concomitant (<r«;j^£|3ij«:d£), and his still greater 
 refinement on the same principle by enumerating the ten varieties 
 of Ens called Categories or Predicaments.* He will not allow Ens 
 (nor IJnum) to be a Genus, partible into Species ; he recognizes it 
 only as a word of many analogous meanings, one of them princi- 
 pal and fv/ndamental, the rest derivative and subordinate thereto, 
 each in its own manner. Aristotle thus establishes a graduated 
 scale of Entia, each having its own value and position, and its 
 own mode of connexion with the common centre. That common 
 centre, Aristotle declared to be of necessity some individual object 
 — Hoc Aliguid, That Man, This Horse, &c. This was the common 
 Subject, to which all the other Entia belonged as predicates, and 
 without which none of them had any reality. We here fall mto 
 the language of Logic, the first theory of which we owe to 
 Aristotie. His ontological classification was adapted to that 
 theory. 
 
 As we are here concerned only with the difierent ways of con- 
 ceiving the relation between the Particular and the Universal, we 
 are not called on to criticise the well known decuple enumeration 
 of Categories or Predicaments given by Aristotie, both in his 
 Treatise called by that name and elsewhere. For our purpose it 
 
 * In enumerating the ten Categories, Aristotle takes his departnre 
 from the proposition — Soma currit — Soma vincit. He assumes a particu- 
 lar individual as Subject : and he distributes, under ten general heads, all 
 liie information that can be a^ed or given about that Subject — all the 
 predicates that can be affirmed ui denied thereof. 
 49 
 
18 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND EEALISM. 
 
 is enough to point out that the particular sensible Hoc Aliguid is 
 (leclared to be the ultimate subject, to which all Universals attach, 
 as determinants or accompaniments ; and that if this condition be 
 wanting, the unattached Universal cannot rank among complete 
 Entia. The Subject or First Substance, which can never become 
 a predicate, is established as the indispensable ultimate subject for 
 all predicates ; if that disappears, all predicates disappear along 
 with it. The Particular thus becomes the keystone of the arch 
 whereon all Universals rest. Aristotle is indeed careful to 
 point out a gradation in these predicates ; some are essential to 
 the subject, and thus approach so near to the First Substance that 
 he calls them Second Substances ; others, and the most in number, 
 are not thus essential; these last are Concomitants ai Accidents, 
 and some of them fall so niuch short of complete Entity that he 
 
 These ten xariiyoplai — ysvij tSv KaTJjyopUiv, sometimes simply ro yevii 
 — aXvltctTa T&v KaTuyopiSv — I'reedieamenta in Latin — are as follows: — 
 
 1. Oiaia — Substantia — Substance. 
 
 2. Tloabv — Quantum — Quantity. 
 
 3. noc^v — Quale — Quality. 
 
 4. npoQ Ti — Ad aliquid — Belation. 
 
 5. IIoS — CTi— Location. 
 
 6. n6r£ — Qua«do — Period of Time. 
 
 7. EMoBcu — Jacere — Attitude, Posture. 
 
 8. "E^aj' — Sabere — Equipment, Appurtenances, Property. 
 
 9. Tlouiv — Facere — Active occupation. 
 10. Udaxeiv — Pati — Passive occupation. 
 
 1. The first Category, Substance, is distributed into Prima and 
 Secunda. Prima, which is Substance par excellence, can only serve as a 
 Subject in piopositions, and can never be a Predicate. It is indispens- 
 able as a substratum for predicates ; though alone and without some of 
 them, it is a mere unmeaning term. Substantia Secunda describes the 
 Species or Genus that includes the First. Respecting an unknown 
 Subject — EaUias — you ask, What is Kallias ? Answer is made by 
 declaring the Second Substance, the Species he belongs to — KaUias is 
 a man. 
 
 2. Quantum — How large is be ? To this question answer is made 
 under the same Category — He ia six feet high, as thin as £inesias, &c. 
 
 3. Quale-^What manner of man is he f Answer the third Category 
 —He is fair, flat-nosed, muscular, &c, 
 
 4. Belata — What are the relations that he stands in p He is father, 
 master, director, &c. 
 
 6. Ubi — Where is he ? In his house, in the market-place, &u. 
 
 6. Quando — Of what point of time do you speak? Yesterday, last 
 year, now, &c. 
 
 7. Jacere — In what attitude or posture is he p He ia lying down, 
 standing upright, kneeling, &c. 
 
 8. Habere — What has he in the way of clothing, equipment, arms, 
 property ? He has boots, sword and shield, an axe, a house, &c 
 
 9. Facere — In what is he actively occupied ? He is speaking, writing, 
 fencing, cutting wood, &c. 
 
 10. Pati — ^In what is he passively occupied ? He is being beaten, re- 
 proved, rubbed, having his hair out, &c. 
 
THE CATEGORIES. 19 
 
 describes them as near to Non-Entia.* But all of them, essential 
 or unessential, are aUke constituents or appendages of the First 
 Substance or Particular Subject, and have no reality in any other- 
 character. 
 
 We thus have the counter-theory of Aristotle against the 
 Platonic BeaUsm. Instead of separate Universal substances, con- 
 taining in themselves full reality, and forfeiting much of that 
 reality when they faded down into the shadowy copies called Par- 
 ticulars, he inverts the Platonic order, announces full reality to be 
 the privilege of the Particular Sensible, and confines the function 
 of the Universal to that of a Predicate, in or along with the Par- 
 ticular. There is no doctrine that he protests against more fre- 
 quently, than the ascribing of separate reality to the Universal. 
 The tendency to do this, he signalizes as a natural but unfortunate 
 
 Such ia the list of Categories, or decuple classification of predicates, 
 drawn up by Aristotle, seemingly from the comparison of many different 
 propositions. He himself says, that there are various predicates that 
 might be referred to more than one of the several heads ; and he does 
 not consider this as an objection to the classification. The fourth class — 
 JRelata — ought to be considered as including them all ; the first Category is 
 the common and indispensable Correlate to all the others. Aristotle's con- 
 ception of relation is too narrow, and tied down by grammatical conjunc- 
 tions of words. Yet it must be said, that the objections to his classification 
 on this ground, are applicable also to the improved classifications of modem 
 times, which dismiss the six last heads, and retain only the four first — 
 Substance, Quantity, Quality, Relation. Of these four, the three first 
 properly rank under the more general head of Belata. 
 
 Among all the ten heads of the Aristotelian scheme, the two that 
 have been usually considered as most incongruoiis, etnd least entitled to 
 their places, are. No. 7 and 8 — Jacere and Sabere. They are doubtless 
 peculiarities ; and they may fairly be considered as revealing the first pro- 
 jection of the scheme in Aristotle's mind. He began by conceiving an 
 individual man as the Subject, and he tried to classify the various pre- 
 dicates appUcable in reply to questions respecting the same. Now, in 
 this point of view, the seventh and eighth Categories will be found im- 
 portant; referring to facts constantly varying, and often desirable to 
 know ; moreover not fit to rank under any of the other general heads, 
 except under Eelata, which comprises them as well as all the rest. But 
 Aristotle afterwards proceeded to stretch the application of the scheme, 
 so as to comprehend philosophy generally, and other subjects of Predica- 
 tion besides the individual man. Here undoubtedly the seventh and 
 eighth heads appear narrow and trivial. Aristotle probably would never 
 have introduced them, had such enlarged purpose been present to his 
 mind from the beginning. Probably, too, he was not insensible to the 
 perfection of the number Ten. 
 
 * Aristot. Metaph., E. 1026, b. 21. patvtrai yip rb avitPePtiK&s iyyie 
 
 Tl TOV liil OVTOQ, 
 
 There cannot be a stronger illustration of the difference between the 
 Platonic and the Aristotelian point of view, than the fact that Plato 
 apphes the same designation to all particular objects of sense — that 
 they are only mid-way between Entia and Non-Entia. (Republic, v. 
 478-479). 
 
20 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM. 
 
 illusion, lessening the beneficial efficacy of universal demonstrative 
 reasoning.* And he declares it to be a coroUary, from this view 
 of the Particular as indispensable subject, along with the Univer- 
 sal as its predicate : — That the first principles of demonstration 
 in all the separate theoretical sciences, must be obtained by in- 
 duction from particulars : first by impressions of sense preserved 
 in the memory ; then by multiplied remembrances enlarged into 
 one experience ; lastly, by many experiences generalized into one 
 principle by the Noiis.t 
 
 While Aristotle thus declares Induction to be the source from 
 whence demonstration in these separate sciences draws its first 
 principles, we must at the same time acknowledge that his manner 
 of treating science is not tdways conformable to this declaration, 
 and that he often seems to forget Induction altogelJier. This is 
 the case not only in his First Philosophy, or Metaphysics, but also 
 in his Physics. He there professes to trace out what he calls 
 beginnings, causes, elements, &c., and he analyzes most of the 
 highest generalities. Yet still these analytical enquiries (whatever 
 be their value) are usually, if not always, kept in subordination to 
 the counter-theory that he had set up against the Platonic 
 Bealism. Complete reality resides (he constantly repeats) only in 
 the particular sensible substances and sensible facts or movements 
 that compose the aggregate Cosmos; which is not generated, 
 but eternal, both as to substance and as to movement. If these 
 sensible substances disappear, nothing remains. The beginnings 
 and causes exist only relatively to these particillars. Form, 
 Matter, Privation, are not real Beings, antecedent to the Cosmos, 
 and pre-existent generators of the substances constituting the 
 Cosmos ; they are logical fragments or factors, obtained by mental 
 analysis and comparison, assisting to methodize our philosophical 
 point of view or conception of those substances ; but incapable of 
 being understood, and having no value of their own apart from 
 the substances. Some such logical analysis (that of Aristotle or 
 some other) is an indispensable condition even of the most strictly 
 inductive philosophy. 
 
 There are some portions of the writings of Aristotte (especially 
 the third book De Anvmd and the twelfth book qf the Meta^hysica) 
 where he appears to lose sight of the limit here indicated ; but 
 with few exceptions, we find him constantly remembering, and 
 often repeating, the great truth formulated in his Categories — that 
 full or substantive reality resides only in the -Hoc Aliquid, with its 
 predicates implicated with it — and that even the highest of these 
 predicates (Second Substances) have no reality apart from some 
 one of their particulars. We must recollect that though Aristotle 
 
 * Aristot. Analyt. Poster., I., p. 86, a. 31, b. 19. 
 
 t See the concluding chapter of the Anedytica Posteriora. 
 
 A^simUar doctrine is stated by Plato in the Phsedon (p. 96 B.), ss one 
 among the intellectual phases that Sokrates had passed tbioagh in the 
 coarse of his life, \nthout continuing in them. 
 
EEALISM CONTESTED UNDER THE FIRST CATEGORY. 21 
 
 denies to the predicates a separate reality, he recognizes in them 
 an adjective reality, as accompanimentB and determinants : he con- 
 templates all the ten Categories as distinct varieties of existence.* 
 This is sufficient as a basis for abstraction, whereby -we can name 
 them and reason upon them as distinct objects of thought or 
 points of view, although none of them come into reality except as 
 implicated with a sensible particular. Of such reasoning Aristotle's 
 Krst Philosophy chiefly consists ; and he introduces peculiar 
 phrases to describe this distinction of reason, between two differ- 
 ent points of view, where the real object spoken of is one 
 and the same. The frequency of the occasions taken to point 
 out that distinction, mark his anxiety to keep the First Philo- 
 sophy in harmony with the theory of reality announced in his 
 Categories. 
 
 The Categories of Aristotle appear to have become more widely 
 known than any other part of his philosophy. They were m.uch dis- 
 cussed by the sects coming after Mm ; and even when not adopted, 
 were present to speculative minds as a scheme to be amended. f 
 Most of the arguments turned upon the nine later Categories ; 
 it was debated whether these were properly enumerated and 
 discriminated, and whether the enumeration as a whole was 
 exhaustive. 
 
 With these details, however, the question between Realism and 
 its counter-theory (whether ConceptuaHsm or Nominalism) is not 
 materially concerned. The standard against Realism was raised by 
 Aristotle in the First Category, when he proclaimed the Hoc Aliquid 
 to be the only complete Ens, and the Universal to exist only along 
 with it as a predicate, being nothing in itself apart ; and when he 
 enumerated Quality as one among the predicates, and nothing be- 
 yond. In the Platonic Realism (Phsedon, Timseus, Parmenides) 
 what Aristotle called Quality was the highest and most incon- 
 testable among all Substances — the Good, the Beautiful, the 
 Just, &c. ; what Aristotle called Second Substance was also Sub- 
 stance in the Platonic Realism, though not so incontestably ; 
 but what Aristotle called First Substance was in the Platonic 
 Realism no Substance at all, but only one among" a multi- 
 tude of confused and transient shadows. It is in the First and 
 Third Categories that the capital antithesis of Aristotle against 
 the Platonic ReaUsm is contained. As far as that antithesis is 
 concerned, it matters little whether the aggregate of predicates 
 be subdivided under nine general heads (Categories) or under 
 three. 
 
 In the century succeeding Aristotle, the Stoic philosophers 
 altered his Categories, and drew up a new list of their own, con- 
 taining only four distinct heads instead of ten. We have no 
 record or explanation of the Stoic Categories from any of their 
 
 * Aristot. Metaphys., A. 1017, a. 24. oaaxHg yap Xiyerai (rd axniiara 
 Trig Karijyopiac;) roffowroxwc to tlvai aiiiiaiva. 
 
 t This is the just remark of Trendelenburg— Kategorienlehre— p. 217. 
 
22 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND EEALISM. 
 
 authors ; so that we are compelled to accept the Kst on secondary 
 authoriiy, from the comments of critics, mostly opponents. But, 
 as far as we can make out, they retained in their Krst Category 
 the capital feature of Aristotle's Krst Category ; the primacy of 
 the First Substance or Hoc Aliquid, and its exclusive privilege of 
 imparting reality to all the other Categories. Indeed, the Stoics 
 seem not only to have retained this characteristic, but to have 
 exaggerated it. They did not recognize so close an approach of 
 the Universal to the Particular, as is implied by giving to it a 
 second place in the same Category, and calling it Second Sub- 
 stance. The Krst Category of the Stoics (Something or Subject) 
 included only particular substances ; all TJniversals were by them 
 ranked in the other Categories, being regarded as negations of 
 substances, and designated by the term Non-Somethings-rNan- 
 Suistances.* 
 
 The Neo-Platonist PLOTlHTrs, in the third century after the 
 Christian era, agreed with the Stoics (though looking from the 
 opposite point of view) in disapproving Aristotle's arrangement of 
 Second Substance in the same Category with Krst Substance.f 
 He criticises at some length both the Aristotelian list of Cate- 
 gories, and the Stoic list ; but he falls back into the Platonic and 
 even the Parmenidean point of view. His capital distinction is 
 between Cogitables and Sensibles. The Cogitabilia are in his 
 view the most real ; [i.e. the Aristotelian Second Substance is 
 more real than the Krst;) among them the highest, Unum or 
 Bonum, is the grand fountain and sovereign of all the rest. 
 Plotinus thus departed altogether from the Aristotelian Cate- 
 gories, and revived the Platonic or Parmenidean Bealism ; yet 
 not without some Aristotelian modifications. But it is remarkable 
 that in this departure his devoted friend and scholar PokphtrY 
 did not follow him. Porphyry not only composed an Introduc- 
 tion to the Categories of Aristotle, but also vindicated them at 
 great length, in a separate commentary, against the censures of 
 Plotinus : Dexippus, Jamblichus, and Simplicius, followed in the 
 same track.J StUl, though Porphyry stood forward both as 
 admirer and champion of the Aristotelian Categories, he did 
 not consider that the question raised by the Krst Category 
 of Aristotle against the Platonic Eealism was finally decided. 
 This is sufficiently proved by the three problems cited above 
 out of the Introduction of Porphyry; where he proclaims it 
 to be a deep and difficult inquiry, whether Genera and Species 
 had not a real substantive existence apart from the individuals 
 composing them. Aristotle, both in the Categories and in many 
 other places, had declared his opinion distinctly in the negative, 
 against Plato : but Porphyry had not made up his mind between 
 
 • PranO— Gesoh. der Logik. Vol. I. sect. vi. p. 420. ovriva rd 
 KOiva Trap avTotq Xkyirai, &o. 
 t Plotinus. Ennead. VI. 1, 2. 
 j Bimplicius. Schol. in Aristotel. Catog.— p. 40 a-h. Brandis. 
 
SCOTUS EEIGBNA. 23 
 
 the two, though he insists, in language very Aristotelian, on the 
 distinction between First and Second Substance.* 
 
 Through the translations and manuals of Boethius and others, 
 the Categories of Aristotle were transmitted to the Latin Church- 
 men, and continued to be read even through the darkest ages, 
 when the Analytica and the Topica were unknown or neglected. 
 The AristoteUan discrimination between First and Second Sub- 
 stance was thus always kept in sight, and Boethius treated it 
 much in the same manner as Porphyry had done before him.f 
 Alcuin, Bhabanus Maurus, and Eric of Au3;erre,t in the eighth 
 and ninth centuries, repeated what they found in Boethius, and 
 upheld the Aristotelian tradition unimpaired. But Scottts 
 Ebigena (d. 880 A.D.) took an entirely opposite view, and 
 reverted to the Platonic traditions, though with a large admix- 
 ture of Aristotelian ideas. He was a Christian Platonist, blend- 
 ing the transcendentalism of Plato and Plotinus with theological 
 dogmatic influences (derived from the Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita 
 and others) and verging somewhat even towards Pantheism. 
 Scotus Erigena revived the doctrine of Cogitable Universalia extra 
 rem and ante rem. He declared express opposition to the arrange- 
 ment of the First Aristotelian Category, whereby the individual 
 was put first, in the character of subject ; the Universal second, 
 in the character only of predicate ; complete reality belonging to 
 the two in conjunction. Scotus maintained that the Cogitable or 
 Incorporeal Universal was the first, the true and complete real ; 
 from whence the sensible individuals were secondary, incomplete, 
 multiple, derivatives.il But though he thus adopts and enforces 
 the Platonic theory of Universalia ante rem and extra rem, he does 
 not think himself obliged to deny that Universalia may be in re 
 also. 
 
 The contradiction of the Aristotelian traditions, so far as con- 
 cerns the First Category, thus proclaimed by Scotus Erigena, 
 appears to have provoked considerable opposition among his im- 
 mediate successors. Nevertheless, he also obtained partizans. 
 Eemigius of Auxerre and others not only defended the Platonic 
 Realism, but carried it as far as Plato himself had done ; affirming 
 that not only Universal Substances, but also Universal Accidents, 
 had a real separate existence, aparijfrom and anterior to indivi- 
 duals.§ The controversy for and against the Platonic Realism 
 was thus distinctly launched in the schools of the middle ages. 
 
 * Praiitl — Geschichte der Logik. Vol. I., sect. 11, p. 634, n. 69. 
 Upon this account, Prantl finds Porphyry guilty of ' empiricism in its 
 extreme crudeness' — ' jene ausserste Eohheit des Empirismus.' 
 
 ■t* Prantl — Geschichte der Logik. Vol. I., sect 12, p. 685 ; Vol. II., 
 sect. 1, p. 4-7. Trendelenburg — Kalegorienlehre, p. 246. 
 
 J Ueberweg — Geschichte der Fhilosophie der patristischen uud 
 scholastischen Zeit, sect. 21, p. 115, ed. 2iid. 
 
 11 Prantl — Gesch. der Logik. Vol. II., oh. 13, p. 29-35. 
 
 § Ueberweg— Geschicht der Philos., sect. 21, p. 113. Prantl — Gesch. 
 der Logik, VoL IL, ch. 13, 44, 45-47. 
 
24 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM AND EEALISM. 
 
 It was upheld both as a philosophical revival, and as theologically 
 orthodox, entitled to supersede the traditional counter-theory of 
 Aristotle. 
 
 It has been stated above, that it was through Porphyry's 
 Isagoge (in the translation of Boethius) that the schoolmen became 
 acquainted with the ancient dispute as to the nature of Universals. 
 Of Plato's doctrines, except in a translation of part of the Timaeus, 
 they had for a long time only second-hand knowledge, chiefly 
 through St. Augustin ; of Aristotle, they knew down to the middle 
 of the twelfth century, only the Categories and the De Interpre- 
 tatione in translation, and not, until the beginning of the thirteenth, 
 others besides the logical works. Down to about this time, logic 
 qr dialectic being the whole of philosophy, the question as to 
 Universals almost excluded every other; and, even later, when 
 the field of philosophy became much wider, it never lost the first 
 place as long as scholasticism remained dominant, 
 
 Eather more than two centuries after the death of Scotus 
 Erigena (about the end of the eleventh), the question was eagerly 
 disputed, in its bearings upon the theological dogma of the 
 Trinity, between EosCEiiLnr, a, canon of Compi^gne, and Awsemm:, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. Anselm maintained that all individual 
 men were in specie homo units, and formed a real imity; so too, 
 although every person in the Godhead was perfect God, they were 
 but one God. To this realistic doctrine, BosceUin (of whom very 
 little is known), founding upon some of his immediate precursors, 
 opposed a theory different from the Aristotelian. Maintaining with 
 iCnstotle, and even more strongly than Aristotle, that the indi- 
 vidual particulars were the only real entities, he declared that, in 
 genera and species, the individuals were held together only sub- 
 jectively by means of a general name, bestowed upon them for 
 their points of similarity. The Universals were neither ante rem 
 (with Plato), nor in re (with Aristotle), but ^sf rem; and in 
 themselves were nothing at all beyond voces or nomina. BosceUin 
 appears to have carried out the theory consistently, Mid not 
 merely with reference to the special theological question. So far 
 as that was concerned, he was not afraid to pronounce that the 
 three person^ were three individual Gods; and thereupon, his 
 theology being condemned by an ecclesiastical council, the theory 
 became suspect, and so remained until the late period of scholas- 
 ticism. Its supporters were called by the name voealea or Twmi- 
 nales, Nominalists; and it was at the same period of excited 
 feeling that the name realis, Bealist, was first used to designate 
 the upholders of the ancient doctrine, as held either in the 
 Platonic or the Aristotelian form. 
 
 To what lengths the discussion of the question was carried in 
 the century that elapsed from the time of Anselm and BosceUin 
 tiU the beginning of the second period of scholastidism, may be 
 seen in a list drawn up by Prantl (Gesch. d. Log. II., pp. 118-21) 
 of not less than thirteen distinct opinions, or shades of opinion, 
 held by different schoolmen. Of these, the most distingni^ed 
 
iQUINAS. — DUNS SCOTUS. — OCKHAM. 25 
 
 was Abaelakd (1079-1142), who took up a position between the 
 extremes of Realism and Nominalism. On the one hand, he 
 denied the independent existence of Universals, and inclined 
 rather to the Aristotelian view of their immanence in rebus; on 
 the other, he inveighed against the nominalism of Eoscellin, and 
 pronounced that the Universals were not mere voces, but sermones 
 or predications. Yet it is a mistake to describe him as a Ooncep- 
 tualist, the name conferred upon such as, agreeing with the 
 Nominalists in regard to the purely subjective character f'post 
 renij of the Universals, differed from these in ascribing to the 
 mind the power of fashioning a Concept or notion correspondent 
 to the general name. 
 
 In the 13th century, when Scholasticisni reached its highest 
 development, the supremacy of Aristotle was firmly established. 
 We find accordingly in Thoilas Aqitinas (1226-74) a supporter of 
 the Aristotelian doctrine of the Universals as immanent in re; 
 but, at the same time, he declared that the intellect, by abstract- 
 ing the essential attributes (quiddities) of things from their acci- 
 dental attributes, forms Universals post rem; and, although he 
 utterly rejected the Platonic assumption of ideas as real — the only 
 truly real — entia, he yet maintained that the ideas or thoughts of 
 things in the Divine mind, antecedent to creation, were Universalia 
 ante rem. 
 
 His great rival in the next generation. Duns Scotus (d. 1300), 
 admitting the Universals in the same three-fold sense, deter- 
 mined the various related questions in a way peculiar to 
 himself. Especially in regard to the question of the relation 
 of the universal to the singular or individual, was he at war 
 with his predecessors. Thomas had declared that in the indi- 
 vidual, composed of form and matter fmateria signataj, the 
 form was the Universal, or element common to all the indivi- 
 duals ; what marked off one individual from another — the so-called 
 principle of individuation — was the onatter, e.g. in Sokrates, hcec 
 ca/ro, hcec ossa. But as matter bore the character of defect or im- 
 perfection, Scotus complained that this was to represent the 
 individual as made imperfect in being individualized, whereas it 
 was the ultima realitas, the most truly perfect form of Existence. 
 The principle of individuation must be something positive, and 
 not, like matter, negative. The qvMditas, or imiversal, must be 
 supplemented by a hcecceitas to make it singular or individual ; 
 Sofcrates was made individual by the addition of Sohratitas to his 
 specific and generic characteristics as man and animal. 
 
 The next name is of the greatest importance. "William of 
 OcKHAM (d. 1347), an Englishman and pjipil of Duns Scotus, 
 revived the nominalistic doctrine that had been so long discredited 
 amongst the leading schoolmen and frowned upon by the Church. 
 From him, if not earlier, is to be dated the period of the downfall of 
 Scholasticism; severance beginning to be made of reason from 
 faith, and philosophy being no longer prosecuted in the sole 
 interest of theological dogma. 
 
26 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND EEALISM. 
 
 TTniversals (genera, species, and the like) were, he held, nothing 
 real extra am/mam, but were only in mente. Calling everything that 
 existed in or out of the mind a singular or individual, he asked how 
 a term (termmus) like hnrno could be predicated of a number of indi- 
 viduals. The answers of every form of Bealism, that of Duns 
 Scotus included, led to absurdity ; the Eealists all began with the 
 universal, and sought to explain from it the individual, whereas 
 they ought to begin with the singular, which alone really exists, 
 and ascend to the explanation of the universal. The true doctrine 
 was that the universals were not at all in things, but in the mind ; 
 and in the proposition homo est riaihilis, the term homo stood not 
 for any universal man, but for the real individual man, who alone 
 could laugh. As to the mode of existence of the universals in the 
 mind, he contented himself with enumerating various opinions 
 thai were or might be held, without deciding for one in particular. 
 But he was ever ready with the warning : Entia non sunt multi- 
 pUcanda prceter necessitatem. Though he was not a nominalist pure 
 and simple, — in refusing to regard the universals as mere words or 
 names and nothing more — it would be committing him to more 
 than he has committed himself to, if we should call him, with 
 some, a Conceptualist. 
 
 From the time of WiUiam of Ockham, the nominaUstic doc- 
 trine, in some shape or other, remained triumphant in the schools. 
 Formerly suspected and condemned, and revived by a determined 
 opponent of the papal see, it yet became so firmly established as 
 a philosophical tenet, that it was accepted by the most orthodox 
 theologians ; and, in the last days of scholasticism, it was actually 
 EeaUsm that became the siispicious doctrine. In fact, with philo- 
 sophy growing more and more independent, and entering upon 
 discussions that had no reference to religious dogma, it became 
 possible for the later schoolmen to be Nominalists in regard to 
 the question of Universals, while they were at the same time 
 devout believers in the region of faith. It was when the question 
 thus became an open one, that Realism, as a theory of TTniver- 
 sals, fell into discredit : as a tendency of the human mind, 
 Eealism remained active as before, and upon the extension of the 
 field of philosophy at the beginning of the modem period, it oc- 
 cupied new strongholds, from which it has not yet been dislodged. 
 
 Since the age of Descartes, Nominalism or Conceptualism has 
 been professed by the great majority of thinkers ; but the question 
 has been allowed to sink into the second rank. In its stead, the 
 discussion of the Origin of Knowledge, — ^in or before experience, — 
 has risen into importance. When it was regarded as philo- 
 sophically settled that Universals had no subsistence apart from 
 the mind, it was a natural transition to pass to the consideration 
 of their origin. But here, as in the question of perception, there 
 has, during the whole modem period, been too little disposition 
 to turn to account the results of the long mediaeval struggle. In 
 the question of Innate Ideas the old question is directly involved. 
 
 HoBBES is one of the few in later times to whom the question 
 
HOBBES. — LOCKE. 27 
 
 had lost hone of its significance, and he is besides remarkable as 
 perhaps the most outspoken representative of extreme Nomi- 
 nalism. His view cannot be better or more shortly given than 
 in his own words : ' Of names, some are common to many things, 
 as a man, a tree; others proper to one thing, as he tliat writ the 
 Iliad, Homer, this man, that man. And a common name, being 
 the name of many things severally taken, but not collectively of 
 all together (as man is not the name of aJl mankind, but of every 
 one, as of Peter, John, and the rest severally), is therefore cftlled 
 an universal name ; and therefore this word universal is never the 
 name of anything existent in nature, nor of any idea or phantasm 
 formed in the mind, but always the name of some word or name ; 
 so that when a living creature, a stone, a spirit, or any other thing, 
 is said to be universal, it is not to be understood that any man, 
 stone, &o., ever was or can be universal, but only that these 
 words, living creatu/re, stone, &c., axe universal names, that is, names 
 common to many things ; and the conceptions answering to them 
 in our mind, are the images and phantasms of several living 
 creatures or other things. And, therefore, for the understanding 
 of the extent of an universal name, we need no other faculty but 
 that of our imagination, by which we remember that such names 
 bring sometimes one thing, sometimes another, into our mind.' 
 (Hobbes, De Corpm-e, c. 2, 1 10.) 
 
 Locke's view of Abstraction is contained in the Third Book of 
 his Essay. In Chap. III., ' Of General Terms,' he asks (§ 6), ' how 
 general words came to be made, seeing that all exis^ng things 
 are particular.' He replies, 'Words become general by being 
 made the signs of general ideas; and Ideas become general, by 
 separating from them the circumstances of Time and Place, and 
 any other ideas that may determine them to this or that particular 
 existence.' He goes on to say : — Children know nothing but par- 
 ticulars; at first they know, for example, a small number of 
 persons ; as their experience grows they become acquainted with 
 a greater number, and discern their agreements ; they then frame 
 an idea to comprise these points of agreement, which is to them 
 the meaning of the general term ' man ; ' they leave out of the Idea 
 what is peculiar to Peter, James, and Mary, and retain what is 
 common. The same process is repeated for still higher generaHties, 
 as ' animal.' A general is nothing but the power of representing 
 so many particulars. Essences and Species are only other names 
 for these abstract ideas. The sorting of things under names is 
 the workmanship of the understanding, taking occasion from the 
 similitude it ohserves among them, to make abstract general ideas; 
 and to set them up in the mind as Patterns or Forms, to which they 
 are found to agree. That the generalities are mere ideas, or men- 
 tal products, and not real existences, is shown by the different 
 composition of complex ideas in different minds; the idea of 
 Covetousness in one man is not what it is in^another. 
 
 Locke is thus substantially a Nominalist, but does not go deep 
 into the psychological nature of general ideas. He remarks justly 
 
28 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM AND REALISM. 
 
 tliat the general idea proceeds upon similitude, designating the 
 agreements of things, and leaving out the differences ; but he does 
 not affirm that the mental notion is still a notion of one or more 
 particulars. That he does not see the bearings of a thorough- 
 going Nominalism, is evident from his making little use of it, 
 in arguing against Innate Ideas. 
 
 Bebkeley's Kominalism is notorious and pronounced, and was 
 in reality the wedge that split up, in his mind, the received 
 theory of Perception. In the well-lmown passage in the Introduc- 
 tiyn to his ' Principles of Human Knowledge,' he quotes the con- 
 ceptuahst doctrine, — as implying that the mind can form an idea 
 of colour in the abstract by sinking every individual colovir, and 
 of motion in the abstract without conceiving a body moved, or the 
 figure, direction, and velocity of the miotion, — and comments upon 
 the doctrine in these terms : — ' Whether others have this wonder- 
 ful facidty of abstracting their ideas, they best can tell. For 
 myself, I find, indeed, I have a faculty of imagining, or represent- 
 ing to myself the ideas of those partictdar things I have perceived, 
 and of variously compounding and dividing them. I can imagine 
 a man with two heads, or the upper part of a man joined to the 
 body of a horse. I can consider the hand, the eye, the nose, each 
 by itself abstracted or separated from the rest of the body. But 
 then, whatever hand or eye I imagine, it must have some particular 
 shape and colour. Likewise, the idea of man that I frame to 
 myself, must be either of a white, or a black, (Jr a tawny; a 
 straight, ot a crooked, a tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man. I 
 cannot by any effort of thought conceive the abstract idea above 
 described. And it is equally impossible to form the abstract idea 
 of motion distinct from the body moving, and which is neither 
 swift nor slow, curvilinear nor rectilinear; and the like may be 
 said of all other abstract general ideas whatsoever. To be 
 plain, I own myself able to abstract in one sense, as when I con- 
 sider some particular parts or qualities separated from others, 
 with which though they are united in soone object, yet it is 
 possible they may really exist without them. But I deny that I 
 can abstract one from another, or conceive separately, those 
 qualities which it is impossible should exist separated ; or that I 
 can frame a general notion by abstracting from particulars in the 
 manner aforesaid, which two last are the proper acceptations of 
 abstractions.' 
 
 Berkeley recognizes in particular objects a power of representing 
 a class ; as when the geometer demonstrates a proposition upon a 
 particular triangle, and infers it for all triangles. In this way, he 
 says, the particular may become general, by standing for a whole 
 class. The expression is incautious on his part ; a general par- 
 ticular is an anomaly and a contradiction. 
 
 _ Hume foUows Berkeley's Nominalism with avidity and admir- 
 ation, and inadvertently ascribes to Berkeley the authorship of the 
 doctrine. ' A very material question,' he says, ' has been started 
 concerning abstract or general ideas, whether they be general or 
 
HUME. — BEIW. — STEWAET. 29 
 
 particular in the mind's conception of them. A great philosopher 
 (Dr. Berkeley) has disputed the received opinion in this particular, 
 and has asserted that all general ideas are nothing but particular 
 ones annexed to a certain term, which gives them a more extensive 
 signification, and makes them recall upon occasion other indivi- 
 duals -which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be one 
 of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has been made 
 of late years in the republic of letters, I shall here endeavour to 
 confirm it by some arguments, which I hope will put it beyond 
 all doubt and controversy.' 
 
 He states his view thus : — ' AU general ideas are nothing but 
 particular ones annexed to a certain term, which gives them a 
 more extensive signification, and makes them recall upon occasion 
 other individuals which axe similar to them. [488]. A particular 
 idea becomes general by being annexed to a general term, that is, 
 to a term which, from a customary conjunction, has a relation to 
 many other particvdar ideas, and reaidily recalls them in the 
 imagination. Abstract ideas are therefore in themselves indivi- 
 dual, however they may become general in their representation. 
 The image in the mind is only that of a particular object, though 
 the application of it in our reasoning be the same as if it was 
 universal.' 
 
 Eeid (Intellectttai, Powees — Essay on Abstraction) contends 
 for the mind's power of forming general conceptions. He starts 
 from the facidties of discerning difference and agreement; by 
 these we are enabled to form classes, the names of which are 
 general names. Such general names may be presumed to be the 
 signs of general conceptions. We are able to form distinct con- 
 ceptions of the separate attributes of anything, as length, breadth, 
 figure, and so on. Indeed, our knowledge of a thing consists of 
 the knowledge of those attributes ; we know nothing of the 
 essence of an individual apart from these. We can conceive a 
 triangle, not merely as an individual, with its attributes of size, 
 place, and time, but to the exclusion of these individualizing 
 attributes. Attributes, inseparable in natiu-e, may yet be dis- 
 joined in our conception. The general names of attributes are 
 applicable to many individuals in the same sense, which cannot 
 be if there are no general conceptions. 
 
 Eeid refers to the history of the question of Eealism and 
 Nominalism. He dwells chiefly on the views of Berkeley and of 
 Hvime, declaring them to be no other than the opinions of the 
 Nominalists and of Hobbes. On the whole, he confesses his 
 ignorance of the ' manner how we conceive universals,' admitting, 
 at the ^ame time, that it cannot be by images of them, for there 
 can be no image of a universal. In fact, Eeid's position coincides 
 very nearly with Conceptualism. 
 
 DtTGAliD Stewabt avows himself on the side of Nominalism, 
 and deduces from the doctrine what he considers important con- 
 sequences. There are two ways of seizing hold of general truths ; 
 either by lixing the attention on one individual in such a manner, 
 
30 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM. 
 
 that our reasoning may involve no circumstances but what are 
 common to the whole genus, — or, (laying aside entirely the con- 
 sideration of things), by means of general terms. In either case, 
 our conclusions must be general. The first method is exemplified 
 in the diagrams of Geometry; the second in the symbols of Algebra. 
 
 The Abstract Idea is nothing more than the quality or qualities 
 wherein different individuals resemble one another. Abstraction 
 is the power of attending to the resembling attributes, and 
 neglecting the points of difference. 
 
 Although Stewart is thus an avowed nominalist, he yet failed 
 to see the incompatibility between his doctrine and the theory of 
 innate ideas, or the origin he assigns to such notions as ' causation, 
 time, number, truth, certainty, probability, extension ; ' which 
 relate, he says, to things bearing no resemblance either to any of 
 the sensible qualities of matter, or to any continuous mental 
 operatioii.. In short, we can have no idea of cause, apart alto- 
 gether from causation in the concrete, as given us by perception 
 through sense. 
 
 Thomas Bbowm' expresses the generalisang process thus: There 
 is, in the first place, the perception of two or more objects ; in the 
 second place, the feeling or notion [better comeioumess] of their 
 resemblance ; and, lastly, the expression of this common relative 
 feeling by a name, afterwards used as a general name for all those 
 objects, the perception of which is followed by the same common 
 feeling of resemblance. Brown thus approaches to the main 
 position of Nominalism, the afBrmation of Eesemblauoe among 
 particular objects ; but ho lays himself open to criticism by his 
 mode of expressing this fact of resemblance ; he calls it ' a feeling,' 
 ' a general notion,' ' a common relative feeling,' ' a common 
 feeling of relation ; ' all which are awkward and confused modes 
 of stating that we perceive or discern the likeness of the particulars 
 in question. The term 'feeling' is inappropriate as giving an 
 emotional character to an intellectual fact. 
 
 In criticising Berkeley's handling of geometrical demon- 
 stration, Brown maintains that we have stUl a general notion, or 
 ' relative feeling,' of the circumstances of agreement of particulair 
 things; without which general notion of a line, or a tiiangle, 
 he thinks the demonstrations impossible, and absiu-d. He says 
 it is the very nature of a general notion not to be particular : 
 for who can paiut or particularize a mere relation ? This is, on 
 Brown's part, the vague mode of affirming that a general word 
 designates certain particulars, together with the fact of their 
 resemblance. As to the difficvdty connected with mathematical 
 demonstration, the remark may be made, that if the use of the 
 general word ' triangle ' implies the resemblance of a given figure 
 to a great number of other figures, then so far as that resemblance 
 goes, what is proved of one is proved of all ; and no fictitious 
 triangle inthe abstract is required. The affirmation of resem- 
 blance carries with it the ' parity of reasoning ' assigned as the 
 mode of geometrical proof. ' 
 
HAMILTON. — JAMES MILL. 31 
 
 Hamilton regards the whole controversy of Nominalism and 
 Conceptualism as ' founded on the ambiguity of the terms em- 
 ployed. The opposite parties are substantially at one. Had our 
 British philosophers been aware of the Leibnitzian distinction of 
 Intuitive and Symbolical Knowledge; and had we, like the 
 Germans, different terms, like Begriff and Anechauung, to denote 
 different kinds of thought, there would have been as little differ- 
 ence of opinion in regard to the nature of general notions in 
 this country as in the Empire. With us, Idea, Notion, Con- 
 ception, &c., are confounded, or appHed by different philosophers 
 in different senses. I must put the reader on his guard against 
 Dr. Thomas Brown's specidations on this subject. His own doc- 
 trine of imiversals, in so far as it is peculiar, is self -contradictory ; 
 and nothing can be more erroneous than his statement of the 
 doctrine held by others, especially by the Nominalists.' 
 
 In some parts of his writings, Hamilton expresses the Nomi- 
 nalistic view with great exactness ; while in others, and in his 
 Logical system generally, he admits a form of Conceptualism. 
 (See passages quoted in Mill's Hamilton, chap. XVII.) He con- 
 siders that there are thoughts such as ' cannot be represented in 
 the imagination, as the thought suggested hy a general term' (Edition 
 of Beid, p. 360). He also holds that we have a priori abstract 
 ideas of Space and Time, a view difficult to reconcile with 
 Nominalism. 
 
 James Mtt.t, introduced some novelty into the mode of describ- 
 ing the idea corresponding to a general term. Suppose, he says, 
 the word foot has been associated in the mind of a child with one 
 foot only, it will in that case call up the idea of that one, and not 
 of the other. Suppose next, that the same name ' foot' Ijegins to 
 be applied to the child's other foot. The sound is now associated 
 not constantly with one thing, but sometimes with one thing, and 
 sometimes with another. The consequence is that it calls up 
 sometimes the one and sometimes the other. Again, the word 'man' 
 is first applied to an individual ; at first, therefore, it calls to mind 
 that individual ; it is then applied to another and another, and 
 thus acquires the power of calling up any one or more of a large 
 number indifferently. The result is that the word becomes asso- 
 ciated with the idea of a crowd, a complex and indistinct idea. 
 Thus the word ' man' is not a word having a very simple idea, as 
 was the opinion of the Realists ; nor a word having no idea at all, 
 as was the view of the Nominalists; but a word calling up an 
 indefinite number of ideas, by the power of association, and 
 forming them into one very complex, and indistinct, but not 
 therefore unintelligible, idea. 
 
 In this mode of stating the nature of the general idea, the 
 author has brought into view one part of the operation, not pre- 
 viously laid stress upon ; the fact that the general name brings to 
 mind the particulars as a host, which is an important part of the 
 case. In making general affirmations, we mifit be perpetually 
 running over the particulars, to see that our generality conflicts 
 
32 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND EEALISM. 
 
 with none of them ; this constitutes the arduousness of general or 
 abstract reasoning. Still, exception has been taken to the phrase 
 ' a complex and indistinct idea' applied to the association with a 
 general name ; and a more guarded expression is desirable. The 
 author's meaning is, first, that the name recalls not one individual, 
 but many, and secondly, that a certain indistinctness belongs to 
 our conception of the crowd. Both statements, with some explana- 
 tion, are true. We do recall a number of individuals, in a rapid 
 series ; we can hardly be said to have them all before us at a 
 glance ; that would happen only if we had actually seen an as- 
 sembled host ; we pass from one to the others by rapid transitions. 
 In the second place, as a consequence of the rapidity of the transi- 
 tions, and of our examining the individuals only with reference to 
 one point, we may be said to have an indistinct, or partial image 
 of each ; it being the tendency of the mind, in rapid thinldng, to 
 economize attention, by neglecting all the aspects of an object not 
 relevant at the time. In speaking of what is common to birds, 
 say ' feathers,' we glance hurriedly at a number of individuals, but 
 we do not unfold to view the full individuality of each. The more 
 complex a thing is, the greater the number of separate glances 
 requisite to comprehend it, both at first and in the memory ; we 
 may therefore stop short at a partial view, but this is not to be 
 confounded with an abstract idea in the meaning of CSonceptuaHsm. 
 
 Samitbl Bailet (Letters on the Human Mind, Vols. I., 11.) 
 has examined with great care the doctrine of general terms, being 
 of opinion ' that a complete mastery of this part of mental philo- 
 sophy furnishes a key for most of the difficulties besetting tiie 
 subject, and throws a powerful light on all speculation whatso- 
 ever.' He makes full use of the nominalistic theory in refuting 
 Innate Ideas. 
 
 According to him, there is no essential difference between 
 what passes in the mind when proper names are heard, and when 
 general names are heard. The peculiar feature, in the case of 
 general names, may be stated to be, that there is possibly and 
 frequently, but not necessarily, a, greater range in the mental 
 representations called up by any single appellation ; still there is 
 nothing but an individual image, or a group or a succession of 
 individual images or representations passing through the mind. 
 It must be obvious, on refiection, that this is, in truth, the only 
 possible effect of general terms. We rank individual objects under 
 a common name, on account of their resemblance to each other in 
 one or more respects ; and when we use such an appellation, the 
 utmost that the natute of the case allows us to do, whether the 
 name has been imposed by ourselves or others, is to recall to our 
 own minds, or to those of our hearers, the whole of the single 
 objects thus classed together. This is an extreme case, which, no 
 doubt, may happen ; but the result is usually far short of such a 
 complete ideal muster, and we recall only a very inconsiderable 
 part, or even soi]retimes only one, of the objects covered by the 
 general term. It also appears ttiat, if the ideas thus raised up 
 
PLATO ON KEMINISCENCE. 33 
 
 are sometimes vague and indefinite, the same qualities frequently 
 characterize the ideas raised up by proper names, and attend even 
 the perception of external objects. 
 
 B. — The Origin of Kiiotdedge — Exji&rienee and Intmtion, 
 p. 188. 
 
 The dialogues of Plato present a number of different views of 
 the nature and origin of knowledge. One of the most charac- 
 teristic, the doctrine of Meminiscem.ce,. as set forth in the Phsedrus, 
 Phasdon, and Menon, supposes the soul in a pre-existent state to 
 have lived in the contemplation of the Eternal Ideas, and, when 
 joined to a body, to have brought away slumbering recollections 
 of them, revivable by the impressions of sense ; aU cognition, but 
 especially the true, consists in such awakening of the. mind's 
 ancient knowledge lying dormant. This is a highly poetical pre- 
 sentation of the later doctrine of Innate Ideas. In the Republic, 
 with the same fundamental conception of the origin of knowledge, 
 he distinguishes its different grades : Cognition of InteUigibles is 
 opposed to Opinion of Sensibles, and again each of them includes 
 a higher and lower form — Cognition is Nona or Dicmoia as it is 
 direct or indirect, and Opinion may be Belief or mere Conjeeture. 
 The most explicit discussion of the question. What is knowledge ? 
 is in the Thesetetus. There, while at the end he does not pretend 
 to have given any settlement, in the course of the argument against 
 the reduction of knowledge to sense-perception, he advances 
 a peculiar theory. When the mind perceives sensible qualities 
 like hardness, heat, sweetness, &c., it perceives them not with, but 
 through, the senses. This at birth and equally in all : but some 
 few, by going over and comparing simple impressions of sense, 
 come to be able to apprehend, besides existence (essence and sub- 
 stance), sameness, difference, Kfceness, unlikeness, good, and evil, 
 &c., where the apprehension is by the mind, of itself alone, and 
 without any aid of bodily organs. This is a remarkable view, 
 because, as has been observed, he supposes these cognitions to be 
 developed only out of the review and comparison of facts of sense, 
 and only by a select few — two points wherein he is at variance 
 with the common supporters of native mental intuitions (See 
 Grote's Plato II., p. -370, seq.). 
 
 We shall next advert to Aristotle's opinions in regard to the 
 existence of a class of primary or self-evident truths, claiming a 
 right to be believed on the authority of Common Sense, without 
 either warrant or limit from experience. 
 
 Sir William Hamilton (in his Dissertations on Beid, Appendix, 
 p. 771-773) enrolls Aristotle with confidence among the philoso- 
 phers that have vindicated the authority of Common ^nse, as 
 accrediting certain universal truths, independent of experience, 
 and imposing a necessity of belief, such as experience never can 
 impose. Yet, of all the Aristotelian passages cited by Sir W. 
 50 
 
34 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Hamilton to establish this position, only one (that from the 
 Nicomachean Ethics, X., 2, p. 772, marked /. by Hamilton) 
 has any real force ; and that is countervailed by numerous others 
 that he leaves unnoticed, as well as by the marked general tenor 
 of Aristotle's 'writings. 
 
 In regard to Aristotle, there are two points to be examined — 
 
 1. What position does he take up in respect to the authority 
 
 of Common Sense ? 
 
 2. What doctrine does he lay down about the first prin- 
 
 eipia or beginnings of scientific reasoning — the dpxai 
 crtiXXoyctrnjcai ? 
 
 I.— That Aristotle did not regard Cause, Substance, Time, &c., as 
 Intuitions, is shown by the subtle and elaborate reasonings that 
 he employs to explain them, and by the censure that he bestows 
 on the erroneous explanations and shortcomings of others. Indeed, 
 in regard to Caus^ty, when we read the great and perplexing 
 diversity of meaning which Aristotle (and Plato before him in the 
 Fhsedon) recognizes as belonging to this term, we cannot but be 
 surprised to find modem philosophers treating it as enunciating 
 a simple and intuitive idea. But as to Common Sense — taking 
 the term as above explained, and as it is usually understood by 
 those that have no particular theory to support— Aristotle takes 
 up a position at once distinct and instructive ; a position (to use 
 the phraseology of Kant) not dogmatical, but critical. He con- 
 stantly notices and reports the affirmations of Common Sense ; he 
 speaks of it with respect, and assigns to it a qualified value, partly 
 as helping us to survey the subject on all sides, partly as a happy 
 confirmation, where it coincides with what has been proved other-, 
 wise ; but he does not appeal to it as authority in itself trust- 
 worthy or imperative. 
 
 Common Sense belongs to the region of opinion. Now, the 
 distinction between matters of Opinion on the one hand, and 
 matters of Science or Cognition on the other, is a marked and 
 characteristic feature of Aristotle's philosophy. He sets, in 
 pointed antithesis, Demonsteation, or the method of Science — 
 which divides itself into special subjects, each having some special 
 prindpia of its own, then proceeds by legitimate steps of deductive 
 reasoning from such principia, and arrives at conclusions some- 
 times universally true, always true for the most part — against 
 Ehetorio andDlAJLECTic, which deal with and discuss ppiiuons 
 upon all subjects, comparing opposite arguments, and landing in 
 results more or less probable. Contrasting these two as separate 
 lines of intellectual procedure, Aristotle lays down a theory of 
 both. He recognizes the last as being to a great degree the 
 common '-and spontaneous growth of society ; while the first is 
 from the beginning special, not merely as to subject, but as to 
 persons — implying teacher and learner. 
 
 Bhetoric and Dialectic are treated by Aristotle as analogous 
 processes. Of the matter of opinion and belief, with which both 
 of.. them deal, he distingaishes three varieties :— 1. Opinions or 
 
AKISTOTLE ON COMMON SENSE. 35 
 
 beliefs entertained by all. 2. By the majority. 3. By a minority 
 of superior men, or by one man in respect to a science wherein he 
 has acquired renown. It is these opinions or beliefs that the 
 rhetorician or the dialectician attack and defend; bringing out all 
 the arguments available for or against each. 
 
 The Aristotelian treatise on Khetoric opens with the following 
 words ; — ' Rhetoric is the counterpart of Dialectic ; for both of 
 them deal with such matters as do not fall within any special 
 science, but belong in a certain way to the common know- 
 ledge of all. Hence every individual has his share of both, 
 greater or less ; for every one can, up to a certain point, both 
 examine others and stand examination from others; every onej 
 tries to defend himself and to accuse others.'* To the same pur-: 
 pose Aristotle speaks about Dialectics, in the beginning of the 
 Topica : — ' The Dialectic Syllogism (he says) takes its pre- 
 mises from matters of opinion: that is, from matters that 
 seem good to (or are believed by) all, or the majority, or the wise ; 
 either all the wise, or most of them, or the most celebrated.' — 
 Aristotle distinguishes these matters of common opinion or belief, 
 from three distinct other matters. 1. From matters that are not 
 really such, but only in appearance ; in which the smallest atten- 
 tion suffices to detect the false pretence of probability, while no 
 one except a contentious Sophist ever thinks of advancing them. 
 On the contrary, the real matters of common belief are never thus 
 palpably false, but have always something deeper than a superficial 
 show. 2. EVom the first truths or prinaipia, upon which scientific 
 demonstration proceeds. 3. From the paralogisms, or fallacious 
 assumptions (^fituSoypa^^/jaT-a), liable to occur in each particular 
 science. 
 
 Now, what Aristotle here designates and defines as ' matters 
 of common opinion and belief (rd ivSola), includes all that is 
 usually meant, and properly meant, by Common' Sense ; ' what 
 is believed by all men or by most men.' But Aristotle does not 
 claim any warrant or authority for the truth of these beliefs, 
 on the ground of their being deliverances of Common Sense, and 
 accepted (by all or by the majority) always as indisputable, often 
 as self-evident. On the contrary, he ranks them as mere proba- 
 bilities, some in a greater, some in a less degree ; as matters 
 whereon something may be said bothjpro and con, and whereon the 
 full force of argument on both sides ought to be brought out, 
 notwithstanding the supposed self-evidence in the minds of un- 
 scientific believers. Though, however, he encourages this dialectic 
 discussion on both sides, as useful and instructive, he never affirms 
 that it can, by itself, lead to certain scientific conclusions, or to 
 anything more than strong probability on a balance of the coun- 
 tervailing considerations. The language that he uses in speaking of 
 these deliverances of common sense is measured and just. Alter 
 distinguishing the real common opinion from the fallacious simu- 
 
 * Aristot. Rhetor. I. 1. Compare Sophist. Elench,, p. 172, a. 30. 
 
36 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 lations of common opinion set up (according to Mm) by some 
 pretenders, he declares, that in all cases of coromon opinion there 
 is always something more than a mere superficial appearance of 
 truth. In other words, wherever any opinion is really held by a 
 large public, it always deserves the scrutiny of the philosopher, 
 to ascertain how far it is erroneous, and, if it be erroneous, by 
 what appearances of reason it has been enabled so far to prevail. 
 
 Again, at the beginniag of the Topica (in which books he gives 
 both a theory and precepts of dialectical debate), Aristotle specifies 
 four different ends to be served by that treatise. It will be useful 
 (he says) — 
 
 1. For our own practice in the work of debate. If we acquire 
 a method and system, we shall find it easier to conduct a debate 
 on any new subject, whenever such debate may arise. 
 
 2. For our daily intercourse with the ordinary public. When 
 we have made for ourselves a full collection of the opinions held 
 by the Many, we shall carry on our conversation with them out 
 of their own doctrines, and aot -out of doctrines foreign to their 
 minds ; we shall thus be able to bring them round on any matter 
 where we think them in error. 
 
 3. For the sciences belonging to philosophy. By discussing 
 the difficulties on both sides, we shall more easily discriminate 
 truth and falsehood in each separate scientific question. 
 
 4. For the first and highest among the prindpia of each parti- 
 cular science. These, since they |ire the first and highest of all, 
 cannot be discussed out of prindpia special and peculiM: to any 
 separate science; but must be discussed through the opinions 
 commonly received on the subject-matter of each. This is the 
 main province of Dialectic : which, being essentially testing and 
 critical, is connected by some threads with the prindpia of all the 
 various scientific researches. 
 
 We see thus that Aristotle's language about Common Opinion 
 or Common Sense is very guarded : that, instead of citing it as 
 an authority, he carefully discriminates it from Science, and places 
 it decidedly on a level lower than science, in respect of evidence : 
 yet that he recognizes it as essential to be studied by the scientific 
 man, with full confrontation of all the reajsonings both for and 
 against every opinion ; not merely because such study will enable 
 the scientific man to study and converse intelligibly and effi- 
 • caciously with the vulgar ; but also because it •will sharpen his 
 discernment for the truths of his own science; and because it 
 furnishes the only materials for testing and limiting the first 
 prmcipia of that science. 
 
 II. — ^We will next advert to the judgment of Aristotle re- 
 spectiag these prindpia of science ; how he supposes them to be 
 acqun:ed and verified. He discriminates various special sciences 
 (geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, &c.), each of "which has its 
 own appropriate matter, and spedai. prindpia from which it takes 
 its departure.' But there are also certain prindpia common to 
 them all : and these he considers to f aU under the cognizance' of 
 
ARISTOTLE ON THE SOURCE OP FIKST PRINCIPLES. 37 
 
 one grand comprehensive science, which includes all the rest: 
 First Philosophy or Ontology — the science of Ens in its most 
 general sense, quatenus Ens ; -while each of the separate Sciences 
 confines itself to one exclusive department of Ens. The geometer 
 does not debate nor prove the first prindpia of his own science ! 
 neither those that it has in common with other sciences, nor 
 those peculiar to itself. He takes these for granted, and demon- 
 strates the consequences that logically follow from them. It 
 belongs to the First Philosopher to discuss the prindpia of all. 
 Accordingly, the province of the First Philosopher is all-compre- 
 hensive, co-extensive with all the sciences. So also is the province 
 of the Dialectician alike all-comprehensive. Thus far the two 
 agree ; but they differ as to method and purpose. The Dialec- 
 tician, seeks to enforce, confront, and value all the different 
 reasons pro and csn, consistent and inconsistent : the First Philo- 
 sopher performs this too, or supposes it to be performed by others 
 — ^but proceeds farther: namdy, to determine certain axioms 
 that may be trusted as sure grounds (along with certain other 
 principiaj for demonstrative conclusions in science. 
 
 Aristotle describes in his Analytica the process of demonstra- 
 tion, and the conditions required to render it valid. But what is 
 the point of departiire for this process ? Aristotle declares that 
 there cannot be a regress without end, demonstrating one con- 
 clusion from certain premises, then demonstrating those premises 
 from others, and so on. Tou must arrive ultimately at some pre- 
 mises that are themselves undemonstrable, but that may be 
 trusted as ground from whence to start in demonstrating con- 
 cliisions. All demonstration is carried on through a middle term, 
 which links together the two terms of the conclusion, though 
 itself does not appear in the conclusion. Those undemonstrable 
 propositions, from which demonstration begins,, must be known 
 without a middle term — that is, immediately known ; they must 
 be known in themselves — ^that is, not through any other propo- 
 sitions ; they must be better known than the conclusions derived 
 from them ; they must be propositions first and most knowable. 
 But these two last epithets (Aristotle often repeats) have two 
 meanings : First and most knowable hy nature or abmlutely, are 
 the most imiversal propositions : first and most knowable to us, 
 are those propositions declaring the particular facts of sense. 
 These two meanings designate truths correlative to each other, 
 but at opposite ends of the intellectual line of march. 
 
 Of these undemonstrable ^)r«»ctpia, indispensable as the grounds 
 of aU demonstration, some are peculiar to each separat-e science, 
 others are common to several or to all sciences. These common 
 principles were called Axioms, in the mathematics, even in the 
 time of Aristotle. Sometimes indeed he designates them as 
 Axioms, without any special reference to mathematics : though he 
 also uses the same name to denote other propositions, not of the 
 like fundamental character. Now, how do we come to know these 
 undemonstrable Axioms and other immediate propositions or 
 
38 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 principia, since we do not know them by demonstration ? This is 
 the second question to be answered, in appreciating Aristotle's 
 views about the Philosophy of Common Sense. 
 
 He is very explicit in his way of answering this question. He 
 pronounces it absurd to suppose that these inunediate princi^. 
 are innate or congenital, — ^ia other words, that we possess them 
 from the beginning, and yet that we remain for a long time 
 without any consciousness of possessing them, seeing that they 
 are the most accurate of all our cognita. What we possess at the 
 beginning (Aristotle says) is only a mental power of inferior 
 accuracy and dignity. We, as well as all other animals, begin 
 with a congenital discriminative power called sensible perception. 
 With many animals, the data of perception are transient, and 
 soon disappear altogether, so that the cognition of such animals 
 consists in nothing but successive acts of sensible perception. 
 With us, on the contrary, as with some other animals, the data 
 of perception are preserved by memory ; accordingly our cogni- 
 tions include botb perceptions and remembrances. Farthermore, 
 we are distinguished even from the better animals by this difference 
 — that with us, but not vnth them, a rational order of thought 
 grows out of such data of perception, when multiplied and long 
 preserved. And thus, out of perception grows memory : out of 
 memory of the same matter often repeated, grows experience — 
 since many remembrances of the same thing constitute one nu- 
 merical experience. Out of such experience, a farther conse- 
 quence arises — That what is one and the same, in all the particulars, 
 (the Universal or the one alongside of the many) becomes fixed or 
 rests steadily within the mind. Herein lies the prina/pmm of 
 Art, in reference to Agenda, or Facienda — of Science, in reference 
 to Entia. 
 
 Thus these cognitive prineipia are not original and determinate 
 possessions of the mind — nor do they spring &om any other mental 
 possessions of a higher cognitive order, but simply from data 
 of sensible perception : which data are like runaway soldiers in a 
 panic — ^first one stops his flight and halts, then a second follows 
 the example, afterwards a third and fourth, until at length an 
 orderly array is obtained. Our minds are so constituted as to 
 render this possible. If a single individual impression is thus de- 
 tained, it wlU presently acquire the character of a Universal in the 
 mind : for though we perceive the particidar, our perception is of 
 the universal (i.e., when we perceive Kallias, our perception is of 
 man generally, not of the man KaUias). Again, the fixture of 
 these lowest Universals in the mind will bring in those of the 
 next highest order ; untU at length the Summa Genera and the 
 absolute Universals acquire a steady establishment therein. Thus, 
 from this or that particular animal, we shall rise as high as 
 Animal Universally : and so on from Animal upwards. 
 
 We thus see clearly (Aristotle says)— That only by Induction 
 can we come to know the first prineipia of demonstration : for it 
 is by this process that sensible perception engraves the Universal 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES COME AT BY INDUCTION. 39 
 
 on our minds.* We begin by the notiora nobis (Particulars), and 
 ascend to the notiora naturS or aimpliciter (Universals). Some 
 among our mental habits that are conversant with truth, are 
 also capable of falsehood (such as Opinion and Eeasoning) : others 
 are not so capable, but embrace uniformly truth, and nothing but 
 truth — such are Science and Intellect (NoSc). Intellect is the 
 only source more accurate than Science. Now, the principia 
 of Demonstration are more accurate than the Demonstrations 
 themselves — yet they cannot (as we have already observed) be the 
 objects of Science. They must therefore be the object of what 
 is more accurate than Science: namely, of Intellect. Intel- 
 lect and the objects of Intellect will thus be the principia of 
 Science and of the objects of Science. But these principles are not 
 intuitive data or revelations. They are acquisitions gradually 
 made : and there is a regular road whereby we travel up to them, 
 quite distinct from the road whereby we travel down from them 
 to scientific conclusions. 
 
 The chapter just indicated in the Analytica Posteriora, attest- 
 ing the growth of those universals that form the principia of 
 demonstration out of the particulars of sense, maybe illustrated by 
 a similar statement in the first book of the Metaphysica. Here, 
 after stating that sensible perception is common to aU animals, he 
 distinguishes the lowest among animals, who have this alone; 
 then, a class next above them, who have it along with phantasy 
 and memory, and some of whom are intelligent (like bees), yet 
 still cannot learn, from being destitute of hearing ; farther, another 
 class, one stage higher, who hear, and therefore can be taught 
 something, yet arrive only at a scanty sum of experience ; lastly, 
 still higher, the class men, who possess a large stock of phantasy, 
 memory, and experience, fructifying into science and art.f 
 Experience (Aristotle says) is of particular facts ; art and science 
 
 • Aristot. Anal. Post. II., p. 100, h. 2, Sij\ov Stj oti ^/iiv to. TrpSrra 
 iwayiayy yvaipi^Hv avayxdiov' Koi yap Kai alaOtjaig ourcj ri) Ka96\ov 
 i/nroul; also Anal. Post. I., p. 81, b. 3, c. 18, — upon which passage, 
 Waitz, in his note, explains as follows (p. 347) : ' Sententia nostri looi 
 hsBC est. IJniversaleB propositiones omnes inductione comparantur, 
 quum etiam in iis, quss a sensibus maxima aliena videntur, et quE9 (ut 
 mathematica, rd iS a^aipkaeug) cogitatione separantur a materia quaoum 
 conjuncta sunt, inductione probentur ea quae de genere {e.g. de hnea, de 
 corpore mathematico) ad quod demonstratio pertineat prsDdioentur Ka9' 
 avrd et cum ejus natura conjuncta sint. Inductio autem iia nititur quae 
 sensibus peroipiuntur : nam res singulares sentiuntur, soientia vero rerum 
 singularium non datur sine inductioue, non datur inductio sine seusu, ' 
 
 t Aristot. Metaphys. A. I. 980, a. 25, b. 27, ^povi/ia jilv aviv tov 
 fiavOdvetv, oaa iir) Sivarai tUv ^o^iov dieoviiv, olov /isXirra, kuI & ti 
 TOiovTOv SX\o ykvog l^iiaiv iariv. 
 
 We remark here the line that he draws between the intelligence of 
 bees, depending altogether upon sense, memory, and experience — and the 
 higher intelligence which is superadded by the use of language ; when it 
 becomes possible to teach and learn, and when general conceptions can 
 be brought into view through appropriate names. 
 
40 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 are of universalB. Art is attained, when out of many conceptions 
 of experience there arises one universal persuasion respecting 
 phenomena similar to each other. We may know that EaUias, 
 sick of a certain disease — ^that Sokrates, likewise sick of it — ^that 
 A, B, C, and other individuals besides, — have been cured by a given 
 remedy; but this persuasion respecting ever so many individual 
 cases, is mere matter of experience. When, however, we proceed 
 to generalize these cases, and then a£Brm that the remedy cures 
 all persons suffering under the same disease, circumscribed by 
 specific marks— fever or biliousness — ^this is art or science. One 
 man may know the particular cases empirically, without having 
 generalized them into a doctrine ; another m.ay have leamt the 
 general doctrine, with little or no knowledge of the particular 
 cases. Of these two, the last is the wiser and more philosophical 
 man; but the first may be the more e£E'ective and successful as a 
 practitioner. 
 
 In the passage above noticed, Aristotle draws the line of intel- 
 lectual distinction between man and the lower animals. If he had 
 considered that it was the prerogative of man to possess a stock 
 of intuitive general truths, ready-made, and independent of 
 experience, tms waa the occasion for saying so. He says the exact 
 contrary. No modem psychologist could proclaim more fully than 
 Aristotle here does, the derivation of all general concepts and 
 general propositions from the phenomena of sense, through the 
 successive stages of memory, association, comparison, abstraction. 
 No one could give a more explicit acknowledgment of Induction 
 from particulars of sense, as the process whereby we reach 
 ultimately those propositions of the highest universality, as well 
 as of the highest certainty; from whence, by legitimate deductive 
 syllogism, we descend to demonstrate various conclusions. There 
 is nothing in Aristotle about generalities originally inherent in 
 the mind, connate although dormant at first and unknown, until 
 they are evoked or elicited by the senses : nothing to countenance 
 that nice distinction eulogized so emphatically by Hamilton 
 (p. 772, a. note) : ' Cognitio nostra omnia a mente primam 
 originem, S. Sensibiis exordium habet primnm.' In Aristotle's 
 view, the Senses furnish both originem and exordium : the succes- 
 sive stages of mental procedure, whereby we rise from sense to 
 Tmiversal propositions, are multiplied and gradual, without any 
 break. He even goes so far as to say that ' we have sensible per- 
 ception of the Universal.' His language undoubtedly calls for 
 much criticism here. We shall only say that it discoimtenanoes 
 altogether the doctrine that represents the Mind or Intellect as 
 an original source of First or Universal Truths peculiar to itself. 
 That opinion is mentioned by Aristotle, but mentioned only to be 
 rejected. He denies that the mind possesses any such ready-made 
 stores, latent until elicited into consciousness. Moreover, it is 
 remarkable that the ground whereon he denies it, is much the 
 same as that whereon the advocates of intuitions affirm it — ^viz., 
 the supreme accuracy of these axioms. Aristotle cannot believe 
 
AEISTOTLE OPPOSED TO IKTUITIVE COGNITIONS, 41 
 
 that the mind includes cognitions of such value, tyithout being 
 conscious thereof. Nor ■will he grant that the mind possesses any 
 native and inherent power of originating these inestimable prin- 
 cipia* He declares that they are generated in the mind only by 
 the slow process of induction, as above described; beginning from 
 the perceptive power (common to man with animals), together 
 with that first stage of the intelligence (judging or discriminative) 
 which he combines or identifies with perception, considering it to 
 be alike congenital. From this humble basis, men can rise to the 
 highest grades of cognition, though animals cannot. "We even 
 become competent (Aristotle says) to have sensible perception of 
 the Universal : in the man Kamas, we see man; in the ox feeding 
 near us, we see animal. 
 
 It must be remembered that when Aristotle, in this analysis 
 of cognition, speaks of Induction, he means induction completely 
 and accurately performed ; just as, when he talks of Demonstration, 
 he intends a good and legitunate demonstration; and just as (to use 
 his own illustration in the Nicomachean Ethics), when he reasons 
 upon a harper, or other professional artist, he always tacitly im- 
 plies a good and accomplished artist. Induction, thus understood, 
 and Demonstration, he considers to be the two processes for obtain- 
 ing scientific faith or conviction; both of them being alike cogent 
 and necessary, but Induction even more so than Demonstration ; 
 because if the prindpia furnished by the former were not necessary, 
 neither could the conclusions deduced from them by the latter be 
 necessary. Induction may thus stand alone without demonstra- 
 tion, but demonstration pre-supposes and postulates induction. 
 Accordingly, when Aristotle proceeds to specify those functions of 
 mind wherewith the inductive principia and the demonstrated 
 conclusions correlate, he refers both of them to functions wherein 
 
 ! according to him) the mind is unerring and infallible — Intellect 
 Nouc) and Science. But, between these two, he ranks Intellect 
 as the higher, and he refers the inductive principia to Intellect; 
 He does not mean that Intellect (NoDj) generates or produces these 
 principles. On the contrary, he distinctly negatives such a sup* 
 position, and declares that no generative force of this high order 
 resides in the Intellect : while he tells us, with equal distinctness, 
 that they are generated from a lower source — sensible perception, 
 
 . * Arietot. Anal. Post. II. 19, p. 99, b. 26, el Sfi ixo/iev air&Q, Stowov 
 av/iPaivu yap aKpi^tarkpaQ ixovras yviiauQ diroSiifyuyQ \avdavHV — 
 ^avepov Toivov oti our* ix^tv olov re, our' dyvoovtri Kai fiTjStftiav ixovaiv 
 ii,iv iyyivttiBai. dvayKt) apa Ix"" /*6V Tiva ovva/uv, /iq TOidvrtiv S" ixtiv 
 ij iarai roiriov Tt/waTipa kot dxpipuav. See Metaphys. A. 993, a. 1. 
 
 Some modern psychologists, who admit that general propositions of a 
 lower degree of univerBality are raised from induction and sense, contend 
 that propositions of the highest universality are not so raised, but are the 
 intuitive oflspring of the intellect. Aristotle does not countenance such a 
 doctrine : he says (Metaphysi A. 2,982, a. 22) that these truths furthest 
 removed from sense are the most difficult to know of all. If they were 
 intuitions, they would he the Common possession of the race. 
 
42 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OP KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 and through the gradual upward inarch of the inductive process. 
 To say that they originate from sense through Induction, and 
 nevertheless to refer them to Intellect (NoSj) as their subjective cor- 
 relate — are not positions inconsistent with each other, in the view of 
 Aristotle. He expressly distinguishes the two points, as requiring 
 to be separately dealt with. By referring the principia to Intellect 
 (NoDf), he does not intend to indicate their generating source, but 
 their evidentiary value and dignity when generated and matured. 
 They possess, in his view, the maximum of dignity, certainty, 
 cogency, and necessity, because it is from them that even Demon- 
 stration derives the necessity of its conclusions ; accordingly (pur- 
 suant to the inclination of the ancient philosophers for presuming 
 affinity and comiaensurate dignity between the Cognitum and the 
 Gognosoens), they belong as objective correlates to the most un- 
 erring cognitive function — ^the Ijitelleot (Nouj). It is the Intellect 
 that grasps these principles, and applies them to their legitimate 
 purpose of scientific demonstration ; hence, Aristotle calls Intellect 
 not only the principium of Science, but the prindpium prindpii. 
 
 In the Analytica, from which we have hitherto cited, Aristotle 
 explains the structure of the syllogism and the process of demon- 
 stration. He has in view mainly (though not exclusively) the 
 more exact sciences, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, &c. But 
 he expressly teUs us that all departments of inquiry are not cap- 
 able of this exactness ; that some come nearer to it than others ; 
 that we must be careful to require no more exactness from each 
 than the subject admits ; and that the method adopted by us 
 must be such as will attain the admissible maximum of exact- 
 . ness. Now, each subject has some principia, and among them 
 definitions, peculiar to itself; though there are also some prin- 
 cipia common to all, and essential to the march of each. In 
 some departments of study (Aristotle says) we get our view 
 of principia or first principles by induction; in' others, by 
 sensible perception; in others again, by habitual action in a 
 certain way; and by various other processes also. In each, 
 it is important to look for first principles in the way natur- 
 ally appropriate to the matter before us ; for this is more than 
 half of the whole work ; upon right first principles will mainly 
 depend the value af our conclusions. For what concerns Ethics, 
 Aristotle tells us that the first principles are acquired through a 
 course of well directed habitual action ; and that they will be 
 acquired easily, as well as certainly, if such a course be enforced 
 on youth from the beginning. In the beginning of the Physica, 
 he starts from that antithesis, so often found in his writings, 
 between what is more knowable to us, and what is more knowable 
 absolutely or by nature. The natural march of knowledge is to 
 ascend from the first of these two termini (particulars of sense) 
 upward to the second or opposite* — and then to descend down- 
 ward by demonstration or deduction. The fact of motion he 
 
 * See also Aristot. Metaphys. Z. p. 1029, b. 1-14. 
 
aeistotle's fikrt philosophy. 43 
 
 proves (against Melissus and Pannenides) by an express appeal to 
 induction, as siifficient and conclusive evidence. In physical 
 science (he says), the final appeal must be to the things and facts 
 perceived by sense. In the treatise De Caelo, he lays it down that 
 the prindpia must be homogeneous with the matters they be- 
 long to : the prindpia of perceivable matters must be themselves 
 perceivable ; those of eternal matters must be eternal ; those of 
 perishable matters perishable. 
 
 The treatises composing the Organon stand apart among 
 Aristotle's works. In them he undertakes (for the first time in the 
 history of mankind) the systematic study of significant proposi- 
 tions enunciative of truth and falsehood. He analyzes their 
 constituent elements ; he specifies the conditions determining 
 the consistency or inconsistency of such propositions one with 
 another ; he teaches to arrange the propositions in such ways as 
 to detect and dismiss the inconsistent, keeping our hold of the con- 
 sistent. Here the signification of terms and propositions is never 
 out of sight : the facts and realities of nature are regarded as so 
 signified. Now, all language becomes significant only through the 
 convention of mankind, according to Aristotle's express declara- 
 tion ; it is used by speakers to communicate what they mean, to 
 hearers that understand them. We see thus that in these trea- 
 tises the subjective point of view is brought into the foreground ; 
 the enunciation of what we see, remember, believe, disbelieve, 
 doubt, anticipate, &c. It is not meant that the objective point of 
 view is eliminated, but that it is taken in implication with, and 
 in dependence upon, the subjective. Neither the one nor the 
 other is dropped or hidden. It is under this double and conjoint 
 point of view that Aristotle, in the Organon, presents to us, not 
 only the processes of demonstration and confutation, but also the 
 fundamental prindpia or axioms thereof ; which axioms in the 
 Analytica Posteriora (as we have already seen) he expressly de- 
 clares to originate from the data of sense, and to be raised and 
 generalized by induction. 
 
 Such is the way that Aristotle represents the fundamental 
 principles of syllogistic demonstration, when he deals with them 
 as portions of logic. But we also find him dealing with them as 
 portions of Ontology or First Philosophy (this being his manner 
 of characterizing his own treatise, now commonly known as the 
 Metaphysica). To that science he decides, after some preliminary 
 debate, that the task of formulating and defending the axioms 
 belongs, because the application of these axioms is quite universal, 
 for all grades and varieties of Bntia. Ontology treats of Ens in 
 its largest sense, with aU its properties guatenui Ens, including 
 Unum, Multa, Idem, Diversum, Posterius, Prius, Genus, Species, 
 Totum, Partes, &c. Now, Ontology is with Aristotle a purely 
 objective science ; that is, a science wherein the subjective is 
 dropt out of sight, and no account taken of it, — or wherein (to 
 state the same fact in the language of relativity) the believing and 
 reasoning subject is supposed constant. Ontology is the most 
 
44 APPENDIX-^ ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 comprehensive among all the objective sciences. Each of these 
 sci«'noes singles out a certain portion of it for special study. In 
 treating the logical axioms as portions of Ontology, Aristotle 
 undertakes to show their objective value ; and this purpose, while 
 it carries him away from the point of view that we remarked as 
 prevailing in the Organon, at the same time brings him into con- 
 flict with various theories, all of them in his time more or less 
 current. Several philosophers — Heracleitus, Anaxagoras, Demo- 
 ciitus, Protagoras, had propounded theories which Aristotle here 
 impugns. We do not mean that these philosophers expressly 
 denied his fundamental axioms (which they probably never dis- 
 tinctly stated to themselves, and which Aristotle was the first to 
 formulate), but their theories were to a certain extent inconsistent 
 with these axioms, and were regarded by Aristotle as wholly in- 
 consistent. 
 
 The two axioms announced in the Metaphysioa, and vindicated 
 by Aristotle, are- - 
 
 1. The Maxim of Contradiction — It is impossible for the same 
 thing to be and not to be ; It is impossible for the same to belong 
 and not to belong to the same, at the same time and in the same 
 sense. This is the statement of the Maxim as a formula of Ont- 
 ology. Announced as a formula of Logic, it would stand thus — 
 The same proposition cannot be both true and false at the same 
 time ; You cannot both believe and disbelieve the same proposition 
 at the same time ; You cannot believe, at the same time, proposi- 
 tions GOntraty or contradictory. These last-mentioned formulsB 
 are the logical ways of stating the axiom. They present it in 
 reference to the believing or disbelieving (affirming or denying) 
 Subject, distinctly brought to view along with the matter believed; 
 not exclusively in reference to the mattet believed, to the omission 
 of the believer. 
 
 2. The Maxim of Excluded Middle— A given attribute either 
 does belong, or does not belong to a subject {i.e., provided that it 
 has any relation to the subject at all) ; there is no medium, no 
 real condition intermediate between the two. This is the Onto- 
 logical Formula ; and it will stand thus, when translated into Logic 
 — Between a proposition and its contradictory opposite there is no 
 tenable halting ground. If you disbelieve the one, you must pass 
 at once to the belief of the other ; you cannot at the same time 
 disbeUeve the other. 
 
 These two maxims thus teach — ^the first, that we cannot at the 
 same time believe both a proposition and its contradictory opposite ; 
 the second, that we cannot at the same time disbelieve them both.* 
 
 * We have here discussed these two maxims chiefly in reference to 
 Aristotle's manner of presenting them, and to the oouoeptions of his pre- 
 decessors and contemporaries. An excellent view of the Maxima them- 
 selves, in their true meaning and value, will be found in Mr. John Stuart 
 Mill's Examination of the Philosophy of Sir Wm. Hamilton, chap. xxi. 
 p. 462-479. 
 
MAXIM OF CONTRADICTION. 4!) 
 
 Now, Heracleitus, in his theory (a theory propounded much 
 before the time of Protagoras and the persons called Sophists), 
 denied all permanence or durability in nature, and recognized 
 nothing except perpetual movement and change. He denied both 
 durable substances and durable attributes ; he considered nothing 
 to be lasting except the universal law or principle of change — the 
 ever-renewed junction or co-existence of contraries, and the per- 
 petual transition of one contrary into the other. This view of 
 the facts of nature was adopted by several other physical philo- 
 sophers besides.* Indeed it lay at the bottom of Plato's new 
 coinage— Eational Types or Forms, at once universal and real. 
 The maxim of Contradiction is intended by Aristotle to controvert 
 Heracleitus, and to uphold durable substances with definite 
 attributes. 
 
 Again, the theory of Anaxagoras denied all simple bodies 
 (excepting Noils) and aU definite attributes. He held that every- 
 thing was mingled with everything else, though there might be 
 some one or other predominant constituent. In all the changes 
 visible throughout nature, there was no generation of anything 
 new, but only the coming into prominence of some constituent 
 that had before been comparatively latent. According to this 
 theory, you could neither wholly affirm, nor wholly deny, any 
 attribute of its subject. Both afiirmation and denial were untrue : 
 the real relation between- the two was something half-way between 
 affirmation and denial. The maxim of Excluded Middle is main- 
 tained by Aristotle as a doctrine in opposition to this theory of 
 Anaxagoras.t 
 
 Both the two above-mentioned theories are objective. A third, 
 that of Protagoras — Homo Mensv/ra — ^brings forward prominently 
 the subjective, and is quite distinct from either. Aristotle does in- 
 deed treat the Protagorean theory as substantially identical with 
 that of Heracleitus, and as standing or faUing therewith. This 
 seems a mistake ; the theory of Protagoras is as much opposed to 
 Heracleitus as to Aristotle. 
 
 We have now to see how Aristotle sustains these two Axioms 
 (which he calls ' the firmest of all truths and the most assuredly 
 known') against theories opposed to them. In the first place, 
 he repeats here what he had declared in the Analytica Posteriora 
 — that they cannot be directly demonstrated, though they are 
 themselves the iprindpia of all demonstration. Some persons 
 indeed thought that these Axioms were demonstrable ; but this 
 is an error, proceeding (he says) from complete ignorance of 
 analytical theory. How, then, are these axioms to be proved 
 against Heracleitus ? Aristotle had told us in the Analytica that 
 axioms were derived from particulars of sense by Induction, and 
 apprehended or approved by the NpSj. He does not repeat that 
 observation here ; but he intimates that there is only one process 
 
 • See Grate's Plato— vol. I., ch. 1, p. 28-38. 
 t Grote— Plato, &c.— oh, 1, p. 49-37. 
 
46 APPENDIX — OKIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 available for defending them, and that process amounts to an appeal 
 to Induction. Tou can give no ontological reason in support of the 
 axioms, except what will be condemned as a petitio principiij 
 you must take them in their logical aspect, as enunciated in signi- 
 ficant propositions. You must require the Heracleitean adversary 
 to answer some question affirmatively, in terms significant both 
 to himself and to others, and in a proposition declaring his belief 
 on the point. If he will not do this, you can hold no discussion 
 with him : he might as well be deaf and dumb : he is no better 
 than a plant (to use Aristotle's own comparison). If he does it, 
 he has bound himself to something determinate : first, the signi- 
 fication of the tenns is a fact, excluding what is contrary or con- 
 tradictory ; next, in declaring his belief, he at the same time 
 declares that he does not believe in the contrary or contradictory, 
 and is so understood by the hearers. We may grant what his 
 theory affirms — ^that the subject of a proposition is continually 
 under some change or movement ; yet the identity designated by 
 its name is still maintained,* and many true predications respect- 
 ing it remain true in spite of its partial change. Ihe argument 
 in defence of the maxim of Contradiction is, that it is a postulate 
 implied in all the particular statements, as to matters of daily 
 experience, that a. man understands and acts upon when heard 
 from his neighbours ; a postulate such that, if you deny it, no 
 speech is either significant or trustworthy to inform and guide 
 tiLOse who hear it. If the speaker both affirms and denies the 
 same fact at once, no information is conveyed, nor can the hearer 
 act upon the words. Thus, in the Achamenses of Aristophanes, 
 DikaeopoUs knocks at the door of Euripides, and inquires whether 
 the poet is within ; Eephisophon, the attendant, answers — 
 'Euripides is within and not withm.' This answer is unintel- 
 ligible ; Bikaeopolis cannot act upon it ; until Eephisophon ex- 
 plains that 'not within' is intended metaphorically. Then, 
 again, all the actions in detail of a man's hfe are founded upon 
 his own belief of some facts and disbelief of other facts ; he goes 
 to Megara, believing that the person whom he desires to see is at 
 Megara, and at the same time disbelieving the contrary : he acts 
 upon his belief, both as to what is good and what is not good, in 
 the way of pursuit and avoidance. Tou may cite innumerable 
 examples both of speech and action in the det^ of life, which the 
 Eeracleitean must go through like other persons ; and when, if he 
 proceeded upon his own theory, he coiild neither give nor receive 
 information by speech, nor ground any action upon the beliefs 
 which he declares to co-exist in his own mind. Accordingly, the 
 Heracleitean Eratylus (so Aristotie says) renounced the use of 
 affirmative speech, and simply pointed witii his finger.f 
 
 • This argument is given by Aristotle, Metaph. r. lOlO, ». 6-24, con- 
 trasting change Kara rb iroaiv and change Kara ri n-oiov. 
 
 t Aristot. Meteph. r. 1010, a. 13. Compare Plato Thesatet. p. 179-180, 
 about the aversion of the Heracleiteans for clear issues and propo- 
 sitions. 
 
MAXIM OF EXCLUDED MIDDLK 47 
 
 The makim of Contradiction is thus seen to be only the general 
 expression of a postulate implied in all such particular speeches as 
 communicate real information. It is proved by a very copious 
 and diversified Induction, from matters of experience familiar to 
 every individual person. It is not less true in regard to proposi- 
 tions affirmin g dianges, motions, or events, than in regard to 
 those declaring durable states or attributes. 
 
 In the long pleading of Aristotle on behalf of the maxim of 
 Contradiction against the Heracleiteans, the portion of it that 
 appeals to Induction is the really forcible portion : conforming as 
 it does to what he had laid down in the Analytica Fosteriora 
 about the inductive origin of the principia of demonstration. He 
 employs, however, besides, several other dialectical arguments, 
 built, more or less, upon theories of his own, and therefore not 
 likely to weigh much with an Heracleitean theorist ; who — argu- 
 ing as he did that (because neither subject nor predicate were ever 
 unchanged or stable for two moments together) no true proposi- 
 tion could be framed but was at the same time false, and that 
 contraries were in perpetual co-existence, — could not by any 
 general reasoning be involved in greater contradiction and incon- 
 sistency than he at once openly proclaimed.* It can only be shovrai 
 that such a doctrine cannot be reconciled with the necessities of 
 daily speech, as practised by himself, as well as by others. We 
 read indeed one ingenious argument whereby Aristotle adopts this 
 belief in the co-existence of Contraries, but explains it in a manner 
 of his own, through his much employed distinction between poten- 
 tial and actual existence. Two contraries cannot co-exist (he says) 
 in actuality : but they both may and do co-exist, in difFerent senses 
 — one or both of them being potential. This, however, is a theory 
 totally different from that of Heracleitus : coincident only in words 
 and in seeming. It does indeed eliminate the contradiction : but 
 that very contradiction formed the characteristic feature and key- 
 stone of the Heracleitean theory. The case against this last theory 
 is, that it is at variance with psychological facts, by incorrectly 
 assuming the co-existence of contradictory beliefs in the mind : and 
 that it conflicts both with postulates implied in the daily colloquy 
 of detail between man and man, and with the volitional preferences 
 that determine individual action. All of these are founded on a 
 belief in the regular sequence of our sensations, and in the at 
 least temporary durability of combined potential aggregates of 
 sensations, which we enunciate in the language of definite attributes 
 belonging to definite substances. This language, the common 
 
 • This is stated by Aristotle himself (Metaph. r. 1011 a. 15) oi S' iv 
 Tt^ \6yift Tiiv 0iav ftovov ?i)ro5vr£i' dlvvarov Zr/Touaiv ivavTia yap itirtiv 
 dkiovaiv, iv9ie kvavria Xkyovres- He here indeed applies this obser- 
 vation immediately to the Protagoreans, against whom it does not tell — 
 instead of the Heracleiteans, against whom it does tell. Indeed, the 
 whole of the reasoning in this part of the Metaphysica, is directed indis- 
 criminately and in the same words against FNtagoreans and Hera- 
 cleiteans. 
 
48 APPENDIX — ORICfIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 medium of commiuucation among non-theorizing men, is accepted 
 as a basis, and is generalized and regularized, in the logical theories 
 of Aristotle. 
 
 The doctrine here mentioned is vindicated by Aristotle, not only 
 against Heradeitus, by asserting the Maxim of Contradiction, 
 but also against Anaxagoras, by. asserting the Maxim of Excluded 
 Middle. Here we have the second prmoipiv/m of demonstration, 
 which, if it required to be defended at all, can only be defended 
 (like the first) by a process of Induction. Aristotle adduces several 
 arguments in support of it, some of which involve an appeal to 
 induction, though not broadly or openly avowed ; but others of 
 them assume what adversaries, and Anaxagoras especially, were 
 not likely to grant. We must remember that both Anaxagoras 
 and Heracleitns propounded their theories as portions of physical 
 philosophy or of Ontology ; and that in their time no such logical 
 principles and distinctions as those that Aristotle lays down in 
 the Organon, had yet been made known or pressed upon their 
 attention. Now, Aristotle, while professing to defend these 
 Axioms as data of Ontology, forgets that they deal with the logical 
 aspect of Ontology, as formulated in methodical propositions. 
 His view of the Axioms cannot be properly appreciated without 
 a classification of propositions, such as neither Heracleitus nor 
 Anaxagoras found existing or originated for themselves. Aristotle 
 has taught us — ^what Heracleitus and Anaxagoras had not been 
 taught — to distinguish separate propositions as universal, par- 
 ticular and singular; and to distinguish pairs of propositions as con- 
 trary, sub-contrary, and contradictory. To take the simplest case, 
 that of a singular proposition, in regard to which the distinction 
 between contrary and contradictory has no application — such as 
 the answer (cited above) of Eephisophon about Euripides. Here 
 Aristotle would justly contend that the two propositions — 
 Muripides is within — Erm/pides is not within— eovH not be either 
 both of them true, or bo& of them false : that is, that we could 
 neither believe both, nor disbeheve both. If Eephisophon had 
 answered, Euripides is neither within, nor not within, Dikaeopolis 
 would have found himself as much at a loss with the two nega- 
 tives as he was with the two affirmatives. In regard to singular 
 propositions, neither the doctrine of Heradeitus (to beUeve both 
 affiimation and negation) nor that of Anaxagoras (to disbelieve 
 both) is admissible. But when in place of singular propositions, 
 we take either universal or particular propositions, the rule to 
 follow is no longer so simple and peremptory. The imiversal 
 affirmative and the universal negative are amtrary ; the particular 
 affirmative and the particular negative are sub-eordrary ; the uni- 
 versal affirmative and the particular negative, or the universal 
 negative and the particular affirmative, are contradictory. It is 
 now noted in aU manuals of Logic, that of two contrary proposi- 
 tions, both cannot be true, but both may be false ; that of two 
 sub-contraries, both may be true, but both cannot be false ; and 
 that, of two contradictories, one must be true and the other false.- 
 
THE SCHOOLMEN. — ^DESOAKTES. 49 
 
 The Schoolmen. In the mediseval period the question as to 
 the Origin of Knowledge was thrown into the shade by the ques- 
 tion as to the nature, and mode of existence, of Universals. Never- 
 theless, the different sides were each supported. On the one hand, 
 the extreme experience-hypothesis was reduced to the formula 
 often quoted since, Nihil est in intellectu quod non priua fuerit in 
 sensu ; on the other, we can see by the argument of Aquinas 
 against the theory of knowledge per species — omnium intelligi- 
 bilium rationes, animcB naturaliter inditas, that some did not shrink 
 from the extreme statement of the opposed view. 
 
 It was at the close of the scholastic period, when the question 
 of the universals was considered as settled against Bealism (hence- 
 forth driven to assume masked forms) and their subjective cha- 
 racter, whether in the sense of Nominalism or Conceptualism, was 
 held to be established, that the problem of the Origin of such 
 general ideas he/ore or in experience, started into full importance. 
 During the whole course of modem thought it has hdd a first 
 place among philosophical questions, 
 
 Desoaetes heads the modem movement in philosophy, and in 
 him we must look for the terms wherein the question was anew 
 propounded. First, however, it is well, even if it were not in his 
 case necessary, to indicate shortly his general philosophical position. 
 
 1. Proceeding on the analogy of mathematics, he began by 
 seeking a principle, or principles, of indubitable certainty, whereon 
 to rear a universal system of knowledge imimpeachable at every 
 point : — There is, he declared, not a siugle thmg that I am not 
 able to doubt or caU in question, save the fact of my own 
 doubting. But doubting is thinking, and in thinking is implied 
 being or existing : I am, I exist, is, therefore, a proposition neces- 
 sarily true every time I pronounce or conceive it ; Gogito ergo sum 
 or Ego sum res cogitcms is to me the one thing absolutely and for 
 ever certain. And not only do I thus know that I am, but, at the 
 same time, what I am — a thinking being. Although as yet nothing 
 more, this I know with perfect clearness and distinctness. 
 
 2. Next he sought how to pass beyond this primal certainty — 
 the simple consoiousness of self as a thinking being : — I find in 
 me an idea of perfection, or of an all-perfect being called God. 
 Like everything eke, such an idea must have its cause, for I appre- 
 hend, again with perfect clearness and distinctness, that, out of 
 nothing, nothing can come. Now, as every cause must involve at 
 least as much reality as there is in the effect, an imperfect being 
 like myself cannot be the cause of such an idea of perfection. 
 Wherefore it must be derived from a higher source, from such an 
 all-powerful and perfect being as it portends, who has stamped it 
 as ifis mark upon my mind : not to say that already in the very 
 idea of such a perfect being the attribute of existence is implied 
 as necessary to his perfection. Besides self, therefore, I now 
 know that Ood exists, and that he must be the real cause of my 
 own existence. 
 
 3. In the VeracMy of God, in this way proved to exist, he now 
 
 51 
 
60 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 found a guarantee of the existence of other beings, and of a 
 material universe : — Formerly, no mere thought of mine sufficed 
 to prove the existence of other beings or external things ; for any- 
 thuig I knew, I dreamed, or was the victim of a constant deception. 
 But now that I know an all-perfect God to exist, I can be certain 
 that everything is as he has constitftted me to apprehend it, when, 
 that is to say, the apprehension is perfectly clem- and distinct. 
 Thus, clearly and distmctly apprehending Bodies to be real ex- 
 ternal substances, i.e., independent existences with real attributes 
 of Kgure, Size, and Motion, modes of one universal and insepar- 
 able property — Extension, I can be sure that they are such. 
 Qualities of colour, sound, heat, &c., on the other hand, I can be 
 equally sure do not, as such, belong to the extended objects, 
 because, when clearly and distinctly apprehended, they are seen 
 to be only varieties of motion in these. 
 
 4. The whole nature of Mind bemg thus understood, from the 
 beginning, as expressed by the one attribute Thought (construed, 
 however, as Thinking Substance), and the whole nature of Body, 
 at the end, as summed up in the one attribute Extension [Extended 
 Substance), he found in the imion of Mind and Body in man— in 
 man only, for he regarded the lower animals as mere automata — 
 an explanation of afl. such phenomena of appetite, bodily feeling, 
 and sensation (colour, sound, &c., just alluded to) as can be re- 
 ferred neither to Mind nor to Body, taken simply and apart. 
 
 Such are the main positions of Descartes. His doctrine of 
 Intuition, in so far as it is developed, may now be presented in 
 the following statements : — 
 
 1. His general method, styled Deduction, whether used in 
 rearing the whole edifice of philosophy or applied to special prob- 
 lems, requires the positing of certain indemonstrable and self- 
 evident truths, in regard to which he himself employs the term 
 Intuition. 
 
 2. First among such intuitive principles, and apprehended with 
 a cfeorraess and distinctness, to the level of which every other truth 
 should be raised, is the certainty of Cogito ergo sum. Another, 
 which stands him in even better stead, is Ex nihilo nihil fit. Still 
 other examples are : What is done cannot be undone ; It is im- 
 possible that the same thing can at once be and not be. Such 
 truths are ' eternal,' although in some men they may be obscured 
 by prejudice. 
 
 3. Amongst Ideas he distinguishes (1) Innate, (2) Adventitious, 
 (3) Factitious or Imaginary. The Innate, e.g., the idea of self as 
 existent, of God, &c., are so named because they neither come 
 adventitiously by way of sense, nor have the character of volun- 
 tary products or fictions of the mind. The idea of God he describes 
 as like ' the workman's mark left imprinted on his work.' But, 
 at other times, he argues, like many of his successors, for little 
 more than innate faculties or modes of thinking, instead of 
 thoughts; pre-dispositions to conceive, instead of ready-made 
 conceptions. 
 
AKNAXJLD. 51 
 
 4. In the Knowledge of an object by sense-perception, there is 
 more than a mere passive impression. What is real and constant in 
 any object, as a piece of wax, under all conditions of sensible change 
 — ^that it is a Substance, with attributes of Extension, Mobility, 
 &o. — ^is perceived only intellectually, by direct mental inspection or 
 intuition. To know such attributes implies the conceiving of an 
 infinite possibility of variations of each, something quite beyond 
 the scope of Sense, or of Imagination which waits on sense. 
 
 Before passing to Locke — ^the next great name in the general 
 history of £ituition, it is necessary to take some account of others 
 of his predecessors. 
 
 In the Cartesian school itself, as in Malebranche, the discus- 
 sion of the question was too ipuch complicated with the special 
 difficulty of finding a theory of perception or knowledge to 
 bridge the chasm fixed by Descartes between mind and matter, 
 to permit of its being followed out here. But Aknattld in the 
 Port Boyal Logic, Chapter I., has a short and simple statement, 
 which, as it must have been known to Locke, may be briefly 
 noticed. 
 
 1. As to the nature of Ideas, he emphasizes the same dis- 
 tinction between Image and Idea, Imagination and Piire Intel- 
 lection or Conception, made by Descartes. Things can be clearly 
 and distinctly conceived, whereof there is no adequate imagination, 
 e.g., a chiliogon; and others, of which there is no imagination 
 possible at all, e.g., Thought, Affirmation, God. This remembered, 
 no more exact account can be given of what an Idea is, there 
 being nothing more clear and simple to explain it by: 'It is 
 everything that is in our mind when we can say with truth that 
 we can conceive a thing, in whatsoever way it may be conceived.' 
 
 2. As to the Origin of Ideas, he contests the opinion of ' a 
 philosopher of repute ' (Gassendi), that all knowledge begins from 
 sense, the rest being an affair of Composition, or Amplification 
 and Diminution, or Accommodation and Analogy. [Gassendi, the 
 contemporary and rival of Descartesj rejected the Innate theory 
 most strenuously, and with an explicitness justifying the inference 
 that, apart from Descartes' influence, it was a commonplace in the 
 philosophy of the time : Locke's relation to him has often been 
 remarked.] To this, Amauld, in substance, objects, (1) that it is 
 not true at all of certain ideas, and (2) that it is not properly true 
 of any. First, The simple ideas of Being and Thought (involved 
 in the proposition Gogito ergo sum) never entered by any sense, 
 and are not compounded &om sensible images ; and the same 
 is true of the idea of God : the mind has the faculty of forming 
 such ideas for itself, and they cannot, without manifest absurdity, 
 be referred to sense. In the next place, all that the impression 
 on the sense effects, when it is this that does happen to arouse the 
 mind, is to give the mind an ' occasion ' to form one idea rather 
 than another ; and the idea has very rarely any resemblance to 
 what takes place in the sense and in tiie brain. 
 
 In England, views in strong antithesis to Locke, were ad- 
 
52 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 vanced by Cudworth, founding not upon Descartes, but upon 
 tbe ancients ; and, at a still earlier date (even than Descartes), 
 by Lord Herbert of Cherbury. 
 
 Ctod'worth's views, as explicitly set forth in the treatise on 
 Eternal and Im/mutdble Morality, were kept back from publication 
 until after Locke's death. It will suffice, therefore, simply to 
 remark (1) that (independently of Cartesian influence) he dis- 
 tinguishes between Sense and Fancy on the one hand and Intel- 
 lection or the Innate Cognoscitive Power of the Soul on the other; 
 (2) that he defines this power as a faculty the mind has of raising 
 from within itself Intelligible Ideas and Conceptions of things, 
 Intelligible Beasons of things fBcctioneaJ, &c. — e.g.. Verity, 
 Falsity, Cause, Effect, Genus, Species, Nullity, Contingency, 
 Impossibility, justice. Duty, ' Nothing can be and not be at the 
 same time ' (both as proposition and in every one of its words), 
 &c. ; (3) that he understands by knowledge of particular thin^ 
 the bringing and comprehending of them under such Bationes, 
 and finds that ' scientific knowledge is best acquired by the sotd's 
 abstraction from the outward objects of sense, that it may the 
 better attend to its own inward notions and ideas.' 
 
 Lord Herbert oe Cherbtjrt, in his book ' Be Veritate? (1624) 
 maintains the doctrine of Innate Ideas, under the name of Natwral 
 Instincts. Instinct is the first of our faculties brought into 
 play, as DiscwrsM (the understanding) is the last ; the senses, both 
 external and internal, coming between them. It is the speciality 
 of Instinct to work natwraUter fi.e. without DiscwrsusJ ; in the 
 same way as minerals and vegetables have a faculty of self-pre- 
 servation. Notitiae Gommvmes (nearly equivalent to Krst Prin- 
 ciples) are the product of Natural Instinct. They are sacred 
 principles, against which it is unlawful to contend, and are guar- 
 anteed by nature itself. If it be a common notion that Nature 
 does nothing in vain, it is the same as if Nature herself spake — ' I 
 do nothing in vain.' The truth of Common notions is perceived 
 immediaMy^ a.i first sight, so presenting a contrast to the slow and 
 uncertain steps of the Discxffsive faculty. 
 
 How, then, are those notions to be discovered ? It is by 'our 
 method,' which Herbert announces with great emphasis. There 
 is no Philosophy or Beligion so benighted but has its own special 
 truth, mingled, it may be, with error ; and the pure metal can be 
 extracted from the ore by ' our method.' The great criterion, as 
 he never wearies of r^eating, is vmversalUy : what is accepted by 
 all men must be true, and can arise from no source except natural 
 instinct. TTniversal consent is to be gathered from laws, religions, 
 philosophies, and books. Thus Beligion is a common notion, for 
 there is no nation or age without religion. The next thing to be 
 considered is — ^what points are universally agreed to. This can 
 be ascertained only by actually bringing togetiier and sifting all 
 religions. If this method (which is the only sure one) be con- 
 sidered too laborious, Herbert points out the easier mode of self- 
 examjnation ; if you examine your faculties, you will find God 
 
OHAJIACTEES OF COMMON NOTIONS. 53 
 
 and Virtue given as eternal and universal truths. Every truth is 
 attested by some faculty, error by none. 
 
 _ But in this introspection, the distinction must be borne in 
 mind between veritaa rei, of -which the principivm is without 
 the mind, and Veritas mtellectus, which depends on the mind 
 alone ; in fine, between propositions always and everywhere 
 true, and propositions teue only here and now. [This 
 seems to he an approach, in everything except the name, 
 to the criterion of necessity afterwards brought forward by 
 Leibnitz.] The mind is not a tabula rasa, but rather a closed book, 
 that opens on the presentation of objects. Until called forth by 
 objects, the common notions are latent. It is foUy to suppose 
 that they are brought in with the objects ; they exist inde- 
 pendently, being placed in us by nature. Nor is it any real diffi- 
 culty that we do not understand how those notions are elicited ; 
 as nttle do we understand how touch, or taste, or smell is 
 produced. 
 
 All common notions are not independent of Discursits, but such 
 as are may be determined by the following characters. (1) 
 Priority, Instinct precedes Discursus, and as already observed, is 
 in animals the faculty of self-preservation. In a house built with 
 regularity, beauty of symmetry is observed by natural instinct, 
 long before reason comes in with its estimate of the proportions of 
 the parts. (2) Independence. When a common notion has been 
 obtained by observation, it may be deducible from some prior 
 truth. Thus ' Man is an animal' depends for its truth upon the 
 ultimate principle, that whatever affects our faculties in the same 
 manner, is the same so far as we are concerned. Only the ultimate 
 or underived truths are attributed to Natural Instinct. (3) Uni- 
 versality (excepting idiots and madmen). (4) Certainty. Those 
 principles possess the highest authority, and, if understood, cannot 
 be denied. (6) Paramount Utility fNecessitasJ. Without common 
 notions, there would be no principle of self-preservation : they are 
 therefore essential to the existence of the race or the individual. 
 (6) Immediacy. The truth of them is seen, nulla interposita mora. 
 John Locke. Locke discusses the subject of innate specula- 
 tive principles in his Essay on the Human Understanding, B. I., 
 chaps. 2, 4. Innate principles are a class of notions stamped on 
 the mind, which the soul brings into the world with it. Are there 
 any such ? Certainly not, if it is shown how men may reach all 
 the knowledge they have without such ideas. For it would be 
 absurd to say that colour was innate in a man that had eyes. 
 Locke's refutation paves the way for the fundamental principle of 
 his psychology, that all our knowledge and ideas arise from sense 
 and reflection. 
 
 1. The first argument for innate ideas is that certain principles 
 are admitted as true universally. To this Locke answers, that the 
 argument breaks down, (1) if any other way can be pointed out 
 whereby this universal assent may be attained. (2) There are no 
 principles imiversally admitted. Take two that have a high title 
 
54 APPENDIX — OBIGIN OF KNOWLEPGE. 
 
 to be considered innate : ' whatever is, is,' and ' it is impossible 
 for the same thing to be and not to be.' These propositions are 
 to a great part of mankind wholly unknown. They are unknown 
 to children and idiots, and so they are not universally accepted. 
 It would be a contradiction to say, that those propositions are im- 
 printed on the mind, without the mind being conscious of them. 
 That an idea is in the understanding, can only mean that it is 
 understood. Hence, if there were innate ideas, they ought to be 
 present in children and in idiots, as well as in others. 
 
 2. To avoid those exceptions, the universality is affirmed with 
 qualifications ; it is said that all men assent to those principles 
 when they come to the use of reason. This can only mean either 
 that the time of discovering those native inscriptions is when men 
 come to the use of reason, or that reason assists in the discovery of 
 them. (1) If reason discovered those principles, that woxdd not 
 prove them innate ; for by reason we discover many truths that 
 are not innate. Keasou, as the faculty of deducing one truth 
 from another, plainly cannot lead to innate principles. Eeason 
 should no more be necessary to decipher those native inscriptions, 
 than to make our eyes perceive visible objects. (2) The coming 
 to the use of reason is not the time of first knowing those maxims. 
 How many instances have we of the exercise of reason by children 
 before they learn that ' whatever is, is' ! Many illiterate people 
 and savages, long after they come to the use of reason, are alto- 
 gether ignorant of maxims so general. Those truths are never 
 known before the use of reason, but may possibly be assented to 
 some time after during a man's life ; and the same may be said of 
 all other knowable truths. (3) If coming to the use of reason 
 were the time of discovering the alleged innate notions, it would 
 not prove them innate. For why should a notion be innate be- 
 cause it is first known when an entirely distinct faculty of the 
 mind begins to exert itself ? It would be as good an argument, 
 (and as near the truth) to say that those maxims were first 
 assented to when men came to the use of speech. 
 
 3. Another form of the argument is, that as soon as the pro- 
 positions are heard, and their terms understood, they are assented 
 to. Maxims that the mind, without any teaching and at the 
 very first proposal, assents to, are surely innate. (1) But assent at 
 first hearing is characteristic of a multitude of truths ; such as, 
 ' one and two are equal to three,' ' two bodies cannot be in the 
 same place,' ' white is not black,' ' a square is not a circle,' &c. 
 To every one of these, every man in his wits must assent at first 
 hearing. And since no proposition can be*innate, unless the 
 ideas composing it be innate, then our ideas of colours, tastes, 
 sounds, &c., wUl be innate. Nor can it be said that those pro- 
 positions about concrete objects are drawn as consequences from 
 the more general innate propositions, since the concrete judgments 
 are known long before the abstract form. (2) Moreover, the 
 argument of assent at first hearing supposes that those maxims 
 may be unknown till proposed. For if they were ingrained in 
 
OBJECTIONS TO INNATE IDEAS. 55 
 
 the mind, why need they be proposed in order to gain assent ? 
 Does proposing make them clearer ? Then the teaching of men 
 is better than the impression of nature, an opinion not favourable 
 to the authority of innate truths. (3) It is sometimes said that 
 the mind has an implicit knowledge of those principles, but not 
 an explicit, before the first hearing. The only meaning that can 
 be assigned to implicit or virtual knowledge, is that the mind is 
 capable of knowing those principles. This is equally true of all 
 knowledge, whether innate or not. (4) The argument of assent 
 on first hearing is on the false supposition of no preceding teach- 
 ing. Now, the words, and the meanings of the words, expressing 
 the innate ideas, have been learned. And not only so, but the 
 ideas that enter into the propositions are also acquired. If, then, 
 we take out of a proposition the ideas in it and the words, what 
 remains innate ? A child assents to the proposition, ' an apple is 
 not fire,' before it understands the terms of the maxim, ' it is 
 impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,' and conse- 
 quently before it can assent to the more general proposition. In 
 conclusion Locke sums up : if there were innate ideas, they would 
 be foimd in all men ; there are no ideas found in all men, hence 
 there are no innate ideas. He adds some further considerations 
 by way of supporting this conclusion. 
 
 4. Those maxims are not the first known, for children do not 
 know them. How explain such ignorance of notions, imprinted 
 on the mind in indelible characters, to be the foundation of all 
 acquired knowledge ? Children distinguish between the niirse 
 and the cat, without the aid of the maxim, that the same thing 
 cannot be and not be — ^for that is a maxim whoUy unknown to 
 them. If children brought any truths into the world with them, 
 such truths ought to appear early, whereas, being made up of 
 abstract terms, they appear late. 
 
 5. Innate ideas appear least where what is innate shows itself 
 clearest. Children, savages, illiterate people, being the least cor- 
 rupted by custom or borrowed opinions, ought to exhibit those 
 innate notions — the endowments of nature — with purity and dis- 
 tinctness. But those are the very persons most destitute of 
 universal principles of knowledge. General maxims are best 
 known in the schools and academies, where they help debate, but 
 do little to advance knowledge. 
 
 6. In chap. 4, Locke examines some alleged innate ideas. As 
 a proposition is made up of ideas, the doctrine of innate maxims 
 w&l be decisively refuted, if it be shown that there are no innate 
 ideas. Thus, in the maxim, ' it is impossible for the same thing 
 to be and not to be,' Locke asks whether the notions of impossi- 
 bility and identity be innate. He illustrates the difficulties in- 
 volved in the conception of identity. Is a man, made as he is of 
 body and soul, the same man when his body is changed ? Were 
 Euphorbus and P3rthagoras, who had the same soul, the same 
 man, though they lived ages asunder ? And was the cock, that 
 shared the soul with them, the same also ? In what sense shall 
 
56 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 ■we be the same men, when raised at the resurrection, that we are 
 now P The notion of identity is far from being clear or distinct ; 
 can it then be the subject of undoubted and innate truth P Again 
 take the maxim, ' the whole is bigger than a part.' This has a 
 fair title to be considered innate. But whole and part have no 
 meaning, except as applied to number and extension. If the 
 maxim be innate, number and extension must also be innate. 
 [Locke stopped here, thinking the point too clear for argument. 
 But Kant afterwards adopted the paradox, and upheld the & priori 
 character of Space as the comer-stone of his metaphysical con- 
 struction.] In like manner, Locke examines whether the ideas of 
 WerMp and Ood are innate. In respect of the idea of God, he 
 argues the subject at great length, applying most of the con- 
 siderations that tell against innate ideas generally. He also dis- 
 cusses whether Subatcmce be an innate idea. This ides, he observes, 
 we have neither by sensation nor by reflection, and nature might 
 with advantage have given it to us. For substance is a most 
 confused notion, and is only a something of which we have no dis- 
 tinct positive idea, but which we take to be the substratum of our 
 ideas. 
 
 SEAPTESBmiT, in England, attempted to ttim the edge of 
 Locke's objections by declaring (but before Locke, the same had 
 been affirmed) that aUthat was contended for was better expressed 
 by the words Conruite or Connatv/ral than by the word innate : it 
 was true the mind had no knowledge antecedent to experience, 
 but it was so constituted or predisposed as inevitably to develop, 
 with experience, ideas and truths not explained thereby. 
 
 In Germany, LEiBinTZ set up an elaborate defence of the In- 
 nate Theory, and is commonly represented as having made a dis- 
 tinct advance in the discussion of the question by the exceptions 
 he took to the criticism of Locke. These are reducible to two. 
 (1) He charges Locke with neglecting the difference between 
 mere trutha of fact or positive truths that may be arrived at by way 
 of Inductive Experience, and necessary truths, or truths of demon- 
 stration, not to be proved except from principles implanted in the 
 mind. (2) He charges Locke farther, with not seeing that innate 
 knowledge is saved on simply making the unavoidable assumption 
 that the intellect and its f acultieB are there from the first : ' the 
 mind is innate to itself :' ' nihil est in intellectu quod non fueiit in 
 sensu, nisi ipse inteUectus.' His detailed objections are to be fonnd 
 in his posthumous work, Nouveaux Essais sur Ventendement humain. 
 
 A passage in a letter of Leibnitz's to a&iend, gives a good idea 
 of the position he took up against Locke. He there says : ' In 
 Jjocke there are various particular truths not badly set forth ; but 
 on the main point he is far from being right, and he has not 
 caught the nature of the Mind and of Trath. If he had properly 
 considered the difference between necessary truths, i.e. those which 
 are known by Demonstration, and the truths that we arrive at to 
 a certain degree by Induction, he would have seen that necessary 
 truths can be proved only from principles implanted in the mind 
 
NECESSAET TRUTHS AND TEtJTHS OF FACT. 57 
 
 — the so-called innate ideas ; because tie senses tell indeed what 
 happens, but not what necessarily happens. He has also failed to 
 observe that the notions of the Existent, of Substance, Identity, 
 the True and Good, are innate to our mind for the reason that it 
 is innate to itself, and within itself comprehends them aU. Nihil 
 est in intellectu quod non fuerit in sensu, ram ipse inteUectus,' 
 The Nouveaux Easais is a dialogue, continued through four books, 
 corresponding to the books of Locke's essay, between Theophilus 
 (Ijeibnitz himselfj and Philalethes, a disciple of Locke. In Book 
 I., Theophilus, after announcing that he has taken a new step in 
 philosophy, and reached a point of view from which he can recon- 
 cile the discrepant views of .former thinkers, declares that he goes 
 beyond Descartes in accepting an innate idea of God; for rather aU. 
 our thoughts and actions may be said to come from the depths of the 
 soul itself without possibility of their being given by the senses. 
 He will not, however, go into the demonstration of that at present, 
 but content himself with making clear, on the common system, 
 that there are ideas and principles that do not come from the 
 senses, but are found withm the mind, unformed by us, although 
 the senses give us occasion to apprehend them. Locke, with all 
 his power, failed to see the difference between necessary truths, 
 whose source is in the understanding, and truths of fad drawn 
 from sense, experience, and confused perceptions. The certitude 
 of innate principles (such as. Every thing that is, is ; It is impos- 
 sible that a thing shoidd be and not be at the same time) is not to 
 be based on the fact of universal consent, which can only be an 
 index to, and never a demonstration of, them : it comes only from 
 what is in us. Even though unknown, they are not therefore not 
 innate, for they are recognized as soon as understood. In the 
 mind there is always an infinity of cognitions that are not consci- 
 ously apprehended ; and so the fact of their not being always appre- 
 hended makes nothing against the existence of (1) the pure ideas 
 (opposed to the phantasms of sense) and (2) necessary truths of rea- 
 son (in contrast to truths of fact) asserted to be graven on the mind. 
 That the necessary truths of Arithmetic and Geometry exist thus 
 virtually in the mind appears from the established possibility of 
 drawing them forth out of a wholly untutored mind. But, in fine, 
 the position to stand by is the difference that there is between neces- 
 sary and eternal truths and mere truths of experience. ' The mind 
 is able to know the one and the other, but of the first it is the 
 source; and whatever number of particular experiences there may 
 be of a iiniversal truth, there can be no perpetual assurance of it, 
 except its necessity is known by reason.' Elsewhere he mentions 
 as things that the senses cannot give ; ' Substance, the One, the 
 Same, Cause, Perception, Eeasoning ;' but otherwise merely re- 
 peats in different language statements like the above. 
 
 When Philalethes suggests that the ready consent of the mind 
 to certain truths is sufficiently explained by the general faculty of 
 knowing, Theophilus replies as follows : ' Very true ; but it is 
 this particular relation of the human mind to these truths that 
 
58 APPENDIX — OEIGIN OF KKOWLEDGE. 
 
 renders the exercise of the faculty easy and natural with respect 
 to them, and causes them to be called innate. It is no naked 
 faculty, consisting in the mere possibility of understanding them : 
 there is a disposition, an aptitude, a preformation, determining 
 our mind and making it possible that they should be drawn forth 
 from it. Just as there is a difference between the figures given to 
 stone or marble indifferently, and those that its veins mark out 
 already or are disposed to mark out if the workman takes advan- 
 tage of them.' Farther on, to the objection that there is a diffi- 
 culty in conceiving a truth to be in the mind, if the mind has 
 never thought of it, he adds : ' It is as if one said that there is 
 difficulty in conceiving veins to be in the marble before they are 
 discovered.' In these sentences Leibnitz's theory is nearly com- 
 pleted. 
 
 After Leibnitz has next to be noticed Eaitt ; but his contribu- 
 tion to the history of the present question, as before in the case of 
 Descartes, cannot be viewed apart from his general philosophical 
 position. Although his whole system, on the speculative side 
 at least, may be described as a theory of the Origin of Know- 
 ledge, it cannot be properly understood without some preliminary 
 reference to other lines of thought. 
 
 1. Kant found himself unable to subscribe to the metaphysical 
 dogmatism of the school of Wolff (joining on to Leibnitz) that pre- 
 sumed to settle everything without any question of the mind's 
 ability to pronounce at once and finally. This on the one hand : 
 on the other he was startled by the scepticism, of Hume (joining on 
 through Berkeley to Locke) with its summary assertion of the 
 impotence of human thought. As between the two, he conceived 
 the idea of instituting a aritical inquiry into the faumdations and 
 limits of the mind's faeuMy of knowledge; in his famous work, 'The 
 Critique of the Pure Eeason ' (1781). 
 
 2. As here implied in the word ' pure ' used of Beason, or the 
 general faculty of knowing, he contended for the inherence in the 
 mind, before all experience, of certain principles of knowledge, 
 which he called a priori; and thus far was at one with former sup' 
 porters of Innate Notions. Farther, with Leibnitz in particular, he 
 agreed in taking necessity and vjniversality as the marks or criteria 
 of cognitions never to be attained to or explained by experience. 
 Cognitions universally and necessarily true, and these not merely 
 analytic or verbal (where the predicate only sets forth the implica- 
 tion of the subject), but synthetic or real (in which there is an 
 extension of knowledge) he found, as he thought, existing in 
 abundance : in Mathematics such, for instance, as 7 -f- 5 = 12; Two 
 straight lines cannot enclose a space, &c. ; in Pure Physics, The 
 quantity of matter in nature is constant, Action and Reaction in 
 nature are equal ; while the whole of traditional Metaphysics was 
 made up of such. Criticism of the foundations and limits of 
 human knowledge took with him, then, the special shape of an 
 inquiry into the conditions of the possibility of synthetic cognitions a 
 priori. 
 
FORMS OF INTUITION. 59 
 
 3. In the peculiar solution that he gave of the old question of 
 Innate Knowledge put into this new form, there can be traced the 
 influence Hume had upon him from the opposite camp. Hume 
 had meanwhile analyzed Causality into mere custom of sequence 
 among the impressions of sense, and upon the untrustworthiness 
 of such a purely subjective notion had based his general scep- 
 ticism. Kant taking his stand upon the body of established 
 mathematical truth (synthetic at the same time as necessary), re- 
 jected the sceptical conclusion ; but accepting the subjective 
 origiu of the notion of Causality, proceeded to place all the 
 native a priori, or non-empirical elements of knowledge iu certain 
 subfective or mental 'Forms' destined to enfold, while requiring to be 
 sH^jolemented by the ' Matter' of Experience. 
 
 4. The mind, therefore, in Kant's view, has no sort of know- 
 ledge antecedent to and independent of experience, as many 
 philosophers have more or less boldly asserted ; it has, before 
 experience, nothing except the ' forms' as the moulds into which 
 the empirical elements that come primarily by way of sense are 
 made to run ; and unless this ' matter' of experience is supplied, 
 there is no knowledge of any kind possible. But when the ' mat- 
 ter' is provided, and the 'forms' are applied to their true and 
 appropriate 'matter' — ^there are, as will be seen, cases wheran 
 this does, and others wherein it does not take place — the mind is 
 then not bound down to its particular experiences, but can reaUy 
 conceive and utter universal and necessary (synthetic) truths that 
 no mere experience could ever give. 
 
 The detailed exposition of Kant's theory falls under three 
 heads. 
 
 I. — Transeemdental bathetic. The impressions of sense are (pas- 
 sively) received as empirical ' matter' info certain pure or d priori 
 ' forms,' distinguished by the special name of ' Forms of Intuition.' 
 
 1. The data of the internal sense (joy, pain, &c.) fall into, or 
 are received as, a series or succession, in Time : the data of the 
 external senses are received, directly, as lying outside of us and by 
 the side of each other, in Space ; indrrectty, in their influence upon 
 our internal state, as a succession in Time. 
 
 2. As forms. Space and Time are of non-empirical origin ; they 
 cannot be thought away, as everything can that has been 
 acquired. They are forms of intuition, in having nothing of the 
 character of abstracted cmic^te. 
 
 3. If they were not a priori, there would be no foundation 
 possible for the established (synthetic a priori) truths of Mathe- 
 matics and Geometry resting upon the intuition of Space, nor 
 for Arithmetic, which, consisting of the repetition or succession of 
 units, rests upon the intuition of Time. 
 
 4. How are we enabled actually to construct the pure science 
 of Mathematics, made up of synthetic truths a priori, is thus 
 to be explained. Because the subjective forms of space or 
 Time are mixed up with all our sense-perceptions (intuitions), and 
 only such phenomena in Space and Time (not Things-in-themselves 
 
60 APPENDIX — OBIOIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 or rummma) axe ever open to our intuitive apprehension, we may 
 pronounce freely a ^ori in all that relates to determinations of 
 Space and Time, provided it is understood of phmomma, oonsti- 
 tiiited by the very addition of these mental forms. 
 
 II. — Transcendental Logic — Analytic Phenomena (constituted 
 out of the ' matter' of sense as ordered in the Forms of Intuition) 
 themselves in turn become ' matter,' -whieh the mind, as epore- 
 tanetMsly active, combines and orders in the process of Judgn^nt, 
 under certain ' forms, ' distinguished by the special name of ' Cate- 
 gories of the Understanding.' 
 
 1. These are twelve in number, and discoverable from the com- 
 mon analysis of judgments in logic. 
 
 a. Three categories of QTrANTmr: UnMy, Plurality, Urdvet- 
 sality (as involved in Singular, Particular, Universal judgments 
 respectively). 
 
 b. Three of Quaiitt : Reality, Negation, Limitation (in Posi- 
 tive, Negative, Infinite judgments). 
 
 c. Three of Eklation : Siibslantiality, CauaalUy, QonvmwaHn) or 
 Beei^rooal adion (in Categorical, Hypothetioal, Disjunctive judg- 
 ments). 
 
 d. Three of •Moti at.tt v : Possibility, Existence, Necessity (in 
 Problematic, Assertory, Apodeictic judgments). 
 
 2. Until a, synthesis of intuitions (perceptions) takes place 
 under some one of these pure or a priori concepts, there is no 
 Knowledge, or, in the proper meaning of the word. Experience. 
 The fact of such a synthesis makes all the diSFerence between the 
 mere perception of a particular sequence in the subjective con- 
 sciousness, e.g. my having the sense of weight in supporting a 
 body, and the objective experience, true for aH, The body is heavy, 
 
 3. The reason, now, why we can farther say that no possible 
 experience will not come under the Categories, as in saying that 
 effects miist have a cause— or, which is the same thing, why we are 
 enabled to utter synthetic judgments d priori, objectively valid, re- 
 garding nature — ^is this, that without the Categories (forms of the 
 spontaneous activity of the pure egoj there cannot be any expe- 
 rience at tiJl ; experience, actual or possible, is phenomena bound 
 together in the Categories. 
 
 i. But, if we can extend our knowledge beyond actual expe- 
 rience because experience is constituted by the Categories of the 
 Understanding, the extension is only to be to possible objects of 
 experience, which are phenomena in Time and Space ; never to 
 Things-in-themselves or Noumena, of which there can be no sen- 
 sible (intuitive) apprehension. 
 
 [Kant makes this apparent chiefly by the consideration, under 
 the head of ' Schematism of the pure concepts of the Understand- 
 ing,' of the conditions under which sensible phenomena can be 
 subsumed under the Categories. But we must here forego the ex- 
 position of this, and of the system of ' Frindples of the pure un- 
 derstanding ' or (synthetic o priori) Rules for the objective use 
 of the Categories, that follows. These, including (1) 'Axioms 
 
IDEAS OF THE EEASON. 61 
 
 of Intuition,' (2) * Anticipations of Perception,' (3) ' Analogies of 
 Experience' — Amid all changes of phenomena, Substance abides 
 the same, AH change obeys the law of Cause and Effect, Substances 
 co-existing in space act and re-act upon each other ; (4) ' Postu- 
 lates of Empirical Thought ' — are the d priori construction that 
 the mind ia able to make of a Pure Science, or Metaphysic, of 
 Nature. 
 
 III. — Transcendental Logic — Dialectic. Besides the Categories of 
 the Understanding, there are certain other forms of the thinMng 
 faculty, according to which the mind seeks to bring its know- 
 ledge to higher unities : these are distinguished by the special 
 name of ' Ideas of the Beason ' [Heason to be taken here in a nar- 
 row sense as opposed to Sense and Understanding]. 
 
 1. The Ideas of the Beason axe three in number: (a) The 
 (psychological) idea of the Soul, as a thinking substance, immate- 
 rial, simple and indestructible ; (6) The (cosmological) idea of the 
 World, as a system or connected whole of phenomena; (c) The 
 (theological) idea of Cfod, as supreme condition of the possibility 
 of all things, the being of beings. 
 
 2. These Ideas of the Beason applied to our Cognitions have 
 a true regulative function, being a constant spur towards biinging 
 our relative intellectual experience to the higher unity of the 
 absolute or nnconditioned : but they are not constitutive principles, 
 giving any real advance of knowledge, for truly objective know- 
 ledge is only of phenomena as possible objects of experience. 
 
 3. Nevertheless, by a law of oiir mental nature, we cannot 
 avoid ascribing an illusory objective reality to these Ideas, making 
 thus a ' transcendent' application of the Categories to objects 
 there can never be any possible experience of (' transcendent 
 of experience' versus 'immanent to experience'): and by this 
 ' natural dialectic of the Beason,' we become involved in a maze 
 of deception or ' transcendental show,' as seen in the Paralogisms 
 regardmg the metaphysical nature of the soul, the Antinomies or 
 contradictory and mutually destructive assertions regarding the 
 universe, and the sophistical arguments for the existence of God — 
 that make up Metaphysics. 
 
 (The acknowledged powerlessness of the Speculative Beason to 
 find conditions for the validity of the synthetic judgments a priori 
 of Metaphysics — ^to prove theoretically the existence of the soul, 
 God, &c., Kant overcame by setting forth Immortality, Free-will, 
 and God, as postulates of tiie Practical Beason or Moral Faculty ; 
 and the Ideas of the Beason then became of use in helping tiie 
 mind to conceive assumptions that were morally necessaiy.) 
 
 Besides rousing Kant in Germany to imdertake his critical 
 inquiries, the general philosophical scepticism of Hume, evoked in 
 Scotland a protest of a different kjnd, in the believing Common- 
 sense doctrine of Beid. But of Beid's views there was a singular 
 anticipation made by the Jesuit P&e Buffier in 1724, in an attempt 
 to refute another and earlier sceptical doctrine, developed out of 
 the fundamental principle of Cartesianism. 
 
62 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Fathee BtJirrBE. Buffier anticipated Eeid, both in the 
 doctrine of Common Sense, and in the easy way of bringing truths 
 to it. He describes Common Sense as ' that disposition or quality 
 which Nature has placed in all men, or evidently in the far greater 
 number of them, in order to enable them all, when they have 
 arrived at the age and use of reason, to form a common and 
 uniform judgment with respect to objects different from the inter- 
 nal sentiment of their own perception, and which judgment is not 
 the consequence of any anterior principle.' With respect to at 
 least some first principles, men in general are as good philosophers 
 as Descartes or Locke, for all that they have to decide is a matter of 
 fact, namely, whether they cannot help making a particular judg- 
 ment. But Buffier does not exclude Philosophy altogether; on 
 the contrary, he gives some marks or tests whereby the dictates 
 of common sense may be scientifically ascertained. (1) First prin- 
 ciples are so clear that, ' if we attempt to defend or attack them, 
 it cannot be done but by propositions which manifestly are neither 
 more clear nor more certain. (2) They are so universally received 
 amongst men, in all times and countries, and by all degrees of 
 capacity, that those who attack them are, comparatively to the 
 rest of mankind, manifestly less than one to a hundred, or even a 
 thousand.' (3) However they may be discredited by speculation, 
 all men, even such as disavow them, must act in their conduct as 
 if they were true. 
 
 The truths that Buffier considers to belong to common sense 
 are scattered through his book on ' First Truths.' The basis of 
 all knowledge is ' the interior sense we each of us have of our own 
 existence, and what we feel within ourselves.' Every attempt to 
 prove this truth only makes it darker. In like manner, the idea 
 of unity (personality) is a first truth. Our identity follows from 
 our unity or indivisibility. In opposition to Malebranche, who 
 asserts that mind cannot act upon body, Buffier maintains as a 
 first truth, that my soul produces motions in my body. 
 
 Among first truths are included the following: — (11 'There 
 are other beings and other men in the world besides me. (2) There 
 is in them something that is called truth, wisdom, prudence ; and 
 this something is not merely arbitrary. (3) There is in me some- 
 thing that I call intelligence or mind, and something which is not 
 that intelligence or mind, and which is named hody; so that each 
 possesses properties different from the other. (4) What is generally 
 said and thought by men in all ages and countries, is true. (5) 
 All men have not combined to deceive and impose upon me. (6) 
 All that I see, in which is found order, and a permanent, uniform, 
 and constant order, must have an intelligence for its cause.' 
 
 What may hold the place of first truths in the testimony of the 
 senses P Buffler's answer shows great laxity in the selection of 
 first truths. (1) ' They (the senses) always give a faithful report 
 of things as they appear to them. (2) What appears to them is 
 almost always conformable to the truth in matters proper for men 
 in general to know, unless some rational cause of doubt presents 
 
EEID- MEANING OF COMMON SENSE. 63 
 
 itself. _ (3) It will be easy to discern when the evidence of the 
 senses is doubtful, by the reflections we shall point out.' Another 
 first truth is that a thing may be impossible although we see no 
 contradiction in it. Again, the validity of testimony in certain 
 cases, is a first truth ; there are circumstances wherein no rational 
 man could reject the testimony of other men. Also the free 
 agency of man is a first truth ; free will is ' the disposition a man 
 feels within himself, of his capacity to act or not to act, to choose 
 or not to choose a thing, at the same moment.' 
 
 Db. Thomas Eeid. The word Sense, as used by Philosophers, 
 from Locke to Hutcheson, has signified a means of furnishing our 
 minds with ideas, without including judgment, which is the per- 
 ception of agreement or disagreement of our ideas. But, in 
 common language, Sense always implies judgment. Common 
 Sense is the degree of judgment common to men that we 
 can converse and transact business with, or call to account for 
 their conduct. ' To judge of First Principles requires no more 
 than a sound mind free from prejudice, and a distinct conception 
 of the question. The learned and the unlearned, the philosopher 
 and the day-laboxirer, are upon a level, and will pass the same 
 judgment, when they are not misled by some bias.' A man is not 
 now moved by the subtle arguments of Zeno against motion, 
 though, perhaps, he knows not how to answer them. 
 
 Although First Principles are self-evident, and not to be proved 
 by any arguments, still a certain kind of reasoning maybe applied 
 in their support. (1) To show that the principle rejected stands 
 upon the same fo(a1^g with others that are admitted. (2) As in 
 Mathematics, the reductio ad absurdum may be employed. (3) 
 The consent of ages and nations, of the learned and unlearned, 
 ought to have great authority with regard to first principles, 
 where every man is a competent judge. (4) Opinions that appear 
 so early in the mind, that they cannot be the efiect of education 
 or of false reasoning, have a good claim to be considered as first 
 principles. 
 
 Beid asks whether the decisions of Common Sense can be 
 brought into a code such as all reasonable men shall acquiesce in. 
 He acknowledges the diflttculty of the task, and does not profess 
 that his own enumeration is perfectly satisfactory. His classi- 
 fication proceeds on the distinction between necessary and con- 
 tingent truths. That a cone is the third part of a cyHnder, of 
 the same base and height, is a necessary truth. It does not 
 depend upon the wQl and power of any being. That the Sun is 
 the centre of the planetary system is a contingent truth; it 
 depends on the power and will of the Being that made the 
 planets. 
 
 I. — Principles of Contingent Truth. (1) Everything that I 
 am conscious of exists. The irresistible conviction we have of the 
 reality of what we are conscious of, is not the effect of reasoning ; 
 it is immediate and intuitive, and therefore a first principle. (2) 
 The thoughts that I am conscious of, are the thoughts of a being 
 
64 APPENDIX— OfilGIN OF KNOWLEIIGE. 
 
 that I call myself, my mind, my person. (3) Those things did 
 reaUy happen that I distinctly remember. (4) Our own personal 
 identity and continued existence, as far back as we remember 
 anything distinctly. (5) Those things do really exist that we 
 distinctly perceive by our senses, and are what we perceive them 
 to be. \Tins is Dr. Reid's theory of the external world elevated to 
 the dignity of a first principle.] (6) "We have some degree of 
 power over our actions and the determinations of our will. The 
 origin of ovir idea of power is not easily assigned. Power is not 
 an object of sense or consciousness. We see events as successive, 
 but not the power whereby they are produced. We are conscious 
 of the operations of our minds ; but power is not an operation 
 of mind. It is, however, implied in every act of volition, and in 
 all deliberation and resolution. likewise, when we approve or 
 disapprove, we believe that men have power to do or not to do. 
 (7) The natural faculties, whereby we distinguish truth from 
 error, are not fallacious. (8) Our feUow-men with whom we 
 converse are possessed of life and intelligence. (9) Certain 
 features of the countenance, sounds of the voice, and gestures of 
 the body, indicate certain thoughts and dispositions of mind. 
 The signification of those things we do not learn by experience, 
 but by a kind of natural perception. Children, almost as soon as 
 bom, may be frightened by an angry or threatening tone of 
 voice. (10) There is a certam regard due to human testimony in 
 matters of fact, and even to human authority in ma;tterB of 
 opinion. (11) There are many events depending on the will of 
 man, possessing a self-evident probability, (greater or less, 
 according to circumstances. In men of sound mind, we expect a 
 certain degree of regularity in their conduct. (12) In the phe- 
 nomena of nature, what is to be, will probably be like what has 
 been in similar circumstances. Hume has shown that this prin- 
 ciple is not grounded on reason, and has not the intuitive evidence 
 of mathematical axioms. 
 
 II. — Principles of Necessary Truth. In regard to those, Beid 
 thinks it enough to divide them into classes, and to mention some 
 by way of specimen in each class. 
 
 1. Grammatical Principles. (1) Every adjective in a sentence 
 must belong to some substantive expressed or understood. (2) 
 Every complete sentence must have a verb. 
 
 2. Logical Principles. (1) Any contexture of words, that does 
 not make a proportion, is neither true nor false. (2) Every pro- 
 position is either true or false. (3) No proposition can be both 
 true and false at the same time. (4) Beasoning in a circle proves 
 nothing. (5) Whatever may be truly affirmed of a genus, may be 
 truly affirmed of all its species, and of all the individuals belonging 
 to that species. 
 
 3. The Mathematical Axioms. 
 
 4. The Principles of Taste. Setting aside the tastes acquired 
 by habit and fashion, there is a natural taste, that is partiy 
 animal and partly rational. Rational taste is the pleasure of 
 
ENUMEBATION OF FIRST PKINCIPLES. 65 
 
 contemplating what is conceived as excellent in its Hnd. This 
 taste may be true or false, according as it is founded on true 
 or false judgment. If it may be true or false, it must have first 
 principles. Natural taste is the pleasure or disgust arising from 
 certain objects before we are capable of perceiving any excellence 
 or defect in them. 
 
 5. First Principles in Morals. (1) An xmjust action has more 
 demerit than an ungenerous one, (2) A generous action has 
 more merit than a merely just one. (3) No man ought to be 
 blamed for what it was not in his power to hinder. (4) We 
 ought not to do to others what wa should think unjust or unfair 
 to be done to us in like circumstances. [By endeavouring to maie 
 the golden rule mpre precise, Eeid has converted it into an iden- 
 tical proposition.] 
 
 6. Metaphysical Principles. (1) The qualities that we per- 
 ceive by our senses must have a subject (wmch we call body), and 
 the thoughts we are conscious of must have a subject (whidi we 
 call mind). The distinction between sensible qualities, and the 
 substance to which they belong, is not the invention of philo- 
 sophers, but is found in the structure of aU languages. (2) What- 
 ever begins to exist must have a cause. (3) Design and intelli- 
 gence in the cause maybe inferred with certainty, from marks 
 or signs of them in the effect. 
 
 7. We may refer to some of the necessary truths regarding 
 Matter. (1) All bodies must consist of parts. (2) Two bodies 
 cannot occupy the same place at the same time. (3) The same 
 body cannot be in different places at the same time. (4) A body 
 cannot be moved from one place to another without passing 
 through intermediate space. 
 
 We may add also some of the First Principles connected with the 
 Senses. (1) A certain sensation of touch suggests to the mind 
 the conception of hardness, and creates the beuef of its existence. 
 (2) The notion of extension is suggested by feelings of touch, but 
 is not given us by any sense. (3) It is by instinct we know the 
 part of oxir body affected by particular pains. 
 
 Dttgald Stewart. The chief point wherein Stewart departs 
 from Eeid in the treatment of the Fundamental Laws of Belief 
 (as he prefers to call the dictates of Common Sense), is in regard 
 to Mathematical demonstration. 
 
 1. Mathemat&al Axioms. On this subject Stewart follows 
 Locke in preference to Eeid. Locke observes that, although the 
 axioms are appealed to in proof of particular cases, yet they are 
 only verbal generalizations of what, in particular instances, has 
 been already acknowledged as true. Also many of the maixims 
 are mere verbal propositions, explaining only the meaning of 
 words. Stewart quotes Dr. Campbell to the effect that all axioms 
 in Arithmetic and Geometry are id^tical propositions — ^reducible 
 to the maxim ' whatever is, is.' That one and four make five 
 means that five is the name of one added to four. To this doctrine 
 Stevrart adheres so far as Arithmetic is concerned. In Algebra 
 52 
 
66 APPENDIX — OEIGIN OB' KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 and Arithmetic, ' AH oar invesKgatioiis amovmt to nothing more, 
 than to a comparison of different expressions of the same thing. 
 But the axioms of EucKd are not definitions, they are universal 
 propositions applicable to an infinite variety of instances. Beid 
 said that the axioms are necessary truths ; and so the conclusions 
 drawn from them were necessary. But, as was observed by Locke, 
 it is impossible to deduce from the axioms a single inference. The 
 axioms cannot be compared with the first Principles of Natural 
 Philosophy, such as the laws of motion, from which the subordi- 
 nate truths of that science are derived. The principles of Mathe- 
 matics are, not the axioms, but the definitions. ' Yet although 
 nothing is deduced from the axioms, they are nevertheless im- 
 plied and taken for granted in all our reasonings ; without them, 
 we coxild not advance a step.' [In a note Stewart observes that by 
 the Axioms he does not mean all those prefixed to Euclid, which 
 include the definition of parallel lines. He considers it a reproach 
 to Mathematics that the so-caUed Axiom regarding parallel lines 
 has not been made the subject of demonstration.] 
 
 2. Mathematical Demonstration. Demonstrative evidence, the 
 characteristic of mathematics, has arrested universal attention, but 
 has not been satisfactorily explained. The true account of mathe- 
 matical demonstration seems to be — that it flows from the defini- 
 tions. In other sciences, the propositions we attempt to prove 
 express facts real or supposed ; in mathematics, the propositions 
 assert merely a connexion between certain suppositions and certain 
 consequences. The whole object is to trace the consequences 
 flowing from an assumed hypothesis. In the same manner, we 
 might devise arbitrary defiriitions about moral or political ideas, 
 and deduce from them a science as certain as geometry. The 
 science of mechanics is an actual instance, ' in which, from arbi- 
 trary hypotheses concerning physical laws, the consequences are 
 traced which would follow, if such was really the order of nature.' 
 In the same way, a code of law might consist of rules strictly 
 deduced from certain principles, with much of the method and aU. 
 the certainty of geometry. The reasoning of the mathematician 
 is true only of his hypothetical circle ; if applied to a figure de- 
 scribed on paper, it would fail, because all the radii could not be 
 proved to be exactly equal. The peculiar certainty of mathematics 
 thus rests upon the definitions, which are hypotheses and not des- 
 criptions of facts. 
 
 Stewart considers that the certainty of arithmetic is likewise 
 derived from hypotheses or definitions. That 2 -j- 2^4, and 
 3 + 2 = 5, are definitions analogous to those in Euclid, and 
 forming the material of all the complicated restdts in the science. 
 But he objects to the theory of Leibnitz, that aU mathema- 
 tical truths are identical propositions. The plausibility of this 
 theory arises from the fact, that the geometrical notions of 
 equality and of coincidence are the same; aU the propositions 
 ultimately resting upon an imaginary application of one triangle 
 ^to another. As superimposed figures occupy the same space, it 
 
STEWART — INSTINCTIVE BELIEFS. 67 
 
 ■was easy to Blide into the beKef that identity and equality were 
 convertible terms. Hence it is said, all mathematical propositions 
 are reducible to the form, o = a. But this form does not truly 
 render the meaning of the proposition, 2 + 2=4. 
 
 3. The other Laws of Belief resemble the axioms of Geometry 
 in two respects : 1st, they do not enlarge our knowledge ; and 
 secondly, they are implied or involved in all our reasonings. 
 Stewart advances two objections to the phrase — principles of 
 common sense: it designates, as principles, laws of belief from 
 which no inference can be deduced; and secondly, it refers the 
 origin of these laws to common sense, a phraseology that he 
 considers unfit for the logician, and unwarranted by ordinary 
 usage. 
 
 Stewart defends the alleged instinctive power of interpreting 
 certain expressions of the countenance, certain gestures of the 
 body, and certain tones of the voice. This had been resolved by 
 Priestley into associated experiences : but, for the other opinion, 
 Stewart offers two reasons : (1) Children understand the meaning 
 of smiles and frowns long before they could remark the connexion 
 between a passion and its expression. (2) We are more affected 
 by natural signs than by artificial ones. One is more affected by 
 the facial expression of hatred than by the word hatred. 
 
 Another instiact adduced by Stewart, is what he calls the law 
 of Sympathetic Imitation. This is contrasted with the intentional 
 imitation of a scholar ; it depends ' on the mimical powers con- 
 nected with our hodily frame.' If we see a man laughing or sad, 
 we have a tendency to take on the expression of those states. So 
 yawning is contagious. ' Even when we conceive in solitude the 
 expression of any passion, the effect of the conception is visible in 
 our own appearance.' Also, we imitate instiuotively the tones 
 and accents of our companions. As we advance in years, this 
 propensity to imitation grows weaker. 
 
 SiK W. Hamilton. I. — Common Sense. All reasoning comes at 
 last to principles that cannot be proved, but are the basis of all 
 proof. Such primary facts rest upon consciousness. To what 
 extent, then, is consciousness an infallible authority ? What we 
 are actually conscious of, it is impossible for scepticism to doubt ; 
 but the dicta of consciousness, as evidence of facts beyond their 
 own existence, may without self-contradiction be disputed. Thus, 
 the reality of oirr perceptions of solidity and extension is beyond 
 controversy ; but the reality of an external world, evidenced by 
 these, may be doubted. Common Sense consists of aU the original 
 data of Consciousness. 
 
 'The argument from Common Sense is one strictly philoso- 
 phical and scientific' The decision is not refused to the judgment 
 of philosophers and accorded to the verdict of the vtdgar. The 
 problem of philosophy, and a difficult one, is to discover the 
 elementary feelings or beliefs. This task cannot be taken out of 
 the hands of philosophers. Sometimes the purport of the doctrine 
 of Common Sense has been misunderstood, and it has been 
 
68 APPENDIX — OKIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 regarded as an appeal to ' the undeveloped beliefs of the tmre- 
 flecting many.' Into this error fell Beattie, Oswald, and, in his 
 earlier work, even Beid. But Hamilton alleges that Eeid improves 
 in his subsequent works, and that his treatment of Casuality with 
 reference to the criterion of necessity, shows that he did not con- 
 template any uncritical appeal to Common Sense. 
 
 The criteria of the principles of Common Sense are these : — 
 1. IncaitvprehmsilnMy [an inapt word for expressing that they are 
 fundamental and not to be explained by reference to anything 
 else], 2. BimpUdty [another name for the same fact]. 3. Neces- 
 sity, and Alsotute VniversaUty. 4. Certainty [what is both neces- 
 sary and universal must be certain. Hence in reality the four 
 criteria consist of (1) the defining attribute of the principles, 
 namely, that they are ultimate principles, and (2) the usually 
 assigned attributes — ^Necessity and Universality]. 
 
 Hamilton assigns historically three epochs in the meaning of 
 Keciessity : — (1) In the Aristotelian epoch, it was chiefly, if not 
 exclusively, objective. (2) By Leibnitz, it was considered prim- 
 arily as subjective. (3) By Hamilton himself. Necessity is farther 
 developed into the two forms, positive scoA. negative -DBCossity; the 
 application appears under the next head. 
 
 II. — The Law of the Conditioned^ Necesaty may be the result 
 either of a power f positive J, or of an impotency f negative J of the 
 mind. In Perception, I cannot but think that I, and something 
 different from me, exist. Existence is thus a native cognition, for 
 it is a condition of thinking that all that I am conscious of exists. • 
 Other positive notions are the Logical Principles, the intuitions of 
 Space and Time, &c. But there are negative cognitions the result 
 of an impotence of our faculties. Hence the Law of the Con- 
 ditioned, which is expressed thus : — ' All that is conceivable in 
 thought lies between two extremes, which, as contradictory of 
 each other, cannot both be true, but of which, as mutual contra- 
 dictories, one must.' Thus Space must be bounded or not bounded, 
 but we are unable to conceive either alternative. We cannot con- 
 ceive space as a whole, beyond which there is no further space. 
 Neither can we conceive space as without limits. Let us imagine 
 space never so large, we yet fall infinitely short of infinite space. 
 But finite and infinite space are contradictories; therefore, although 
 we are unable to conceive either alternative, one must be true and 
 the other false! The conception of Time illustrates the same law. 
 Starting from the present, we cannot think past time as bounded, 
 as beginning to be. On the other hand, we cannot conceive time 
 going backwards without end ; eternity is too big for our imagi- 
 nation. Yet time had either a beginning, or it had not. Thus 
 ' the conditioned or the thinkable lies between two extremes or 
 poles ; and these extremes or poles are each of them unconditioned, 
 each of them inconceivable, each of them exclusive or contradic- 
 tory of the other.' 
 
 The chief appUoations of the Law of the Conditioned are to the 
 ^Principles of Causality and Substance. Take first Causality. 
 
hamiltom's law of the conditioned. 69 
 
 Causality is the law of tie Conditioned applied to a thing thought 
 as existing in time. No object can be known unless thought as ex- 
 istent j and in time. Thinkingtheobject, we cannot think it not to 
 exist. This will be- admitted of the present, but possibly denied of 
 the past and future, under the belief that we can think annihilation 
 or creation. But we cannot conceive an atom taken from the sum 
 of existing objects. No more can we conceive creation. For what 
 is creation ? ' It is not the springing of nothing into something. 
 Far from it i — it is conceived, and i& by us conceivable, merely as 
 the evolution of a new form of existence, by the fiat of the Deity.' 
 We are therefore unable to annihilate in thought any object ; we 
 cannot conceive its absolute commencement. Given an object we 
 know that as a phenomenon it began to be, but we must think it 
 as existing previously in its elements. If then the object existed 
 before in a different form, this is only to say that it had causes. 
 Thus the law of the conditioned shows us that every phenomenon 
 must have smne causes, but what those causes are must be learned 
 from experience. Granting his theory of CausaKty, Hamilton, 
 thinks that he is armed with a philosophical defence of the free- 
 dom of the will. He points out the contradictions of his prede- 
 cessors, who held that every change had a cause, but excepted the 
 changes of volition. If our moral consciousness give us &eedom, 
 and our intellectual consciousness give us universal causation, 
 it follows that our faculty of knowledge is self contradictory. 
 By regarding Causality as founded on an impotence of the 
 mind, Hamilton thinks that such a negative judgment cannot 
 prevail against the positive testimony of consciousness, 
 
 HamUton has not applied the law of the Conditioned, with 
 much detail, to the principle of Substance, The problem is— 
 Why must 1 suppose tiiat every known phenomenon is related to 
 an unknown substance ? We cannot think a phenomenon without 
 a substance, nor a substance without a phenomenon. Take an 
 object ; strip it of all its qualities ; and try to- think the residuary 
 substance. It is imthinkable. In, the. same way, try to think a 
 quality as a quality, and nothing more. It is unthinkable, except 
 as a phenomenon of something that does not appear ; as, in short, 
 the accident of a substance. This is the law of Substance and 
 Phenomenon, and is merely an instance of the law of the con- 
 ditioned. 
 
 John Stttaet Mill, Mr. Mill's views on necessary truths 
 are contained in his Logic, Book II,, chaps, 5 — 7. He begins by 
 asking why, if the foundation of all science is Induction, a peculiar 
 certainty is ascribed to the sciences that are almost entirely de- 
 ductive. The character of certainty and necessity attributed to 
 mathematical truths is an illusion ; and depends upon ascribing 
 them to purely imaginary objects. There exist no points without 
 magnitude ; no lines without breadth, nor perfectly straight. In 
 answer to this, it is said that the points and lines exist in our 
 conceptions merely ; but the ideal lines and figures are copies of 
 actual lines and figures. Now a point is the minimum visibk. A 
 
70 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGB. 
 
 feometrical line is inconceivable, Mr. Mill agrees witli Dugald 
 tewart in. regarding geometry as built upon hypotheses. The 
 definitions of geometry are generalizations, obviously easy, of the 
 properties of lines and fig^es. The conclusions of geometry are 
 necessary, only as implicated in the suppositions from which they 
 are evolved. The suppositions themselves merely approximate 
 (though practically with sufficient accuracy) to the actual truth. 
 That axioms as well as definitions must be admitted among the 
 first principles, has been shewn by Whewell in his polemic against 
 Stewart, Two axioms must be postulated: that two straight 
 lines cannot inclose a space, and some property of parallel lines 
 not involved in their definition. Eegarding the foundation of the 
 axioms, two views are held ; one that they are experimental truths 
 resting on observation; the other that they are a ^jori truths. 
 The chief arguments in support of the a priori theory are the 
 following : — 
 
 I.- — In the first place, if our belief that two straight lines cannot 
 enclose a space, were derived from the senses, we could know the 
 truth of the proposition only by seeing or feeling the straight 
 lines ; whereas it is seen to be true by merely thinfing of them. 
 By simply thinking of a stone thrown into the water, we could 
 not conclude that it would go to the bottom. On the contrary, if 
 I could be made to conceive a straight line without having seen 
 one, I should at once know that two such lines cannot enclose a 
 space. Moreover, the senses cannot assure us that, if two straight 
 Imes were prolonged to infinity, they would continue for ever to 
 diverge. 
 
 The answer to these arguments is found in the capacity of 
 geometrical forms for being painted in the imagination with a dis- 
 tinctness equal to reality. This enables us to make mental pic- 
 tures of all combinations of lines and angles so closely resembling 
 the realities, as to be as fit subjects of geometrical experimenta- 
 tion as the realities themselves. If, then, by mere thinking we 
 satisfy ourselves of the truth of an axiom, it is because we know 
 that the imaginary lines perfectly represent the real ones, and 
 that we may conclude from them to real ones, as we may from 
 one real line to another. Thus, although we cannot follow two 
 diverging lines by the eye to infinity, yet we know that, if they 
 begin to converge, it must be at a finite distance ; thither we can 
 follow them in imagination, and satisfy ourselves that if the lines 
 begin to approach, they will not be straight, but curved. 
 
 II. — The second argument is, that the axioms are conceived as 
 universally and necessarily true. Experience cannot give to any 
 proposition the ch aracter of necessity. The meaning of a necessary 
 tmth, as explained by Dr. Whewell, is a proposition the negation 
 of which is not only false but inconceivable. The test of a neces- 
 sary truth is the inconoeivableness of the counter proposition. 
 The power of conceiving depends very much on our constant 
 experience, and familiar habits of thought. When two things 
 have often been seen and thought of together, and never in any 
 
THE AXIOMS OF MATHEMATICS. 71 
 
 instance seen or thought of separately, there is an increasing 
 difficulty (which may in the end become insuperable) of conceiving 
 the two things apart. Thus, the existence of antipodes was denied, 
 because men could not conceive gravity acting upwards as well 
 as downwards. The Cartesians rejected the law of gravitation, 
 because they could not conceive a body acting where it was not. 
 The inconceivability will be strongest where the experience is 
 oldest and most familiar, and where nothing ever occurs to shake 
 our conviction, or even to suggest an exception. It is thus, from, 
 the effect of constant association, that we are unable to conceive 
 the reverse of the axioms. We have not even an analogy to help 
 us to conceive two straight lines enclosing a space. Nay, when 
 we imagine two straight lines, in order to conceive them enclosing 
 a space, we repeat the very experiment that establishes the con- 
 trary. For it has been shown that imaginary lines serve as well 
 for proving geometrical truths as lines in actual objects. 
 
 Dr. WheweU has illustrated in his own person the tendency 
 of habitual association to make an experimental truth appear 
 necessary. He continually asserts that propositions, known to 
 have been discovered by genius and labour, appear, when once 
 established, so self-evident, that, but for historical proof, we 
 should believe that they would be recognized as necessarily true. 
 He says, that the first law of motion might have been known to 
 be true independently of experience, and that, at some future 
 time, chemists may possibly come to see that the law of chemical 
 combination in definite proportions is a necessary truth. 
 
 The logical hasis of Arithmetic and Algebra. In Chapter VI., 
 Mr. Mill examines the nature of arithmetic and algebra. The 
 first theory that he examines is founded upon extreme Nominalism. 
 It asserts that all the propositions in arithmetic are merely verbal, 
 and that its processes are but the ringing of changes on a few 
 expressions. But how, if the processes of arithmetic are mere 
 substitutions of one expression of fact for another, does the fact 
 itself come out changed ? It is no doubt the peculiarity of arith- 
 metic and algebra that they are the crowning example of symboli- 
 cal thinking — that is, reasoning by signs, without carrying along 
 with us the ideas represented by the signs. Algebra represents 
 all numbers without distinction, investigating their modes of 
 combination. Bince, then, algebra is true, not merely of lines 
 and angles like geometry, but of aU things in nature, it is no 
 wonder that the symbols should not excite in our minds ideas of 
 any particular thing. 
 
 Mr. Mill denies that the definitions of the several numbers 
 express only the meaning of words ; like the so-oaUed definitions 
 of Geometry, they likewise involve an observed matter of fact. 
 
 Arithmetic is based upon inductions, and these are of two 
 kinds : first, the definitions (improperly so called) of the numbers, 
 and, secondly, the axioms — ^The sums of equals are equal; The differ- 
 ences of equals are equal. The inductions are strictly true of aU 
 objects, although a hypothetical element may be involved ; the unit 
 
72 APPENDIX— OKIGIN OF KNOWLEBGE. 
 
 of the nnmbeis must be the same or equal. One pound added to 
 one pound will not make two pounds, if one pound be troy and the 
 other avoirdupois. Mathematical certainty is certainty of infer- 
 ence or implication. Conclusions are true hypotheticaUy ; how 
 far the hypothesis is true is left for separate consideration. It is 
 of course practicable to arrive at new conclusions from assumed 
 facts, as well as from observed facts ; Descartes' theory of vortices 
 being a pertinent example. 
 
 Critioism, of Spencer's Theory. Mr. Spencer agrees with Mr. 
 Mill in regarding the axioms as ' simply our earliest inductions 
 from experience,' but he holds that inconoeivableness is the ulti- 
 mate test of all belief. And for two reasons. A belief held by 
 all persons at all times ought to rank as a primitive truth. 
 Secondly, the test of universal or invariable belief, is our inability' 
 to conceive the alleged truth as false. I believe that I feel cold, 
 because I cannot conceive that I am not. So far Mr. Spencer 
 agrees with the intuitive schodi, but he differs from that school in^ 
 holding the fallibility of the test of inconoeivableness. It is itself 
 an infallible test, but is liable to erroneous application ; and occa- 
 sional failure is incident to all tests. Mr. Spencer's doctrine, 
 therefore, does not erect the curable, but only the incurable 
 limitations of the conceptive faculty into laws of the outward 
 universe. 
 
 Mr. Spencer's arguments for the test of inconoeivableness are 
 two in number. (I) Every invariable belief represents the aggre- 
 gate of all past experience. The inconoeivableness of a thing 
 implies that it is whoUy at variance with all that is inscribed on 
 the register of human experience. Mr. Mill answers, even if this 
 test of inconceivableness represents our experience, why resort to 
 it when we can go at once to experience itself ? ITnif ormity of 
 experience is itself far from being universally a criterion of truth ; 
 and inconceivableness is stiU farther from being a test of unifor- 
 mity of experience. (2) Whether inconceivabUity be good evidence 
 or bad, no stronger evidence is to be obtained. In Mr. Spencer's 
 use of the word ' inconceivable,' there is an ambiguity whence 
 has been derived much of the plausibility of his argument. Incon- 
 ceivableness may signify inability to get rid of an idea, or inability 
 to get rid of a belief. It was in the second sense, not in the first, 
 that antipodes were inconceivable. It is in the first sense that we 
 caimot conceive an end to space. In Mr. Spencer's argument^ 
 inconceivable really means unbelievable. ' When Mr. Spencer says 
 that while looking at the sun a man cannot conceive that he is 
 looking into darkness, he means a man caimot believe that he is 
 doing so.' Now, many have disbelieved the externality of matter, 
 even although they may have been unable to imagine tangible 
 objects as mere states of consciousness. One may be unable to 
 get rid of the idea of externality, and nevertheless regard it as an 
 illusion. Thus we believe that the earth moves, and not the sun, 
 although we constantly conceive the sun as rising and setting, and 
 the earth as motionless. Whether then we mean by inconceivable- 
 
MAHSEL OK THE AXIOMS. 73 
 
 ness,_ inabUity to get rid of an idea or inability to get rid of 
 a belief, Mir. Spencer's argument fails to be eon-raicing. 
 
 Henbt L. Mansel. Mr. Mansel has examined the subject of 
 Intuition in his Prolegomena Logica, Chap, III, — ^VI., and in his 
 Metaphysics. He takes up four Unds of necessity : mathematical, 
 metaphysical, logical, and moral. He, to a great degree, follows 
 Kant and Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 1. — Mathematicaii Necessity. Mr. Mansel adopts the cri- 
 terion of Necessity, enounced by Leibnitz. Whatever truths we 
 must admit as everywhere and always necessary, must arise, not 
 from observation, but from the constitution of the mind. Attempts 
 have indeed been made to explain this necessity by a constant 
 association of ideaSj but associations however frequent and xmi- 
 form, fail to produce a higher conviction than one of mere 
 physical necessity. 
 
 1. The Axioms of Geometry. The axioms of Geometry contain 
 both analytical and synthetical judgments, (the distinction corre- 
 sponding to Mill's verbal and real propositions).* 
 
 It is upon the synthetical judgments that the dispute turns. 
 Are those axioms a priori, or derived from experience ? Mr. Mansel 
 says that Mr. Mill's argument contradicts the direct evidence of 
 consciousness, and, however powerful as an argumerdum ad Twminem 
 against Dr. Whewell, fails to meet the real question at issue. 
 ' "What is required is to account, not for the necessity of geome- 
 trical axioms as inti^s relating to objects without the mind, but as 
 thoughts relating to objects within.' ' Why must I invest ima- 
 ginary objects with attributes not contained in the definition of 
 them ? I can imagine the sun remaining continually fixed in the 
 meridian, or a stone sinking 99 times and floating the 100th ; and 
 yet my experience of the contrary is as invariable as my experience 
 of the geometrical properties of bodies.' Why then do we attri- 
 bute a higher necessity to the axioms of Geom.etry ? The answer 
 is taken direct from Kant. It is because space is itself an d priori 
 notion, not derived from without, but part of the original furniture 
 of the mind. The author here draws a distinction between the part 
 played by imagination in empirical and in necessary judgments. 
 In empirical judgments, its value depends upon the fidelity of 
 its adherency to the original. Geometric^ truths, on the 
 other hand, are absolutely true of the objects of imagination, but 
 only nearly true of real objects. The reason is, that the truths 
 of physical science depend on experience alone, but geometry 
 relates to the figures of that a priori space, which is the indis- 
 pensable condition of all experience. 
 
 2. Arithmetic. Arithmetic is richly, as geometry is scantily, 
 
 * Analytical judgments are : ' The whole is greater than its part , ' 
 ' If equals be added to equals, the sums are equal ; ' ' Things that are 
 equal to the same are equal to each other.' Synthetical judgments 
 are : ' A straight line is the shortest distance between two points ; ' ' Two 
 straight lines which, being met by a third, make the interior angles less 
 than two right angles, will meet, if produced,' 
 
74 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OP KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 I 
 
 supplied witli a priori principles. ' It is not by reasoning we 
 learn that two and two make four, nor from this proposition can 
 we in any way deduce that four and two make six.' We must 
 have recourse in each separate case to the senses or the imagina- 
 tion, and, by presenting to the one or to the other a number of 
 individual objects corresponding to each term separately, envisage 
 the resulting sum.* 
 
 No number is capable of definition. Six cannot be defined as 
 5 + 1. In this view of Arithmetic, Mansel remarks that he differs 
 from Leibnitz, Hegel, and Mill. [It is not proper to put Mill 
 along with Leibnitz in this connexion.] 
 
 II. — Metaphtsioai, Necessity. Metaphysics, as well as 
 Mathematics, has been regarded as possessed of Synthetical judg- 
 ments. Two are selected for examination, the Principles of 
 Substance and Causality. 
 
 1. The Principle of Substance is that all objects of perception are 
 qualities that exist in some subject to which they belong. Eeid said 
 a ball has colour and figure, but it is not colour and figure; it is 
 something that has colour and figure, — ^it is a substance. Berkeley 
 thought it more consonant even with common sense to rej eot this im- 
 perceptible support of perceived attributes. Hume observed that, 
 as we are conscious of nothing but impressions and ideas, we may 
 as well throw away the barren figment of Mind. In opposition to 
 this, Eeid appealed to the Principle of Substance as a dictate of com- 
 mon sense. But are we conscious of substance ? Eeid and Stewart 
 have again and again conceded that we are not ; they have conse- 
 quently abandoned the only position from which a successful attack 
 could be made on either Berkeley or Hume. Mr. Mansel therefore, 
 after Maine de Biran, affirms that we are immediately conscious of 
 Self a,s substance. The one intuited substance is myself, in the form 
 of a power conscious of itself. The notion of substance, thus 
 derived, may be applied to other conscious beings, but not farther. 
 In regard to physical phenomena, we have no positive notion of 
 substance other than the phenomena themselves. Mr. Mansel is 
 thus unable to prove substance against Berkeley, but he nevertheless 
 complains that Berkeley denied, instead of merely doubting, the 
 existence of matter. In conclusion, it is not a necessary truth that 
 all sensible qualities belong to a subject. ' Nor is it correct to 
 call it a fundamental law of human belief ; if by that expression is 
 meant anything more than an assertion of the universal tendency 
 of men to liken other things to themselves, and to speak of them 
 under forms of expression adapted to such likeness, far beyond the 
 point where the parallel fails.' 
 
 * In a note, Mr. Mansel adds, ' The real point at issue is not whether 
 4 and 2 4; 2 are at bottom identical — so that both ieittg given, an analysis 
 of each will ultimately show their correspondence ; but whether the for- 
 mer notion, definition and all, is contained in the latter. In other words, 
 whether a man who has never learned to count beyond two, could obtain 
 3, 4, 5, and all higher numbers, by mere dissection of the numbers whioii 
 he possesses already.' 
 
CAUSALITT. 75 
 
 2. The Principle of CauBaUiy. — ^Whatever begins to exist must 
 take place in consequence of some cause. Hume and Brown regard 
 cause as mere invariable sequence. This theory of causation con- 
 founds two facts. That every event must have some antecedent or 
 other, is one thing ; that this particular event must have this par- 
 ticular antecedent, is a very different thing. The uniformity of 
 nature is only a law of things, an observed fact, the contradictory 
 of which is at any time conceivable. This portion of the principle 
 of causation is not a necessary truth. But that every event must 
 have some antecedent or other is a necessary truth. For we must 
 think every event as occurring in time, and therefore as related to 
 some antecedent in time. Thus far Mr. Mansel adopts the theory 
 of Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 The analysis that resolves causation into mere temporal antece- 
 dents is, however, imperfect. To complete the notion of cause, we 
 must add the idea oi productive power. Eeid was unable to meet 
 Hume's theory of causation, as he was unable to meet his theory of 
 substance, and in both cases for the same reason. He denied a con- 
 sciousness of mind as distinguished from its states and operations. 
 Hume showed that volition had no power to move a limb, for 
 paralysis might supervene, and the supposed power of volition 
 would be destroyed. Mr. Mansel seeks for an intuition of power. 
 ' The intuition of Power is not immediately given in the action of 
 matter upon matter ; nor yet can it be given in the action of 
 matter upon mind, nor in that of mind upon matter ; for to this 
 day we are utterly ignorant how matter and mind operate upon 
 each other.' Where, then, is such an intuition to be fovmd ? In 
 mind as determining its own modifications. ' In every act of voli- 
 tion, I am fully conscious that it is in my power to foiau the reso- 
 lution or to abstain ; and this constitutes the presentative con- 
 sciousness of free will and of power.' The idea of power is thus 
 a relation between ourselves and our volitions (not our move- 
 ments). Can any similar relation exist between the heat of fire 
 and the melting of wax ? It cannot be said that there is ; and 
 thus Causality, as applied to matter, is a negative notion. The 
 only positive meaning of cause is either some antecedent or an 
 invariable antecedent. Mr. Mansel (in this respect following 
 Hamilton) draws attention to the fact that by breaking through 
 the objective necessity of Causality, a door is opened for the ad- 
 mission of free-will. 
 
 III. — LoGicAii Necessity consists of the three laws of thought, 
 the well-known principles of Identity, Contradiction, and Ex- 
 cluded Middle. The discussion of those laws, however, falls more 
 within the province of logic. 
 
 rV'. — MoEAi Necessity. Moral judgments are necessary, as, 
 e.g., ingratitude and treachery must at all times be worthy of con- 
 demnation. (For the theory of duty, see Ethical Systems, 
 Mansel.) 
 
76 APPENDIX — HAPPINESS. 
 
 C. — On Happiness. 
 
 The tdghest application of the facts and laws of the mind is to 
 Human Happiness, The doctrines relative to the Feelings have 
 the most direct bearing on this end. It may be useful to resume 
 briefly the various considerations bearing upon Happiness, and to 
 compare them with the maxims that have grown up in the ex- 
 perience of mankind. We shall thus also supply an indispensable 
 chapter of Bthics. 
 
 Happiness being defined the surplus of pleasure over pain, its 
 pursuit must lie in accumulating things agreeable, and in warding 
 off the opposites. The susceptibilities of the mind to enjoyment 
 should be gratified to the utmost, and the susceptibilities, to suffer- 
 ing should be spared to the utmost^ It is impossible to contest 
 this general conclusion, without altering the signification of the 
 word. Sim, the practical carrying out of the maxim, under all 
 the complications of the human system, bodily and mentsJ, de- 
 mands many adjustments and reservations. 
 
 If the enumeration of Muscular Feelings', Sensations, and 
 Bmotions be complete, it contains all our pleasures and pains. It 
 is unnecessary to repeat the list in detail. On the side of Flxa- 
 siraE, we have, as leading elements r — ^Muscular Exercise, Best 
 after exercise; Healthy Organic Sensibility in general, and 
 Alimentary Sensations in pa^oular ; Sweet Tastes and Odours ; 
 Soft and Warm Touches ; Melody and Harmony in Sound ; Cheer- 
 ful Light and Coloured Spectacle; the Sexual feelings; liberty 
 after constrednt ; Novelty and Wonder ; the warm Tender Emo- 
 tions ; Sexual, Maternal and Paternal Love, Fiiendship, Admira- 
 tion, E^em, and Sociability in general; Self-complacency and 
 Praise; Power, Influence, Command; Eevenge; the Interest of 
 Plot and Pursuit; the charms of Knowledge and Intellectual 
 exertion; the cycle of the Fine Arts, culminating in Music, 
 Painting, and Poetry, with which we couple the enjoyment of 
 Natural Beauty; the satisfaction attainable through Sympathy 
 and the Moral Saitiment. In such an array, we seem to have all, 
 or nearly all, the ultimate gratifications of human nature. They 
 may spread themselves by association on allied objects, aaad 
 especially on the means or instrvunentality for procuring them, as 
 Health, Wealth, Knowledge, Power, Dignified Position, Virtue, 
 Society, Country, Life. 
 
 The Pains are mostly implied in the negation of the pleasures. 
 Muscular fatigue, Organic derangements and diseases, Cold, 
 Hunger, ill Tastes and Odours ; Skin lacerations ; Discords in 
 Sound; Darkness, Gloom, and excessive glare of Light; ungratified 
 Sexual Appetite; Eestraiut after Freedom; Monotony; Fear in 
 all its_ manifestations ; privation in the Affections, Sorrow ; Self- 
 humiliation and Shame ; Impotence and Servitude ; disappointed 
 Eevenge; baulked Pursuit or Plot; Intellectusj; Contradictions 
 
THE ELEMENTAKT PLEASURES AND PAINS. 7Y 
 
 and Obscurity; the ^sthetically Ugly; Harrowed Sympathies ; 
 an evil Conscience. 
 
 As summed up in groups or aggregates, we have the pains or 
 evils of 111 Health, Poverty, Toil, Ignorance, Meanness and 
 Impotence, Isolation, and general Obstruction, Death. 
 
 liooking at human nature on the ■tvhole, we may single out as 
 pleasures of the first order, Maternal love. Sexual love. Paternal 
 love, Friendship, Complacency and Approbation, Power and 
 liberty newly achieved. Relishes, Stimulants, Warmth after 
 dullness, and the higher delights of the ordinary Senses. In the 
 absence of any considerable pains, a small selection of these gra- 
 tifications, regularly supplied, woiild make up a joyful existence. 
 
 There are various practically important distinctions among our 
 pleasures. In the fcst place, a certain number are primary 
 susceptibilities of the human constitution; as the organic plea- 
 sures, the simpler gratifications of the five senses, the appetite of 
 sex, and the elementary emotions. Others are cultivated or 
 acquired, or are incidental to a high mental cultivation ; as the 
 higher susceptibilities to Fine Art, the affections and tender 
 associations, the pleasures of knowledge. While cultivation may 
 thus enlarge the sphere of pleasure, it necessarily creates new 
 susceptibilities to pain ; the absence or negation of those qualities 
 rendered artificially agreeable must needs be painful. 
 
 Another distinction of importance is between the pleasures 
 that appear as appetite, and those that are desired only in con- 
 sequence of gratification. The natural appetites are well known ; 
 to refuse the objects of these is to inflict suffering. Other plea- 
 sures, if unstimulated, are unf elt : the rustic, inexperienced in the 
 excitement of cities, has no painful longings for their pleasures ; 
 not through the want of susceptibility, but from there being no 
 craving for such things prior to actual tasting. Human beings 
 cannot be contented without the gratification of natural appetites ; 
 as to the privation of other pleasures, mere ignorance is bliss. 
 
 While it is a property of pleasure generally to prompt to effort 
 and to desire without limit, there are certain circumstances that 
 neutralize this tendency. One of these is the occurrence of pain 
 at a certain stage, as when appetite palls by exhausted irritability. 
 Another mode of quenching the insatiability of the pleasiurable is 
 found in the soothing tendency of the massive pleasures ; a gentie 
 and diffiised stimulus is quieting and soporific. These constitute 
 an important exception to the law of pleasure, and give birth 
 to our serene and satisfying enjoyments, as warmth, affection, and 
 the forms of beauty suggestive of repose. But Fine Art also eon- 
 tains, and glories in, ways of stimulating unbounded desire, under 
 the name of the Ideal. 
 
 A farther mode of dassifying pleasru-es is into — (1) those that 
 are productive of pleasure to others, as the sympathies and bene- 
 volent affections, and all the pleasurable associations with virtuous 
 conduct ; (2) the gratifications that all may share in, as most of 
 the Fine Art pleasures ; (3) those that are in their nature attain- 
 
78 APPENDIX — HAPPINESS, 
 
 able by aU, but are consumed by the user, as maay material 
 agencies — food, space, house furmture, and, with a certain quali- 
 fication, loye, which, in the actual, is Umited in quantity; (4) 
 pleasures where a single person is gratified at the expense of others, 
 as in power, dignity, and fame. The one extreme is identified 
 with the harmony and mutual sympathy of human beings, the 
 other with rivalry and mutual hostility. 
 
 The leading circumstance of Happiness — the accumulation of 
 whatever can yield pleasi^e and remove pain — ^is qualified, in' the 
 first place, by the Law of Eelativitt, as formerly explained. The 
 operation of this law has a number of pregnant consequences, 
 more or less taken into account in men's practice. 
 
 1. Absolute and entire Novelty of Sensation is necessary to 
 the highest zest of any pleasure. A newly attained delight — a 
 mother's first child, a first love, is beyond what can ever be rea- 
 lized again. 
 
 2. Every pleasure must be remitted in order to maintain its 
 efficacy. Only for a certain limited time can the thrill of any 
 dehght be maintained ; the stimulus then requires to be with- 
 drawn for a period corresponding to the intensity of the efiect. 
 
 3. In order to maintain a considerable flow of -delight, each 
 person must possess a variety of sources of pleasure ; and the 
 more that these differ in kind, or the more cbmplete the alterna- 
 tion, the greater the happiness. It is hopeless to attain much 
 enjoyment by playing upon any single string, however acute m.ay 
 be its thriU. 
 
 4. The reaction from pain is a source of great delight ; as in 
 restoration to health, the dispersing of a deep gloom or melan- 
 choly, the recovery from panic, the quenching of a long-repressed 
 appetite. It is not true, however, that all pleasure demands to be 
 preceded by pain ; mere remission is enough to dispose us for the 
 gratifications of food, exercise, music, or society. The distinction 
 between the two kinds of pleasures is an important one ; the last 
 are our best and purest delights, although the first may by virtue 
 of previous suffering be very intense. 
 
 5. Alternation is of great avail in lightening the pains of toil. 
 When exhausted by one kind of work, we may yet be capable ol 
 some other, until such time as the system generally is worn out. 
 The change, however, must be real : as in passing from mental 
 work to bodily exertion; from reflection to expression; from 
 abstract speculation to business ; from science to fine art ; from 
 isolated action to co-operation with others. 
 
 6. The same emotion may be prolonged in its resonance by 
 mere change of subject. The elation of the sublime is renewed 
 in passing from one vast prospect to another, as in journeying 
 through Alpine scenery. 
 
 7. The extension of our Happiness depends upon the acquiring 
 of tastes, or susceptibUities of delight, in addition to what we 
 have by nature. This will be again ^uded to among the bearings 
 of education on happiness. 
 
HKALTH. 79 
 
 The relations of Happiness to Health are of great importance, 
 but somewhat complicated in the statement. 
 
 Health must be defined as not simply the absence of physical 
 pain, or derangement, but also a certain amount of -vigour both 
 for action and for sensibility. The healthy condition is not in 
 itself a pleasure, except in the moments of recovery from illness, 
 or of invigoration after depression. 
 
 It is manifestly essential that each one should have vigour 
 sufficient to bear up against all unavoidable labours and burdens ; 
 without this, life must be a perpetual sense of oppression. 
 
 There is a still closer connexion between health and happiness, 
 in the fact that certain physical functions of the nerves, and of 
 some other special organs, are expressly allied to our sensibility. 
 The human system has many sides, and many functions ; and of 
 the mental manifestations, there are three distinct departments, 
 corresponding to the divisions of the mind. Now, happiness is 
 not the immediate result of either Volition or Intelligence, but of 
 Feeling, or the Emotional side of our being. A natural endow- 
 ment for emotion, and great vigour and freshness in the organs 
 concerned in emotion, — partly the Brain, and partly the Digestion, 
 and the Secreting processes formerly shown to be related to 
 feeling — ^make the physical basis of susceptibility to pleasure; 
 hence the conservation of aU these functions is the kind of health 
 that directly bears on happiness. 
 
 It is well known that there are great differences in diseases, 
 as respects their influence on the tone of enjoyment. Certain 
 forms of nervous derangement, indigestion in most of its varieties, 
 enfeebled circulation, are immediate sources of mental depression ; 
 on the other hand, the brain may be far on the road to paralysis, 
 the heart may be in a state of degeneration, the lungs may be form- 
 ing tubercles, the kidney affected with a mortal disease, while as 
 yet but little diminution has taken place in the aptitude for enjoy- 
 ment. In the one class of ailments, happiness is impaired almost 
 from the first ; ia the other, the loss appears in shortened life. In 
 the first case, there is a self -correcting reminder ; in the second, a 
 fatal sense of security, which as yet mankind have never learned 
 to surmount by an effort of the reason. 
 
 As a general rule, hardly any employment of one's means and 
 resources is so advantageous as the maintenance of a high state of 
 vigour, both in the body in general, and in the organs of emotional 
 sensibility in particular. Better to surrender many objects of 
 pleasure, than to impair the organs of pleasure ; few stimulants 
 in a highly conditioned system are preferable to a greater number 
 in an exhausted state of the sensibUity. The rule may not be 
 without exceptions ; a less degree of health, coupled with one's 
 supreme gratification, is more desirable than the very highest 
 degree without'that. One may be happier in the town, although 
 healthier in the country. But, on the whole, the tendency is to 
 undervalue the element of physical freshness in our pursuits, not 
 to see that the loss of physical tone, consequent on the excess of 
 
80 APPENDIX — HAPPINESS. 
 
 toil, is a cMe{ cause of our disappointment in attaining the objects 
 of our toil. The man that has made his fortune, and sacrificed 
 his zest for enjoyment, is an unsuccessful man. 
 
 The problem of health necessarily involves all the specidl pre- 
 cautions against the known injuries and ailments. It involves 
 the stQl more comprehensive purpose expressed genersdly by the 
 proportioning of Expenditure to means of Support ; — that is to 
 say, the limitation of exhausting agencies — labour, irregularities, 
 excesses; and the husbanding of sustaining and renovating 
 agencies — ^nutrition, air, regimen, and all the hygienic resources. 
 It is farther desirable that the economical adjustment of waste 
 and supply should be commenced froUi our earliest years, and hot, 
 as usually happens, after a conscious reduction of vigour has 
 roused the incUvidual to a sense of imminent danger. There is a 
 known proportion of labour, rest, nourishment, and exciting plea- 
 sure, suited to the average constitution, and compatible with the 
 full duration of life ; on this each one is safe to proceed at the 
 outset, imtil the specialities of constitution are known. Any one 
 presuming by virtue of youthful vigour and the absence of imme- 
 diate bad consequences, to abridge the usual allowance of food, of 
 sleep, of rest, of bodily exercise, and not at the same time owning 
 any counterbalancing sources of renovation, is perilling life or 
 
 The special bearings of Activity and Occupation on Hap- 
 piness, have been almost exhausted under the emotion of Plot- 
 interest and Pursuit, Irrespective of the necessity of productive 
 labour or industry, a great deal is constantly said respecting occu- 
 pation as such, with a view to happiness. Some of our pleasures are 
 pleasures of Activity, as bodily and mental exercise in the fresh 
 condition of the system, and the putting forth of special energies 
 and endowments; these are enhanced either by yielding valu- 
 able products, or by gratifying the pride of superiority to others. 
 But the all-important feature of occupation is tiie aneesthetic ten- 
 dency of pursuit, already dwelt upon. Whatever may be the num- 
 ber or variety of our paesive enjoyments, we cannot fill the day with 
 these ; the greatest compass of emotional susceptibility would be 
 exhausted by a succession of pleasurable stimulants, with unin- 
 terrupted seU-consciousness. The alternation of the object-regards 
 with the subject-states is indispensable to avoiding the ennui of 
 too much conscious excitement ; and this is most readily supplied 
 in the engrossment of pursuit. By spending the larger part of 
 the day in the indifferentism of a routine occupation, we are pre- 
 pared, during the remainder, to burst out into flashes of keen self ■ 
 consciousness. The fewer our pleasures, the more needful for us 
 to have a deadening occupation to fill the time, to banish self- 
 consciousness when it could only be painful. 
 
 The_ explanation of the use of Activity to happiness implies the 
 limitation. If the susceptibility to pleasure — ^tiie emotional tem- 
 perament — ^be highly developed, and the sources of pleasure 
 numerous and une:diausting, the portion of life deadened by 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 81 
 
 occupation and pursuit may be proportionally contracted, to give 
 scope to the wakened sensibilities — the full consciousness of enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Happiness is materially affected by Kno'Wiedgb, or an 
 acqpiaintanoe with the course of nature and of humanity. The 
 characteristic of knowledge is accuracy, certainty, precision ; its 
 highest form is expressed by Science. 
 
 That a knowledge of the order of nature is requisite, for 
 extracting the good, and neutralizing the evil, agencies, is plain 
 enough. But the wide compass of the knowable cannot be over- 
 taken by one mind ; there is a division of labour ; each department 
 having its experts, relied on by the rest of the community. What 
 kind and amount of knowledge it is advisable for aU to possess, 
 with a view to happiness, may not be easily agreed upon. The 
 following considerations are offered on this point. 
 
 1. The acquisition of knowledge in any considerable amount, 
 or to any great degree of precision, is toilsome, costly, and un- 
 palatable to the mass of mankind; so that to dispense with it 
 makes a clear gain, provided the want is fraught with no serious 
 results. By favourable accidents of situation — such as a lot with 
 few comphcations and risks, a ready access to skilled advisers, an 
 aptitude for enduring the commoner hazards, a surplus of worldly 
 means to remedy blunders, and general good fortune, — a small 
 amount of acquired knowledge may answer all the ends of life. 
 Ignorance implies large dependence on others, and on the accidents 
 of things ; and, according to circumstances, is blissful or tragic in 
 its issues. 
 
 2. On the supposition that one is willing to pay the cost of 
 acquisition, for the greater command and certainty- of the means 
 of happiness, the subjects directly applicable to the end appear to 
 be these. In the first place, there should be a familiarity with 
 our Bodily Constitution ; a knowledge still more requisite when 
 as parents, guardians, teachers, we have the control of the Uves 
 of others. In the next place, the elements of Physical and 
 Chemical science, besides their direct bearing on the physiology 
 of the human frame, have many collateral applications in every- 
 day life, as in matters relating to cleanliness, warmth, clothing, 
 purity of the air, cookery, &c. In the third place, some know- 
 ledge of the Mind, whether attained by observation, by theory, 
 or by both conjoined, is of value in appreciating character and 
 dispositions, and in the guidance and management of those about 
 us. Fourthly, knowledge of the course of Affairs in the world 
 generally, arrived at by observation and by historical and political 
 studies, is essential to the guidance of our footstepain the society we 
 live in. Fifthly, whatever studies lead to an accurate estimate of 
 Evidence, are of the highest import; their appUcation. extending 
 much beyond our own happiness. A large number of our de- 
 cisions must be made upon evidence that is only Probable ; and 
 to find out where the preponderance lies, needs either practical or 
 scientific training. The aptitude for jiidging according to the 
 
 53 
 
82 APPENDIX — HAPPINESS. 
 
 reasons of things, if it were more widely possessed, would be seen 
 to ramify in endless ameliorations of the lot of humanity. Besides 
 the success that would attend expectations so based, it is in the 
 nature of such reasonings to command agreement among different 
 minds, and thereby conduce to harmonious co-operation, where 
 at present the rule is distraction and discord. 
 
 The poetical and romantic pictures, cherished for the sate of 
 our aspirations and ideals, are directly opposed to the conditions 
 of the knowledge now depicted, and add to our difficulties, both 
 in attaining it, and in putting it in practice. Tet, as these 
 ideals, although they should be moderately indulged in, cannot 
 be expelled from human Ufe, it is a point of some moment, to 
 know what is their exact bias, and to make allowance for that, 
 when we have to quit fancy for the domain of fact. Now, the 
 exaggerating tendencies of artistic embellishment, to be guarded 
 against, relate mainly to the possibilities of happiness ; giving an 
 overstrained account of what human nature can do, and can 
 enjoy. The romancist nnifonnly oversteps the limitations of the 
 human faculties, and throws oat lures to make us attempt too 
 much ; an exact knowledge of the physical and the mental laws, 
 and of that crowning aspect of them, the general law called 
 Correlation or Persistence of Force, is the best counteractive. 
 
 3. In knowledge of the kind now specified, lies the means of 
 conquering the happiness-destroyer. Fear. For the sake of this 
 great victory, Epicurus thought the sacrifice of religion not too 
 much. No other source of courage is comparable to knowledge ; 
 it teaches what fears are baseless, vrithout sapping the wise pre- 
 cautions against evil. 
 
 4. "When the attainment of such knowledge as is now speci- 
 fied, is a special liking or individual taste, the concurrence is one 
 fortunate for happiness to self, and a power of good for all around. 
 Each highly-cultivated intelligence, combining exactness with 
 extent of acquirement, is a luminous body thrown out on the dark 
 ways of human Ufe. 
 
 The bearings upon Happiness, of Education or Training, in 
 its widest compass, are next to be noted, the special department 
 of high intellectual culture having been now sufficiently ad- 
 verted oO. 
 
 1. Whatever training and instructions can do to fit ub for our 
 necessary avocations and labours, adds to our happiness. The 
 pains of labour are alleviated by a good early training to the work. 
 The horseman that has been habituated to the saddle from 
 childhood, is not only more efficient, but more at esise than the 
 late learner. Pitt's Gaining in oratory under his father, contri- 
 buted alike to his greatness, and to his enjoyment of the exercise 
 of speaking. 
 
 S2. A training to inevitable restraints, if commenced from early 
 years, and sustained without intermission, triumphs over all uneasi- 
 ness. Such is the submission of the soldier bom in the army, 
 and the habituation of the priest to his artificial mode of life^ 
 
EDUCATION. 83 
 
 It is on this principle, that the child carefully trained to pru- 
 dential and moral restraints, and so secured against the relapses 
 of the neglected offspring of vice and poverty, is placed, by that 
 fact alone, on a vantage ground of happiness. 
 
 3. The amusements and amenities of life are only enjoyed to 
 the full after special training. Even our games, sports, and 
 pastimes, must be the subject of instruction ; while the exercise 
 and enjoyment of the Fine Arts — Music, Painting, Elocution — 
 involve the cost of special masters. What are termed accomplish- 
 ments are artificial and refined pleasures ; they are a pure addition 
 to the sum of enjoyment, and have no other meaning. 
 
 A very large mass of human pleasure is mixed up with our 
 sociability ; and much of our education consists in fitting us for 
 intercourse with others ; the end being to reduce the friction of 
 uncultivated minds associating together, and to increase the plea- 
 sures of co-operation, sympathy, and affection. 
 
 An acquaintance with foreign languages may be classed among 
 the means of pleasure. For people generally, they are the luxuries 
 of education. The ancient tongues introduce us to a large fund 
 of novel impressions ; the languages of our contemporaries open 
 an additional field of fresh and varied interest. It may be doubted, 
 however, if the cost of the acquirement is repaid, in the ma- 
 jority of cases, by the advantage. 
 
 4. Tastes may be formed and strengthened by education, and 
 every taste that there are means to gratify, is a part of happiness. 
 An instructor, or a companion, may foster in us a taste for plants, 
 for conchology, for antiquities ; the meaning of which is that these 
 several objects find a greater response of joyful feeling. Whether 
 such an acquirement is desirable on the whole depends on circum- 
 stances ; the education thus bestowed must occupy a space in one's 
 life, and may possibly exclude some more valuable acquisition. 
 
 Education with a view to the maximum of happiness is a very 
 different thing from education to greatness, or the maximum of 
 efficiency for some important function. For happiness, tastes and 
 accomplishments should be widely extended ; even if there be one 
 leading taste, it should not be exclusive ; the law of relativity 
 forbids the highest enjoyment to the monopoly of the mind with 
 a single subject. Yet such monopoly is the condition of the 
 greatest vigour of the faculties for some one end. The man that 
 towers in science, in art, in statesmanship, in business, needs to 
 be so engrossed with his subject, as to be excluded from variety 
 of interests ; he may have the reward of his greatness in moments 
 of triumphant superiority, but he is liable to periods of protracted 
 ennui. 
 
 As there is a natural constitution fitted for happiness, so there 
 ia an education possessing a like fitness. 
 
 There can be no very great happiness without paying regard 
 to IndiyxduaIiITT. The ideal state is the gratification of each 
 taste, and the exercise of each faculty, in exact proportion to their 
 degree of prominence. If the natural sociability be great, thd 
 
84 APPENDIX— HAPPINESS. 
 
 opportunities should correspond; if little, there should be an 
 exemption from soaety. Many persons have some one prevailing 
 bent, which being gratified makes happiness in itself, and which 
 being refused leaves a blank not to be otherwise filled up, Sokrates 
 declared that he would rather die than give up his vocation of 
 cross-questioning. Faraday was miserable till he was pla<;ed in 
 Davy's laboratory. Human beings differ so much, that the very 
 same lot may be felicity to one and wretchedness to another. 
 
 The individuality that is not to be satisfied without a dispro- 
 portionate share of worldly advantages being put out of the 
 account, the most important circumstance is a fitting Occupation. 
 To ascertain betimes the most decided bent and aptitude of each 
 person, and to find a career suited to that, is the prime requisite 
 of a fortimate lot. Next to a harmonizing avocation is the choice 
 of Eecreations and tastes, which may infuse gladness into the hours 
 of leisure, the holiday weeks, and the years of retirement. This, 
 well thought of, and prepared for, by early choice, by education 
 and fostering, will make oases in the desert waste of an unattrac- 
 tive profession. 
 
 The existence of imsatisfied Desiee is, so far as it goes, un- 
 happiness. An effort of judgment must pronounce whether we 
 should endeavour to suppress a desire impracticable, or retain it 
 either as a goal of pursuit or as an ideal longing. Forced con- 
 tentment is the result of the first alternative ; activity in actual, 
 or in imaginary pursuit, is the second. 
 
 If an object is attainable by efforts not out of proportion to its 
 value, we naturally pursue it. Contentment in the mid^t of 
 ■ wretchedness, squalor, poverty, is no virtue. 
 
 The indulgence in Ideals is a nicer question. Without giving 
 some scope to our longings for higher fortunes and greater excel- 
 lence, we should feel that we were cribbed, cabined, and confined ; 
 while such longings are liable to unfit us for seizing the actual. 
 One of the most prudent and systematic of livers, Andrew Combe, 
 pled for a moderate iadulgence in fiction ; there is neither possi- 
 bility nor propriety in excluding poetry and romance from the 
 class of open pleasures. Ideals are a kind of stimulants, and the 
 wisest will always differ as to the limits of their employment ; 
 although there can belittle doubt as to which is the safe side. 
 
 "We are next to consider the relation of Happiness to Weaith, 
 or worldly abundance and advantages. At first sight, this would 
 seem a simple matter. Not merely the terms of the definition of 
 happiness, but all the conditions now considered, suppose a certain 
 amount of worldly means ; health, knowledge, education, indivi- 
 duality, are not to be obtained except at some expense ; and are 
 attainable in higher degrees according to the resources at our dis- 
 posal. The general rule is apparently what is expressed in the 
 remark of Sydney Smith, that he was a happier man for every 
 additional guinea that came to him. Such at least is the deliberate 
 judgilient of the great mass of mankind, and the guiding principle 
 of nearly all their labours ; some may be indusMous from othw 
 
WEALTH. — VIRTUE. 85 
 
 motives, but the general multitude labour for money. And scarcely 
 any limit is admitted to tbe pursuit ; it -would seem as if, at no 
 pitch of pecuniary fortune, farther acquisition were considered 
 futUe. 
 
 Some of the consequences of this principle in its naked and 
 unqualified aspect are undoubtedly grave and unpalatable to con- 
 template. Whoever -srould wish to believe in something like 
 equality among human beings, must revolt at a doctrine which 
 proportions enjoyment to wealth, and assigns to the millions of 
 mankind a lot incompatible with any tolerable share of happiness. 
 Moreover, the prize offered to cupidity, in the statement of such a 
 principle, cannot but seem dangerous to the safety of possessions, 
 and the order of society. Accordingly, moraUsts in every age 
 have sought to invalidate the doctrine, by a counter statement of 
 evils attaching to the possession of great riches. With some 
 truth, a vast amount of exaggeration and rhetoric has been in- 
 fused into the attack on opulence. That the rich are not perfectly 
 happy is a fact, that they are not happier than the poor is an 
 untenable position. Wealth multiplies the pleasures and allevi- 
 ates the pains of life ; and if it brings any evils peculiar to itself, 
 it also brings remedies. 
 
 The most obvious temptation of wealth, coupled with idleness, 
 is to immoderate indulgences. Another is the aiming at too many 
 excitements, which necessarily entails troubles in management, as 
 weU as expenditure. A certain aptitude for business is necessary 
 to smooth the possession and enjoyment of wealth ; there may be 
 individuals so devoid of this turn as to feel acutely the disadvan- 
 tages ; but, in their case, poverty is equally hopeless. To observe 
 the limitations of the human powers, both in labour and in enjoy- 
 ment, is not as yet the virtue of any class, while it is practicable 
 only to a certain grade of abtmdance. 
 
 There are vices of the rich that mar their happiness ; but 
 most of them are also vices of the poor. So there are virtues 
 of the poor favourable to happiness ; all which are equally pos- 
 sible, and still mpre fruitful, to the rich. That prime requisite. 
 Health, is very imperfectly secured in the lowest grades even of 
 respectable citizenship. The public registers have demonstrated 
 that mortality and disease diminish at every rise in the scale of 
 wealth. The difference in the means of Knowledge and Education 
 is no less strongly in favour of the superior happiness of the rich. 
 
 The relationship of Happiness to VntXtTE, or Duty, is difficult 
 to state with impartiality and precision. Here too we encounter 
 the fervid views of the oratorical moralist, sanctified by the usage 
 of all countries. It has been often laid down, that happiness, full 
 and complete, is found in duty and in nothing else. 
 
 In order to see whether this assertion admits of being verified, 
 it is necessary to approach the question from the other end. We 
 must begin vsdth the clear and imdeniable fact, that duty, or virtue, 
 is a sacrifice or surrender of something agreeable, from a regard to 
 the interests of others ; as when we pay our share of public burdens, 
 
86 APPENDIX — HAPPINESS. 
 
 and restrain our desires for what is not our own. It is the essential 
 of such acts to be painful ; although, under certain circumstances, 
 they may become agreeable. It would be a self-contradiction to 
 maintain that acts of Tirtue are, from their very nature, and at all 
 times, delightful ; virtue in that case would not be virtue ; being 
 swallowed up in pleasure, it would be viewed simply as pleasure, 
 and often disapproved of, as excessive and tending to vice. 
 
 We have already seen, under what limitations benevolence is 
 a source of pleasure [p. 244] ; the main condition being recipro- 
 cation, in some form or other. There is nothing necessarily self- 
 rewarding either in benevolence or in duty. As regards duty, the 
 principle of reciprocation also applies ; when our abstaining from 
 injury to other persons insures their abstaining from injury to us, 
 we have the full value of our self-denial. It is the endeavour of 
 society to secure this kind of reciprocity, and not only so, but to 
 make each one's abstinence indispensable to their immunity. 
 Virtue then becomes happiness, not by nature, but by institution. 
 If a man can reap the advantages of society without paying the 
 cost, he is happy in his vice, and would be less happy in his virtue. 
 
 It is one of the effects of moral training to create revulsion of 
 feeUng to whatever society deems wrong ; vice is clothed with 
 painful associations, and vu-tue is the only road compatible with 
 happiness. Such essentially is Conscience. The person trained 
 to a high intensity of these feelings is unable to take delight in 
 things really delightful, if they are forbidden by conscience, 
 echoing society. 
 
 The only remaining circumstance that spoils the happiness of 
 doing wrong is the existence of a certain amount of sympathy, or 
 natural disinterestedness, in each one's constitution. The effect of 
 sympathy is to make one shrink from the infliction of obvious 
 pain, and to neutralize, in some degree, the pleasure of following 
 out a natural bent at the expense of misery to others. 
 
 But for these three circumstances, — sure retribution, the asso- 
 ciations of moral training, and a fund of natural sympathy— the 
 neglect of duty would, to all appearance, be the direct road to 
 happiness. If we look to the facts, and not to what we wish and 
 endeavour to bring about, we find that the happiest man is not 
 the man of highest virtues, but he that can obtain social recipro- 
 city and immunity, at a moderate outlay. To realize the greatest 
 happiness of virtue, we should be careful to conform to the 
 standard of the time, neither rising above nor falling beneath it ; 
 we should make our virtues apparent and showy, and perform 
 them at the least sacrifice to ourselves : we should have our asso- 
 ciations with duty, as well as our natural sympathies, only in a 
 moderate degree of strength. 
 
 It is thus in vain to identify virtue with prudence, that is, with 
 happiness. Duty is in part, and only in part, coincident with 
 enjoyment. To form men to the highest virtues, we must appeal 
 to other motives than their happiness, to the sources of disin- 
 terested conduct so often alluded to. It will then appear that 
 
RELIGION. 87 
 
 very great virtue is often opposed to happiness; the applause 
 bestowed on the sublimely virtuous man is by way of making 
 good a deficiency. 
 
 The happiness of Reugiok, in its relation to a future life, is 
 not comparable to any of the enjoyments of this life. But as expe- 
 rienced through the sensibilities of our common nature, it may be 
 not improperly brought into the comparison. The religious affec- 
 tions grow up like any others : they are more or less favoured by 
 natural constitution, cherished by exercise, and echoed from all 
 venerated objects and symbols. The religious fears are overcome 
 by the same laws of our being as any other fears. The resulting 
 happiness is the predominance of the affections over the fears. 
 The pleasures of devotion have their fixed amount, in each indi- 
 vidual, like the pleasures of knowledge or of fine art. 
 
 The securing of Happiness in any considerable degree, sup- 
 poses Method, or a plan of life, well conceived, and steadily ad- 
 hered to. This is only to apply to the crowning end, what is 
 necessary in the subordinate piu-suits of Health, Wealth, or Know- 
 ledge. Each one must choose what pleasures to follow out, what 
 desires to suppress, what training to undergo, so as on the whole 
 to make the most of one's individual lot. Misconceptions of 
 ends, ignorance of means, succumbing to passing impulses, are 
 fatal to success in all pursuits ; the victim of such weaknessess 
 loses the game, or must be saved by some other power. 
 
 It has to be admitted, however, that the stretch of energy 
 requisite to compass so large an end, costs a great deal to the 
 systera; it is a heavy per centage deducted from the realized 
 happiness. There are not a few instances where enjoyment is 
 attained without any plan at all, the accidents being favourable ; 
 just as many persons have health, or wealth, without a thought 
 of one or other; being all the happier that thought can be 
 dispensed with. 
 
 Some individualities are so unfitted for prudential foresight, 
 that they must either come under the sway of others or be left to 
 the accidents. A being of a higher order, looking before and 
 after, wUl desire a plan, and endeavour to abide by it. Forming 
 an estimate of life as a whole, such a being has a settled tone of 
 mind corresponding to that, not being much elated nor much 
 depressed, by the fluctuations on one side or the other. If attain- 
 able by the individual, this settled and balanced estimate is 
 worthy of the highest endeavours. It might be artificially aided, 
 by diary or record, which would recall to mind, more forcibly 
 than the best memory, the tenor of life in the long run, to quell 
 the exaggerations of the passing moods. 
 
88 APPENDIX — CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 D. — Glassificaiwns of the Mimd. 
 
 THE rNTELLECnrAL POWERS. 
 1. TH0UA8 AQUINAS, 
 
 First, Powers preceding the. Intellect. 
 
 I. — Vegetattve. I, NutrUion; 2. Ch-owth; 3. Generation. 
 
 II. — External Senses (five in number). 
 
 III. — Internal Senses. 1. Common Sense (the sense ihat 
 compares and distinguishes the objects of the several senses) ; 
 2. Imagination; 3. ^stimativa (discerning in objects what is not 
 revealed by the senses, as the enmity of the wolf to the sheep) ; 
 4. Memory (including Beminiscence). 
 
 Secondly, The Intellect— comprising, 1. Memory (the retention 
 or conservation of species); 2. Reason; 3. Intelligentia (properly 
 an act of the intellect) ; 4. both practical and speculative Beason ; 
 6. Conscience. 
 
 2. HGRBBBT OF CBEBBUBT. 
 
 His classification is mixed, and we give it as it stands, includ- 
 ing EQLotions as well as Intellect, 
 
 I, — Natural Instinct (explained under the history of In- 
 tuition, Appendix B). 
 
 n, — Internai. Sense. 1. Incorporeal (having no physical 
 antecedents, as joy, love, hope, trust) ; 2. Corporeal, arising from 
 the hv/mores (hunger, thirst, lust, melancholy, &c.) ; 3. Objective 
 feelings f^ab oT^ectis inve<-tij, including certain pleasures and pains 
 derived from external objects; 4, Mixed Sense. 
 
 III. — External Senses, not confined absurdly to five; for 
 there are as many senses as there are differentioe in the objects 
 ■ of sense. 
 
 rV. — ^DlBOCBSXTS, which is the faculty of inteUeot proper. 
 
 3. oAssimoi. 
 I. — Sense, 
 II. — Phantasy, 
 
 III,-r-lNTELLECT, 1. Apprehension of Ood or Spirits; 2. Re- 
 flection ; and 3. Reasoning, 
 
 4. TH0UA3 BKID. 
 
 1_. External Senses ; 2, Memory; 3. Ooracfipft'on or Simple Appre- 
 hension; 4. Abstraction (Nominalism and Bealism); 5. Judgment 
 (First Truths) ; 6. Reasoning (Demonstration and Probable Beason- 
 ing); 7. Taste. 
 
 5. DUOALD STEWART. 
 
 1. Consciousness; 2, External Perception; 3. Attention; 4. Con- 
 ceptUm; 5. Abstraction; 6. Association of Ideas; 7. Memory; 8. 
 Imagination; 9. iJeoaontn^ (taking up Logic). 
 
 6. THOUAS BROWN. 
 
 I-— External AiTEcnoNS. 1. Sensation; 2. Organic States. 
 II.— Internal Affections. I. InteUecttux,! States. (1) Simple 
 
THE INTELLECTUAl POWERS.— THE EMOTIONS. 89 
 
 Suggestion (the laws of Association) ; and (2) Eelative Suggestion 
 (Comparison, Besemblaaoe). 2. The EmoUorna (given in detail 
 afterwards). 
 
 7. SIB W. HAMILTON. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton enumerates six faculties: — 1. Preaentative 
 (the Senses and Self-consciousness) ; 2, Conservative (mere retention 
 inthe memory) ; 3. M^yroductive (depends on the Laws of Associ- 
 ation) ; 4. Elaboraiive (Abstraction and Eeasoning) ; 5. Bepresen- 
 tative (Imagination); 6. Megulative (the faculty of a priori truths). 
 
 ' 8. SAirUEI. BAILBT. 
 
 I. — DlsoEENlNQ. 1. Through the Senses; 2. Not through the 
 Senses {Introspection), 
 
 II. — CoNCEiviNa, having ideas or mental representations. 1. 
 Conceiving vnthout individual recognition; 2. Conceiving with indi- 
 vidual recognition; 3. Imagining, or conceiving under new com- 
 binations. 
 
 III. — BELrEVUfG, I. On evidence, and 2. without evidence. 
 
 rv. — EEASOlflNG, 1. Contingent, and 2. Demonstrative. 
 
 9. HEBBEET SPENCEB. 
 
 Mr. Spencer defines cognitions as the relations subsisting 
 among our feelings, and classifies them as follows ; 1. PresentaUve 
 cognitions (localizing sensations) ; 2. Presentative-r^resentaiive, 
 perception of the whole from a part (as when the sight of an 
 orange brings to mind all its other attributes) ; 3. Bepresentative ; 
 including aU acts of recollection : 4. Be-representative, the higher 
 abstractions formed by symbols, as in Mathematics. > 
 
 10. For the sake of comparison, we may add the classification 
 adopted in the present volume. I. — The AifTECEDENTS or the 
 Ihtellect. 1. Muscularity, and 2. The Senses. II. — The In- > 
 TEIXEOT. 1. Discrimination, or the sense of difference; 2, Simi- 
 larity, or the sense of agreement ; and 3. Betentive/ness. 
 
 THE EMOTIONS. 
 
 1. EEID. 
 
 His Active Powers are divided into three parts : — 
 
 I. — MECHAificAii Principles oe Action. 1. Instinct; 2. Habit. 
 
 II. — ^AnimaIi Pbincipi-es. 1. Appetites; 2. Desires (Power, 
 Esteem, Knowledge) ; 3. Affections (Benevolent and Malevolent ; 
 Passion, Disposition, Opinion). 
 
 ni.— Eationai. Pmncdples. 1. Self-love; 2. Duty. 
 
 2. DUOALD BTEWAKT. 
 
 I. ^iNSTnfcnvE PfiiNCiPLES OF Action. 1. AppOites; 2. 
 
 Dmres (knowledge, Society, Esteem, Power, Superiority); 3. 
 AffeOions (Benevolent and Malevolent). 
 
 n.— JUTIONAI and GrOVEBNING PEINCIPLES OE ACTION. 1. 
 
 Prvdmce; 2. Moral Faculty; 3. Decency, or a regard to character; 
 4. Sympathy; 5. the Bidiculous ; 6. Taste, 
 
90 APPENDIX— CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 3. THOMAS BBOWN. 
 
 I. — Immediate, excited by present objects. 1. Cheerfutnest 
 and MelanchoVy ; 2. Wonder; 3. Languor; 4. Beauty; 5. SiibUmity ; 
 6. the Ludicrous; 7. Moral feeling ; 8. Love and Hate; 9. Sym- 
 pathy; 10. Pride and SumUity. 
 
 n. — Eetrospectivi!. 1. Anger; 2. Oratitude; 3. SimpU Be- 
 gret and Oladness ; 4. Remorse and its opposite. 
 
 III. — ^Peospective. 1. The Desires (Continued Existence, 
 Pleasure, Action, Society, BJaowledge, Power, A£fection, Glory, 
 the Happiness of others. Evil to others) ; 2. Fears; 3. Hope; 
 4. Expectaiion ; 5. Anticipation. 
 
 4. SIB W. HAMILTON. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton has, first, Sensations (the five senses and 
 organic sensations) and, secondly, the Sentiments or internal feel- 
 ings. These are divided as follows : I. — The Contemplative, 
 subdivided into, 1. Those of the subsidiary faculties, including 
 (1) those of self-consciousness (Tedium and its opposite), and (2) 
 those of Imagination (Order, Symmetry, Unity in Variety); 2. 
 Those of the Eldborative Faculty (Wit, the pleasures of Trufli and 
 Science, and the gratification of adapting Means to Ends). Beauty 
 and Sublimity arise from the joint energy of the Imagination and 
 the Understanding. 
 
 II. — ^The PRAOTicAii feelings relate to, 1. Sdf-Preservatimt 
 (Hunger and Thirst, Loathing, Sorrow, Bodily pmn. Anxiety, 
 Bepose, &o.) ; 2. The Enjoyment of our Exigence ; 3. The Preser- 
 vation of the Species ; 4. Our Tendency towards Development and 
 Perfection; and 5. The Moral Law. 
 
 5. HEBBEBT SPENCEB. 
 
 Mr. Spencer's classification runs parallel to his arrangement 
 of the intellectual powers. 1. Presentative feeUnga, ordinarily 
 called Sensations ; 2. PresemtaUve-represendative feelings, including 
 the simple emotions, as Terror ; 3. Bepresemtative feelings, such as 
 those roused by a descriptive poet ; 4. Be-represertlcctive feMngs, 
 such as Property, Justice. 
 
 6. KANT. 
 
 I. — Senstjotts, coining through — 1. Sense (Tedium, Content- 
 ment), or 2. Imagination (Taste). 
 
 II. — InteIjLectitaIi, from 1. the Comcepts of the Understand- 
 ing; and 2. the Idsas of the Season. He takes the Affections and 
 Passions under the Will. 
 
 7. HEBBAST. 
 
 Herbart, and his followers Waitz and Nailowsky. First, 
 Feelings Proper. I. — Formal. 1. The general or demerOary feel- 
 ings (Oppression and KeUef, Exertion and Ease, Seeking and 
 Finding, Success and Defeat, Harmony and Contrast, Power and 
 Weakness); 2. the Special or complicated feelings (Expectation, 
 Astonishment, Doubt, &c.). 
 
 II. — QuALiTATrTE. 1.' Feelings of Sense; 2. higher or /nfeJ- 
 ledual feeliugs (Truth and Probability); the .5!sthetic; the 
 Moral ; the Keligious. 
 
THE LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. 91 
 
 Secondly, Complex Emotional States. I. Those ihvolving 
 Conation (Desire or Aversion). 1. SympaiAeJic feeling; 2 Love, 
 both Sensual and Ideal. 
 
 n.— -States besting on an oeganio fotjnbation. 1. The 
 Diapositum or mood of miad, tone, or general hilarity; 2. the 
 Affections. 
 
 8. SCHLEIDLEB. 
 
 I. — Sense-Feeling. 1. Connected with lodUy existence (Health, 
 Depression, Hunger, &o.) ; 2. Organic (feeUngs of Special Sense) ; 
 3. Inner Sense (Temper or high spirits). 
 
 _n — Peelings conitected ■wtth Ijjeas. 1. Ideas from Sense 
 (Disgust, Sympathy with pain) ; 2. from Imagination (Hope and 
 Fear); 3. from Understanding (Shame, Seproach, &c.); 4. the 
 lowe/r Esthetic feelings (Physical Beauty). 
 
 m. — iNTELLECTTJAli Feeijitgs. 1. From, acgwiring Know- 
 ledge; pain of idleness; 2. from Intellectual exercise (Novelty, 
 System, Order, Symmetry, Harmony and Ehythm, Simple and 
 Complex, Wit and Humour, Comic and Bidiculous). 
 
 rV.— Rationai Feelings. 1. Truth feelings; 2. the Higher 
 Esthetic; 3. Morai feelings ; 4. Sympathetic feelings; 5. Beligious 
 feelings. 
 
 THE IiAWS OF association. 
 
 We subjoin a brief note to illustrate the Principles of Associa- 
 tion, as they have been stated by various authors. 
 
 1. Aristotle had grasped the fact of association, holding that 
 • every mental movement is determined to arise as the sequel of a 
 certain other.' He mentions Similarity, Contrariety, Coai^'acenctf 
 or Contiguity, but gives no detailed exposition of them. 
 
 2. Ludovicus Vives. ' Quae simul sunt a Phantasia compre- 
 hensa, si alterutrum occurrat, solet secum alterum representare.' 
 Hamilton's Eeid, pp. 896 n, 898 n, 908 n. 
 
 3. Hobbes gives the law of Contiguity. What causes the co- 
 herence of ideas is ' their first coherence or consequence at that 
 time when they are produced by sense.' A special instance of this 
 orderly succession, is Cause and Effect. 
 
 4. Iiocke, in a short chapter, exemplifies the effect of Associa- 
 tion in creating prejudice, antipathies, and obstacles to truth, 
 but he does not gather up his illustrations under any generalized 
 statement of associating principles. 
 
 5. Hume enumerates Besemblance, Contiguity, and Cause and 
 Effect; and he resolves Contrast into Causation and Besemblance. 
 
 6. Gerard, in his ' Essay on Genius,' states two kinds of prin- 
 ciples of Association — Simple and Compound. Of the Simple, 
 there are three : — 1. Besemblance, whenever perceptions ' at ^ 
 resemble, one of them being present to the mind, will naturally 
 transport it to the conception of the other' ; 2. Contrariety ; 3. 
 Vicinity, ' the conception of any object naturally carries the 
 thoughts to the idea of another object, which was connected 
 
92 APPENDIX— CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 with it either in place or time.' The Compound embrace (1) Co- 
 existent qualities ; (2) Cause an(| Effect ; (3) Order. 
 
 7. Beattiehas — 1. Besemblamee, 'one event or story leads us to 
 think of another that is like it'; 2.. Gmitramety ; 3. Contiguity or 
 Vicinity, ' when the idea occurs of any place with which we are 
 acquainted, we are apt to pass, by an easy and quick transition, 
 to those of the adjoining places, of the persons who live there, &c.' ; 
 4. Cause <md Effect. [The statements of Gerard and Beattie are 
 very imperfect.] 
 
 8. Hartley has only Contiguity, which he expresses thus, 
 ' Sensations are associated when their impressions are either made 
 precisely at the same instant of time, or in the contiguous suc- 
 cessive instants.' Assooiatiom is thus synchronous or successive. 
 
 9. James Mill follows Hartley's statement. ' Our id^as spring 
 up or exist in the order in which the sensations existed, of which 
 they are the copies.' He properly objects to making causation a 
 distinct princi{)le, but is unsuccessful in his attempt to resolve 
 Besemblance into Contiguity. Conirast arises generally from a 
 vivid conjmuMon, 
 
 10. Dugald Stewart (herein following Eeid) observes that the 
 causes of Association are so diverse that they can hardly be 
 reduced to a few heads, but enumerates as obvious modes of con- 
 nection, Beaemhlcmoe (including Analogy J, Contra/riety, Vicinity in 
 time and place ; he adds as less obvious modes, Cause and Effed, 
 Means and Ends, Premises and Ccmdusiofas. 
 
 11. Thomas Brown mentions Contiguity, BesemVhunce (including 
 Analogy J, and Contrast, but thinks they may be reduced to one 
 expression; all Suggestion (his word for Association) may depend 
 on prior co-existence, or on immediate proximity of feelings (not 
 of objects). 
 
 12. Sir W. Hamilton gives the following as general Taws of 
 mental succession. I. — The Law of Assocmbility or Possible Co- 
 suggestion: — All thoughts of the same mental subjects are as- 
 sociable, or capable of suggesting each other. II. — The Law 
 of Bqpetition or Direct Bememhrance : — Thoughts co-identical in 
 modification, but differing in time, tend to suggest each other. 
 III. — ^The Law of BedintegraUon, of Indirect Besemhlamce, or of 
 Bermrdscence : — ^Thoughts once co-identical in time, are, however 
 diiPerent as mental modes, again suggestive of each other, and 
 that in the mutual order which they originally held. 
 
 His Special Laws are those : — 1. The Law of Similars ; — Things 
 ^—thoughts resembling each other (be the resemblance simple or 
 analogical) are mutually suggestive. Since resembling modifica- 
 tions are, to us, in their resembling points, identical, they call up 
 each other according to the Law of Bepetition. _ 2. The Law of 
 Contrast. 3. The Law of Coadjacency, embracing Cause and Effect, 
 Whole and Parts, Substance and Atteibute, Sign and Signified, 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS. 9'3 
 
 E. — MeoMvngs of certain Terms. 
 
 CONSCIOTJSNESS. This may be considered the leading term of 
 Mental Science ; all the most subtle distinctions and the most 
 debated questions are unavoidably connected with it. The employ- 
 ment of the word in this treatise has been, as far as possible, con- 
 sistent with the views maintained as to the fundamental nature of 
 Perception and Knowledge. 
 
 Some advantage may be gained by a brief review of the various 
 significations of the term. In popular language, two or three 
 gradations of gleaning may be traced. In one class of applica- 
 tions, consciousness is mental life, as opposed to torpor or insen- 
 sibility; the loss of consciousness is mental extinction for the 
 time ; while, on the other hand, a more than ordinary wakefulness 
 and excitement is a heightened form of consciousness. In a second 
 class of meanings, the subjective state, as opposed to the objective, 
 is more particularly intended ; when a person is said to be mor- 
 bidly or excessively conscious, there is indicated an excessive 
 attention to the feelings and the thoughts, and a slender amount 
 of occupation with outward things. It is this meaning that deter- 
 mined Beid and Stewart to apply the name to the distinctive 
 faculty of the mental philosopher, in cognizing operations of the 
 mind. 
 
 If, as is generally maintained, the second meaning be too 
 narrow, there is no alternative but to abide by the first or more 
 comprehensive meaning. In this case, the term is the widest in 
 mental philosophy ; nay more, if consciousness is the only pos- 
 sible criterion of existence, it is the widest term in the vocabulary 
 of mankind. The sum of aU consciousnesses is the sum of all 
 existences. 
 
 Consciousness, then, is divided into the two great departments 
 — ^the Object consciousness, and the Subject consciousness ; the 
 greatest transition, or antithesis, within the compass of our being. 
 When putting forth energy, as in muscular exertion, and in the 
 activity of the senses, we are objectively conscious ; in pleasure 
 or pain, and in memory, we are subjectively conscious. 
 
 Great as is the contrast of the two modes of activity, there are 
 designations that rni-a and confound them ; the chief of these is 
 the term ' Sensation,' next to be adverted to. 
 
 A singular position, in the matter of Consciousness, has been 
 taken up by Sir W. Hamilton, and by the Germans almost uni- 
 versailly ; namely, that Consciousness as a whole, is based on the 
 knowing or intellectual consciousness, or is possible, only through 
 knowledge. We feel only as we Imow that we feel ; we are pleased 
 only as we know that we are pleased. It is not the intensity of a 
 feeling that makes the feeUng ; but the operation of cognizing or 
 knowing the state of feeling. 
 
 It must be granted that we cannot have any feeling without 
 
94 APPENDIX — MEANINGS OF TEEMS. 
 
 having some bowledge of it ; it is the nature of mental excite- 
 ment to leave some trace of itself in the memory. Farther, any 
 strong emotion calls attention to itself ; it may also, however, 
 lead attention away to the object cause, and diminish the subjec- 
 tive consciousness. On any view, the knowledge or attention, 
 although an accompaniment of the state, is not its foundation. If 
 this were so, the increase of the cognitive act would be the 
 increase of the feeling ; whereas the fact is the reverse ; the less 
 that we are occupied in the properly intellectual function, the 
 more are we possessed with the feeling proper. 
 , It is most accordant with the facts, to regard Feeling as a dis- 
 tinct conscious element, whether cognized or not, whether much 
 or little attended to in the way of discrimination, agreement, or 
 memory. The three functions of the mind are so interwoven and 
 implicated that it is scarcely, if it aU, possible to find any one abso- 
 lutely alone in its exercise ; we cannot be all Feeling, without any 
 share of an intellectual element; we cannot be all Will, without 
 either feeling or intellect. The nearest approach to isolation is in 
 the objective consciousness, which, in the moment of its highest 
 engrossment, is an exclusively Intellectual occupation. 
 
 SEHrsATloif. The concurrence of various contrasting pheno- 
 mena in the fact expressed by Sensation, renders this word often 
 .ambiguous. 
 
 1. In Sensation, there is a combination of physical facts, with 
 a mental fact. Thus, in sight, the physical processes are known 
 to be — ^the action of light on the retina, a series of nerve currents, 
 and certain outgoing influences to muscles and viscera ; while the 
 mental phenomenon is the feeling, or subject state accompanying 
 these. The word is properly applicable, and should be confined 
 in its application, to the strictly mental fact. 
 
 2. In the great contrast of the object and the subject con- 
 sciousness, the word Sensation is applied to both the one and the 
 other. This is ovring to the repeated transitions between the two , 
 in actual sensation. In looking at a beautiful prospect, the mind 
 passes, by fits and starts, from the one attitude to the other ; while 
 engrossed with the extent, figure, distance, and even with the 
 colours of the scene, the attitude is objective ; when conscious of 
 the pleasure, the attitude is subjective. Now, the word Sensation 
 applies to both attitudes ; unless when put in contrast to Percep- 
 tion, which, in its reference, is purely objective. In this last case, 
 Sensation is limited to the pleasurable or painful accompaniment 
 of the state. 
 
 The contrast of Sensation and Perception is thus the contrast 
 between the sensitive and the cognitive, intellectual, or knowledge- 
 giving functions. Hence Perception is applied to the knowledge 
 obtained both directly and indirectly through the exercise of the 
 Senses ; the one is called immediate perception, and the other 
 mediate, or acquired perception. 
 
 It is with reference to this contrast, that Hamilton enunciates 
 his law of the universe relative of Sensation and Perception; tiie 
 
PEESENTATION AND REPRESENTATION. 95 
 
 meaning of wMcli is that the more the mind is subjectively 
 engaged, the less the objective attention, and conversely. 
 
 3. In Sensation, past experiences are inextricably woven with 
 a present impression ; a circumstance tending to confuse the bovin- 
 dary line between Sense and Intellect. When we look at a tree, 
 the present consciousness is not the bare result of the present 
 stimulation, but that combined with a simi total of past impres- 
 sions. In short, the mind's retentiveness overlays all present 
 effects ; and what seems sensation is an actual stimulation mixed 
 with memory. 
 
 Farther, as in Sensation we must be conscious of Agreement 
 and of Difference, which are also intellectual functions, it is cleai 
 that there cannot be such a thing as Sensation (in the cognitive 
 meaning) without processes of the Intellect. Hence the question 
 as to the origin of our Ideas in Sense, is charged with ambiguity; 
 yet many of the arguments in favour of Innate Ideas are founded 
 on the supposition that the experience of the Senses exclut es such 
 intellectual elements as Likeness, TJnlikeness, Equality and Pro- 
 portion ; whereas it is impossible to exclude such attributes from 
 the perceptive process. 
 
 Presentation and Eepeesentation. These words are made, 
 by some metaphysicians, the starting point in the exposition of 
 the mind. The phenomena indicated by them have been fully 
 recognized in the present work, although under other names. 
 
 ' Presentation ' and ' Intuition ' are applied to signify the 
 cognition of an object present to the view, in all its circum- 
 stantials, and definite relationships in space, and in time : it is the 
 full present actuality of sensation. In looking at a circle drawn 
 on paper before us, the mental cognition is in the highest degree 
 individual or concrete; it is a presentation., or intuition. But 
 ■when, after seeing many circles, we form an abstract or general 
 conception of a circle, embodied although that may be in an 
 individual, we are said to possess a representation, or to be in a 
 state of representative consciousness. So far, the distinction coin- 
 dides with the distinction between the concrete, in its extreme 
 form of present individuality, and the general or abstract. 
 
 The distinction equally holds in subjective cogmtions. An 
 actual fit of anger is presentative ; the reflecting on it, when past, 
 is representative. The one is an intuition, the other a thought. 
 
 The Presentative or Intuitive knowledge is also termed 
 Immediate; the Eepresentative is Mediate; the one is known in 
 itself, the other through something else. The individual circle 
 looked at is known by an immediate act ; the general property is 
 known mediately through some concrete circle or circles. Sensa- 
 tion is thus contrasted with Perception ; the sensation is what is 
 actually felt; the perception is the additional something that is 
 suggested. Colour is sensation; distance (in the Berkeleian view) 
 is perception, representation, or thought. 
 
 Hamilton applies the distinction, as already seen (p. 208), in 
 distinguishing tiie tiieories of External Perception. His own view 
 
96 APPENDIX— MEANINGS OF TERMS. 
 
 is Fresentatioiusm ; he holds that the consciousness of external 
 reality is immediate like the consciousness of colonr, ^tonch, or 
 resistance. 
 
 Presentation thus corresponds to Sensation in the third nieaning 
 above given; a mode of consciousness, however, which is sup- 
 posable only, and not a matter of fact. What we believe to be a 
 present sensation is, in reality, a complicated product of past and 
 present impressions, a resultant of numerous shocks of difference 
 and of agreement. 
 
 Personal iDENTiry. Much controversy has been raised on 
 the question as to our personal or continual identity. Some of 
 the di£B.ciilty arises from the ambiguity of the words Samesness, or 
 Identity. There are degrees of sameness ; we call two trees the 
 same, merely because they are of one species. The sort of 
 identity, or amount of sameness, intended, under personal identity, 
 is when we call an individual tree the same throughout its whole 
 existence, from germination to final decay. A htiman body is 
 called the same, or identical, through its whole life, in spiite of 
 important diversities ; for not only are the actual particles re- 
 peatedly changed, but the plan, or arrangement, of those paartusles 
 is greatly altered in the cdfferent stages. A block of marble, a 
 statue, a building, retain a much higher identity, than a plant or 
 animal. 
 
 In living beings, therefore, unbroken continuity is the feature 
 of the sameness. The English nation is called the same nation 
 down from, the Saxon times. The identity of the United States 
 of America would probably be counted from the date of the Inde- 
 pendence, which shows that an unbroken political system is the 
 idea that we form of national identity. 
 
 It is, however, in the mind, or subjective lifoj that the question 
 of sameness is most subtle and perplexed. There are different 
 modes of expressing the identity of a beiag endowed with mind. 
 One is the notion of a persistent substance distinct from, and under- 
 lying all the passing moods of consciousness — of feeling, thought, 
 and will ; a permanent thread, holding together the variable and 
 shifting manifestations that make our mental life. Of such a sub- 
 stance there can be no proof offered ; it is purely hypothetical, but 
 the hypothesis has been found satisfactory to many, and has been 
 considered as self-evident or intuitively certain. Berkeley, in re- 
 pudiating a substratum of matter, maintained this hypothetical 
 groundwork of mind. Hume declined both entities; resolving 
 matter and mind alike into the sequence of conscious states. 
 
 Locke expressed the fact of identity as the ' consciousneffi of 
 present and past actions in the person to whom they belong.' 
 Person ' is a thinking, intelligent bran;;;, that has reason and re- 
 flection, and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking beings 
 in different times and places ; which it does only by that conscious- 
 ness which is inseparable from thinking.' ' For, since consciQusness 
 always accompanies thinking, and is what makes every one to be 
 what each ctjla 'self,' and thereby distinguishes self from all 
 
PERSONAL IDENTITY. 97 
 
 other thinking beings ; in this alone consists personal identity ' — 
 (Essay, Book II., chap. 27). 
 
 Locke has been attacked on various grovinds. First, by Butler 
 and others, for holding that consciousness makes self; the objectors 
 holding the view first stated, that the personality is something 
 prior to and apart from the consciousness, as truth precedes and 
 is distinct from the knowledge of it. Eeid considers it very strange 
 that personal identity should be confounded -with the evidence 
 that we have of our personal identity, that is, with consciousness. 
 We must be the same, before we are known to be the same. Self 
 is one thing ; the cognizance of self another thing. 
 
 In the second place, Locke's view has been supposed to lead to 
 the absurdity that a man may be, and not be, at the same time, 
 the person that did a particular action, namely, something that 
 has entirely passed out of his consciousness. Consciousness is fugi- 
 tive: personality is enduring and consecutive. This objection 
 might have been fenced by introducing the potential or possible 
 consciousness along with the actual. Any experience that has 
 ever entered into our mental personality retains a link, stronger 
 or feebler, with the present, and is withm the possibility of being 
 reproduced. 
 
 Another criticism, is that consciousness is confounded with 
 memory. Locke, however, understood consciousness in a large 
 meaning, as containing the memory of the past, as well as the cog- 
 nizance of the actual or present. Yet he ought to have adverted 
 to the distinction between present and remembered states, as vital 
 in this question. The best metaphysicians agree that the question 
 at issue involves the nature of our helief in memfyry (see, amolig 
 others, Brown, Lect. XIII.). We have certain states that we call 
 present, actual, immediate, as in the consciousness of a present 
 light, sound, or taste. We have another class of experiences when 
 these effects are no longer supported in the actual, but remembered, 
 or retained in the ideal ; with them is involved the beUef that they 
 are not merely what they are now, but are also the remains or 
 products of former states of the kind termed actual ; that they 
 somehow represent an experience in past time, as well as consti- 
 tute an experience in present time. 
 
 This memory and belief of the past is not fuUy exhausted by 
 its mere contrast with the present ; there is farther contained in 
 it, the orderly sequence or succession of our mental states. Each 
 item of the past is viewed as preceding some things also past, and 
 as succeeding others. The total past is an orderly retrospect or 
 record, wherein everything has a definite place. 
 
 Thus the fact of unbroken succession enters into identity in 
 the mental personality, as well as into the identity of a plant, or 
 animal, a society, or a nation. The mind, however, is self- 
 recording, and preserves its history from an early d^te; the 
 identity prior to each one's earliest recollection of self, is only 
 objective, Kke a tree ; the parents and others are the testimony to 
 the succession of the individual in the years of mental incompetency. 
 54 
 
98 APFE^WX — MEANINGS Of TEKMS. 
 
 The Belief in Memory may probably 1)e regarded as standing 
 at one remove from an ultimate law of the mind, namely, the 
 law that connects Belief with our Spontaneous and Voluntary 
 Activity (p. 337). 
 
 Full recollection of anything assigns it its point in the stream 
 or succession. This is the difference between memory and imagi- 
 nation: both are ideal as opposed to present actuality: they are 
 faculties of the concrete as opposed to abstraction ; but memory 
 can, and imagination cannot, find a determinate place for its 
 objects in the continuous record of the mental life. 
 
 StTBSTAifCE. This word may be viewed, says Hamilton, either 
 as derived from ' subsistendo,' what subsists by itself, or from 
 'substando,' what subsists in its accidents, being the basis of 
 qualities or attributes. The two derivations come to the same 
 thing. 
 
 Common language has always set forth the contrast of sub- 
 stance and quality or attribute. But as everything that we know 
 or can conceive may be termed a quality, or attribute, if all 
 qualities are supposed withdrawn, there is nothing left to stand 
 for substance. Gold has the qualities of weight, hardness, duc- 
 tility, colour, &o. ; what then is the substance ' gold ' ? Matter 
 has the property ' Inertia ; ' what is the substance ? 
 
 One way out of the difficulty is to postulate an unknown, and 
 unknowable entity, underl37ing, and in some mysterious way hold- 
 ing together, the various attributes. We are said to be driven by 
 an intuitive and irresistible tendency, to make this assumption; 
 which intuition is held to justify us in such an extreme measure. 
 Ttjfire is an unknowable substance -matter, the subject of the at- 
 tribute inertia, and of all the special modes of the different kinds 
 of matter — gold, marble, water, oxygen, and the rest. The same 
 hypothetical unknown entity, is expressed in another antithesis — 
 ihe n(ywmenpn as against the phenomenon; what is, in contrastto 
 what appears. 
 
 Another way out of the difficulty is to regard the common 
 language as itself unguarded and inaccurate, and as demanding 
 qualification and adjustment. Instead of treating all the energies 
 of a thing as attributes predicable of an unknown essence, a dis- 
 tinction is made between the fundamental, constant, inerasible 
 attributes, and those that are variable, fluctuating, or separable. 
 Thus, as regards ' matter,' the property ' inertia' is fundamental 
 and irremovable ; the properties — colour, transparency, hardness, 
 elasticity, oxidation, &o., are variable and fluctuating. ' Inertia' 
 would then be the ' substance' of matter in general ; this, to- 
 gether with a certain specific gravity, colour, ductility, &c., would 
 be the substance of gold. Such a rendering comes much nearer 
 to the popular apprehension of substance, than the impalpable and 
 unknown entity. A thing is substantial that resists, as a stone 
 waU ; a piece of gauze, a column of smoke, a ghost, are called un- 
 substantial ; they have little or no resisting power. 
 
 In this view, substance corresponds with the defining propertj- 
 
SUBSTANCE. 99 
 
 of each object : what is also called in Aristotelian, and likewise in 
 common language, the Essence. 
 
 The Substance of Body, or matter generally, would thus be 
 what is common to all Body — Inertia. 
 
 With respect to Mind, the question of Substance is the question 
 of Personal Identity in another shape. The same theorists that 
 assume a persistent unknown something as underlying all con- 
 sciousness, with a view to Personal Identity, would call this 
 entity, the Substance of Mind, and the known functions of Mind, 
 its qualities or attributes. According to the other view, the Sub- 
 stance of Mind is the three fundamental and defining attributes ; 
 those powers or functions, which, being present, constitute mind, 
 and in whose absence we do not apply the name. They are Feel- 
 ing, Volition, and Intellect; these may vary in degree to an 
 indefinite extent, but in some degree they must be conjoined in 
 everything that we call mind. 
 
 A second mode of justifying the current antithesis of substance 
 and quality, without assuming an inconceivable entity, is to call 
 the total of any concrete, the Substance, and each one of its pro- 
 perties mentioned singly, a Quality, or attribute. Of the total 
 conjunction of powers, called gold, — ^weight, hardness, colour, &c., 
 are the qualities in the detail. 
 
 It has been previously seen in what acceptations Substance was 
 used by Aristotle. Locke regards the idea of Substance as a 
 complex idea, the aggregate of the ideas of the distinctive attri- 
 butes. Of substance in general, he allows an obscure, vague, 
 indistinct idea, growing out of the relationship of supporter and 
 support, a general relative notion. If we call any qualities modes 
 or accidents, we imply a correlative subject or substratum, of 
 which they are modes or accidents. 
 
 £eid says : — ' To me, nothing seems more absurd than that there 
 should be extension without anything extended, or motion without 
 anything moved; yet I cannot give reasons for my opinion, 
 because it seems to me self-evident, and an immediate dictate of 
 my nature.' Hamilton considers that his Law of the Conditioned 
 is applicable to explain Substance and Accident. We are com- 
 pelled, he says, to pass beyond what appears the phenomenal to 
 an existence absolute, xinknown, and incomprehensible. But this 
 compulsion is not itself an ultimate fact of mind ; it grows out of 
 the principle of the Conditioned, from which also springs our 
 belief of the law of Cause. (Eeid, p. 935.) 
 
 It has been made a question, whether Space and Time are Sub- 
 stances. Cudworth, Newton, and Clarke, held that they are at- 
 tributes, and imply a substance, which must be God. 
 
 According to Mchte : — 'Attributes synthetically united give 
 substance, and substance analyzefl gives attributes ; a continued 
 substratum, or supporter of attributes, is an impossible concep- 
 tion.' 
 
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INDEX 
 
 Acton's Sdodern Cookery 28 
 
 AiiOOOK'S Residence in Japan 22 
 
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