:00
ico
:LO
lOO
!CM
I cl
-!
•CD
.L '
MORAL
SCIENCE.
BY
ALEXANDER BAIN, LL.D.,
PROFESSOR OP LOGIC IN THE UNIVERSITY OP ABERDEEN.
PART FIRST.
PSYCHOLOGY
AND
HISTOEY OF PHILOSOPHY.
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.,
1872.
[The right q/ Translation is reserved.]
A B E P. D E F. K '.
PRINTED BY ARTHUR KI^G AND COMPAXY, PRINTERS AND STEREOTYP2SS
CLAUK'S COURT, TOP OF BROAD STREET.
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
sufficient 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 Realism, 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
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
iv PREFACE.
better comparing and remembering the several theories,
they are summarized 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 1 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 the
leading Ethical controversies involve a reference to the
O
mind, and can be settled only by a more thorough under
standing of mental processes.
ABERDEEN, April, 18G8.
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
THE only material change in this Edition consists in divid
ing the work into two Parts : one containing Psychology
and the History of Philosophy : the other the Theory of
Ethics and the Ethical Systems.
I am now at liberty to acknowledge that, in the
historical portions, I received the following very important
contributions from the late Mr. Grote : — namely, Plato's
and Aristotle's opinions on General Ideas (Appendix 1-23),
and on the Origin of Knowledge (33-48) ; and the Ethical
doctrines of Epicurus and of the Stoics. Mr. Grote also
revised the abstract of the Ethics of Aristotle, and made
it everywhere accord with his own interpretation of
Aristotle's meaning.
ABERDEEN, April, 1872.
TABLE OF CONTENTS,
INTEODUCTION.
CHAP. I.
DEFINITION AND DIVISIONS OF MIND.
PAGE.
1. Human Knowledge falls \rnder two departments ... ... 1
2. The Object department marked by Extension; the Subject, by
the absence of this property ... ... ... ... ib.
3. Subject Experience — Mind proper — has three functions, Feeling,
Will, and Thought. Other classifications of Mind ... ... 2
4. Order of arrangement for exposition ... ... ... 3
5. Concomitance of Mind and a Material Organism ... ... 4
CHAP. II.
THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS.
1. The Brain is the principal organ of Mind. Proofs ... ... 5
2. The Nervous System consists of a Central mass, and ramifying
Nerves ... ... ... ... ... ... ib.
3. The nervous substance made up of white and of grey matter.
Thejibres and the corpuscles ... ... ... ... 6
4. The Central nerves, or cerebro-spinal axis composed of parts. I.
The SPINAL CORD ; the Keflex Movements. II. The BRAIX.
Parts of the Brain : (1) Medulla Oblongata, (2) Pons Varolii,
(3) Cerebral Hemispheres, (4) Cerebellum ; their several func
tions ... ... ... ... ... ... 7
5. The nerves are divided into Cerebral and Spinal ... ... 11
6. The function of a nerve is to transmit influence ... ... ib.
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
VI CONTENTS.
THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS. PAGH.
3. Three classes of feelings connected with muscle ... ... 17
Feelings of Muscular Exercise.
4. The dead strain, or action without movement. Systematic De
scription : PHYSICAL Side ; MENTAL Side. Plan of describing
the Feelings generally, Note .. ... ... ... 18
5. Examples of the dead strain ... ... .. ... 22
6. Exertion with movement ... ... ... ... ... ib.
7. Slow movements ; allied to repose and passivity ... ... ib.
8. Waxing and waning movements ... ... ... ,.. 23
9. Quick movements ; their exciting character... ... ... ib.
10. Passive movements : the stimulus of riding ... «„. 24
Discriminative or Intellectual Sensibility of Muscle.
11. With every feeling, we have consciousness of degree ... ib.
12. Consciousness of Exertion, or Expended Force. The Mechanical
property of matter • .. ... ... ... ... ib.
13. Consciousness of degrees of Continuance of exertion, either as
dead strain or as movement. Time. Space ... ... 2-5
14. Consciousness of the Velocity of Movement... ... ... 26
CHAP. II.
SENSATION.
1. Sensation defined ... ... ... ... .. 27
2. Sensations classified. Defects of the enumeration of the Five
Senses. Omission of Organic Sensations ... ... ib.
SENSATIONS OP ORGANIC LIFE.
Organic Muscular Feelings.
3. Pains of injury of muscle. Fatigue and Eepose ... ... 28
Organic Sensations of Nerve.
4. 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 Ileat 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 : Relish and Eepletion, Hunger, Nausea,
Dyspepsia ... ... ... ... ... ... 34
CONTENTS. Vll
SENSE OF TASTE. pAGE.
1. Objects of Taste: chiefly the materials of Food ... ... 36
2. The Tongue ... ... ... ... ... ... id.
3. Sensations of Taste ... ... ... ... ... 37
4. Tastes in Sympathy with the Stomach : Relishes and Disgusts ib.
5. Tastes proper : Sweet and Bitter ... ... .. ... 38
6. Tastes involving Touch: Saline, Alkaline, Sour, Astringent,
Fiery, Acrid .. ... ... ... ... H>.
SENSE OF SMELL.
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. Diffusion of odours ... ... ... ... ... 40
5. The Nose ... ... ... .. ... ... ib.
6. Mode of action of odours a process of oxidation ... ... ib.
7. Sensations of Smell : in sympathy with the lungs are Fresh and
Close odours .. ... ... ... ... 41
8. Proper olfactory sensibility : Fragrant odours and the opposite ib.
9. Odours involving tactile sensibility : Pungency .., ... 42
SENSE OF TOUCH.
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, Roughness 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 ...
2. The Ear ... .:. ... ... ... ...
3. The mode of action in hearing ... ... ... ..
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 : Clearness, 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 ... ... 59
4. Binocular Vision. Seeing objects erect by an inverted image 60
5. Sensations of Sight (Optical) : Light, Colour, Lustre ... ib.
6. Sensations involving the Movements of the Eye : Visible Move-
.ment, Visible Form, Apparent Size, Distance, Volume, Visible
Situation .. ... ... ... . . ... 62
Vlll CONTENTS.
CHAP. III.
THE APPETITES.
PAGE.
The Appetites defined. Sleep, Exercise and Repose, Thirst,
Hunger, Sex ... ... ... . . ... ... 67
CHAP. IV.
THE INSTINCTS.
Instinct defined. Instincts classified ... ... ... 68
THE PRIMITIVE COMBINED MOVEMENTS.
1. The Locomotive Rhythm ... ... ... ... 69
2. Its Analysis .. ' ... ... ... ... ... ib.
3. Primitive Associated movements ... ... ... ... 70
4. Harmony of Pace in the movements ... ... ... ib.
THE INSTINCTIVE PLAY OF FEELING.
1. Union of Mind and Body shown in the Expression of Feeling ib.
2. Physical Accompaniments of the Feelings : Movements of the
Face ... ... ... ... ... ... 71
3. Voice and Respiratory Muscles ... ... ... ..72
4. Muscles of the Body generally ... ... ... ... 73
5. Organic Effects : Lachrymal Organs, Sexual Organs, Digestion,
Cutaneous changes, Heart, Lacteal Gland in Women ... ib.
6. General principle connecting Pleasure and Pain with bodily
functions. Proofs of the Principle. Laughter and Sobbing 7-5
7. Operation of Stimulants ... ... ... ... 78
8. Law of Self-conservation ... ... ... ... 79
THE INSTINCTIVE GERMS OF THE WILL.
1. Voluntary power, a bundle of acquisitions ... ... ... i~b.
2. Primitive foundations of the Will. I. — Spontaneity ... ib.
3. II. — Law of Self-conservation ... ... ... ... SO
4. Accident brings about coincidences between feelings and ap
propriate movements ... ... .. ... ... ib.
5. III. — The coincidences are confirmed by a process of association 81
BOOK II.
THE INTELLECT.
1. The intellectual functions commonly expressed by Memory,
Reason, Imagination, &c. ... . . ... ... 82
2. The primary attributes of Intellect — Difference, Agreement,
Eetentiveness ... ... ... ... .. ... ib.
3. Applications of a Knowledge of the Intellectual Powers ... 84
CONTENTS. IX
CHAP. I.
EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
PAGE.
1. Eetentiveness mostly comprehended under the Law of Conti
guity ... ... ... ... ... ... 85
2. Statement of the Law ... ... ... ... ... ib.
MOVEMENTS.
3. Spontaneous and Instinctive actions strengthened by exercise 86
4. Conjoined or Aggregated Movements ... ... ... «'&.
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
IDEAL FEELINGS OF MOVEMENT. — THE SEAT OF 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 hecome 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 ... ... ... .. ... ... ib.
SENSATIONS OF THE SAME SENSE.
18. In all the senses, different sensations are associated together ... 93
19. Separate ideas become self-sustaining by repetition ... .. il.
20. Association of Sensations of Touch ... .. ... ... 94.
21. Law of the Rate of Acquirement in Touch ... ... ... ib.
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 OF DIFFERENT SENSES.
25. Movements with Sensations. Muscular Ideas with Sensations ;
Architecture. Sensations with Sensations ... ... 98
26. Law of the Eate of such acquirements ... ... ... 100
27. Localization of the Bodily Feelings ... ... .. 101
28. Our body is an object fact with subject associations ... ... 102
29. Association makes differences in sensations alike in quality ... ib.
ASSOCIATES WITH PLEASTTKE AND PAIN.
30. Pleasure and Pain can persist and be reproduced ideally ... ?'&.
31. Law of the association ... ... ... ... .. 103
32. The Special Emotions converted into Affections ... ... 104
33. Association of emotions with indifferent objects : Eitual ... ib.
34. The interest of Ends transferred to the Means : Money, Formali
ties, Truth ... ... ... ... ... ... 105
35. Influence of association in Fine Art. Alison's Theory ... 106
X CONTENTS.
PAGE.
36. The Language of the Feelings has to be acquired ... ... 107
37. The Signs of Happiness are cheering to behold ... ... ^
38. Memories of Pleasure and Pain ... ... ... ... 108
39. Association has a share in the Moral Sentiment ... .. ib.
ASSOCIATIONS OF VOLITION.
40. Contiguous association of actions and states of feeling ... 109
NATURAL OBJECTS.
41. Our ideas of external nature are associations of sensible qualities ib.
42. The Naturalist mind represents disinterested association ... 110
43. In minds generally, the feelings sway the recollections of nature ib.
NATURAL AND HABITUAL CONJUNCTIONS.
44. Association of things habitually conjoined in our view ... ib.
45. Maps, Diagrams, and Pictorial .Representations ... ... Ill
SUCCESSIONS,
46. Successions of Cycle, Evolution, Cause and Effect ... ... ib.
MECHANICAL ACQUISITIONS.
47. Summary of conditions of Mechanical Acquirement ... ... 114
48. Proper duration of exercises ... ... ... ... 115
ACQUISITIONS OP LA.NGUA.GE.
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. Operation 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
RETENTIVENESS IN SCIENCE.
57. Knowledge, as Science, is clothed in artificial symbols ... ib.
58. The Object Sciences are Concrete or Abstract ... ... ib.
59. The Subject Sciences are grounded on self-consciousness ... 120
60. Circumstances favouring acquirements in mental Science ... ib.
61. Supposed faculty of Self-Consciousness ... ... .. 121
BUSINESS, OR PRACTICAL LIFE.
62. Acquirements in the higher branches of Industry ... ... 122
ACQUISITIONS IN THE FINE ARTS.
63. Fine Art constructions give refined pleasure ... ... *'&.
64. Conditions of Acquisition in Fine Art ... ... ... 123
HISTORY AND NARRATIVE.
65. History the suceession of events as narrated ... ... ib.
66. Transactions witnessed impress themselves as Sensations and
Actions ... ... ... .. ... ... 124
67. Events narrated have the aid of the Verbal Memory ... ib.
CONTENTS. XI
OUK PAST LIFE. PAGE.
68. The complex current of each one's existence ... ...124:
CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS ON RETENTIVENESS.
69. Existence of a Eetentive faculty for things generally. Superior
plasticity of early years ; Limitation of acquirements ; Tempo
rary adhesiveness ... ... ... ... ... 125
CHAP. II.
AGtlEEMENT-LAW OF 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.
FEEBLENESS OF IMPRESSION.
4. Impediment of Feebleness or Faintness. By what peculiarities
overcome. Conditions of reproduction by Similarity ... 129
SIMILARITY IN DIVERSITY— SENSATIONS.
5. Impediment of Diversity. Special condition for this case ... 13<Q
6. Movements and Feelings of Movement identified ... ... 131
7. Sensations of Organic Life ... ... ... ... 132
8. Tastes. Identification ending in Classification ... ... 133
9. Touch. Effects generalized and classified ... ... ... 131
10. Hearing. Articulate language identified under diversity of
utterance and cadence. Diversity of Meaning ... ... ib.
11. Sight. Colours, Forms, and their combinations ... ... 136
12. Effects common to the Senses generally ... .. ...137
CONTIGUOUS AGGREGATES — CONJUNCTIONS.
13. Objects affecting a Plurality of Senses ... ... ... 138
14. Aggregates of associated Properties and Uses. The Steam En
gine. Davy's discovery of the composition of the alkalies.
Botany and Zoology ... ... ... ,,, ... ib.
PHENOMENA OF SUCCESSION.
15. Successions identified under diversities. Cycle, Evolution, Cause
and Effect. Newton's discovery of gravitation ... ... 141
REASONING AND SCIENCE IN GENERAL.
16. Generalizing power of the mind gives birth to : I. — Definition ;
II. — Induction; III. — Deduction. Reasoning by Analogy 143
17. Scope of the Eeasoning Faculty ... ... ... ... 146
BUSINESS AND PRACTICE.
18. Discoveries in Practice due, in part, to Similarity ... ... ib.
ILLUSTRATIVE COMPARISONS AND LITERARY ART.
19. Figures of Similitude abound in all great works of literary
genius. Bunyan, Shakespeare, Bacon, Milton ... ... 149
Xii CONTENTS.
THE FINE ARTS IN GENERAL. PAGE.
20. Similarity exemplified in certain, of the Fine Arts ... ... 149
SIMILARITY IN ACQUISITION AND MEMORY.
21. Labour of Acquisition saved by the tracing of similarities ... 150
CHAP. III.
COMPOUND ASSOCIATION.
1. Associations may combine their force. Statement of the Law 151
COMPOSITION OF CONTIGUITIES.
2. Conjunctions: Local associations ; Persons; Uses and Proper
ties. Successions : Language ... ... ... ... 152
COMPOSITION OF SIMILARITIES.
3. This case sufficiently expressed under the Law of Similarity ... 154
MIXED CONTIGUITY AND SIMILARITY.
4. Great discoveries of similarity remembered partly by contiguity 155
5. Aid to Similarity by the proximity of the things desired ... ib.
6. Mnemonic devices ... ... ... ... ... 156
THE ELEMENT OF FEELING.
7. Influence of the Feelings on the trains of thought ... ... ib.
INFLUENCE OF VOLITION.
8. The influence of the Will 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 &f Emotion .. 160
CHAP. IV.
CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION.
1. Processes of Original Creation ... ... ... ... 161
MECHANICAL CONSTRUCTIVENESS.
2. Movements combined into new groupings. Three conditions
of the Constructive Process generally ... ... ... 1C2
VERBAL CONSTRUCTIVENESS.
3. Learning to Articulate ... ... .. ... ... 163
4. Construction of Sentences ... ... ... ... 164
5. Higher Combinations of language ... ... ... ib.
CONTENTS. Xlll
FEELINGS OF MOVEMENT. PAG*.
6. Constructing new muscular ideas. Hitting a mark. Archi
tectural fitness ... .. ... ... •.. 165
CONSTRUCTIVENESS IN THE SENSATIONS.
7. Organic Life ; unknown forms of pleasure and pain. The higher
senses. Visual constructiveness ... ... ... 166
CONSTRUCTION OF NEW EMOTIONS.
8. The Simpler Emotions must be experienced. Change of degree.
Transfer to new objects ... ... ... ... 168
CONCRETING 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 SCIENCE.
11. Definitions, Inductions, Deductions, and Experimental dis
coveries involve constructiveness ... ... ...170
PRACTICAL CONSTRUCTIONS.
12. Mechanical Invention. Administrative contrivances. Judg
ment; adapting one's views to others. Oratory ... ... 171
CONSTRUCTIVENESS UNDER FEELING.
13. Certain constructions satisfy 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 Fine Art constructiveness.
Its elements are, (1) Concreteness, (2) Originality, (3) the pre
sence of Emotion. Fancy. Ideality .... ... ... 174
CHAP. V.
ABSTRACTION— THE ABSTRACT IDEA. ^
NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
1. First stage of Abstraction to compare, identify, and classify ... 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. Realism and Conceptualises ... ... ... .. 180
7- Natural tendency to ascribe separate existence to abstractions ib.
XJV CONTENTS.
CHAP. VI.
THE ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. PAGE.
1. Question as to the existence of Intuitive or Innate truths .. 181
2. Importance attached to the Intuitive origin of knowledge ... ib.
3. Characters ascribed to Innate principles — NECESSITY and UNI
VERSALITY ... ... ... ... ... ... 1S2
4. Objection to the doctrine of Intuition — it presumes on the finality
of some one Analysis of the mind ... ... ... ib.
5. Innate ideas improbable ... ... ... ... ... 184
6. Innate general ideas would require innate particulars ... ib.
7. The character of Necessity has nothing to do with Innate origin ib.
8. Concessions of the supporters of Innate principles ... ... 186
9. The controversy turns at present on the Axioms of Mathematics
and the Law of Causation .. ... ... ... ib.
Criterion of the * inconceivability of the opposites' ... ... ib.
CHAP. VII.
OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION.
1. Two separate questions: — the Theory of Vision, and the Percep
tion of the External and Material World ... ... 188
THEORY OF VISION.
2. Two views of our Perception of Distance by si^ht ... .. ib.
3. The native sensibility of the'eye includes (1) Light and Colour,
(2) Visible Figure and Visible Magnitude ... ... 189
4. The visible signs of variation of Distance from the eye ... ib.
5. The import of Distance is something beyond the ocular sensations 1 90
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 ... ib.
8. The perception of Distance illustrated by the Stereoscope ... 192
9. Admission by Berkeley's opponents that the instinctive percep
tion is aided by associations ... ... ... ... 193
10. Objection to the theory of Acquired Perception, that we are not
conscious of tactual or locomotive reminiscences ... ... 194
11. Farther objection that the early experience of children is insuffi
cient to form the supposed associations ... ... ... ib.
12. Observations on persons born blind and made to see ... ... 19o
13. Instinctive Perceptions of the Lower Animals .,. ... ib.
14. Observations on infants ... ... ... ... ... 196
15. Hypothesis of hereditary transmission of the perception ... 197
PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD.
1. All Perception or Knowledge implies mind ... ... ib.
2. The Perception of Matter a distinct attitude of the consciousness 198
3. The common view of material perception self-contradictory ... ib.
CONTENTS. XV
PAGE.
4. Analysis of Perception ; I. — The putting forth of Muscular
Energy, as opposed to Passive Feeling ... ... ... 198
5. II. — Uniform connexion of Definite Feelings with Definite
Energies ... ... ... ... ... ... 199
6. Our own body is a part of our Object experience ... ... 200
7. III. — Object — the common to all ; Subject — the special to each 201
8. Giving separate existence to the Object a species of Realism ... 202
THEORIES OF THE MATERIAL WORLD.
BERKELEY. Classification of the objects of knowledge: — (1)
Ideas imprinted on the senses; (2) Ideas of passions of the
mind; (3) Ideas of memory and imagination. Peculiarity
of using Idea for Sensation. The first class exist in a mind, no
less than the others. The vulgar opinion a contradiction.
Distinction of Primary and Secondary Qualities of no avail.
Supposed substratum— matter. The reality of things not
abolished. Spirit is something apart from ideas ... ... ib.
HUME. Summary of his philosophical doctrines generally. The
popular belief is that the images on the senses are the external
objects. Philosophy teaches that nothing can be present to
the mind but a perception. The dispute is one as to fact. By
Perception we cannot know either continued or distinct exis
tence. We attain these by the mind's tendency to go on,
even where objects fail. We have no idea of substance.
There is no such thing as self in the abstract. Mind is a
bundle of conceptions ... ... ... ... ... 205
EEID. Reclaimed against Idealism on the ground of Common
Sense. His statements confused and contradictory ; some
point to mediate perception, others to immediate perception.
According to J. S. Mill, his leaning was to the first ... 207
STEWART substantially at one with Reid. BROWN ... ... 208
HAMILTON. Classifies the Theories of Perception. His own
called Natural Realism, or Immediate Perception. Involves
a self-contradiction. His so-called ultimate analysis involves
complex notions ... ... ... .. ib.
FERRIER. His fundamental position. He iterates the essential
implication of Object and Subject. Exposes the self-contra
dictions of the prevailing views. Regards Perception as an
ultimate fact ... ... ... ... ... 210
MAXSEL. Criticism of Berkeley. Analysis of Perception ... 211
BAILEY. Makes Perception a simple, indivisible, ultimate
fact ... ... ... .. ... ... 212
J. S. MILL. Advances a Psychological Theory of the Belief in
a Material World. Postulates (1) Expectation, and (2) the
Laws of Association. Substance, Matter, or the External
World, is a Permanent Possibility of sensation. Distinction
of Primary and Secondary Qualities. Application to the per
manence of Mind ... ... ... . ib.
Xvi CONTENTS.
BOOK III.
THE EMOTIONS.
CHAR I.
FEELING IN GENERAL.
PAGE.
1. The Special Emotions are secondary and derived, and involve
the Intellect 215
2. Feeling in general defined ... ... ... ••• *'"•
3. Twofold aspect of Feeling— Physical and Mental ... ...216
4. Physical aspect of RELATIVITY ... ... •-• **•
5. Law of DIFFUSION ... ... ... ••• ••• *"•
CHARACTERS OF FEELING.
6. The Characters of Feeling fall under four classes ... ••• 217
Emotional Characters of Feeling.
7. Every feeling has its characteristic PHYSICAL side
8. MENTAL side : Quality (Pleasure and Pain), Degree, Speciality ib.
Volitional characters of Feeling.
9. The voluntary actions a clue to the Feelings ... ...218
Intellectual characters of Feeling.
10. The Ideal persistence of feelings extends their sphere ... tb.
Mixed characters of Feeling.
11. Will combined with Ideal persistence makes Forethought ... 219
12. Desire ... ... ... ... ... ••• #•
13. It is the property of every feeling to occupy the mind ... to.
14. The influence in Belief is a mixed character ... ••• 220
THE INTERPRETATION AND ESTIMATE OF FEELING.
15. (1) The Expression indicates the feelings of others_ ... .. 221
16. (2) The Conduct pursued indicates pleasure and pain ...
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 ... ... tb.
19. The several indications mutually check each other ... ••• **•
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 ib.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF FEELING.
22. An outburst 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. XV11
CHAP. II.
THE EMOTIONS AND THEIR CLASSIFICATION.
PAGE.
1. The Emotions are secondary, derived, or compound feelings ... 226
2. PLURALITY of Sensations, in mutual harmony, or in mutual
conflict ... .. ... ... ... ... ib.
3. TRANSFER of feelings to new objects ... ... ... ib.
4. COALESCENCE of separate feelings into an aggregate or whole tb.
5. Principle of classifying the Emotions ... ... ... ib.
6. Detailed Classification ... ... ... ... ... 227
CHAP. III.
EMOTIONS OF RELATIVITY : NOVELTY.— WONDER.—
LIBERTY.
1. Objects of NOVELTY. PHYSICAL circumstance ... ... 229
2. MENTAL characters ... ... .. ... .. ib.
3. Pain of Monotony. SPECIES of Novelty .. .. .. ib.
4. VARIETY, a minor form of Novelty .. ... .. 230
5. SURPRISE ; 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 .. ... ... ib.
CHAP. IV.
EMOTION OF TERROR.
1. TERROR 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 ... 235
5. Counteractives of Terror : the sources of Courage ... ... 238
6. Re-action from Terror cheering and hilarious .., ... ib.
7. Uses of Terror, in Government, 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
B
XV111 CONTENTS.
PAGE.
3. Link of sequence, physical and mental, between the stimulants
and the manifestations ... ... ... ... 241
4. MENTAL side : — Simple characters of the emotion ... ... 242
5. Mixed characters : Desire; Control of the Thoughts ... ib.
SPECIES OF THE TENDER EMOTION.
6. Tenderness is vented mainly on human beings ... ... 243
The family Group.
7. Mother and Offspring. Paternal relationship ... ... ib.
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 Sympathv, and ruled by Justice ... ib.
13. Benevolence and Gratitude in the equal relationships ... 246
14. The spectacle of Generosity stimulates Tenderness ... ... ib.
15. The Lower Animals are fit subjects of tender feeling ... ib.
16. Form of Tenderness in connexion with Inanimate things ... ib.
Sorrow.
17. Sorrow is pain from the loss of objects of affection; Tender
ness a means of consolation ... ... .. ... 247
18. Social and Moral bearings of Tenderness ... ... ... ib.
Admiration and Esteem.
19. Admiration is awakened by excellence ; and is allied to Love ... ib.
20. Esteem respects the performance of essential Duties ... 248
Veneration — the Religious Sentiment.
21. The Religious Sentiment contains Wonder, Love and Awe. —
Veneration, Reverence ... ... ... $.
CHAP VI.
EMOTIONS OF SELF.
1. SELF intended to refer to two allied groups of feelings ... 250
SELF-GRATULATION AND SELF-ESTEEM.
2. The feeling arising from excellent or amiable qualities beheld in
self ib.
3. PHYSICAL side ... ... ... ... ... ... 251
4. MENTAL side:— A mode of Tender Feeling ... ... ... ib.
5. SPECIFIC FORMS : Self-complacency, Self-esteem and Self-conceit,
Self-respect and Pride, Self-pity, Emulation, Envy ... 252
6. Pains of the Emotion : Humility and Modesty, Humiliation and
Self-abasement, Self-reproach ... ... ... ... 253
LOVE OF APPROBATION.
7. Involves, with self-gratulation, the workings of Sympathy ... 254
CONTENTS. XIX
PAGE.
8. SPECIES of the feeling: mere Approbation, Admiration and Praise,
Flattery and Adulation, Glory, Eeputation or Fame, Honour;
the rules of Polite society ... ... ... ... 255
9. Pains of Disapprobation : Remorse; Shame ... ... ib.
10. Self-complacency and the Love of Admiration as motives ... 256
CHAP. VII.
EMOTION OF POWER.
1. Depends on a sense of superior might or energy, on comparison ib.
2. PHYSICAL side : an increase of Power ; Laughter ... ... 257
3. MEXTAL side : an elating or intoxicating pleasure ... ... 258
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. VIII.
IRASCIBLE 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. PHYSICAL manifestations : (1) Excitement ; (2) Activity ; (3)
Organic effects ; (4) Expression or Attitude ; (5) Exultation
of Revenge ... ... .. ... ... ... 261
4. MENTAL side : the pleasure of 'malevolence ... ... ... 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 farther pain &?/ inducing fear ... 262
6. SPECIES of Anger : manifestations in the Lower Animals ; forms
in Infancy and Childhood ; Sudden anger ; Deliberate Anger
• — Revenge ; Hatred ; Antipathy ; Warfare ; grades of offence.
Pleasure of Malevolence called in question. Righteous Indig
nation; Noble Rage ... ... ... ... ... 263
7. Interest evoked by Sympathy with irascible feeling ... ... 266
8. Justice involves sympathetic Resentment ... ... ... ib.
9. Punishment by law gratifies and moderates resentful passion ... 267
CHAP. IX.
EMOTIONS OF ACTION— PURSUIT.
1. The attitude of PURSUIT induced on voluntary activity ... ib.
2. PHYSICAL side : (1) intent occupation of the Senses ; (2) harmo
nizing Muscular Activity ... ... ... ... 268
3. MENTAL side: (1) interest of an end, heightened by its ap
proach; (2) engrossment in Object regards, remission of Sub
ject regards ... ... .. ... ... ... ib.
XX CONTENTS.
PAGE.
4. Chance, or Uncertainty, contributes to the engrossment ... 269
5. The excitement of Pursuit is seen in the Lower Animals ... 270
6. Field Sports ... ... .. ... ... ... ib.
7. Contests ... ... ... .. ... ... ib.
8. The occupations of Industry give scope for Plot-interest ... 271
9. The Sympathetic Kelationships contain Pursuit ... ... ib.
10. The search after Knowledge ... ... ... ... 27-
11. The position of the Spectator contains the interest of Pursuit ... ib.
12. The Literature of Plot, or Story ... ... ... ... ib.
13. Form of pain, the prolongation of the suspense ... ... 273
14. Pains of activity generally ... ... ... ... ib.
CHAP. X.
EMOTIONS OF INTELLECT.
1. Pleasures and pains attending Intellectual operations ... ib.
'2. Feelings in the working of Contiguity ... ... ... 274
3. Pain of Contradiction or Inconsistency ... ... ... ib.
4. Pleasure of Similarity, an exhilarating surprise ; relief from an
intellectual burden ... ... ... ... ... ib.
5. New identities of Science increase the range of intellectual
comprehension ... ... ... ... ... 275
G. Discoveries of Practice gives the pleasure of increased power ... ib.
7. Illustrative Comparisons remit intellectual toil ... ... 27G
CHAR XL
SYMPATHY.
1. SYMPATHY is entering into, and acting out, the feelings of others ib.
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.
4. 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 Imitative aptitudes ib.
CHAP. XII.
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
PAGE.
4. Some Constitutions are adapted for Special Emotions .. 285
5. Mental Agencies: — (1) the presence of some Kindred emotion;
(2) Intellectual forces ... ... .. ... 286
6. Feeling 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. XIII.
ESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
1. These are the pleasures aimed at in the Fine Arts ... ... ib.
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 idea ... ib.
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 ... .. ... ib.
7. II.— Co-operation of the Intellect with the Senses ... .. 293
8. III.— The Special Emotions ... ... ... .. ib.
9. IV. — HARMONY a preponderating Element in Art
294
ib.
1.0. The pleasures of Sound and their Harmonies : — Music
11. 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. UNITY in Diversity .. ... ... ... ... 300
15. It is a principle in Art, to leave something to Desire ... ib.
16. The Feeling of Beauty has great latitude ... ... ... ib.
17. The SUBLIME : — its definition ; Human energy ; Inanimate
things ; Support ; Natural agencies ; Space ; Time. Con
nexion with Terror ... ... ... ... ... 301
18. Beauty and Sublimity of Natural Objects ; Human Beauty ... 302
THEORIES OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
SOKRATES. Holds the Beautiful and the useful to be the same 304
PLATO. Discusses opposing theories; connects Beauty with
the theory of Ideas ... ... ... ... ... ib.
ARISTOTLE. Notices orderly arrangement and a certain size ... 305
AUGUSTIN. Unity in a comprehensive design ... ... ib.
SHAFTESBURY. The Beautiful and the ('rood both perceived by
the same internal sense ... ... ... ... ib.
ADDISON. HUTCHESON. DIDEROT ... ... ... ib.
PERE BUFFIER. Beauty is the type of each species ... ... ib.
Sir JOSHUA B.EYNOI/DS. Agrees in the main with Buffier ... 306
HOGARTH. Fitness, Variety, Uniformity, Simplicity, Intricacy,
Magnitude. The line of Beauty and of Grace ... ... ib.
BURKE. Beauty causes an agreeable relaxation of the, fibres.
Smoothness ... ... ... ... ... . . 307
XX11 CONTENTS.
PAGE.
ALISON. Beauty is (1) the production of some Simple Emotion ;
(2) a peculiar exercise of the Imagination. The sensible
qualities are not beautiful of themselves, but as the signs of
associated emotions or affections .. ... ... 308
JEFFREY. Adopts substantially the theory of Alison ... 312
DUGALD STEWART. Asserts, against Alison and Jeffrey, the
intrinsic pleasures of Colour. Explains the Sublime by Height
and its associations ... ... ... ... ... 313
RIJSKIN. Attributes of Infinity, Unity, Repose, Symmetry,
Moderation. His asceticism ... ... ... .. 31-i
THE LUDICROrS.
1. The causes of Laughter ... ... ... ... ... 315
2. Incongruity not always ludicrous ... ... ... ... ib.
3. The Ludicrous caused by the Degradation of some person or
interest. Theories of Laughter : Aristotle, Quintilian, Hobbes,
Campbell, Kant ... ... ... ... ... ib.
4. The pleasure of degradation referable (I) to the sentiment of
Power, or (2) to the release from Constraint ... ... 317
BOOK IY.
THE WILL.
CHAP. I.
PRIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION.
1. The Primitive Elements — Spontaneity and Self-conservation ... 318
SPONTANEITY OF MOVEMENT.
2. Spontaneity illustrated ... ... ... ... ... ib.
3. Muscular groups or Regions ... ... .. ...319
4. The members commanded separately by the will should have at
the outset an Isolated spontaneity ... ... ... ib.
5. Circumstances accounting for the higher degrees of the spon
taneous discharge ... ... .. ... ,.. 220
LINK OF FEELING OF ACTION — SELF-CONSERVATION.
6. A link has to be formed between actions and feelings ... 322
7. Self-conservation has two branches. First, Emotional Expression ib.
8. Secondly, the concurrence of Activity with Pleasure, and the
obverse ... ... ... ,.. ... ... 323
CHAP. II.
GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER.
1. Conversion of the primitive elements into the mature volition ... 325
CONTENTS. XX111
PAGE.
2. Process 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. Volition made general. The Word of Command .. ... ib.
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. III.
CONTROL OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS.
1. All voluntary control is through the muscles ... ... 338
CONTROL OF THE FEELINGS.
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
COMMAND OF THE THOUGHTS.
4. The medium is the control of Attention ... ... ... 341
5. The will has power over muscular movements in idea ... 342
6. Command of the thoughts may be acquired ... ... ib.
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. Prospectivepleasuresandpains. Circumstances of ideal persistence 347
3. The Means of pleasure and pain : — Money, Bodily Strength,
Knowledge, Formalities, Virtues ... ... ... 349
4. The Will biased by Fixed Ideas ... ... ... ... 351
CHAP. V.
THE CONFLICT OF MOTIVES.
1. Conflict of concurring pleasures and pains ... ... ... 354
2. Spontaneity may oppose the motives to the Will ... .. ib.
3. Exhaustion a bar to the influence of Motives ... ... 355
4. Opposition of two Motives in the Actual ... ... ... ib.
5. Conflict between the Actual and the Ideal ... ... ... 357
6. Intermediate Ends in conflict ; Prison Discipline ... ... 358
7. The Persistence of Ideas makes the Impassioned Ends ... 359
XXIV CONTENTS.
CHAR VI.
DELIBERATION.— RESOLUTION.— EFFORT.
PAGE.
1. DELIBERATION a voluntary suspense, prompted by the evils of
hasty action ... ... ... ... ... ... 360
2. The Deliberative process conforms to the theory of the Will ... 362
3. RESOLUTION is postponed action ... ... ... ... 363
4. A strong motive, with insufficiency in the active organs, makes
the state called EFFORT ... ... ... ... 365
5. Deliberation, Resolution, and Effort, are accidents, and not
essentials of the will. Herschel on the sense of Effort, note ib.
. CHAP. VII.
DESIRE.
1. Desire is a motive to act — without the ability «,. ... 303
2. In Desire, there is a state of conflict .. ... ... ib.
3. Modes of escape from the unrest of Desire : — Forced quiescence ... 367
4. Ideal or imaginary action ... ... ... ... ... 368
5. Provocatives of Desire: — (1) the wants of the system; (2) the
experience of pleasure ... ... ... ... ... 300
6. Feelings named from the state of Desire : — Avarice, Ambition,
Curiosity ... ... ... ... ... ... 370
7. In Desire, there may be the disturbance of the Fixed Idea ... ib.
8. Desire not a necessary prelude to volition ... ... ... 37.1
CHAP. VIII.
BELIEF.
1. Belief, while involving the Intellect and the Feelings', is essen
tially related to activity, or the Will ... ... ... ib.
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 intermediate ends ... ... 37-5
4. The intellectual element is an Association of Means and Ends ... 376
5. Mental foundations of Belief: — (1) our Activity— Spontaneous
and Voluntary ; we believe whatever is uncontradicted ... ib.
6. (2) Intellectual Association is an aid to Belief ... ... 380
7. (3) Operation of the Feelings in Belief ... ... ... ib.
8. Belief in the order of the World varies with the three elements 332
9. Belief is opposed, not by Disbelief, but by DOUBT ... .... 384
10. HOPE and DESPONDENCY are phases of Belief ,,. ... ib.
CONTENTS. XXV
CHAP. IX.
THE MORAL HABITS.
PAGE.
1. The Moral Habits are related to Feelings and Volitions ... 385
2. The Moral Acquirements follow the laws of Retentiveness ... id.
3. Special conditions : — (1) an Initiative, and (2) a Graduated Ex
posure in cases of conflict ... .. ... ... 386
4. Habits in the control of Sense and Appetite : — Temperance.
Command of Attention ... ... ... ... ib.
5. Habits under the Special Emotions : — (1) Emotional 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
CHAR X.
PRUDENCE.— DUTY.— MORAL 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. MORAL INABILITY is the insufficiency of ordinary motives, but
not of all motives ... ... ... ... ... ib.
CHAP. XL
LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
1. The exposition 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 CONTROVERSY.
PLATO. ARISTOTLE. THE STOICS. THE EPICUREANS. ... 406
NEO-PLATONISTS : — PLOTINUS. JUSTIN MARTYR. TERTULLIAN, 407
AUGUSTIN. Doctrine of Predestination. Free-will with him
does not mean independence of motives ... ... 408
AQUINAS. Follows Augustin in the doctrines of original sin,
irresistible grace and predestination. Modes of meeting the
difficulties ... „, ... ... ... ... 409
CALVIN. Accepted, in their rigour, the views of Augustin. ... 410
PELAOIUS and ARMINIUS ... ... ... ... ib.
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 CONTENTS.
PAGE.
DESCARTE?. We are conscious of Freedom. Liberty is not
indifference, God's perfection requires pre-determinatiou ... 412
LOCKE. 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 tmcasiness ... 413
SPINOZA. Free-will inconsistent with the nature of God. Ques
tion of evil ... .. ... ... ... ... 414
COLLINS. Defends the Necessitarian doctrine ... ... ib.
LEIBNITZ. Necessity is hypothetical or absolute. Hypothetical
necessity does not derogate from liberty. Different kinds of
Fatalism. Motives are dispositions ... ... ... 415
SAMUEL CLARKE. Asserts that the mind has a self- moving
faculty ... ... ... ... ... ,.. 416
JONATHAN EDWARDS. Vindicates Philosophical Necessity.
The will is determined by the strongest motive. Self-deter
mination is inconsistent and inconceivable. Liberty of
Indifference untenable. Every event must have a cause ;
this is contradicted by free-will. Fore-knowledge supposes
infallible sequence. Morality does not require liberty.
Necessity does not involve bad consequences ... ... 417
PIUCE. Took up Clarke's view of self-motion ... ... 420
PIUESTLEY. Controverted Price. Denied that consciousness is
in favour of freedom. Reconciled necessity with accounta
bility. Permission of evil means appointing it. Actions
must be ultimately traced to the Deity. Materialism leads to
necessity ... ... ... ... ... ... 421
HEID. Liberty defined. Arguments in support of Free-will.
Refutation of Necessity .. ... ... ... 422
HAMILTON. Defends Free-will on his Law of the Conditioned.
Liberty 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. Accountability. Necessity
is not Fatalism. Influence of Motives ... 426
CONTENTS. XXV11
APPENDIX.
A. — History of Nominalism and Realism. PAGE.
The controversy on Universals first obtained its place through So-
krates and Plato. Earliest germs in the doctrines of Parmenides
and of Heracleitus ... ... ... ... ••• 1
SOKRATES. His manner of life, and method. Search for the mean
ings of universal terms ... ... ... ... ... 2
PLATO. Theory of Ideas (in Kratylusj. Timceus ; Distinction 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. Phcedrus : Pre-existence of the
Ideas. PJicedon : 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.
Republic : iteration of the contrast between Sensible Particulars
and Cogitable Universals ; Idea of the Good. Thecetetus :_ the
Particulars, 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 EEALISM. In the dialogues —
Sophis-tes and Parmenides — Plato, in his usual dialectical manner,
sets forth the objections to the theory of Ideas : these objections
are no where answered by him ... ... ... •-• 4
ARISTOTLE. Enters his protest against separating Universals from
Particulars. Advances a series of 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
PLOTINUS. Falls back upon Platonism. The Cogitables are the
only realities. The Idea of the Good the highest of all ... 22
PORPHYRY. Vindication of the Categories. His doubts as to the
separate existence of Genera and Species ... ... ... ib.
SCOTUS ERIGENA. 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.
AQUINAS. Supports the Aristotelian doctrine, with a qualification
as to the ideas in the Divine Mind. DUNS SCOTUS ... ... 24
OCKHAM. Associated with the downfall of Scholasticism. Univer
sals have no existence but in the mind. Nominalism from his
time in the ascendant. After Descartes, the question fell into a
second rank ... ... ... ... ... ... 25
HOBBES. The most outspoken representative of extreme Nominalism 26
LOCKE. General terms the signs of general ideas ... ... 27
BERKELEY. Denies the power of conceiving any property in the ab
stract ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 28
HUME. Abstract ideas are in themselves individual ... ... ib.
REID. General names must imply general conceptions. We
may disjoin, in our conception, attributes inseparable in nature 29
STEWART. Abstraction as exemplified in Geometry and Algebra ib.
XXviii CONTENTS.
PAGE.
BROWN. A general word designates certain particulars, together
with the fact of their resemblance ... ... ... 30
HAMILTON. Considers both parties misled by the ambiguity of the
terms. Expresses Nominalism with exactness, but admits a form
of Conceptualism ... ... ... ••• ••• 31
JAMES MILL. A general term is associated with a multitude of
particulars ; the idea complex and indistinct, but not unintelligible ib.
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 Reminiscence ... ... ... ... 33
ARISTOTLE. Did not regard the notions of Cause, Substance, &c. as
Intuitions. Common Sense belongs to the region of Opinion,
and not to Science or Cognition ; and includes the provinces of
Rhetoric 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 highest principles are not intuitive ; they
are the growth of the higher human faculties ; their truth is as
certained by Induction. Relation 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 ... .. . . ... ib.
THE SCHOOLMEN. Opposing views were held. The question be
came prominent at the close of the scholastic period. ... ... 49
DESCARTES. 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 ... ... ... ib.
ARNAULD. Distinguishes between Image and Idea. There are
simple ideas not arising from Sense ... ... ... 51
CUDWORTH. Sense and Cognition. Ideas of Cognition. ... 52
HERBERT OF CHERBURY. What is accepted by all men must be
true. The Common Notions are Instinctive. Their characters ib.
LOCKE. His replies to the arguments for Innate Ideas : — Argument
from Universality. That the propositions, as soon as heard, are as
sented to. Opposing considerations : — The maxims are not known
to children ; they appear least in savages, and in the illiterate.
Examination of some alleged innate ideas ... ... ... 53
LEIBNITZ. Charges Locke with overlooking the distinction between
truths of fact and necessary truths. The Intellect itself is innate.
Examples of necessary principles. Particular experiences cannot
impart universality. The mode of pre-existence of the innate ideas 56
KANT. His position as between the opposing schools. Maintained
the existence of a priori or Innate Principles. Examples from
Mathematics. The native elements are Forms, experience sup-
)lying the Mattor. I. — Forms of Intuition— Space and Time.
of the Reason— the Soul, the World, God ... ' ... , 58
CONTENTS. XXIX
PAGE.
BUFFIER. His anticipation of Eeid. Defines Common Sense.
Enumeration of First Truths ... ... ... ... 62
REID. 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
STEWAHT. Theory of Axioms, Definitions, and Mathematical De
monstration ... ... ... ... ... ... 65
HAMILTON. 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
Causality and to Substance ... ... ... ... 67
J. S. MILL. The nature of the certainty of mathematical truths.
Reply to the arguments in favour of the a 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
M ANSEL. Different kinds of Necessity : — Mathematical necessity :
the axioms of Geometry ; Arithmetic. Metaphysical Necessity.
Substance; Causality. Logical Necessity. Moral Necessity ... 73
C. — On Happiness.
Enumeration of primary Pleasures and Pains. Important distinc
tions among pleasures and pains. Happiness as affected by the
principle of RELATIVITY. HEALTH. ACTIVITY, or Occupation.
KNOWLEDGE. EDUCATION. INDIVIDUALITY. WEALTH. VIRTUE,
or Duty. RELIGION. Formation of a Plan of Life, or METHOD 78
D. — Classifications of the Mind.
THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. Aquinas. Reid. Stewart. Brown.
Hamilton, Jiailey ... ... ... ,.. ... 88
THE EMOTIONS. Reid. Stewart. Brown. Hamilton. Spencer.
Kant, Herbart. Schleidler ... ... ... ... 89
THE LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. Aristotle. Ludovicus 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 subjective
life more especially. View that Consciousness, as a whole, is
based on knowing ... ... ... ... ... 93
SENSATION. Expresses various contrasting phenomena ... 94
PRESENTATION 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
SUBSTANCE. 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 attributes. The questions of
Substance and Personal Identity in great part the same ... 98
Note on BELIEF. ... .. 100
INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER 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 ; but the names Object and Sub
ject are to be preferred.
The experience or consciousness 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. Neither 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 spoken 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. But, 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, Will or Volition, and Thought or Intellect — through
which all our experience, as well Objective as Subjective,
is built up. This positive enumeration is what must stand
for a definition.
FEELING 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 touch of a table, the sound of
a dog barking in the distance — are Feelings. The two lead
ing divisions of the feelings are commonly given as Sensations
and Emotions.
WILL or VOLITION comprises all the actions of human beings
in so far as impelled or guided by Feelings. Eating, walking,
building, sowing, speaking — 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, &c.; so also the organic functions of breath
ing, circulation, and the movements of the intestines.
THOUGHT, INTELLECT, Intelligence or Cognition includes the
powers known as Perception, Memory, Conception, Abstrac
tion, Reason, 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 Retentiveness or Memory.
The mind can seldom operate exclusively in any one of
those three modes. A Feeling is apt to be'accbmpanied'more
or less by Will and by Thought. When we are pleased,
\ our^wtTTismoved for continuance or increase of the pleasure
I (Will) ; 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 denning 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.'
Eeid's formal classification in expounding the mind is into
Intellectual Poivers 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
prise the exposition of the benevolent and the malevolent affections.
Dr. Thomas 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. J$y external afjgotioiifl.fcft
enses, in otEerwords" Sensa-
tion. The in^ernal^a^gcfiffl&Uiej 9HJ)d4vjdjes ULJQ ijitellej£uail states
f^LM^td^a^^^wns. His division/tneref ore , is tantamount to
Sensation, Emotion, and Intellect. All the phenomena commonly
recognized as of an active or volitional character he classes as a
part of gniotion.
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 phcenomena, that is, the phcenomena 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 phcenomena of Feeling
or of Pleasure and Pain, — and the phcenomena of Conation or of
Will and Desire.' Intelligence, Feeling, and Will 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.
Feeling 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 Intellectual
powers. The Will is to a great extent the product of the Reten
tive function of Intelligence ; it is also dependent throughout
on the Feelings ; 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
full detail of Sensation, which contains a department of Feel
ing, and exemplifies one of the Intellectual functions — Dis
crimination. The convenient title is MOVEMENT, SENSE and
INSTINCT.
Secondly, The INTELLECT.
Thirdly, The EMOTIONS, completing the department of
Feeling.
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 the proposi
tion will be rendered more exact. Each mind is known, by
direct or immediate knowledge, only to itself. Other minds
are known to us 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 relationshio is with the Brain and
Nerves.
It has always been a matter of difficulty to express the nature
of tins concomitance, 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 in
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 connexion is one of dependence, but not
properly of local union.
CHAPTER IL
THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS.
(Summary of Results.)
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 alkaline 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 unusual size. The
average weight of the brain is 48 oz. ; the brain of Cuvier
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 functions.
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 bodily
organs, one-half of the nerves carry influence outwards, the
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 fibres. 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 w^hite ; 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 cells 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
TsVcA tb<e soulA Tp,z>ootb> IT oiootn> to .the Toq'ooo^ 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 cell and another of the
central lump ; there are no loose ends. The fibres are thus a
connecting or conducting material.
The cells 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 -g^th of an inch, and as low as the T"2,ijTTotn. ^ little
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 OF THE SPINAL CORD. 7
energy is re-inforced. Hence the 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,
establish forward and lateral communications with other
fibres, which communications are required for grouping and
co-ordinating sensations and movements 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 1J 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 automatic, 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 voluntary, 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 tu.be 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 Respiration. The
breathing action is sustained by a power withdrawn from our
will, although voluntary muscles are made use of. In taking
in breath, 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 coughing and sneezing are reflex acts, operated
through the lungs. 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.
Sucking in infants is a purely reflex act.
(3) Certain reflex movements are connected with the
Eyes. The act of winlring 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
thing, 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
fluence may not be limited to the spinal cord, but it illustrates
the kind of reflex 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
of the muscles. It is a fact, that in the profoundest 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.
II. The BRAIN, or Encephalon, is the rounded or oval lump
of nervous matter filling the cavity of the skull. It is a com
plex mass, but there are certain recognized divisions, with
probable difference of function.
Commencing from below, and continuous with the Spinal
cord, is the Medulla Oblong ata, which has been already noticed.
Next is the Pons Varolii, or ring-like protuberance, so
called because it embraces like a ring the main stern 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 diffused 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 functions of a
centre, in reflecting and multiplying nervous communications.
No more 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 multiplication 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 tJtalami optici, 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 quadrigemina, 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.
Resting on the middle cleft of the four eminences, is a small
conical body, called tthe pineal gland, curious as being sup
posed, by Descartes, to be the seat of the soul.
The functions 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 different 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 functions in
different individuals.
The Cerebellum, little brain, 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. Like the hemispheres, its outer surface is a thin cake
of grev matter, extended, not by the convoluted arrangement,
but by being folded into plates or lamina?. The connexions
of the cerebellum are, beneath, with a detached branch of the
great stem, and above with the hemispheres, through the
corpora quadrigemina ; the two halves are united laterally by
the pons varolii.
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 as 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 functions of the mind, the
powers of sensation and volition. The inference has been
denied by Brown-Sequard, 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 circuit, 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 NERVES.
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 vertebra?, higher or lower, according to their ulti
mate destination.
The mode of emergence from the spinal cord is peculiar.
At the interstices of the vertebra?, a couple of branches
emerge, for the 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. Jt 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 NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS FUNCTIONS.
their own kind. In the final result, this energy stimulates
muscles into action, and without 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 incanying 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, in 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 first pair is the olfactory, or nerve of Smell. The second
is the optic, or nerve of Sight. The third, fourth, and sixth pairs
are distributed to the muscles of the eye, and therefore determine
its movements. The fifth 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 fihres to the muscles of the throat or pharynx. The
tenth, called pneumo-gastric, supplies the larynx, the lungs, the
liver, and the stomach, and is the medium of a large amount of
sensibility. The eleventh, called spinal accessory, is motor. The
twelfth pair (hypo-glossal) is the motor nerve of the tongue.
BOOK I,
MOVEMENT, SENSE, AND INSTINCT.
CHAPTER L
MOVEMENT, AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS,
1. THE Muscular Feelings agree with the 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 fundamental contrast existing among the feelings
of the human mind, is the contrast of Active and Passive.
The exercise of rowing a boat gives a feeling of activity or
energy ; in a warm bath, the consciousness 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 incarrying nerves and
their allied centres with sensation or passivity.
Not only should the muscular 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
formed by means of the substance called muscle, or flesh : a sub-
14 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS.
stance composed of very fine fibres, collected into separate masses,
of great variety of form, each mass being a muscle. The peculiar
property of the muscular substance is contractility, or the forcible
shrinking: 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 compelling
the body to rise.
The ultimate fibres of the muscles, the fibrils or fibrillse (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 -^-^ 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
stomach, 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 ; but 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
'tonicity,' or tonic contraction. It is excited through the
medium of the nerves. The cutting of the nerves, or the de
struction 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-
PROOFS OF SPONTANEOUS ACTIVITY. ] 5
ters, is an effect of the same nature. The lower extremity of
the alimentary canal is kept close by a self-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 provision 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 con
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-anirnation 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 follow 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 bail, 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 MUSCULAR FEELINGS.
pants for being let loose, not because of anything that attracts
his view or kindles up his ear, but because a rush of activity
courses through his 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 emotionr and the distinction is accord
ingly recognized in the 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 full-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 #ny stimulation, or in undue proportion
to the stimulants applied. This shows incontestably, that the
condition of the nerve centres may be such as to originate
activity, without any 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 erections 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 flagrant wrong, and otherwise leads an inactive career.
The Spontaneity of the system is shown in all the regions
of muscular activity. Foremost of our muscular groupings is
the Locomotive Apparatus, which includes the limbs, together
with the trunk ; in energetic promptings, these organs are the
readiest means of discharging 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 bursts 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, Feelings 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 will be under a subsequent head. It is
our purpose, at this stage, to exhibit prominently the active
side of our nature, in its contrast to the passive or receptive
side.
Secondly, Feelings connected with muscular action,
including all the pleasures and pains of exercise. These
are states peculiar to muscular activity.
2
18 MOVEMENT AND THE MUSCULAR FEELINGS.
Thirdly, The discriminative sensibility of muscle, or the
consciousness that arises during the varying tension of the
These £re 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 de
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.
II. 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 ; but 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 the Emotions. All 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 MENTAL SIDE, has its relationships exhausted
under the three fundamental attributes of Mind — Feeling, Volition, and
Intellect. As Feeling, it is pleasurable, painful, or neutral — its Quality ;
it has Degree, as regards Intensity, or as regards Quantity ; and it may
have Special characteristics besides. Farther, all feelings that are either
pleasurable or painful are motives to the Will ; this is their Volitional
property. Lastly, when we look to the susceptibility 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.
MUSCULAR EXERCISE. — PHYSICAL SIDE. 19
tension, so far as known, are these. There is a shrinking or
contracting of the length of the muscle, through the shortening
and widening of the ultimate particles that make up each fibril.
To induce 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. From 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 its completeness may be represented thus : —
PHYSICAL SIDE.
Bodily Origin. (For Sensations chiefly).
Bodily Diffusion, expression, or embodiment.
MENTAL SIDE.
Characters as Feeling.
Quality, i. e., Pleasure, Pain, Indifference.
Degree.
As regards Intensity or acuteness.
As regards Quantity, mass, or volume.
Special characteristics.
Volitional characters.
Mode of influencing the Will, or Motives to Action.
Intellectual characters.
Susceptibility to Discrimination and to Agreement.
Degree of Retainability, that is Ideal Persistence and
Recoverability.
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 will, 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 avoidanre. Hence the
lact, 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 Re-
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 particulars 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 the full description is called for.
Two or three examples of the complete detail will be given.
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, arid 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 of muscular exer
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- occupied
in this way, the features and other organs of expression are
affected according as the mental state is pleasurable or 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. If we confine ourselves to the dis
charge of surplus energy in muscular exertion, there can be
no doubt that this is a considerable 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 nerves ; they
are not, however, destitute of sensory or incarrying fibres. It is an
inference supported by many facts, and accepted by the generality of
physiologists, that the feeling of exertion accompanies 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, ' Senses
and Intellect,' p. 92, 2nd edit.
MUSCULAR EXERCISE. — 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 mere 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
very 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 tbey 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 bo called subjective
indifference. The other is the objective attitude, under which all
emotion is for the moment submerged.
The Volitional property of the pleasure, or the pain, of mus
cular exercise falls under the general law of the will. 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 point of view, a feeling is considered as
to Discrimination (together with Agreement) and as to Re tain-
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, arid occupatidns 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, &c. 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 with 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.
PHYSICALLY, 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
pouring forth of energy in a fixed attitude.
MENTALLY, the characters differ according as the move
ments are slow or quick.
7. And first of slow movements.
Under a loitering, sauntering walk, drawling tones of
speech, solemn gestures, and dawdling occupation, there is a
voluminous pleasurable feeling, with little energy expended.
The two facts are mutually implicated. The sense of expended
energy is wanting, and the attention is disengaged 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,
and 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 increasing or diminishing 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 will be subordinated to
the proper consciousness of expended muscular force.
10. A third situation connected with muscular exercise
is improperly expressed by passive movements.
Riding 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. Arnott 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 fresh 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.
III. Of the Discriminative 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 intelligence, 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 Force, 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 Force, Momentum,
DISCRIMINATION OF 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 gradual ed 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 make
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 MUSCULAR 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. All 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 ; we 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 in 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, visual, or
locomotive, one or all, as will be afterwards seen.
14. Thirdly, as regards movements, the speed 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
continuance. 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 supplemonting that derived
from the continuance of a uniform movement. A greater
velocity, under one amount of continuance, is equivalent 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 riot 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 t 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 ORGANIC LIFE.
of states designated by physical comfort and discomfort, are
left out ; yet these possess the characteristics of sensation as
above denned, 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 Smell, 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-
r leclrral 3^ses_ by "^re^ejninence. 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 OF ORGANIC LIFE.
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 injury, 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 fall, 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,
movements are stimulated, intense according to the pain.
A.CUTE PHYSICAL PAINS TYPIFIED. 29
The accompaniment of sobbing shows that the involuntary
muscles 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 ORGANIC 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. Mentally, this is
the species of pain named racking ; it arises from violent 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 muscular 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 further 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 shin 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 affections of the nerves ; the de-
AFFECTIONS OF THE NERVOUS SUBSTANCE, 31
pression arising from nervous fatigue and exhaustion , and
the exhilaration of freshness and of stimulants.
(1) Diseases and injuries of the nerves are productive of
intense suffering, as in tic-doleureux and the other neuralgic
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
neuralgic 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 neutralizing 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 arid 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 ORGANIC LIFE.
merit of the organs generally must be assumed 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 feeling purely connected with the Circulation is what
arises from long confinement to one posture, sitting or lying.
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 Respiration.
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
suffocation. 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
muscles 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 how 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 Cold.
7. Changes of Temperature give rise to feeling, in all
parts of the body, although the greatest sensitiveness is in
the skin.
The operation of cold and heat is on the organic functions.
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 chillness, 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 acute, 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, although closely allied to Taste,
are not to be confounded with it.
The objects of the sense are the materials 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 — Relish 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 Relish, 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 suc
ceeded by the more voluminous 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 from 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
state 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 spa.sm 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 they
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 will be noticed under the sense of Touch.
In the Muscular Feelings, 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 Objects 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 papilla? 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 relish 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 tongue 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 papilla.
3. The Sensations of Taste fall under a three-fold
division : (1) those in direct sympathy with the Stomach,
as Relish ; (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 tongus
indicates at once whether a substance will 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 alliance 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 Relish ; 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 acid 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 surface ; 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 nitrous 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 kakodyle series of compounds dis
covered by Bunsen, from the study of a substance long known
as * liquor of Cadet.' The pungent odours are typified by
ammonia ; nicotine, the element of the snuffs, 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 matters and prepare the way for their being
volatilized.
4 The gaseous property, called diffusion, determines
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
effluvia 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 effluvia, very
strong on the ground, are unperceived at the height of a few
feet. 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 by
Graham. Odorous substances in general are such 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 smell, has been obtained from
deep mines, 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.
FRESH 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 be" 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 efficacy, as eau de Cologne, lavender, pep
permint, and 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. Freshness
may, or may not, be joined with fragrance ; the odour of a
tanyard is stimulating to the lungs ; the smell 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 smell ; the enjoyment derivable through
the olfactory nerves. It is acute or massive, according to the
concentration or diffusion 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 of time without
palling.
The opposite of sweetness is given in the expressive name
stink ; a milder substitute is malodour. The smell of assafce-
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 scum of stagnant marsh (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. Through excitation of the nerves of touch we derive
ihQ pungent 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 snuff-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, painful 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 acrid, 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 TENDER
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 flavour ; 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 smell 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.
Gases 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 -%^-Q to the -f^
of an inch ; being thickest on the soles of the feet, and on the
palms of the hands. The true sldn lying underneath, and
containing the papillae, 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 papillce 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 ^Q to TJ^ 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 muscular 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 papilla.
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 first class includes soft Touches, pungent smarts,
temperature, and some others.
Soft Touches. In these we suppose the gentle contact of
some extended surface with the skin, as the under clothing,
or the bed clothes. From 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 in 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 and 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
sensibility 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 influence 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 Reaumur, 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 skin. 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. Fretting, 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 peculiar
sensation of tickling, 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
superiority 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 ^ of an inch.
The interval of plurality varies according to the following cir
cumstances. (1) It is greater along than across 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 will
seem to widen in the most sensitive organs. The tongue exag
gerates holes in the teeth. (5) 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 produce a double sensation, we may
imagine that one point lies on the area supplied by one distinct
nerve, wThile 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 six and
seven square inches, is supplied by the filaments of a single unit.
On the point of the finger, the units 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 are
TOUCH COMBINED WITH MUSCULARITY. 47
intellectually conscious of its various degrees, it is a help to
our 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.; and 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
muscular 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 limb 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. Elasticity is a mere variety of hardness and
softness ; it means the varying resistance, together with the
rebound of the body compressed.
Roughness and Smoothness 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 point
where they become too close for the sensibility of the
part. We can 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 differences 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 the 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 space. It has been
seen that we have a discrimination of the duration and the
pace of these unobstructed movements. But the power oi
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 feeling of continuance of movement is accompanied with
a continuance of tactile 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 changing, 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 from 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 complex 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 a 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 up abiding impres
sions corresponding to each. We can retain, and recall, the
muscular movements, groupings, and adjustments, deter
mined in our tactual examination of a one foot cube ; snch 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, 3nhanced by the use of both hands. In
like manner, 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 effect in vision from 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
forms — a straight line, a circle, an oval, 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 locomotion, there is already a vast and
complicated mass of acquirements, involving a large number
of muscles and an immense apparatus of connecting nerves.
The observations made on persons born 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 comprehend the great leading facts of creation,
as taught in mathematical, mechanical, or physical science.
PARTS OF THE EAR. 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 sonorous. 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 JBolian 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 fympani, 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 hollow, and filled with a clear liquid secreted from
a thin lining membrane. It contains a membranous structure,
52 SENSE OF HEARING.
corresponding in shape to the tortuosities of the bony laby
rinth, hence called the membranous labyrinth ; this structure
encloses a liquid 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 membrane 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 different
degrees of pitch to different 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 Wollaston, 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 of carriages or
the creaking of paper. Hence the action of the tensor tympani
muscle would be protective against painfully grave sounds, and
obversely.
4. The Sensations of Sound may be divided into three
heads : — (1) The General Emotional effects of sound ; (2)
Musical sounds; and (3) the Intellectual sensations.
The General effects of sound may be considered under
EMOTIONAL SENSATIONS OF SOUND. 53
Quality (pleasant and painful), Intensity, and Volume or
(Quantity.
Sweetness. The terms sweet, rich, mellow, silvery, are
applied to the pleasing sensations of sound, pure and simple.
Certain materials, instruments, and voices, by their mere
tone, please and charm the ear ; while some are indifferent,
and others have a grating, harsh effect. The structural
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
surable, 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 sufficiently im
plied in this designation, a remark must be made on the intel
lectual property of the pleasures of sound. We are now 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 grateful
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 HEARING.
from intrinsic sweetness and music, the greatest pleasures of
sound are derived from voluminous effects.
5. Musical Sounds involve the properties of Pilch,
Waxing and Waning, Harmony and Discord.
Pitch, or Tone. This is the fundamental 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 number 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 maybe partly
its purity, and partly its containing already an element of
harmony, in the equal timing of the beats.
Waxing and Waning of sound. The charm of this pe
culiar effect, resembling the waxing and waning 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 some 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 tounds 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 Articulateness,
INTELLECTUAL SENSATIONS OF SOUND. 55
Distance, and Direction. Beference 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 confusing ingredients. Both the plea
sure of music, 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, ard so with their clearness ; silver and glass are re
markable for both the sweetness and the purity of their tones.
Timbre, Complexion, or Quality. Diiferent materials, in
struments, and voices, although uttering the same note, with
the same intensity, yet affect the 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 well marked
modes of producing variety of effect. We can understand how
each should impart a different kind of shock to the nerve of hear
ing. So we can see a reason for distinguishing the abrupt sounds
p, t, k, from the continuous or vocal sounds b, d, and g, and from
the same sounds with the nasal accompaniment m, n, ng. It is
not quite so easy to explain the distinction of shock between the
labials, dentals, and gutturals ; still, if we compare p (labial),
with, k (guttural), we can suppose that the stroke that gives the
k is in some way harder than the other.
Much greater difficulty 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 arid Cagiiiard-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 (full). 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 SENSE OF HEARING.
Distance. This is judged of entirely by intensity, and is
ascertainable only for known sounds. Tiie same sound is
feebler as it is remote, and we infer accordingly. Where 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 into 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 the 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 distinct, 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 Oljacts 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
analogous. Other bodies, as the greater number of terrestrial
surfaces, 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
lens in communication with a sensitive surface.
COATS OF THE EYE-BALL. 57
Besides the structures composing the globe of the eye, there
are various important accessory parts. The eye-broivs 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 Ihe 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 (lachrymal caruncle)
intervenes at the inner angle ; and near this body the lachrymal
ducts pierce both eye-lids. The lachrymal apparatus consists of (1)
the gland for secreting the tears at the upper corner 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 eye 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-ball 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 clioroid coat, a membrane of a black or
deep brown colour, lining 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 diameter,
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, iV inch long, -710- inch 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 limiting 7nembrane, not more than -30,050 inch in thick
ness. Next are the ramifications of the optic nerve, fine meshes of
nerve fibres, exceedingly minute ; the average diameter not more
than 3T77o.ro inch, while some are less than TooVoir inch. Behind
this is a layer of nerve cells, resembling the cells of the grey matter
of the brain. Next is a granular layer, of fine grains or nuclei,
with exceedingly minute filaments perpendicular to the retina.
Lastly, comes the bacillar layer, made up of closely-packed per
pendicular rods, transparent and colourless, about t7>W inch long,
and STCOOO" thick. Interspersed with these are larger rods called
cones, o-5iny 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 ciliary ligament; and, behind
the ciliary ligament, and covering the outside of the ciliary pro
cesses, the ciliary muscle, a muscle of great importance. The iris
is the round curtain in front of the eye, with a central hole the
pupil, for the admission of light. It is attached all round ai 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 light.
Next as to the Humours, or lenses of the eye. The aqueous
humour, in front, is a clear watery liquid lying under 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. The 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, under, outer, and inner edges of the
sclerotic. 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
ball.
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, whanever they are able to facilitate any
desired movement.
3. The mode of action of the eye involves, in 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 understood ; 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-ball to
render vision distinct at varying distances. If an object
is seen clearly at six inches off, 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. This 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 this 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.
Light. The effect of mere light, without colour, may be
exemplified in the diffused solar radiance. This is a Pleasure,
SENSATION OF LIGHT. 61
acute, or voluminous, according as the source is a dazzling
point, or a moderate and wide-spread illumination. The Spe
ciality of the pleasure is the endurability 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
function of the will, of which there are other examples, to
be afterwards pointed out.
The Intellectual 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 Helativity, the pleasures of light demand
remission and alternation ; hence the art of distributing light
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 effect 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 OE 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 refreshing 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 greenness. Animal tissues present the effect in a high
degree. Ivory, mother of pearl, bone, silk, 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 liquified 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 direction. 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 shorter 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 Resistance 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 fundamental 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 us, 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 outline 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 circumstances 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, but 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 idea 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 magnitude ; 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 full moon, is half a
degree, or TJjj 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
universal 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
visible magnitudes ; such are the tests of a three-foot rule, a
balance, a thermometer.
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 all vary in visible
size, and are pictured by the mind 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 must leave out, at this stage,
the knowledge 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 muscular; 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 all. To this we have to add the binocular
dissimilarity, which is at the maximum for near distances, and
is nothing tor 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 powerful 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 :
Volume. 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 off; in which case, we combine the lateral movements
of the eye with the various adjustments and effects 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 solidity, or volume, is thus a
highly complex perception, involving optical impressions, with
a series of muscular movements, lateral and adjusting. Each
different 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 noxv 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
CHAPTER III.
THE APPETITES.
THE Appetites are a select class of Sensations ; they
maybe defined as the uneasy feelings produced by the recur
ring wants or necessities of the organic system.
Appetite involves volition or action ; now volition demands
a motive or stimulus ; and the stimulus of Appetite is some
sensation. All 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 Sleep, Exercise, Repose, Thirst, Hunger, Sex.
tileep. 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 Repose. 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 will to take steps for its removal ; this is
the working of appetite. Similar observations apply to
Repose.
The alternation of exercise with repose is sought through
out all our activities, bodily and mental. In the use of our
different organs, whether muscles or senses, in the employ
ment of the brain for intellectual functions, 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, &c.
The craving for 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 lies 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 indifferent.
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 Peeling 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 all 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 — Feeling, 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, foi
LOCOMOTIVE RHYTHM. 69
example, swallowing the food. The following subjects are
exhaustive of the department : —
1. The Reflex Actions.
2. The Combined and Harmonious Movements.
3. The Primitive Manifestations of Feeling.
4. The Germs 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 still 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 Rhythm 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 movement 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. For this, too, there is needed a pri
mitive nervous arrangement availing itself of the commissural
70 THE INSTINCTS.
nervous connexions of the two sides of the body. The effect
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 furnished 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 PLAY 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
EXPKESSION 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 pyinnitir-'tt ni» ^«rtJDfifll'YA nrmnexiona be-
tvfeetf'liire menFai and fne Docbly 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 EYES is due chiefly to the movements of
the eyebrow, under the action of two muscles. The one foccipito-
frontalisj 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 fcorrugator of the eye
brows} 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 (leva-tor palpebraej ; 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 the 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 lip. 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 marked contortion of feature,
wrinkling 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 round the face. The orbicular forbicularis
orisj 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 upper 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 of the anyle of the mouth
lies beneath the preceding, and partly concealed by it. (3, 4)
The zygomatics are two narrow bands of muscular fibres, extending
obliquely 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 buccinator (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 moutli 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 lip is a small square
muscle, lying partly underneath, and partly inside, the preceding.
(8) The elevator 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 raise 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 the Respiratory 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 mouth have to co-operate. All
these parts are actuated under feeling. In joy or exulta
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 stiong 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 Gland 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 pe-
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 Sexual Organs. These organs are both sources of feel
ing when directly 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 been already 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 spasmodically con
tracted, instead of alternating in their due rhythm. The remark
able sensibility of this part during various emotions, is to be con-.
sidered as only a higher degree of the sensibility of the intestine
generally. The sum of the whole effect is considerable in mass,
although wanting in acuteiiess. In pleasurable emotion even, a
titillation of the throat is sometimes perceptible.
(4) The Skin. 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
skin. 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 line of remarks would apply to the Kidneys.
(5) The Heart. 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.
Miiller remarks, that the disturbance of the heart is a proof
of 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 Milk. As in all
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
PLEASURE CONCOMITANT WITH INCREASED VITALITY. 75
the male, especially after child-bearing has brought it 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 arc concomitant with
^an increase, and states of pain with an abatement^ of some.
or all, of the vT^alf^unctio^s.
The proofs oFlhisprmciple 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 renux
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 group 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 painful and wholesome. The explanation seems to be
that cold for the time depresses the functions 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 all the vital
functions. This remark may enable us to dispose of the other
exception, namely, the concurrence of bodily diseases with pain-
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 qualih'cation 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) Let us view the manifestations under the opposing states
of pleasure and pain. This will comprehend the theory of
Expression, of which we have seen the particulars.
Hero 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: — In 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 are knit
by the corrugator 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 minus, credit and debt ; and their physical con
ditions ought to disclose a like opposition. Perhaps we may
reconcile 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 slight exertion of the corrugator 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 free 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 fully 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.
Laughter is a joyful expression; and, in all its parts, rfc 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 stimulus. The voice concurs in active manifestations; the
features are expanded to the full limit of the cheerful expression.
Yet, 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 grief.) Finally, 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
study of the separate manifestations under pleasure and under
pain, apply both to sensations and to emotions. They show
that, although there may be forms of pleasure, with no such ap-
78 THE INSTINCTS.
parent addition to the physical resources, 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 concomitance 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 stimulating 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
light, 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 ; the
sweet and bitter in taste, the fragrant and malodorous in smell,
are not grounded on mere 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,
)r give healthful stimulus ; the painful emotions, as Fear,
Hatred, Impotence, Shame, Discord, are depressing physically
is well as mentally.
(2) The stimulating drugs, as alcohol, tea, tobacco, opium,
hemp, betel-nut, do^butjitt[e 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 pleasurable excitement that the physical forces of the
STIMULATION. 79
system can afford, unless we employ agents to irritate or pro
voke nervous assimilation and activity.
8. The principle of the concpiflitatice of ..pleasure and
,(with tlitTobverse) ma^be designated
tlie" taw 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 qualifying principle 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 future day.
We shall presently have to appeal to the principle of Con
servation, in looking out a basis for the will.
THE INSTINCTIVE GERMS OF 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, lifts 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, producing a tickling irritation ; but
the movement for brushing it away is not within 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 detail.
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 all 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 tongue are all exerted by turns, 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 aro
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. IE. — 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
tain 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 energy,
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 with a present pain (not a stirculating
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 will at any stage : the
deficiency is, that mere conservation will not, any more than
spontaneity, determine the right movement to arise from the
dormant condition. 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 together 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, tJieE-etentive 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 link, 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
mutually exclude each other. The real subdivision of the
intellectual functions is that formerly given, and now repeated.
2. The primary attributes of Intellect 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 Feeling of Difference is an essential
of intelligence. If we wefSTlot distinctively affected by dif-
1e?elitr things, as by heat and cold, red and blue, we should
not be affected at all. The beginning of knowledge, or ideas,
y, is thediscriminafnon of ona thin.(y frnm another. Where we
are mostdiscriminative, 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 Feelings of Movement and the Sensations. The very
fact 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
DISCRIMINATION. — AGREEMENT. — EETENTIVENESS. 83
higher cases of discrimination, 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 Relativity, more than once already
alluded to. As we can neither feel, nor know, without a
transition or change of state, — every feeling, and every cognition,
must be viewed as in relation to some other feeling, or cog
nition. Tho 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 ill 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 Agreement in the
midst of difference, is equally marked and equally fundamen
tal. Supposing us to experience, for the first time, a certain
sensation, as redness ; and after being engaged with other sen
sations, to encounter redness again ; we are struck with the
feeling of identity or recognition ; the old state is recalled at
the instance of the new, by the fact of agreement, and we have
the 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 Differences 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 Agreement, 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 Betentiveness has two aspects or
degrees.
First. The persistence or continuance 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 continuing1, though
feebler consciousness, which is the memory or idea of the
sound.
Secondly, There is a further and higher power, — the re
covering, under the form of ideas, past and dormant impres
sions, without the originals, and by mere mental agencies. 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 previously-named property is
paralleled by the waves of a pool struck by a stone, or by any
other example of the law of mechanical persistence. But the
distinct 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 affirmed to be the
unique function 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 way contiguous to, the effect remembered,- — as when we
recall a thing by first knowing its name, — the Retentive pro
perty has been designated Contiguous Association.
It is not meant that the three attributes now specified can work
in separation, or could 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 Eeten-
tiveness ; there would be nothing to retain without Discrimina
tion ; and no progress in retention without Agreement. Yet, not
withstanding this mutual implication 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 arid 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 Complicated
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 Powers.
USES OF THE STUDY OF THE INTELLECT. 85
First, There is a natural curiosity to discover the Laws
that govern the stream of our Thoughts. All the workings of
nature are interesting, and not least so should be the workings
of our own minds.
Secondly, The statement and the explanation of the differ
ences of Intellectual Character must proceed upon a know
ledge of the attributes and laws of our 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 such there be, naturally
connect themselves with the laws of the faculties involved.
Fourthly, 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.
KETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
1. WITH few exceptions, the facts of Retentiveness may
be comprehended under the principle called the Law of
Contiguity, or Contiguous Adhesion.
Retentiveness is the comprehensive name for Memory,
Habit, and the Acquired powers in general. The principle of
Contiguity has been de-scribed under various names, as Hamil
ton's law of ' Redintegration ; ' the 'Association of Ideas,' in
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 mind, 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.
Generally, as is well known, a certain continuance, or repeti
tion, is necessary to make a firm connexion.
86 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
MOVEMENTS.
We commence with tlie 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 the 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 all-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 mouth, 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 turning of the toes outward. Two
volitions are at first requisite for this act ; but, after a time,
the rotation of the limb is combined with the act of walking,
and unless 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
lifting 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,
ACQUISITIONS OF MOVEMENTS. 87
that the one movement shall not fail to carry with it the
collaterals.
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. Thesa groupings,
at first impossible, are, after a time, cemented with all the firm
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 effect 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
feeling of muscular 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 effort 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 must 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) Repetition or Con-
88 EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
tinuance, (2) Concentration of Mind, and (3) the Natural
Adhesiveness of the individual constitution.
(1) In order to every acquisition, a certain Continuance,
repetition, or practice is needed, varying according to circum
stances. By repetition, we make up for natural weakness or
other defects, as in the extra drill of the awkward squad.
(2) Mental concentration will make a great difference in
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.
If 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 something else, the
mind revolts from it, until some strong pain is set up in the
path ; the lesson may not be liked, but tho 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 the will.
(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 music, &c. ; but it also shows itself in a more general form,
or as applied 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 muscular vigour, by favouring the performance
CONDITIONS OF RETENTIVENESS. 89
of mechanical exercises, or the energy and persistence of mus
cular practice, cannot but contribute to progress in the me
chanical arts.
(2) Of equal, if not of greater importance is the nervous
peculiarity that prompts to muscular activity, determining a
profuse and various spontaneity 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 muscular 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 ; that, in
actually seeing a building, one portion of the brain is exercised,
90 EETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
and, in remembering it, a different portion. The facts are op
posed to such a conclusion.
In very lively recollection, we find a tendency to repeat the
actual movements. Thus, in mentally recalling 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 well-known sensation
in the teeth. The sight of food makes the saliva begin to now.
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 Mil
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 merely the extremity of the course de
scribed by the nerve currents. Moreover, the decay of the
optic sensibility does not impair the activity 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. $3
^ The i Win is imderjlie^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 rule, 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 mani
fested.
As an unequivocal instance of the power of an idea to
generate its actuality, we may quote the infection of special
forms of crime, and even of self-destruction. The impression
made on susceptible minds by some notorious example is often
carried out to the full, 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 effort of will
to resist the suggestion.
Temptation to do something forbidden often comes of
merely suggesting the idea, which is then a power to act itself
out. In 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
magnify 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 will.
If the will 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
sure, 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 him food, even at some cost to ourselves.
9Q RETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
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 in 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 in 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 complicated
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 in our vocal acquire
ments. We can acquire trains of language, without repeating
aloud, although perhaps not quite so well. Children 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 Hall, an adhesion takes place be
tween ideal movements of articulation.
16. The Growth of Associations among Ideal 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 movements 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 delicate discrimination 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. Throughout all the Senses, the associating process
connects sensations that happen frequently together.
In the inferior senses, the examples are neither numerous
nor interesting. We may have a series of Organic pains,
representing the course of an attack of illness, and remembered
by the patient. We might also have a train of ideas 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 found 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 engrained 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 governing 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- EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
20. The cohesive grouping of Sensations of the same
sense appears largely in Touch.
In Touch, we have great variety of sensations ; the purely
emotional, — as soft touches and pungent touches ; and those
entering into intellectual perceptions, — as the feelings of
roughness, weight, size, form, &c. 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 between 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 connected in one group, by familiarity
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 all the objects 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 book 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 definite 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 will
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 links of asso
ciation, or there will be no revival at all.
21. In considering the Eate 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 sensibility, 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 be supposed to attach equally to the discrinii-
ASSOCIATIONS OF TOUCH. 95
native power, and to the retentiveness (we have assumed
these two properties to rise and fall together).
The other element of Touch is Muscularity ; the weight,
hardness, size, and form of things, are tested and remembered
principally by the muscles 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 difference
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 delicacy will tell upon the worker in plastic material.
The muscular precision 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 Touch.
None but the blind 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 made in front of an echoing wall, we
anticipate the echo.
In Musical training, the individual notes are rendered self-
sustaining, and are at the same time associated in musical
successions. One note sounded brings on the idea of another
96 KETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
that has usually followed it. When a sufficient number are
given to determine an air, the remaining notes rise to the
.mind. The education of an accomplished musician is com
posed of many hundreds of these successions.
Besides the 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 delicate feeling of Agreement follows Discrimination;
and that Retentiveness 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 into groups in the complex sounds of words and
trains of words. In the minds of the uneducated, these con
nexions exist by hundreds ; in a cultivated mind, 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 kinds 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
into 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 OF 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 mus
cular feelings — passive feelings mixed with 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 instances where colour is the predominating fact. The
splendours of sunrise and sunset, the succession of tints of
the sky, exemplify 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 little colour, and with
sharp outlines, 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 Coloured Surfaces.
When the eye follows 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 Geometry, the symbols of the sciences
generally, outline plans of mechanical structures, the charac
teristic forms of all 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
acquirement of unmeaning symbols, written characters, and
skeleton outlines, as in 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
BETENTIYENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
prompting to mental concentration ; only such as enter into
Art would be specially retained. Curves, for their beauty,
and certain geometric forms, for their symmetry, would be laid
hold of; those that have no interest except as symbols w^ould
be disregarded.
in Coloured Surfaces, we suppose the colour to be the chief
fact ; for, although Form can never be absent, the optical
adhesiveness is the essential consideration. tSuch are, in addi
tion to natural scenes and prospects, highly decorated interiors,
pictures, assemblies of people, the human face and figure,
animals, plants, and minerals.
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 probably far
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 character. It not only constitutes a
facility in remembering scenes, pictures, 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.
SENSATIONS OF DIFFERENT SENSES.
25. Our education involves various connexions among
Movements, Feelings of Movement, and the Sensations of
the different senses.
In the complication 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. Oiir 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, arid 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 ;
ARCHITECTURAL ASSOCIATIONS. 99
and of such as are near, in a very palpable degree. This is a
principal part of our acquired perceptions of distance. (See
Chap. Vli.)
it was already remarked, under Associations of Movement,
that there are few associations of mere movement ; the sense
of the effect gene rally 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 tbe results ;
the sight and the feeling co-operate in directing and guiding
each movement, and in introducing the one that follows.
Muscular Ideas with 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 different 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 tnat 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 HETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
Touches are associated with Sounds, when the ring of a
substance suggests its surface to the touch, and vice versa, 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 soit, 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 (Sight (seo
Ciiap. VII.). The fact itself is not to be disputed ; we do ac
quire associations of singular firmness between visible surfaces
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 clay, are sug
gested rapidly and vividly in 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 riot wonder at the rapid and vivid suggestion of tangible
resistance and magnitude. Still, as will be seen, there are
other experiences required to constitute our associations of
real distance writh its visible signs.
Sounds are associated with Sights, on a still greater scale.
Every characteristic 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 upon the adhesiveness in sight by itself, and in
sound by itself. The mother tongue will 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
feeling.
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 quality 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 fact, 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 parts can be got at, only when they are
brought into some relation with the surface ; as when pres-
102 KETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY
sure on the stomach 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 lav^e. 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 attitude ; by gazing on any part of the skin, we
bring up 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 fact to
induce healthy action's on diseased organs. It is scarcely pos
sible to gaze intently for a long time on any part of the body
without inducing subjective feelings in reference to it ; and
these carry with them actual 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 true
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 cannot distinguish 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 ri^ht arm or the left ; but the two feelings enter into
distinct alliances Avith other feelings not the same.
ASSOCIATES WITH PLEASURE AND PAIN.
30. By means of contiguous association, states of
Pleasure and Pain can, to some extent, persist, or be re
produced, without the original stimulus.
ASSOCIATIONS OF PLEASURE AND PAIN. 103
The extending of association to states of pleasure and pain,
or states of feeling, or emotion generally, must render it a great
power as regards our happiness. By a reference to the facts,
we can ascertain how far the principle operates in this direc
tion. A familiar example is furnished by our likings for objects
and places, after long connexion with them.
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 instru
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 recollection of the fragrance.
The pains of the Senses could be still more decisively ap
pealed to. All objects that have severely pained us are painful
to encounter. It takes a certain effort, 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 accumulating around us a great many things associated
with our pleasures, and reflecting a number of our happy
moments. The sportsman's trophies, 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 different 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 full 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 character, applicable to
pleasures and pains as such. Still, we must suppose the
general power greatly modified according to the class or local
104 RETENTIVENESS— LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
origin. A high endowment for colour will naturally include
the retentiveness 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 affection, 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, relics, places, acquire a
deep hold of our affections.
This is carried to the utmost in religion. Holy places,
symbols, rites, formalities, language, reflect and magnify the
feelings towards the main object of worship ; and the difficulty
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 associations, in order
INTEREST OF MEANS TO ENDS. 105
to extend its influence. Official robes and symbols, a cere
monial of obeisance and deference, solemnities in the investi
ture to office, forms observed in degrading and punishing,
have the effect of diffusing the respect for authority in civil
society. The Romans, 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 familiar example of this is money. Allied in the first
instance with the delights that it obtains, and the relief from
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. The
mind 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 powerful of all known motives to
industry.
106 RETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
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-powerful
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 as 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- qualities.
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 mental 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 esthetic circle. The follow
ing out of this theory led the author to collect examples of
borrowed or associated emotions, although in many of his
instances, primitive effects could be assigned.
The following are some of his illustrations for the Sublime.
' All sounds are in 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 Gun
powder ; the Dashing of the Waves, &c.' Most of these sounds,
however, produce a strong effect by their intensity arid 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 ART ASSOCIATIONS. 107
every one knows : the Boar of the Lion, the Growling of Bears,
the Howling of Wolves, the Scream, of the Eagle. In all 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 Lamb 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 Hum 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 circumstances 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 certain intrinsic effi
cacy in some modes of expression, as when soft and gentle
tones are used for affection, 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 greatly enlarges the compass of the
language of the feelings. Every emotion has its charac
teristic forms of speech, expressing its shades with very
great delicacy. Poets, who have to depict and excite the
emotions, require an unusual command of these forms, and of
all 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 lively manner. Children and animals, in their happy
moods, impart a certain tone of gaiety to a spectator. On the
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 RETENTIVENESS— 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
value. A pinched, severe, and ascetic bringing-up 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, although the extent of the influence is variously
estimated.
It is only in accordance with all the other facts of asso
ciated feelings, that if a certain kind of conduct, say theft, 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 painful 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 pains of
others (called Sympathy). To these must be added, as a
negative condition, the moderate degree of the counter im
pulses (which will 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 the 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 BBING UP THEIK OBJECTS. 109
The association between objects and feelings also enables
feelings to bring up their associated objects. This bond, how
ever, rarely 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 ;
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 difficulties. These will be
traced, once for all, in the department of the Will.
NATURAL OBJECTS.
41. Our permanent Recollections, 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 main 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.
48. In minds generally, the associations of natural
objects are principally ruled by the feelings.
Next to frequency, or familiarity of encounter, and often
before it, in point of associating efficacy, 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 stimulating 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 furniture and arrangements, the street,
town, or rural scene that we encounter daily, bj 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, arid 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 conjunctions, may be in
cluded Maps, JDiagi-anis, and Pictorial Representations.
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, BO far as the
mind is concerned, the generic fact is Succession.
112 EETENTIVENESS — LAAV OF CONTIGUITY.
If we except such cases as — complex and coinciding mus
cular 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 must make a corresponding series of jumps,
even in the recollection. Co-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 Co-existence 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 Cycle. The successions that perform ft
cycle, as day and night, the moon's phases, the seasons of the
year, the routine of occupations and professions — are en
grained on our recollection, 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 species, enters into our knowledge
of living beings. To know a plant we must 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, rearing stock, we become acquainted with every phase
in the order of development. The evolution of the human
being is impressed in our mind by repetition, and by the
quickening stimulus of our interest in humanity. Evolution
farther 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, the 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 the 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.
IMPRESSIVENESS OF CAUSE AND 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
ture. 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 intensity 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 uses, 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,
together with their superadded 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 mere 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
8
114 RETENTIVENESS — 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 retentiveiiess, 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 bringing 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 retentive ness 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 art,
CONDITIONS OF MECHANICAL ACQUIREMENTS. 115
is of equal, if not of greater, importance. If it is to produce
effects 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 organ
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
drill 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 RETENTIVENESS — 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 minimum. In the army, recruits 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 Effects,
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 still 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-
SPECIAL INTEREST IN LANGUAGE. 117
ciations (inter se) of speech, 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 us, 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
diffuse and illustrative writer, the poet, must excel in mere
verbal abundance, irrespective of the 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 Repetition 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 will 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 Miltor, for example, his peculiar erudi
tion, and also his strong fascination for whatever was large,
lofty, vast, powerful, 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 RETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
or awakening of attention. Thus, when we happen to have
felt very much the want of a word, before being told it, the im
pression is a durable one. Any interesting circumstance attend
ing the utterance of a phrase stamps it forever. The emphasis
of a great orator, or actor, will 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 Forms.
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
finger 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 tiling 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
INFOKMATTON CONVEYED IN LANGUAGE. 119
be seen, that acquisition 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.
RETENTIVENESS 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.
Familiar 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 Natural History, and the most Abstract, as Mathematics.
In the more Concrete and Experimental Sciences, as the
Natural History group (Mineralogy, Botany, Zoology, &c.),
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) will be at home. The number or
detail of the visible aspects is such as to need this endowment.
Still, as sciences, they involve generalization and general
notions, and cannot be divorced from the arbitrary symbolism
or machinery suited to the high generalities ; hence they may
120 EETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
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 assthetic
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 manifestations 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 circumstances 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 divided between
Object and Subject regards, may in each person incline more
CONDITIONS OF SUBJECTIVE ACQUIREMENTS. 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 all 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 upon 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 Reid and Stewart, under the name ' Consciousness/
Hamilton spoke of the same power as the * Presentative
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 RETENTIVENESS — LAW OF CONTIGUITY.
BUSINESS, OR 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 various 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
applications. 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 individualities. 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 usually 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 different. 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 retentiveness) : 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 combinations.
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 our 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, and 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 ;
different 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 oar 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
ments, 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. Still, 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 impress him much
more
The memory of our 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 —
bodily skill, 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 Crichtori' 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 pervarive, 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 KETENT1VENESS— IAW OF CONTIGUITY.
cular 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 susceptible 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 Verbal 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 about 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 limitation 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 Reason, 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 adhesiveness, 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 fulfil the requirements before the pre
sent impression has died away.
TKMPOKARY KETENTIVENESS. 127
The next grade of adhesiveness is represented by the
superior readiness arid 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 ; still 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 limits of the strength,
is the true economy in the long run.
CIIAPTEE II.
AGREEMENT— LAW OF SIMILARITY.
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 time ; 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 SIMILARITY.
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 failing
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 Eaintness 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 difficult and doubtful
re-instatement. The most numerous and interesting cases,
however, come under the head of Diversity, or likeness accom
panied by unlikeness ; as when an air is played with new
variations, or on strange instruments. It will then depend
npon various circumstances, whether or not we shall be struck
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 Contiguous 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 would
seem to be gifted with a certain degree of Similarity on the
whole, or for things generally ; such general power being con
sistent with special differences, according to the same local
peculiarities as we have allowed for in Contiguity. These
will be made to appear in the illustration of the workings of
CONDITIONS OF RECOGNIZING 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 Faintness, a present im
pression will be unable to recall the past, even although
the resemblance amounts to identity.
When a present impression is very faint or feeble, it is the
same as no impression at all. Nevertheless, we are interested
in considering the instances, of not unfrequent 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 fresh ; others
again would discern the taste of the salt ; that is to say, the
present impression of salt would recall the previous collective
impression of the taste of salt, and with that the name and
characters, or the full 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 difference. 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 well as a
special force of Retentiveness. In the same way, a delicate
sense of smell, as in the dog, would show itself in identifying
very faint odours ; a good ear would make out fainter impres
sions of sound; an eyefor colourwould recognize a faint shade of
yellow in what to another eye would seem the absence of colour.
(2) In the second place, through familiarity, or other
cause, the previous impression might be 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 should
expect this to happen from the very nature of the case, and
we know, by abundance of familiar facts, that it does happen.
The sailor identifies a ship in the offing, and determines its
build, 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, — whether by mere iteration, or by the influence of
feeling.
9
130 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY.
(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 delicacy 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 undistracted 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, differing 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 Circumstances.
(1) Natural delicacy or aeuteness of Sense.
(2) The depth or intensity of the previous impression.
(3) Acquired delicacy, or habitual attention, to a parti
cular class of things.
All 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.
SIMILARITY IN DIVERSITY— SENSATIONS.
5. Movements, Feelings of Movement, and Sensations
OBSTRUCTIVE OF DIVERSITY. 131
generally, are revived in idea, by the force of partial simi
larity, or likeness in difference.
When a portrait brings to our mind the original, it is by
virtue of similarity ; the differences between painted canvass
and a living man or woman do not blind us to the points of
likeness. Increase the diversity, however, by dress, attitude,
and by idealizing the features, and the remaining likeness
may be insufficient 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 influences. 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 recall 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 will 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
unlikenesses ; 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 susceptibility to the points of diversity.
6. Movements 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 liable to be made aware that we are repeating our-
132 AGEEEMENT— LAW OF SIMILAKITY.
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 circumstances, 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 great 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
8. 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, — the varieties, or diversities, would obscure the
sameness ; the common taste of alcohol would hardly emerge
under the accessories — 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 ; tbey ease
the intellectual grasp; and they enlarge our practical re
sources.
We can carry the identification, in the instance supposed,
still 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 ;
1 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 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY.
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. Touch. 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 varietv of surface, and of
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 Toucli), 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
degree 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 itself.
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 unlike.
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 will 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 foil 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, unfamiliar to us, 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 obstruc
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
certain ethical character — the gay, the solemn, the pathetic,
the melancholy.
Continuous spoken address is diversified by cadence, as
already remarked, and by all 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 all 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
sity, 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
in 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 will be less apt to dwell upon the phraseology ; the
136 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY.
suggestiveness will be for meaning and not for words. And,
conversely, a small regard to meaning, and an acute apprecia
tion of words, will make the mind keenly alive to similarities
of phrase in spite of disparity of sense.
11. Sight. We identify colours under difference of shade ;
which leads to the classifying of colours, as blues, yellows,
reds, &c. When a colour is intermediate, or on the margin
between two principal colours, we may identify it with either
the one or other, according to the circumstances. We gene
ralize the peculiar effect of lustre, 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 merely according to its
generic class — red, blue, orange, &c.
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 round, 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
descriptive comparisons in Botany and in Anatomy. Deep
identities of form would be soonest arrived at by minds little
sensitive to colours.
Under arbitrary and symbolical forms, we have the case
of deciphering handwriting. The perception of alphabetical
identity is sometimes difficult; and the 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 would be a person susceptible to the
alphabetic distinctions, and wholly 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
ground, by the artist, although there should not be either
mathematical symmetry or literal agreement. The strong
sense of the mathematical, the regular, 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
same is true 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 accompanying 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, gallop,
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
resembling form in still life, as the rainbow with a projectile ;
a falling body with a crushing weight.
12. Effects common to the Senses generally. Although there
is a generic and fundamental 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 repentance, a sweet
disposition. These last, however, pass into the region of
metaphor and poetry, where resemblances are sought for
emotional effect.
138 AGREEMENT— LAW OF SIMILARITY.
CONTIGUOUS AGGREGATES — 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 unlike 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. Still, 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 stillness 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 widely
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 PRIME MOVERS. 139
under what circumstances the human mind extended its grasp
to these less apparent sources of motive power; but we
happen to be fully acquainted with the discovery of the
greatest of them all ; and can produce it as a highly illustra
tive example of the workings of Similarity in Diversity. To
the common eye, steam, or vapour, suggested nothing but
fleecy tenuity ; it seemed the farthest remove from, anything
that could exert moving power. Doubtless, the forcing up of
the lid of a boiling kettle was a familiar fact, but this fact did
not suggest as a parallel the other sources of moving power ;
the likeness was shrouded by too many circumstances of
unlikeness. The special conditions of such an identification,
in the mind of Wabt, 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
cessful 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, some 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 gravity. 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 potash. Thus, the neu
tral salts, as a whole, being so far analogous as to suggest a like
constitution, while an 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 alkalies 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 thickets of concealment.
The progress of science in the Vegetable world would
140 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY.
reveal the operation of the principle before us, 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 Flowers. The great step made by
Linnasus, 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 fact, 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
multitude, 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 vertebras 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; lie 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, whose
discovery and exposition enter into Comparative Anatomy,
consist in showing the deep correspondence of parts super
ficially unlike ; 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.
Cycle. The chief natural phenomena of cycle, the day
and the year, are too obviously alike not to be identified ; the
differences 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 rising 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 affairs 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.
Evolution. 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 interesting 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 coal, 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
favouring 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. Tiie experiments of Priestley
upon the red oxide were the intermediate link. Mercury,
when burned, becomes heavier, being converted into 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 resulting
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 circumstances 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 Reasoning.
The example just quoted, and others previously 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. Classification, Abstraction, Generalization of Notions or
Concepts, General 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 confused 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 further 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.)
II. 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 OF 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 affect 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 things,
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 Similarity being supposed,
the special circumstances are, susceptibility 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 are less 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.
III. DEDUCTION, Deductive Inference, Ratiocination, Appli
cation or Extension of Inductions, Syllogism. When an 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 identification, detected, among transparent
bodies, a conjunction between combustibility and high refract
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.
Reasoning by Analogy. This is a mode of reasoning that
bears upon its name the process of Similarity ; the fact, how
ever, being that in it the similarity is imperfect, 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 sound ; 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 Similarity ; they are useful when
no closer parallelism can be drawn.
17. The scientific processes, named Induction and
Deduction, correspond to what is called the REASON, or
the Eeasoniog faculty of the mind.
The name Reason 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, although, to complete the explanation, there still re
mains a circumstance to be brought forward under the head
of 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 modern invention, however, we can trace the
workings of great intellectual 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 tenfca-
TRANSFER 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 diminution 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 centrifugal 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-propeller 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
tity 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 reconcile 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 AGREEMENT— LAW OF SIMILARITY.
ILLUSTRATIVE COMPARISONS AND LITERARY ART.
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, including the Simile, Metaphor,
Personification, Allegory, &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 illustrative comparisons are of two kinds, depending,
for their invention, on different mental conditions. Of the first
kind are those that 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 effect ; as when one man is extolled as god-like,
another compared to the brutes. Here the likeness involves
a common emotion, 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 of a pathetic situation, must have often
been pathetically moved in actually contemplating the original
objects of comparison.
LITERARY GENIUS. 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,
Bnnyan 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
m's 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 as pic
torial suggestiveness.
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 AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY.
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 Painting, 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 Angelo, as a parallel in
Painting.
In the other class of Fine 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
great musician depends principally on delicate ear for pitch ;
an elocutionist 011 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 use ; 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
pat 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 : —
1 'ast 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.
152 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION.
COMPOSITION OF CONTIGUITIES.
2. In the Composition of Contiguities, we may dis
tinguish Conjunctions and Successions.
Conjunctions. Most things affect the mind by a plurality
of impressions. So simple an object as a star, is an aggregate
of light, visible magnitude, and visible form ; a diamond is a
greater aggregate ; a human being is more complicated still.
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 hardness.
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 sufficiency, and in partnership with others. All things,
with a fixed or usual locality, 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
insufficient 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 us
to meet persons in the street, whom we have formerly seen,
but cannot tell 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 nnite with other
contiguous links. Objects become associated with their
owners, makers, 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 doctrine may be recalled partly
bv 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, &c. So with regard to the natural
properties of things — the physical and chemical properties of
a salt, the distinguishing marks of a vegetable species, the
anatomy of an animal. Iron, 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 us, 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, thafc, 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 01
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, Tilbury fort, the monasteries — contri
bute additional ties, some sufficient 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 often aided here by composite links. AVhen 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 us
partly as a train of words, partly as a train of thoughts,
images, and feelings ; 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 SIMILARITIES.
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 Similarity.
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 subject 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 present and what is out of mind, we
necessarily provoke the reviving encounter.
MIXED CONTIGUITY AND SIMILARITY.
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 proximity 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 furnish parallels to any present subject. Hence, an
important rule for assisting invention — namely, to refresh our
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 formulae, 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
mity with the whole range of the department. Gibbon tells
us that he replenished his resources of sarcasm, by perusing
annually Pascal's Provincial 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 ^Eschylus and 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 contiguity.
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 effect would also arise from the
arrangement of a series of leading names in the alphabetical
order of their commencing letters. Verse is a mnemonic 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 rule 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 (different forms of permission and
compulsion).
THE ELEMENT OF FEELING.
7. The link of Feeling may enter powerfully into com
posite association.
EMOTIONAL CONTROL OF THE THOUGHTS. 157
The association of objects and feelings has been already
noticed (CONTIGUITY, § 30). The consequences, which are
numerous and far-reaching, will be still farther traced in the
description of the higher emotions.
A present feeling 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, the emotional state gives the pre
ference. The thoughts of persons of intense feelings, and of
small intellectual 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 avail.
(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
revived 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 ope^itg^^id^th^fo^m^^^ttention, or
mental^ concentration upon speclaT~
viewT"
158 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION.
It is probable that a greater force of attention, directed
upon 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 upon the hill for some time, thinking
thereby to add to the chance of the recovery. We can do the
same with a mere mental image : the>v^ill_Jfixes the mental
attention as well as_the bodily — a fact very muclf iri'favouFof
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 upon 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.
^hepojser_of the^Will over the trains of thought, through
thesj^majj|gciLineans ,^^a^"Hg_^c5^ideraBTa "NWe~~may !iblr~at
once determine what thoughts shall arise, Im1, 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
arise 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
suspense j when an object is associated equally with many
outgoing trains, as the sun, or the sea, no start is made till
some concurring links point to one definite movement. If
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 furnish 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 the 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 little 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 grand scale,
in the conflict of different modes of viewing the objects and
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 considera
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 COMPOUND ASSOCIATION.
A good instance of the obstructiveness of incompatible
ideas is found in the effort of guessing riddles and conun
drums. These usually turn upon the equivocal meanings of
words. Now a mind that makes use of language to pass to the
serious import or genuine meanings, is disqualified from follow
ing out the play of equivocation, not because the requisite
associations do not exist, but because these are overborne bj
others inimical to the whole proceeding.
ASSOCIATION OF CONTRAST.
10. It being 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 Relativity.
If every state of feeling 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 and red are in the
class colour. Thus, while the highest opposition can be sug
gested only by Relativity or pure Contrast, the lower kinds
•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 misfortune and the certainty of the last end.
CHAPTEE IV.
CONSTKUCTIVE 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 CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION.
tion. In Similarity, we had before us a power tending to
originality and invention ; but the genius of the mechanical
inventor, the man of science, 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 what is
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 Feelings and the Will.
This will appear from the examples.
MECHANICAL CONSTKUCTIVENESS.
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.
r>
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 effort 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 differential 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,
we 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 successful conjunction, and fall into it, at pleasure,
ever afterwards.
These constructions of our mechanical or muscular ener
gies, exemplify the three conditions or essentials of the Con
structive process of the Intellect.
(!) There must be a command of the separate elements.
CONDITIONS OF THE CONSTRUCTIVE PROCESS. 163
The more thorough and complete this command, the easier i's
the work of uniting them into 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 drill ;
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 tentative, or a process of trial and
error. The distinct volitions are put in exercise to bring on
le 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,
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 circumstances
are then, in the highest degree, favourable for the beginning
of a permanent association.
VERBAL CONSTRUCTIVENESS.
3. Verbal constructiveness is exemplified, first, in learn
ing to Articulate.
A certain power of uttering 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 will urges various tentatives ; there is a sense of these
being unconfbrmable 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 ;
every succeeding endeavour involves fewer stumbles, and the
association is at last completed.
The child's initial difficulties in this acquirement are owing
to the imperfect command of the elementary sounds. The
voice is not at first formed to them, and the voluntary link
that arouses them is for a long time wanting.
164 CONSTRUCTIVE 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 ' Torn,' coupled with an approving sentiment towards
Tom, the will is prompted to dissociate and recombine the
form, ' Tom,' so as to make ' good Tom.' The idea or type in
the mind is to convey some expression having the same force
towards the n^w subject, as the old form has towards 'boy;'
there must be a feeling, 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 condiiions.
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 affirmations, 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, all which have to be complied
CONSTKUCTIVENESS 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 already,
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 meaning, 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 pounds, twenty pounds. It
is possible to construct intermediate grades or varieties of
quantity. Given 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 still 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 measured 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 CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION.
selves to judge what bulk of support is needed, in a column,
for masses altogether beyond our means of direct estimate.
It is by a vague effort of constructiveness, applied to our
muscular acquirements, that we conceive untraversed dis
tances, as the remote Alpine summits, the moon and the stars.
We increase numerically known exertions of our own — that is,
combine them with notions of multiplied 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 Indian
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 fruitless, if the elements have no abiding hold of
the mind.
Tastes, as being more intellectually persistent than organic
states, are more constructive. From 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. — HEAKING. — SIGHT. 167
conceive assafoetida from garlic, or an oriental spice-grove
from our own flowers and perfumes.
In the higher senses, the examples are abundant. In
Touch, Hearing, and Sight, the pleasures and pains, as being
more intellectually 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 large experience of Touches, soft, pungent,
hard, rough, smooth, and may often be called upon, to realize
new varieties. Many minerals have specialities 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 specialities 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 Touch, 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 familiarity
with those to be combined, would be conditions of success.
In Sight, constructiveness 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 shades. 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 in, 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 will cling to us
168 CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION.
by preference. Another class involves the putting together
of new shapes, as the mermaid, the dragon, the chimeera,
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.
CONSTRUCTION OF NEW EMOTIONS.
8. Examples may be taken from the higher Emotions.
The more simple Emotions, as Wonder, Fear, Love, Power,
must be known by experience. 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, and its
results, which also, being multiplied, would support the attempt
to magnify the proper emotion. As a considerable aid, we
might go back to the 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 still 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 ourselves, 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 intellectual and
moral sway. The sentiment ol worship is generically 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
Romanist.
The authors of Poetry and Romance have to unfold the
workings of characters far removed from their own, which
involves emotional constructiveness. 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 are 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, till 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 OF REPRESENTATION OR DESCRIPTION.
10. To realize Verbal descriptions, or other Representa
tions of things not experienced, is a constructive process.
This is but the continuation of the foregoing cases. Lan
guage, pictures, sculptured forms, models, and diagrams are
modes of indicating the elements, whose mental combination
170 CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION.
will give the idea of the object intended. It is a part of the
Rhetorical 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 Constructiveness, and
falls below Imagination proper, as containing no exercise or
originality or invention.
COXSTRUCTIVENESS IN SCIENCE.
11. The Abstractions, Inductions, Deductions, and
Experimental Discoveries of Science, already included
under similarity, also involve Constructiveness.
To begin with Abstraction. We may represent a form by
an outline diagram as in Euclid. Bat this, as 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 generalized attribute. The
definition, 'a line is length without breadth,' is a verbal con
struction, 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 framers, exercises of original construction,
proceeding tentatively till a form of words is arrived at, con
formable 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 facts
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
formulae, 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 <JF THE INVENTOR.
pable and obvious case of constructiveness, being mostly
material operations. The first inventor of an instrument, as
the air-pump, 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
hi 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 all kinds of machinery. Bat 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 peculiar cast of mind, for
turning 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 experiments, and a charm or fascination for the
subject. Such men as Kepler, Hooke, Priestley, James Watt,
Sir William Herschell, combined the intellectual, 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 constructiveness.
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
factory, are the result of innumerable trials checked by felt
similarity to the ends.
The quality of mind named Judgment, has a meaning with
reference to constructiveness, being a clear sense of the pur-
172 CONSTRUCTIVE 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 011 having fully 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-
tori ; their facility must be due to their abundance of ready
formed combinations.
CONSTRUCTIVENESS UNDER FEELING.
13. It is the nature of certain constructions to satisfy
some immediate feeling or emotion — as Fear, Love, Anger,
Beauty, 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 Shelley pour-
trays nature in gorgeous hues. All images brought up by
intellectual resuscitation are shaped and adapted till 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
and particulars till the feeling is conformed to. It is thus
that many theories of philosophy have been framed to suit the
dignity of nature, or rather the 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 arid not of fact. Such are the
Grecian legends referring to the divine and heroic descent 01
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 CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION.
than the satisfying of the feeling of Harmony. Take the case of
Poetry. The images must harmonize with the sentiments ;
the characters, besides being consistent with themselves, must
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-pervading 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 fully
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 Knight 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
roduces a construction successfully appealing to the emotion that
e starts with.
15. IMAGINATION will be found most characteristically
exemplified in Fine Art Constructiveness. The principal
elements of Imagination are (1) Concreteness, (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 the matter of science, and occasionally of the practical
arts. The full 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 Ca?sar in Britain,
is to be impressed with the visible aspect of the scene, in the
same way — although without the vividness, accuracy, or
completeness — as 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 a mere reproduction of previous forms.
It ranks as a Constructive process, thus rising above both
p
h
IMAGINATION SUPPOSES A PllESENT 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 powerful 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 Constructiveness, as will
farther appear under the subsequent head.
(3) Imagination is subject to some present emotion of the
mind. This needs explanation. All constructions are for
some end, which must be a feeling in the last resort. A pump
is constructed 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 Wall, are
not works of Imagination. When a work of Utility is shaped,
decorated, or adorned, to gratify esthetic sensibility, it com
bines Imagination with practical constructiveness.
Secondly, Imagination is allowed to be used for expressing
the lias 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 feelings 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 assthetic 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
modern times, as opposed to sensation and actuality), is applied
to those creations that are farthest removed from nature, fact,
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 thoughtful, grave, and serious,
176 ABSTRACTION — THE ABSTRACT IDEA.
is called fanciful. ' Comus,' as compared with * Paradise
Lost,' is a work of fancy.
IDEALITY, or the Ideal, is another name for Imagination.
It notes more particularly the tendency to soar above the
limits of the actual, and to combine scenes where our aspira
tions and desires may find gratification, if only in idea ; there
being nothing to satisfy us in the world of reality.
CHAPTEE V*
ABSTKACTION— THE ABSTBAC.T IDEA.
NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
-V/
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 among the stars in spite of their
variety. There is something common 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 things, 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 the 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 controversies.
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 the mus
cular than with the optical elements, and vice versa ; but wo
cannot entirely separate the two.
The special difficulty of abstraction occurs in the indivisible sen
sations of a sense ; every sound has a plurality of characters — inten
sity, volume, pitch, &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 classify under some one head. To ab
stract the property of transparency from water, is to recall, at
the instance of water, window glass, crystal, air, '&c. ; to ab
stract its liquidity, is to recall milk, vinegar, melted butter,
mercury, &c. ; 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. All 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 ABSTRACTION — THE ABSTRACT IDEA.
nothing, of the one concrete, but what is true of all those
others.
When we think 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 affirming 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, differing 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 PUEEST 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 generality. The
description, 'A line is length without breadth,' may be called
an abstract idea of a line. Still, the meaning of the words
'length' and 'breadth' is inconceivable, 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 denned 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 lines,' directs us to contemplate the concretes
implied under 'boundary,' under '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 fact
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 ABSTRACTION" — THE ABSTRACT IDEA.
plurality of objects is a declaration of agreement (in a given
manner) among such 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, havs no
counterpart Reality (as implied in Realism), and no Men
tal existence (as affirmed in Conceptualism).
Because we have a name 'round,' or 'circle,' signifying
that certain things impress us alike, although also differing, it
does not follow that there exists in nature a thing, of pure
roundness, with no other property conjoined; a circle, of no
material, no colour, and no size. All nature's circles are circles
in the concrete, each one embodied along with other material
attributes ; a certain colour and size being inseparable from
the form. Tbis 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 us, 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 affords 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 abstraction; it has 110 existence except in
concrete duration. Things enduring are what we know ; until
we have become aware of a certain number of these, we have
no notion of time. Yet, owing to the sublime effect produced
by the things that have great duration, we contract an asso-
LANGUAGE FACILITATES EEALISM. 181
elation with the name for this 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 instance of an abstraction con
verted into a separate entity. Q£j^ajij^pjin^^ contro
versy of Nominalism and Realism, see APPENDIX A.)
CHAPTEE VI.
THE OBIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
Y' EXPERIENCE 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 tbe great mass of our knowledge is obviously at
tained in the course of our experience of the world, certain
portions of it are alleged by some philosophers to 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 Immortality.
These inborn elements have received many other names ;
as Innate ideas, Instinctive truths, notions and truths a priori,
First Principles, Common Sense, Primary Beliefs, Transcen
dental notions and truths, truths of the Reason.
2. It is considered that the assigning of a purely
mental origin to certain ideas, both accounts for what is
otherwise inexplicable, and confers an Authority, highei
than experience, upon some important principles, specula
tive and practical.
There are certain peculiarities, it is maintained, 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
extensive applicability, one not limited merely to objects of
actual experience.' A superior 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 UNIVERSALITY.
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 effect 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 articulate capacity, the sense of hearing, and
the admitted powers of the intellect.
To affirm that the notions of Space and Time are intuitive,
is to affirm that by no possibility shall mental philosophers
ever be able to account for them by the operation of our per
ceptive faculties. 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 powerful 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 compound, because such bodies are susceptible of
decomposition.
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, being 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 that there is in the notion with these elements of sensible
experience, 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
i^ot 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 all the evi
dence that the case admits of.
Even granting that our present analysis of Space is unable
to resolve it into elements of post-natal 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 OllIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
associated and generalized, or as not so resolvable at present.
But no one is entitled to affirm it as absolutely simple and
underived, 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 from 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-born child ; we have no
means of testing its knowledge, until a large store of ideas
lias 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 there is 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 abstraction, or generality, be nothing but a host of
particulars identified and compared, the abstraction is. nothing
withojit^j^mirticulars. Space has meaning in reference to
extendecfthiiigs, 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
NECESSARY TRUTH NOT INNATE. 185
the predicate ; it is a truth of Implication. What is called
the Law of Identity— whatever is, is, A is A— is given as an
example of a necessary trnth. 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 ordinary faculties would fail to teach
us this necessity, or why there must be 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 stultified and
rendered nugatory. That we should abide by a declaration
once made, is indispensable to all understanding between man
and man. The lajsLJ^necessji^^inj^ of
things, but an^QDavoidalble accompMimpn^ <>F the use of
^ jjpeecE. ToTdeny^it, is intellectual eraicide.
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 Relativity, is no new fact ; it is the same fact stated
from 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, are 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
to the origin of our ideas.
These necessary truths have, from their very nature, the
highest possible 'Universality.' 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 obligation 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 (see BELIEF). So powerful, indeed, is
this impulse, that it constantly leads us 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-universality ; and it would have been well for us 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 onr intuitive knowledge. 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 upon
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 subject 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 ; 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 they 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 the 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, the 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 all 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
conceivability 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 difficulty 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
CHAPTEK VIT.
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 External and 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
PROPER 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,
though not universally, received by scientific men.
We find ourselves 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 comes 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 full 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 the 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, Retinal
magnitude.
4. The visual 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 (Sight) that to adjust the eye to a
near object (a few inches), there is a muscular strain in the
eye-ball.
190 THEORY 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 pictures seen by the two eyes
are dissimilar ; as the distance increases, they are less so, and
at great distances they are exactly similar. Such identity 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
use 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 tc this diminution. 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 will be as above described. Bat
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 another. 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 or estimate
practically 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 all that is signified
by locomotion of the whole body, or any part of it, be wholly
•withdrawn.
But if Distance has 110 meaning apart from the move-
OPPORTUNITIES FOR ASSOCIATING DISTANCE. 191
ments of other organs than the eye, the question then is, has
nature gifted 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 appearance 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 life 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 OF VISION.
follows : — The Inclination of the Axes of the eyes, in com
pany with a given Retinal picture, suggests the magnitude
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 once suggests distance ; and that
the distance thus suggested, taken along with the visible 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 hy touch
and locomotion), and that, by combining this with the visible
magnitude, the suggestion 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 Magnitude ; 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
tance, — 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 offered.
(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 fact, to suppose that each eye sees a full 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
entirely new picture is now ibraied 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 rnind conceives is, not the optical effect actually
presented at the moment, but a compound or accumulated 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 the
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 not
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
still an estimate of more or less, a sense of difference.
The question still returns, What is the meaning or import
of Distance ? One meaning of vital importance practically,
lo
194 THEORY OF VISION.
is the greater or less locomotion or other movement required
to traverse it. Subtract that meaning, which is said by all
not to be instinctive, and what meaning remains ? Until the
two contending parties agree upon 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. I. — In perceiving distance, we are not conscious of
tactual feelings or locomotive reminiscences ; what we see is
a visible quality, and nothing more.
If distance is merely the suggestion of touch, &c., we ought to
be conscious of a tactile state, a state of locomotive, or other mus
cular, effort. 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 being 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 ah object, the idea suggested to his mind ' is
commonly that 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 uniting
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 this it is replied, first, that the infant is making the
experimental connexions as often as it is moved from place to
place, 110 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 THEORY. 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 visual 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 six paces in the dark,
retreating from a wall, we can then, and do, think of the visual
distance of the wall at six yards ; every pace that we take sug
gests the retreating figure of the wall ; 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 born 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. IY. — 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 THEORY OF VISION.
shell stuck in its tail.' Many similar facts have been related over
and over again by veracious witnesses. Such powers obviously
imply an intuitive measure of distance, and a farther instinctive
power of directing the movements in 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 upon 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 ascertain 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 corn ; 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 birth 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 HEREDITARY EXPERIENCE. 197
turns away from the other; it also knows when it is moved
towards the object it likes, 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
so 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. This 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
recollections.
PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD.
1. All Perception or Knowledge 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 surveying a tree or a mountain,
and in a totally different condition or attitude when
luxuriating in warmth, or when suffering from toothache.
The difference here indicated is the greatest contrast
within our experience. It is expressed by Matter and Mind (in
a narrow 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 luminous emanations, it
impresses our mind and is then perceived; the perception
being an effect, and the unperceived tree the cause. Bat 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 qualities of matter. The modes of Exten
sion are called, by Hamilton, primary qualities, and the modes
of Resistance or Force, secundo-primary.
Now, it has been formerly seen (MUSCULAR 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 us 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
yield 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
jgj^B§S§§gLbelon^ngjoThe^ ob]gc[fc_gide ; ami in "passi
ing, a_mode jx£-c^nsciousness "Belonging to tne snbjecTside.
5. II. — Our object experience farther consists of the
uniform connexion of Definite Feelings with Definite
Energies.
200 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD.
The effect that we call the interior of a room is, in the
final analysis, a regular series of feelings of sense, related to
definite muscular energies. A movement, one pace forward,
makes a distinct and definite change in the ocular impressions ;
a step 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 s abjective ; 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 still
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 difference ; they are not, however,
justified in using language to affirm 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 ; 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 in that intimate alliance known as the union of mind
and body. Still, the body is object to the mind, and is viewed
in the same manner as other parts of the objective aggregate.
When we speak of an external world, the comparison is
THE OBJECT COMMON TO ALL. 201
strict only in comparing our 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 commit us to
the impropriety of specifically locating the Unextended.
7. III. — In regard to the Object properties, all minds
are affected alike : in regard to^the^Su^
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 esthetic enjoyment. They will also differ
in the flow and succession of their ideas ; 110 two will have the
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, where the effect
is the same to all minds.
This rigorous uniformity belongs only to the so-called
primary qualities, Extension and Resistance ; 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 iri 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 MATERIAL WORLD.
object existence, as not being strictly 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, in 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
verting an abstraction into reality — the error of Idealism.
In the perception of Extension, Shape, Resistance, 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 Philonous.'
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 Realism, and incompatible with thorough-going
Nominalism.
The objects of human knowledge, he goes on to say, are ideas
of one or other of these three classes : — (1) Ideas actually imprinted
on the senses, (2) ideas arrived at by attending to the passions and
operations of the mind — as pleasure, pain, sweetness, love, con
science, &c., 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,
BEKKELEY. 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 class—
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, with regard to outward
things generally, they exist as perceived ; the esse is percipi.
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
copies 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 something invisible.
The distinction between Primary and Secondary Qualities is
of no avail. Extension, Figure, and Motion are still ideas of the
mind ; neither they nor their archetypes can exist in an unperceiv-
ing substance. It being admitted that the secondary qualities
204 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD.
exist in the mind alone, and yet are inseparably united with the
primary qualities, (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 perceiving organs.
Therefore the absolute, and independent extension, must neither
be great nor small, which would amount to nothing. So the
qualities Number 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, Figure, 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 possibility 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 will (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 reality 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 vulgar, but only a philosophic
fiction.
It may seem very harsh, he further remarks, to say that we
eat and drink and are clothed by ideas. But so is any deviation
from familiar language. Underneath the language is a question
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, &c. 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
scepticism. 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 commonly 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 IY. 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 taken 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.'
His 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 instinct of their
nature to suppose the very images, presented by their senses, to
be 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 niind, the two being
so different, and even so contrary in their nature ? It is a ques
tion of fact, 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 enquires how
Ave 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, ^through 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. "VVe 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.5
REID. 207
In the chapter (Sect, vi.) on Personal Identity, he denies the
existence of self 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
Hume. It is, however, to be remarked of him, in contrast to
Berkeley, that he 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 both 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.
REID. Reid 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
Eeid 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 Reid ' often at fault,
often confused, and sometimes even contradictory.' In his edition
of Reid (Note C, p. 820), Hamilton draws up two classes of state
ments on the part of Reid, pointing to two opposing doctrines,
one called 'the doctrine of mediate perception,' which Hamilton
disavows, and the other called 'immediate perception,'1 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 Reid
slipping into it, in saying that the primary qualities, Extension,
&c., are suggested to us. through the 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 MATERIAL WORLD.
subjective or ideal. Equally unguarded is the expression that,
' if sensation be produced, the perception follows, even when there
is no object.' So, to localize sensation (a pain in the toe, for
instance) in the brain is conformable to mediate or representative
perception. Beid's use of the terms ' notion ' and ' conception '
likewise favours the same view. Also, in calling imagination of
the past an immediate knowledge, "Reid is on dangerous ground :
such immediate knowledge, applied to perception, is really a
mediate knowledge. Again, the doctrine of Beid and Stewart,
that perception of distant objects is possible, if sifted, leads to
represeiitationisrn. Once more, Beid's calling perception an in
ference 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 Beal or Immediate presentation. These chiefly consist in repeat
ing the common opinion of mankind, that whatever is perceived
exists. Mr. J. S. Mill', in opposition to Hamilton, maintains that
Beid throughout adhered to the doctrine of Bepreseiitation, 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.
STEWART followed Beid so closely on the subject of Percep
tion, that a separate account of his opinions is unnecessary.
BROWN is noted for the virulence of his attack upon Beid's claims
to have vindicated Common Sense against Idealism. The attack
lias 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 Beid. ' 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 Beid (and also
from Hamilton) in denying an intuitive perception of the Primary
Qualities of bodies.
HAMILTON. 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 Beid.
He has endeavoured to give an exhaustive classification of all
the possible theories. [See Edition of Beid, 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 Bepresentation ; 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 —
HAMILTON. 209
is divided into the Natural Realists or Natural Dualists, who
accept the common 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
pearances.' The second great class — the Representationists — has
many supposed varieties ; but the main example of it is designated
by the phrase ' Cosmothetic Idealism' ; meaning that an External
World is supposed apart from our mental perception, as the incon
ceivable and incomprehensible cause of thaC 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 with Berkeley, Hume, and
Ferrier, holds to be untenable, and absurd.
His own doctrine — Natural Realism — by which he proposes to
vindicate the common sense view, and yet avoid the difficulties of
the Representative scheme, contains the following allegations : —
1. In the act of sensible perception, I am conscious of two
things — of myself the perceiving subject, and of an external reality
in relation with my sense as the object perceived.
2. I am conscious of knowing each not mediately in something
else, as represented, 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 our organs of sense ; in short, with
the rays of light on the retina (Reid, p. 814). From which it follows
as an inference, that when different persons look at the sun, each
sees a separate object.
In 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 Representationist, 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
detached from itself. Then, how can the two things be equally
dependent and equally 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 truth, that it must be ultimate and
simple ; in other words, the terms of the fact must refer to ultimate
elements 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.
FERRIER. 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. His 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 mental
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 distinguishable, is not
separable in cognition from tho subjective part, or _ the ego; but
the objective^p"art and the subjective part do together constitute
the unit or minimum of knowledge.' StiTT more pointed in the
stfftement, though still the same in substance, is Prop. IV. : —
' Matter per se, the whole material universe by itself, is of necessity
absolutely unknowable.' After this, it is little else than tau
tology (justifiable in ihe 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 the various terms of philosophy
— Universal and Particular, Ego and non-Ego, Sense and Intellect,
Presentation and Representation, Phenomenon, Substance, Rela
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. His other propositions are content with the more
general and safe affirmation, 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
FERKIEK. —HANSEL. 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 burden of them all is the same;
his effort still is to expose the self -contradiction of the prevailing
theory. He is almost exclusively occupied in clearing the ground ;
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 plus 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 FIRST, with no
forerunner.' (Lectures and Eemains, 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 ? ' and replies, ' that
in his belief it is not.' He thus repudiates ' subjective idealism,
and cares not what other idealism he is charged with.'
MANSEL. 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 maintaining 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 merely
as a mode of my own mind.' This is very much the language of
Hamilton's Natural Eealism ; and, like 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 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WOPxLD.
He would not admit that this consciousness ia the external world.
(Metaphysics, pp. 329, 346.)
BAILEY. Mr. Samuel Bailey has devoted a large portion of
his ' Letters on the Human Mind ' to the problem before us. He
criticises Locke, Berkeley, Hume, Beid, 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 Ferrier, 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 in taste, our sensation of white light. But these cases
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
appearance, 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 school of
Hamilton.
The first truth is that the human mind is capable of Expectation;
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
things in separation ; as in the acquired perceptions of sight.
Setting out from these premises, the theory maintains 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, arid not a part of our thoughts '? ' and replies that there is
meant something that exists when we are not thinking 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 things 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 still 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 sensation, there is always a vast compass
of possible sensation. These possibilities are to us the external
world ; the present sensations are fugitive, the possible sensations
are1?ermanent. To this wide region~o? 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 considered 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 Effect, 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 PERCEPTION OF A MATERIAL WORLD.
Now, when this point is reached, the Permanent Possibilities
have assumed such an unlikeness of aspect, and such a difference
of position to us, 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 gerierically 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 Reality 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 Primary 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 MIND, Mr. Mill holds that we have no concep.tion
of Mind in itself, as distinguished from its coiiscidu^mamf'esra-
tibtis. 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.
CHAPTER I.
FEELING IN GENEKAL.
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 Feeling in general,
This survey might have preceded the consideration of 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 particulars have been given.
and Sga|ations^re the priniary
o:
2. Positively, Feeling comprehends pleasures and
pains, and states of excitement that are neither. Nega
tively, it is opposedLjoJVolition anchbo _ Intellect,
If Feeling were^ confimjcf to pleasure and pain (as Hamil
ton assumes), it would have all the precision of our experience JL^
of those two states. But certain modes of consciousness,^^.
neither pleasurable nor painful, embraced by the word ' ex- 1/|
citement,' are accounted feelings. This leaves a vague and "
uncertain margin in the boundary of the Feelings.
There are only three ultimate modes of mind — Feeling,
Volition, and Intellect. Volition is action under Feeling; its
216 FEELING IN GENERAL.
differentia, therefore, is active energy for an end, which is a dis
tinctive and well-defined property. Intellect has three constitu
ents, — discrimination, similarity, retentiveness, — all 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,
ss, must be '
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 feeling, is summed up in two great laws— ;EeJativit^
and Diffusion.
The details already given in a former Book (I.) will ren
der sufficient a brief statement of these laws.
4. The principle of JjE^ATivrEjr, in its purely physical
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 separate, in language, the two sides ; our most
familiar names having a reference to both aspects. An im
pression suggests a physical as well as a merrtajjpjaenomenoiir
5. The Law of DIFFUSION is thus expressed : — ' Accord
ing as an impression is accompanied with Feeling, the
aroused currents diffuse themselves freely over the brain,
leading to a general agitation of the moving organs, as
well as affecting the viscera/
This law is implied in the details already given as to the
expression or embodiment of the feelings. Every feeling, in
proportion to its strength, is accompanied 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 groundwork of the great distinction of
PLEASURE and PAIN, is fully explained in Book L, chap. IV.
(p. 75).
PLEASURE AND PAIN. 217
CHARACTERS 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.
Emotional Characters of Feeling.
7. Every feeling has its characteristic PHYSICAL side.
As regards the Senses, a distinct origin or agency can be
assigned, as well as a 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 opposed
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 Quality (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 gained when the total
of pain is subtracted from the total of pleasure.
We may have feeling . without cither xjle^gure or pain.
Surprise is. a, fn.mi1ia.r iTisf.fl.yip.ft. Some surprises give us de
light, others cause suffering ; but many do neither. A pain
ful 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 applies 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 GENERAL.
acutenes?, is the intense stimulation of a small surface, in mas
sive feeling, the gentler stimulation of a wide surface.
Acute pleasures and pains stimulate the will, and impress
the infollecfa. perhaps more strongly than an equivalent sHmu-
lation of the massive kind. Hence their efficacy as motives.
In punishment, acute pains have the advantage of being much
dreaded, while they do not endanger health.
Massive pleasures have the power of soothing morbid
activity, and of inducing the Gender 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 from the actions that give rise to them.
For Speciality, see examples under the Senses.
Volitional Characters of Feeling.
9. TJigJifrH^isoooiM^ j^lsasure caus-
/f.jb* ing pursuit,, p,in ^2^"^p Hence the voluntary actions
are a farther clue tcTllie states of feeling. There is no
\M-^' 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.
Intellectual Characters of 'Fading.
10. A Feeling viewed with reference to any one of the
three properties — Discrimination, Agreement^ Ketent.ive-
•B^ss^-assumes an intellectual aspect, and is on the eve
of becoming a state of intellect proper. Still, as there
belongs to all feelings a certain degree of ideal persistence
and recoverability, and as importance attaches to this
Retentive property, we may recognize it as their intel
lectual attribute.
Feelings have a different value according as, on the one
hand, tljey-pass_juz£aj; and_are ^forgotten ; or as, on the other,
they are easily recovered, at after times, by mental instigation
FORETHOUGHT AND DESIKE. 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 in the ideal state ; in this
meaning, the intellectual senses impart more refined pleasures
than Taste or Smell.
Farther applications of the Retentiveness of Feeling will
be given under the next head.
Mixed Characters of Feeling.
11. The consideration of Feeling, under 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 Retentiveness of the
mind for past states of the feeling. A feeling, however strong
in the actual, if feebly remembered, will 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 contrary 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,
although we will to do so7"~^fie"very" attempt often increases
the mental excitement, which is to increase its permanence.
Thus, a painful excitement, as excitement, or feeling, detains
the mind, while, as pain, 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 opposition
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 our
thoughts for the time that 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 actibrror jjursuit^which carries
belief witlTTT-ne that is fondTof sport IFurged to follow it,
and believes (in opposition to evidence) that no harm or risk
will attend it. In the next place, pleasure 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 ,jis gains possession of_our--tliO4ights, 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 wou]d_make _us disbelieve in
those objects and thoughts; a narrative of 'great atrocity
would, through that circumstance, induce to disbelief. But
through 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 such, 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 OF FEELING.
15. For a knowledge of the feelings of others, we must
trust to external signs, interpreted by our own conscious
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 feelings express
themselves differently, and that the stronger the feeling the
stronger the expression.
In interpreting the signs of feeling furnished by the
features, voice, gestures, &c., We have to observe certain pre
cautions. 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 will vary with
the strength and freshness 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 the one hand, and strength of disliking on
the other, from the motive force of each in pursuit 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 Fear. 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 mind 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 painful 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 liability to error of these several tests, taken
separately is 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 natural 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 light.
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, thev 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 foundation 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 life,
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, cheerfulness and contentment
are good indications ; both, however, are liable to mislead.
Cheerfulness, 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.
others, with a large fund of happiness, remain dissatisfied ; as
regards these, therefore, it is not true that discontent is a
sign of unhappiness. 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. If 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 one 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 pain. The so-called
good things of life — Health, Wealth, Friends, 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.
THE 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 indiffer
ence. There is every variety of mode as respects both degree
and duration. A feeble stimulus can be continued longer
than a powerful 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. This 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.
I
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 feeling.
(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 general,
ajid of the feelings in particular, to literary composition.
f (4) The theory of Human Happiness reposes immediately
[on the knowledge of the human feelings. This must ever be »
Ithe point of convergence of all the sciences, but it is the
jecience 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 knowlg4K£-^f ^ne feelings. Not merely the emotional
character as suchTand tfie comTuct, 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 THEIR CLASSIFICATION.
CHAPTEE II.
THE EMOTIONS AND THEIE CLASSIFICATION.
1. THE Emotions, as compared with the Sensations,
are secondary, derived, or compound feelings.
The Muscular Feelings and the Sensations are assumed to
be the primary or fundamental 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 Fine 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 transfer of feelings to things that
do not originally excite them, as in the cases already
illustrated (Contiguity, § 33).
4. Thirdly, There may be a coalescence 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 under 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 derivation, if possible ; and in tracing out the
most usual forms and varieties. In the description, we shall
apply the Natural History method, already exemplified in the
Sensations.
6. The arrangement is as follows : —
I. While the Law of Relativity is essential to Feeling in
every form, there are certain Emotional states of a very
general kind, developed by the mere intensity of the transi
tion ; such are NOVELTY, SURPRISE, 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
LIBERTY with reference to RESTRAINT, 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.
II. The emotion of TERROR, or Fear, may receive an early
consideration.
IIL The TENDER EMOTION, or LOVE, is a well-marked and
far-reaching susceptibility of our nature, and a leading source
of our pleasures. To it may be appended the emotions of
ADMIRATION, REVERENCE, and ESTEEM.
IV. When we see in ourselves the qualities that excite
love or admiration in others, we are affected by a pleasurable
emotion, named SELF-COMPLACENCY, Self-gratulation, Self-
esteem. This will be shown to be a derivative of the Tender
Emotion.
A still further 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 like.
Y. The elation of superior POWER is a very marked and
widely ramifying genus of pleasurable emotion, being an
228 THE EMOTIONS AND THEIR CLASSIFICATION.
emotion of pure Relativity or Comparison ; the correlative is
the pain of IMPOTENCE.
VI. ANGER or the IRASCIBLE EMOTION is the pleasurable
emotion of malevolence.
The foregoing comprise the best marked of our simpler
emotions. For although they are all 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 rt cognition 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
counter mortification of missing what is laboured for, there is,
in the attitude of PURSUIT, a peculiar state of mind, so far
agreeable in itself, that factitious occupations are instituted
to bring it into play. When I use the term PLOT-INTEREST,
the character of the situation alluded to will be suggested
with tolerable distinctness.
VIII. 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 FINE ART, 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 little more
than a refined pleasure. If we take the productions of
Fine 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
fully considered, in the part of this volume devoted to
Ethics.
NOVELTY. 229
CHAPTER III.
EMOTIONS OF RELATIVITY: NOVELTY.—
WONDEK.— LIBERTY.
1. THE OBJECTS of the emotion of Novelty are well
understood.
The PHYSICAL circumstance may be 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
drawn 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 RELATIVITY.
The primary sensations are speedily gone through, 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 storv. 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. Throughout 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 the pleasurable
wave. Still, it is likely that periods of absolute indifference
and quiet, if not of painful 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 startled. 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. WONDER, or the Marvellous, is felt on the view of
what rises above, or what falls beneath, 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 due to what greatly
transcends use and wont. It is an emotion of pure 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 — RESTRAINT and LIBERTY—
are wholly referable to Conflict, combined with Relativity.
Restraint 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 diffusion,
arrested by dread of punishment ; the voluntary movements
opposed ; the wishes thwarted, — are cases of intestine conflict,
and of suffering. The pain induced has a speciality 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 hostility,
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 Restraint. 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 RELATIVITY.
self, there is no reaction, and no flush of joyous elation.
This fact has been remarked in those that have grown 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 well 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 Impotence are, to some
extent, coincident with the foregoing, but have a far wider
range. In 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, toils, present and prospective ;
and to the joyous rebound upon the occasions of their miti
gation or abatement.
CHAPTEE IV.
EMOTION OF TEEEOE.
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 TERROR. 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 the feeling.
Sometimes the apprehension is of certain evil, as when
some painful 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 effort 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 new 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 creeping action
that lifts the hair. The kidneys are directly or indirectly affected.
The sexual organs feel the depressing1 influence. The secretion of
milk in the mother's breasts is vitiated.
234 EMOTION OF TERROR.
The increased tension is 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 the eye is to be taken 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 exclusive direction. Whatever movements of expression,
or of volition, are suggested by these thoughts, have a similar
intensity.
That such 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, or the discharge of multifarious duties, the waste of
power being incompatible with anything ardous. Slaves
labour is notoriously unproductive.
With regard to the Intellect, the characters of the emotion
are 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 efficacious.
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 following 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 TERROR.
Stoical prescriptions of Epictetus, himself a slave, are in
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 uncontrollable 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 fear. 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 OUR FACULTIES. 237
with irresistible might and awful aspect. Ages had elapsed
ere the knowledge of law and uniformity, prevailing among
those powers, had been arrived at by the human intellect.
The profound 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 altogether 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 operations.
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 multi
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
lie 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 wre prove him a friend.
It might be a question as regards shyness before strangers,
wrhether the more instinctive form of dread, shown in esrly
infancy, does not cling 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 awful sensation of first ap
pearing, as a speaker or performer, before a large assembly.
Probably, however, there is enough in the evil possibilities or
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 with 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 Fear of Death.
In the fear of Death, we have two elements. The extinc-
238 EMOTION OF TERROR.
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
youthful 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
fund of emotional vigour, shown in natural buoyancy, fulness
of animal spirits, manifestations of warm sociability, and the
like, is also the antithesis of depressing agencies — whether
mere pain, or the aggravations of fear. (4) Force of Will;
arising from the power of the motives to equanimity. (5) In
tellectual Force ; which refuses 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 cause.
6. The Reaction, or Belief, 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 efficacious 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.
FEAR 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.
TENDEK 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 incline to the ten
der outburst. Under the agitation of joy, an affectionate
warmth is manifested, demanding a response. Occasions 01
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 particular should
be so ready to burst 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
in 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 efficacy. 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. Finally, in Sight, the sensations of lustre
have a like efficacy. 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
infancy, of age, of sickness, of destitution, calls 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) The soft extended contact, the source of a voluminous
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 ACCOMPANIMENTS OF TENDERNESS. 241
bilities. The remark is farther confirmed by the considera
tion of the next accompaniment.
(2) The Lachrymal Organs — Gland and Sac — are specifi
cally affected 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 convulsed, 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.
The same principle is seen in the diffusive manifestations
of feeling generally. Joyful 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 malevolence, is called to aid; the circum
stances being natural vigour, an irascible habit, and the
absence of genial sympathies. When tenderness is invoked,
the circumstances are usually extreme weakness, the tender
16
242 TENDER EMOTION.
disposition, or tbe connexion of the pain with some tender
relationship.
4. On the MENTAL side, Tenderness is a feeling, in
quality pleasurable, in degree massive and not acute. Its
remarkable speciality (which 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
human 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 easily 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 further 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 feature.
The operation upon the Will in pursuit, corresponding to
the degree 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.
MATERNAL RELATIONSHIP. 243
The Control of the Attention and the Trains of thought,
even in the ordinary degrees of the feeling, would naturally
be great, while, in the intenser forms, it 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 OF 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 Group.
7. The relation of Mother and Offspring deserves to
rank first.
The infant, as a sensuous object, 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 powerful 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 full 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, while the influence of contrast and
the sentiment of protectorship may be even greater.
244 TENDER EMOTION.
8. The relationship of the Sexes, founded in the pro-
creative 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 tbis 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 that interest us must be something different, even
although inferior. The greatest affinities grow out of the
stronger contrasts ; with this important explanation, that the
contrast must not be of hostile qualities, but of supplemental
ones. The one person must not love what the other 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 the
relation of master and pupil. But in the two sexes there is a
standing contrast, 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 moi'e
in the associations of power.
The Benevolent Affections.
9. In Benevolence, the main constituent is Sympathy,
which is not to be confounded with Tenderness.
It will be seen more fully afterwards, that, in Sympathy,
the essential point is to become possessed of the pains and
pleasures of another being. Now, the tender feeling, or love,
greatly aids this occupation of mind with the feelings of
others, but is not the sole agent concerned. Another power,
of a more intellectual kind, is demanded.
10. Sympathy not being necessarily a source of plea
sure, the Pleasures of Benevolence are incidental and in
direct.
The following considerations are to be taken into account,
in resolving this matter.
In the first 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 BENEVOLENCE. 245
indulgence of the feeling. It is as purely self-seeking as any-
other pleasure, and makes no enquiry concerning the feelings
of the beloved personality.
In the second place, in 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 pains 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 preference 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 reciprocation 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 offices pass unreciprocated. If
the immediate object of them cannot or will not reciprocate
in full, 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 effect.
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 Justice.
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 our 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 inequalities give room for mutual good
offices. In the tenderness thus developed, there is a bond of
attraction to counterwork the rivalries and repellant 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 Fine Art. Sympathy interests us in
other beings ; their pains 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 affection.
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 distinct 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 from
their original power to give pleasure, that these things work
upon the springs of tenderness ; but, as they are unsuited to
INANIMATE THINGS. 247
its proper consummation, the indulgence of the feeling is
imaginary or fictitious. The personifying impulse here comes
to our 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 habitual 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 from 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 complicated,
and will be resumed under the Sublime (^ESTHETIC EMOTIONS^
248 TENDER EMOTION.
What we notice here is that the feeling is one readily passing
into tenderness; the reason being not solely 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 effort 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 useful, rather than by shining,
qualities. As we are painfully 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 evils 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 Religious Sentiment.
21. The Religious Sentiment is constituted by the Tender
Emotion, together with Tear, and the Sentiment of the
Sublime.
We must premise that the generic feature of Religion is
Government, or authority ; the specific difference is the
authority of a Supernatural 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 dimculty 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 aids to bring it within the compass of
imagination.
ELEMENTS OF VENERATION. 249
(2) Our position of weakness, dependence, and uncer
tainty, brings us under the dominion of Fear. This feeling
varies with our own conscious misdeeds, as compared with
the exactions of the supreme Governor. The secondary uses
of Religion, 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 with 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 Confucius 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.
Reverence is a name for high admiration and deferential
regard, without implying authority. We may express reve
rence and feel deference to a politician, 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 collective 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 all 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 are
Tenderness and Sexual feeling; these are sympathetic by
accident, if not by design.
SELF-GRATULATION 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 personality. The
Pleasure, in such circumstances, is usually much greater,
'he 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 into active exercise, and the aroused
affection quickens the admiration. It is not to be believed
that the pleasure of admiring 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
being 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
will 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 in 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 might have a warm, and pleasing efficacy, while
in self it would awaken but a feeble response. Such a total
absence of self-gratulation 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 in
the ideal form ; if based on a large emotional nature, it may
afford a copious well-spring of enjoyment.
It has the same high intellectual 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
from 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 wThat 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, quality 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 up to it. It is
the sense of honour, viewed as self-honour ; and may co-exist
with regard to the sentiments of others.
HUMILITY. — SELF-ABASEMENT. 253
Self-pity — being sorry for one's self — is a genuine mani
festation of the feeling before us. It is unmistakeable 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 ourselves with,
others. All excellence requires 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. There are well-marked forms of Pain, in obverse
correspondence to the pleasures now described.
Most amiable and estimable, on this side, is the virtue
named Humility and Modesty, which, without supposing self-
depreciation, implies that, for the sake of others, we abstain
from indulging self-complacent sentiment. It is a species of
generosity, in renouncing a portion of self-esteem, to allow a
greater share of esteem to others.
The sense of positive Worthlessness 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 bamade 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 the 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 diffuse 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.
Self-abasement, the consequence of a sense of demerit, is
also the first step towards relief ; supposing, as it does, that
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.
Self-reproach is another name applicable to the loss of one's
good opinion of self.
254 EMOTIONS OF SELF.
LOVE OF APPROBATION.
7. The feeling of being approved, admired, praised by
others, is a heightened form of selt-gratulation, due to the
workings of sympathy.
The operation of sympathy will be minutely traced in a
subsequent chapter. It is enough here to assume, that
the coinciding expression of another person sustains 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 01
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 circumstances 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 our happiness.
APPROBATION AND DISAPPROBATION. 255
8. The following are 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. Flattery and Adulation are
excess, if not untruth, in the paying of compliments. Glory
expresses a high and ostentatious 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 life, 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 Polite society include the bestowal of compli
ment with delicacy. On the one hand, the careful avoidance
of whatever is calculated to wound the sense of self-importance,
and, on the other hand, the full 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 farther evils associated
with ill opinion on the part of society, the intense disappro
bation of our fellow-men, uncounteracted, 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 the 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 public
opinion, that some ethical speculators have been unable to
discern any purely disinterested impulses in the conduct of
men.
The unsocial side of these emotions is manifested in 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 POWER.
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 gratification 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 superior to the other.
The sentiment of superior Power is felt in the development
of the bodily and montal frame. The growing youth is pleased
at the increase of his strength ; every new advance, in know
ledge, in the conquest of difficulties, gives a thrill of satisfac
tion, founded essentially on comparison. The conscious
decline of our faculties in old age is the inverse fact.
THE EMOTION OF POWER SUBSISTS ON COMPARISON. 257
A second mode of comparison has regard to the greater
productiveness of our efforts ; as when we obtain better tools,
or work upon a more hopeful material. The teacher is
cheered by a promising pupil. An advanced grade of command
gives the same feeling.
The third mode is comparison with others. In a contest,
or competition, the successful combatant has the gratification
of superior power. According to the number and the great
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 mere sense
of elevation (without derogating from the other advantages) ;
in proportion as the remembrance of the interior 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 will have little con
scious elation from his own pre-eminence.
2. The PHYSICAL side of the emotion of Power shows
an erect lofty bearing, and a flush of physical energy, as if
from a sudden increase of nervous power; a frequent
accompaniment is the outburst of Laughter.
Erectness of carriage and demeanour 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 eclat of a telling effect. The evidence is furnished in the
undisguised manifestations of childish glee, in 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-conserva
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 bearing on the Will is a consequence of the special
alliance of the state with our activity. By it we are disposed
to energy, not merely through its stimulus as pleasure, but
258 EMOTION OF POWER.
also through, its direct influence on the active side of our con
stitution. This can be best understood by contrast with the
passive tone under tender emotion.
3. On the MENTAL side, the feeling of Power is, in
Quality, pleasurable ; in Degree, both acute and massive ;
in Speciality, it connects itself with our active states.
The gratification of superior Power falls under the com
prehensive class of elating, or intoxicating pleasures, due to a
rebound, or relief from previous depression. It is most nearly
allied 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 thrill, it may impress the intellect in one way, namely,
in the fact 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 tbe 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 with
the prostration of the sufferer 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 uncontrolled despotism. 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. Riches 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
afflatus, 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
insignificance of the person subjected to them.
260 IRASCIBLE EMOTION.
The feeling of Power is likely to abound in the active or
energetic temperament, to which it is closely allied. In the
form of Ambition, it takes possession of such minds ; who have
their crowning satisfaction in becoming the masters of man
kind. We need only to refer to the class of men that suc
cessively held the throne of Imperial Home.
The present emotion will 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
power at the sacrifice of reputation ; and have enjoyed ascen
dancy accompanied with universal hatred.
5. The 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 dependent
on others ; being treated with contumely and contempt ; being
frustrated in our designs, — all bring home the depressing
sense of littleness. A great exertion with a trifling result is
the occasion of ridicule and contempt.
Belonging to the exercise of power is a form of Jealousy.
Any one detracting from our sense of superiority, influence,
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.
CHAPTEK VIII.
IEASCIBLE 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 accompaniments of anger, as for example, the
rousing of the energies to re-act upon the cause of the pain ;
PHYSICAL SIDE OF ANGER. 261
but, without clothing them in personality, we cannot feel
proper anger towards these. The old Arcadians, when unsuc
cessful 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 follows any
shock, especially if sudden and acute, yet not crushing. The
direction that the excitement takes depends on other things.
(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 functions 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
farther 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
and exulting expression mingles with the whole, and gives a
peculiar set to the features, a complication of all the impulses.
4. On the MENTAL side, Anger contains an impulse
knowingly to inflict suffering upon another sentient being,
and a positive gratification in the fact of suffering in
flicted.
The first and obvious effect of 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 pleasure of malevolence 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 "bodily infliction 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 inanimate
things, wholly irrelevant to the occasion, gives a certain
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 writhings of pain furnish a
new variety of the 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
source 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 no chance of gratifying it. Now, when an
other person puts 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 iiijurer under the ban of the empire —
making him an outlaw ; the sacredness 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.
ANGER IN THE LOWER ANIMALS. 263
any man or animal, by their bearing or ill conduct, furnish a
pretext for suspending habeas corpus in their case, and a mul
titude 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 wild 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
be 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 animals possessing courage and
energy repel attacks and invasion by positive inflictions ; 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 fury manifested has all the frenzied excitement of rage.
Still, it is not necessary to assume anything beyond a mere
rudiment of the proper pleasure of power. The victorious
264 IRASCIBLE EMOTION.
animal may have sufficient recollection of its own chequered
experiences to enter somewhat into the position of being van
quished, and to feel the difference between that and success ;
and exactly as this intellectual and emotional comparison is
within the compass of its powers, will it feel the glut of its
own superiority. If we are unable to assign to any but the
highest animals such an intellectual range as this, we cannot
credit animals generally with the developed form of anger.
By the study 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 energetic
excitement of grief. After the development of distinct likings
and dislikings, with the accompanying voluntary determina
tions, any strong repugnance will 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 of
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 maturity, it has been
usual to make a distinction between Sudden and Deliberate
Anger. The Sudden form of Auger is the least complicated,
and shows the natural and habitual disposition. Excitable
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 demand for ven
geance. When men have been injured on matters that they
are deeply alive 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 all
HATRED. — ANTIPATHY. 265
proportions, and gluts himself with the satisfaction of ven
geance. What are we to expect from him that can take Tin-
mingled delight in the sufferings of an unoffending fellow-
being ?
The affection grounded on anger is called Hatred. The
sense of some one wrong never satisfied, a supposed harmful
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 the 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 assthetic 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 will 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 retaliation. In
the case of Involuntary harm, the wrathful impulse is transi
tory, unless it be from avoidable carelessness, which is treated
as a fault demanding reparation. It is common for persons,
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 malicious
design, which necessarily provokes, to the full, the resentful
energy of the sufferer.
Seeing that the wrathful feelings originate in pain, and lead
to the risks of a counter resentment, some Ethical writers have
contended against the reality of a Pleasure of Malevolence. But
these attendant pains are only 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 the 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
Rage ' 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 Revenge.
Inasmuch as the occurrence of injury is a wide-spread fact,
it makes a considerable part of our interest as spectators of
actual life. 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 romancist, having the events at com
mand, allows few failures.
8. Iii 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 in the fully developed idea of
the Just, there is a regard to the value 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 still 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 still as means to an end.*
CHAPTER IX.
EMOTIONS OF ACTION— PUESUIT.
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.
r ' The benefits which 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.)
268 EMOTIONS OF ACTION— PURSUIT.
There remains the mental attitude under a gradually
approaching end, a condition of suspense, termed Pursuit
and Plot-interest.
In working to some end, as the ascent of a mountain, or
in watching any consummation drawing near, as a race, we
are in a peculiar state of arrested attention, which, as an
agreeable effect, is often desired for itself.
2. On the PHYSICAL side, the situation of pursuit is
marked by (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 sound, as
in listening to a narrative, we are all ear. If we are specta
tors or listeners merely, the general attitude shows muscular
tension ; if we are agents, we are sustained in our 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 in object regards,
with remission of subject regards.
Some end is needed to stimulate the voluntary energies ;
and, by the Law of Self-conservation, the gradual approach
towards the consummating of the end heightens the energies,
and intensifies the pursuit.
Now, all muscular exertion is objective (p. 21) ; it throws us
upon the object attitude, and takes us out of the subject atti
tude. Whatever promotes muscular exertion, both as to the
intensity of the strain, and the number and the importance of
the muscles engaged, renders us 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 objectivity ; and this is the essential character of pur
suit and plot-interest.
The value of the situation is relative to the circumstance
that we are apt to be too much thrown upon the subject con
sciousness ; which, although essential to enjoyment (for per-
OBJECTIVITY IS INDIFFERENCE. 269
feet objectivity is perfect indifference) is also the condition of
our being alive to suffering, and of our dwelling upon onr
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 our 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 the nature of the waking mind to alternate from
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 possibility of
failure, 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 when
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
being raised, and yet not assured. Still, if the stake be high,
the fear of losing it will deprive the situation of the favour-
270 EMOTIONS OF ACTION — PURSUIT.
able stimulus of plot-interest. It is by combining a small
amount of uncertainty with a moderate stake, that we best
realize the proper charm of pursuit.
As in all other things, Novelty gives zest to pursuit. 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 movement,
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 successful achievement and gratified 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 pitch. His objectivity is
strained to the uttermost limits, and if he succeeds, he gains
the joys of triumph, after being forcibly withdrawn from 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. Gladiatorial shows, Tournaments, Races,
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 are 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 hazardous 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.
In 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 Relationships, 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. All the
successes, the epochs and turning points in the career of an
object of affection, a child or a friend, give periods of intent
occupation, taking one out of self, and out of one's own
pleasures. Still, we are seldom losers by the objective atti~
272 EMOTIONS OF ACTIOX — PURSUIT.
tu.de ; we are made the more alive to the subjective relapses ;
and, if pleasure be awaiting us, it is all the greater for the
diversion.
10. The search after Knowledge is attended with plot.
The feeling of knowledge attained being one of the satis
factions of life, the gradual 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 gained, 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 uncertainty, 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
proaching 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 situation, and thence derive much
of their power of detaining the mind. But, whereas real events,
although containing the circumstance 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, from 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 with
various forms of pleasure and pain.
As mere exercise, the Intellectual trains may give pleasure
in a fresh 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. Laboured 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 endeavours, 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 construc-
tiveness. The successive checks sustained by the thinking
powers, in a work of thought, have the same painful character,
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 intellects, 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 SIMILARITY. 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 apart, makes
a flash of novelty and change, the prime condition of emotional
effect. The Greek's that conquered India, under Alexander,
must have been surprised at finding in that 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 intellect. 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 will be
given under separate heads.
5. 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 generalizing 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
former 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 pleasure is not so
much in the intellect, as in the results upon our other sen
sibilities.
The strongest part of the sentiment that attaches us to
Truth 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 pestilence, truth is the same as precision, accu
racy, certainty, in adjusting the means to the end. The
emotion of Truth is a feeling of Relativity or comparison, a
rebound or deliverance from the miseries of practical error.
7. Illustrative Comparisons are another mode of re
mitting intellectual toil.
The happy comparisons or analogies that illuminate the
obscure conceptions of science, are pleasing from the same
general cause, the lightening of intellectual labour. The
celebrated simile of the Cave, in Plato's Republic (see AP
PENDIX 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 classification of the
emotions.
CHAPTER 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 already 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 pain, 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 mind. The child is unable to enter into the
joys and griefs of the grown-up person ; the humble day-
labourer can have no fellow-feeling with the cares of the rich,
the great, the idle ; the man without family ties fails to realize
the feelings of the domestic circle.
(2) The various feelings have outward signs or symptoms,
learned for the most part by observation. Noting how we
ourselves are outwardly affected under our various feelings,
we infer the same feelings 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 fueling of delight, 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 wholly
acquired, or partly acquired and partly instinctive. There
are certain signs of feeling that appear to have a primitive
efficacy 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 for the time by the very same feeling.
In this view, there must be a certain energy of expressiveness,
or suggestiveness, in the signs of feeling, which is favoured
by the combination of primitive 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,
Fear, Tenderness, Admiration, Anger, are highly infectious,
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 feelings
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 full, we have the idea of them, that is, their em
bodiment in the nervous currents, to which attaches the
corresponding state of mind. We come under the influence
of every pronounced expression of feeling, and if the circum
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 free 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 familiarity 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 sympathize
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
almost from the possibility of fellow-feeling ; the name ' an
tipathy ' is the derivative formed for the negation of sympathy.
Still, 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,
VICARIOUS 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 in 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 susceptible temperament, the
constitution more strongly endowed on the side of the senses,
and less strongly in the centres of activity. To this natural
dilference we may add differences in education and the course
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 (CONTIGUITY,
§ 13) expressed the opinion that it springs not from 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 could, 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 sympathize with pleasure and
pain as such ; but in the kinds and varieties of these,
our sympathies are limited.
The mere fact that any one is in pain awakens our 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 dismissed from our thoughts as soon as we are
informed of the facts. The tears shed by Alexander, at the
end of his conquests, probably failed to stimulate one 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 us ; we can sustain it longer,
and with augmented intensity. In the case of a painful
feeling, as fear, remorse, impotence, the concurrence of another
person has the same deepening effect ; to increase our pains,
however, is not usually considered a part of sympathy. A
sympathizing friend endeavours to counterwork depressing
agencies. Still, 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 effect 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
susceptibility 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-born feeling.
8. Through the infection of sympathy, each individual
is a power to mould the sentiments and views of others.
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 SYMPATHIZER. 281
on the opinions of its members. If all individualities were
equally pronounced and equally balanced, the mutual 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. Few 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 fact 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 well as the
receiving of it, may be a source of pleasure. What brings
this about is reciprocity. 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 remarkable
facts of sympathy, the reason of which has been fully 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 ; yet there is no evidence that
in virtuous actions,
The undertaker finds a full reward,
Although conferred upon unthankful men
What gives plausibility to this doctrine is that society at large
labours to make up, by benefits and by approbation, for indi
vidual unthankfulness or inability. Failing this world, the
future life is considered as making good all deficiencies.
282 SYMPATHY.
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 our fellows. But this is not
all. We must retain a sufficient 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 fall knowledge of the sensitive points
of others. To note and to keep in remembrance the likings
and dislikings, the interests and the needs, of all persons that
we are well disposed 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 common.
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 fugle
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
all 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 painful feeling of
discord, so long as the coincidence is not attained. In the case
of children, who look up with deference and admiration to the
superior powers of their elders, successful imitation has aa
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,
self-originating, 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 effects 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 is of this ideal kind ; being
due not to a present stimulus, but to the remembrance of past
states, either literally recalled, or shaped iuto imaginations
and forecastings of the future. Recollected 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 (Sensations
°f Organic Life) to show their influence on mental states. In
the vigour of youth, of health, of nourishment, the mind is
buoyant of its own accord. Joyous emotion is then persistent
and 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 emotion 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, burns brighter ; 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 manifestations in
general are stronger and more continuing ; although there is,
in most cases, a preference for some one mode of activity —
Feeling, Will, or Intellect.
3. II. — The Temperament may be specially adapted
foi 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 the physical
side or not, we must recognize the mental fact. Some persons
maintain with ease a persistent flow of comparatively strong
THE EMOTIONAL ENDOWMENT. 285
emotion ; others can attain to this only for short intervals.
The strength of the system inclines to Feeling, and away from
Will and from Intellect ; such persons, unless largely endowed
on the whole, are defective either in 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 all emotions
equally strong ; we must allow for specific differences. But
when we find such leading emotions as Wonder, Tender
Feeling, Self-complacency, Power, and all the feelings of re
bound, in exuberant fulness, we may express the fact 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
painful 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. III. — There may be constitutions endowed for Spe
cial Emotions.
It is not to be assumed that the emotions all 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 ultimate 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 believing that the two sides as
a whole are unequally developed in individuals. Now, as
there are emotions belonging to the sensitive or passive side
— Tenderness, for example — and emotions allied to the active
side, as Power, we may expect specific developments corre
sponding to these emotions. A constitutional Tenderness is a
common manifestation, even without supposing a large emo
tional temperament on the whole. The persons so endowed
will be distinguished for cherishing affection ; and, when there
are not enough of real objects, the feeling will 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, will follow the strength of their constituent
elements ; they also may attain great self-sustaining force, or
ideal persistence. The feelings of Revenge, Antipathy, or
Hatred, may burn 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 life.
In cases of remarkable development of special emotions,
cultivation or habit has usually been superadded to nature.
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. IY. — Of Mental agencies, in the support of ideal
emotion, two may be signalized : — (1) The presence oi
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 and 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 ACTUAL. 287
An element of Belief is an addition to the power of an
Ideal Feeling. This is the emotion of Hope, which is 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 efficacy.
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 acco inpaniinents 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 first 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.
And, in the next place, the Ideal drops out of view the
disagreeable adjuncts of the reality. If we imagine 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 all disagreeables. Nothing but a severe
discipline, partaking of the highest rigour of prudential fore-
288 IDEAL EMOTION.
thought, qualifies a man to body forth the concrete situation
when he anticipates some great pleasure. Ccesar 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 joyful emotions on that day.
It is not meant, that the detracting 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 joys, in suitable moods, will again take the
form of ideal purity. The married woman whose lot is for
tunate and temperament cheerful, 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 feeling in the Ideal : the present enjoyment
of a good bargain, a piece of music, an evening's conversation,
is much stronger 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 circumstances otherwise favourable, takes the
attention and the thoughts away from other things to fasten
them upon the objects of the feeling. The youth inflamed
with the story of great achievements, 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 obliviousness 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 circumstances, and in
that capacity is termed Imagination. The phrase has another
meaning in Addison's celebrated Essays, namely, the Pleasures
derived from works of Art, in which case ideality is only an
incident. In looking at a picture or a statue, we have some-
OUTLETS FOR IDEAL EMOTION. 289
tiling 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 ' inseparable 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 ' religiously-
minded.' The feelings of Sublimity, Love and Fear, in such
strength as to transcend the limited sphere of the individual
lot, are easily 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
previous pleasure, there goes with it the consciousness of a
painful inferiority, with a motive to the will to seek the full
reality. This is Desire. If the reality is irrecoverable, the
state is called Regret. 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 delightful memories with such force as
to fill up a satisfying cup of pleasure.
CHAPTER XIII.
AESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
1. THE ^Esthetic Emotions — indicated by the names,
Beauty, Sublimity, the Ludicrous — are a class of plea
surable feelings, sought to be gratified by the compositions
of Fine Art.
19
290 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
In the perplexity attending the question as to the Beautiful,
a clue ought to be found in the compositions of Fine Art.
Such compositions aim at pleasure, but of a peculiar kind,
qualified by the eulogistic terms ' refined,' ' elevating-,' ' en
nobling.' A contrast is made between the Agreeable and
the Beautiful ; between Utility and Beauty ; 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) they 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 the 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 assthetic,
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 together 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
Art. Food, clothing, houses, medicine, law, armies, are all
useful, but not necessarily (although sometimes inciden
tally) beautiful. Even Science, albeit remarkable for the
absence of monopoly (3), is not assthetic ; its immediate end
is not pleasure (1), although remotely it brings pleasures and
avoids pains ; and it is too much associated with disagree
able toil in the acquisition (2).
Wealth is obviously excluded from the aBsthetic 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 others, 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 countless
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 sufficiently circumscribed by the
three facts above stated. The reply is, that the subjects of Fine
Art are limited by considerations that are 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 human mind, in their consequences, inspire what
are termed the baser 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 in 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 beautiful is now abandoned. Every theorist
admits a plurality 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 esthetic qualities — Sub
limity, Beauty, Grace, Picturesqueness, Harmony, Melody,
Proportion, Keeping, Order, Fitness, 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 aBsthetic 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 Fine Art, 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 domain of Fine Art. This view, maintained by
Knight in his Essay on Taste, is strongly opposed by Jeffrey,
who denies that there are any intrinsic pleasures due to these
sensations. On such a point, the appeal must be made to the
SENSE AND INTELLECT. 293
experience of mankind. We have, in discussing these 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 sensuous, 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 contemplated, as in
the spectacle of games, would be regarded as an sesthetic
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 offensive pro
cesses of organic life, that deprive them, of half their evil, by
removing all their grossness. This is the purpose of the
Rhetorical 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 univer
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, from 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 source of unmixed pleasure.
9. IV. — HATJMONY 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 Fine 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.
HARMONY. 295
The same fact enters into a musical 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 double 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 Fifth, 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, J, f, §,§,!. 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 sudden commencement. Cadence farther
296 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
includes, by a natural extension, the variation of emphasis and
pitch ; the gentle commencement, the gradual rise to a height
or climax, and the ending fall ; there being a series of lesser
rises and falls throughout the piece. Alternation or variety is
the sole guide 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.
11. 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. Red, 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 in
the whole.
HAKMONIES OF SPACE. 297
The subdivision of lines or spaces should be in simple
proportions, as halves, thirds, fourths ; 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 follow simple ratios, as 4 to
3, or 3 to 2T 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 Forms, 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 joyful relief. When a great mass has to be supported, we
ga/e with satisfaction upon the firmness of the foundations,
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.
Sufficiency 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 Sublime, 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 with
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 detail. 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
music 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 gravitv. 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
power 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 ORDER may consist of mere proportion, but
they are still oftener the effects 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 aesthetic qualities. The
neat, tidy, and trim, may be referred to Order ; even when going
300 ESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
beyond what is necessary for useful ends, neatness suggests
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 lecture, needs to
have a discernible principle of order or unity throughout.
15. It is a principle of Art, founded in the nature of
the feelings, to leave something to Desire.
To leave something to the Imagination is better than to
express the whole. What is merely suggested is conceived in
an ideal form and colouring. Thus, in a landscape, a winding
river 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 effects 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 great in degree, it has
the advantage 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, snch
aspects and appearances as betoken great might, energy, or
vastness, and are thereby capable of imparting sympathetically
the elation of superior power.
Human might or energy is the literal sublime, 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, lifts 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
feeling of superior power, that we take delight in referring
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
hundredweights 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 the 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. Sublimity is thus con
nected with height ; from which it derives its name.
The Sublime of Active Energy, or power visibly at work,
is seen in thunder, wind, waves, cataracts, rivers, volcanoes,
302 AESTHETIC 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 circumstance 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 confinement of 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 future, 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 83sthetic 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 Animal Kingdom contains many objects of gesthetic 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 OF NATURAL OBJECTS. 303
As regards Humanity, there are first the graces of the
Exterior. The effects 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 Face 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 must
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, but 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 effects 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 amiable expression
is alwaj^s 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 graces) of generosity,
affection, and modesty or humility; all which imply that the
individual gives up a portion of self for others.
THEORIES OF 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 conversations reported in the Memorabilia. SOKRATES
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.
(Memorabilia III. 8.)
In the Dialogue of PLATO, called Hippias Major, there is a dis
cussion on the Beautiful. Various theories are propounded, and
to all 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 useful 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 things, 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
hearing. Sokrates, however, demands why these pleasures should
be so much distinguished over other pleasures. He is not satisfied
to be told that they are the most innocuous and the best ; an
answer that (he says) leads to the same absurdity as before ; the
beautiful being made the cause, the good the effect ; and the two
thereby accounted different things.
Turning now to the Republic, (Book VII.), we find a mode of
viewing the question, more 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 beautiful of all visible bodies, and the most regular of nil
visible movements, approximating most nearly, though still with
a long interval of inferiority, to the ideal figures and movements
THEORIES OF BEAUTY — PLATO. 305
of genuine and self -existent Forms — quickness, slowness, number,
figure, &c., as they are in themselves, not visible to the eye, but con
ceivable only by reason and intellect. The movements of the
heavenly bodies are exemplifications, approaching nearest to the
perfection of these ideal movements, but still falling 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
far 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 things, but the highest and most
delightful objects of human contemplation.
It is remarked by Mr. Grote that the Greek TO Ka\6v includes,
in addition to the ordinary meanings of beauty, the fine, the hon
ourable, the exalted.
ARISTOTLE alludes to the nature of Beauty, in connexion with
Poetry. The 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. AUGUSTUS" was a large treatise
on Beauty ; and it appeal's from incidental allusions in the extant
works, that he laid especial stress on Unity, or the relation of the
parts of a work to the whole, in one comprehensive and har
monious design.
In SHAFT ESBURY'S Characteristics, the Beautiful and the Good
are combined in one lofty conception, and a certain internal sense
(the Moral Sense) is assumed as perceiving both alike.
In the celebrated Essays of ADDISOIST, on The Pleasures of the
Imagination, the aesthetic effects are resolved into Beauty,
Sublimity, and Novelty ; but scarcely any attempt is made to pur
sue the analysis of either Beauty or Sublimity.
HUTCHESON 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 combinations of
variety with uniformity ; but did not make the obvious inference,
that the sense of beauty is, therefore, a sense of variety with imi-
f ormity. He discarded the considerations of fitness, or the second
ary aptitudes of these qualities.
In the article ' Beau,' in the French Encyclopedic, the author,
DIDEROT, announced the doctrine that ' Beauty consists in the
perception of Relations.' This is admitted on all hands to be too
wide and too vague.
PERE BUFFIER. Pere Bufiier identified Beauty with the type
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 modelled 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 well-made, all
after the same model ; whereas out of the other forty, not above
two or three will be found of the same shape. Handsome people
have a greater family likeness than ugly people. A monster is what
has least in common with the human figure ; beauty is what has
most in common. The true proportion of parts is the most com
mon proportion. From this it might be concluded that beauty is
simply what we are most accustomed to, and therefore arbitrary
— a conclusion that Buffier 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.
^ SIR JOSHUA BEYNOLDS, in his theory of beauty, has followed
Pere Buffier. The deformed is what ' is uncommon ; beauty is
what is above ' all singular forms, local customs, particularities,
and details of every kind.' He gives, 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 Analysis of Beauty, enumerates six elements
as variously entering into beautiful compositions. (1) Fitness of
the parts 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 proportion (which some consider an independent source of
beauty) into fitness. The proportions of the parts are determined
by the purpose of the whole. (2) Variety, 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
knowledge 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. Uniformity is often necessary to
give stability. (4) Simplicity (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 wholly insipid
Compositions in sculpture are generally kept within the boundary
of a cone or pyramid, on account of the 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.
THEORIES OF BEAUTY— BURKE. #07
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.
BURKE' S theory, contained in his Essay on tlie Sublime and
Beautiful, is couched in a material phraseology. He says that
beautiful 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 beautiful of the taste.'
His theory leads 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 smoothness 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 imagination always delights to repose on her softest and
most feminine features ; or, to use his own language, on ' such
308 AESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
qualities as induce in us a sense of tenderness and affection, or
some other passion the most nearly resembling them.'
ALISON'S work on Taste was published in 1790. The First
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 exercise 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 train
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 intellectual en
grossment of attention. So, there may be characters wholly
unsuited 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, Agincourt, to an Englishman; also the effect of poetry,
music, and works of art in adding to the interest of natural
objects and of historic events. The effect called Picturesqueness
operates in the same direction, whether the occurrence of pic
turesque objects in a scene — an old tower in a deep wood — or the
picturesque descriptions of poetry.
It is necessary to enquire farther into the distinctive nature of
those trains of Imagination ; or, wherein they differ from other
trains. The author resolves the difference into these two circum
stances : 1st, the nature of the Ideas or Conceptions themselves,
and 2ndly, the Law of their Succession. On the first head, he
remarks, that, while the great mass of our ideas excite no emotion
whatever, the ideas of Beauty excite some Affection or Emotion
— Gladness, Tenderness, Pity, Melancholy, Admiration, Power,
Majesty, Terror; whence they may be termed ideas of emotion. On
the second head, — the Law of Succession, — the ideas of imagination
have an emotional character allied to the original emotion ; the
emotional keeping is preserved throughout.
The author adds a series of illustrations of the influences that
further, or that arrest, the development of Sensibility and Taste,
all tending to establish his two positions above given. On these
positions, it may be remarked, that they evade, rather than
explain, whatever difficulty 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. When lie says, that unless the imagination be
free to operate, no 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 sufficient grounds, that the state of
reverie is necessary to the emotion of beauty ; that the mind
cannot confine its thoughts to the original object, but must
wander in quest of other objects capable of kindling the same
emotion. Now, although this is a very natural 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 and Beauty of the Material World. He starts with
affirming positively that matter in itself, or as perceived by the
senses, is unfit to produce any kind 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 ivith 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 countenance,
gesture, or voice of a human being, — suggest the human attributes,
Power, Wisdom, Fortitude, Justice, Benevolence, &c., and the
pleasurable emotion that their contemplation inspires. (4) There
are appearances that suggest mental qualities by metaphorical
or personifying resemblance ; whence we speak of the Strength
of the Oak, the Delicacy of the Myrtle, the Boldness of a Rock,
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 Gentleness of Character,
slenderness of form 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 Diminishing, — 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 pleasure of musical composition into associations.
Each musical Key suggests a characteristic emotion, by imitating
as nearly as possible the 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 performer.
The Beauty of Colours is also exclusively referred to their
associations with a number of pleasing qualities. For example,
White, the colour of Day, expresses cheerfulness 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 delights of that season. These are general
and prevailing associations. Others are more accidental, as
Purple, the dress of kings, with royal authority; Red, 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 dangerous 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 convulsions of ages. The sublimest
of mechanical arts is Architecture, from the strength 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 lines. 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 Ease, 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. He applies the same rule to Complex
Colours, which are beautiful only by their Expression ; the beauty
of Dress, for example, being altogether relative to the wearer and
the circumstances.
In the 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, the one a sign
THEORIES OF BEAUTY — ALISON. 311
'of Unity 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 Fitness 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. Rapid 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 still 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.
In 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 Gesture, 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 AESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
their Expression of Mind ; or to their being, either directly or in
directly, the signs of those qualities of mind which are fitted, by
the constitution of our nature, to affect us with pleasing or in
teresting emotions.'
JEFFREY, in the article ' Beauty,' in the Encyclopaedia Britan-
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, become
entitled to that appellation, merely because they all possess the
power of recalling or reflecting those sensations of which they
have been the accompaniments, or with which they have been
associated in our imagination by any other more casual bond of
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 ?— Jeffrey
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
feeling.
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 feeling 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,
gaiety, sensibility, intelligence, delicacy or vivacity. A common
English 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 humanity 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 natural 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 aft'ect us in a manner
noc 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.
Jeffrey 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 only 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 the 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, arid 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 around them, feel it almost in every
thing.'
DUGALD STEWART has devoted to the discussion of Beauty a
series of Essays, making a large part of a volume, entitled Philo
sophical Essays, 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 beautiful, as savouring of the exploded theory of
general Ideas.
314 AESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
Stewart's theory of the SUBLIME principally takes account of
the element of Height, the efficacy 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
heavenly 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 sympathetic dread,
and the power of its waves and waters; there being numerous
superadded associations.
Mr. RUSKEST, in his Modern Painters, 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, Repose, Symmetry, Purity, 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 religion ; every one of these attributes is connected with
the Deity : Infinity, the Type of Divine Incomprehensibility ;
Unity, the Type of the Divine Comprehensiveness ; Repose, the
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. Buskin
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. Ruskin's speculations in Art is
towards a severe asceticism, a kind of moral code, 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
interesting and the elevated, in the above meaning, must be a
matter of opinion.
THE LUDICROUS.
1. The Ludicrous is connected with Laughter.
The outburst, termed Laughter, has many causes. Not
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
outburst 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 ill 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
happening after morning service at chapel. To most minds,
316 AESTHETIC EMOTIONS.
the hidicrousness of the conjunction would be overborne by
another sentiment.
Amid the various theories of Laughter, this pervading fact is
more or less recognized. According to Aristotle, Comedy is an
illustration of worthless 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 mean that was
formerly dignified ; for to depict what is already under a settled
estimate of meanness, has little power to raise a laugh : it can
merely be an occasion of reflecting our own dignity by compari
son. Some of Quiiitilian's expressions are more happy. ' A say
ing that causes laughter is generally based on false reasoning
(some play upon words) ; has always something low in it ; is often
purposely sunk into buffoonery; is never honourable to the subject of
it.y ' llesemblances give great scope for jests, and, especially, re
semblance to something meaner or of less consideration.'' Campbell
(Philosophy of Rhetoric], 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
queerness of the comparison in these lines, —
*' For rhyme the rudder 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 process.
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
afford 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 humiliation that we laugh at. Moreover,
laughter can be excited 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. Arid, farther,
the definition of Hobbes is still more unsuitable 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 would 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 require 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 Luciari 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 llichter's sug
gesting a cast-iron Idng.
The MOHAL SENSE is discussed under Ethics, Part I.
Chap. III.
BOOK IV,
THE WILL.
CHAPTER 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 Will,
there is an extensive series of Acquisitions, under the
law of Retentiveness or Contiguity.
THE SPONTANEITY OF 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 stimulation,
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 stimulation
ISOLATION OF SPONTANEOUS DISCHARGES. 319
at the moment of birth, but merely the ripening of the
active mechanism.
3. The muscles are distinguished into local groups, or
Regions.
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 arms, and swing the trunk and head.
An important group is connected with the movements of
the Mouth 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 well-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 Perinaeum.
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 affecting 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 PRIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION.
vidual action. The two sides of the face are moved together
in a very powerful conjunction, yet not without 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
of the face to go together in characteristic expressions — eye
brows, mouth, nose — but not without that occasional isolation
through which we can acquire a separate control of each part.
That spontaneous impulses should be directed, in occasional
isolation, upon all these various organs, separately controlled
in the maturity of the will, is thus the first step in our volun
tary education. The spontaneity of the moving system, at the
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 movements.
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 merely to the absence of isolating spontaneity.
5. It is requisite to show in what way the spontaneous
discharges may vary in degree, through the wide compass
attained by our voluntary energies.
Our command of the voluntary organs 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 experience 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 bodies, 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 arid the readiest
SPONTANEOUS DISCHARGES VARY IN DEGREE. 321
stimulation is mere exercise, and especially rapid movements
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,
muscular 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 flush 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 effect is a complex one. Part of it is due to the
stimulus of the shock of obstruction, which operates like 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, there are
322 PRIMITIVE ELEMENTS OF VOLITION.
formed links of connexion between strong exertions and the
occasions for them. The young horse needs the spur and
whip to prepare him for a leap ; after a time, the sight of the
barrier or the ditch is enough to evoke the additional impetus.
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 must first 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 blows after the fight has
lasted for some time.
LINK OF FEELING 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 vitality 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 unpreceded by any feeling. 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 will. 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 stimulus, 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 hold 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 relish 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 us to repose and
to sleep. But in such cases, the law is disguised merely, and
not suspended. The warmth really 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 efficacy 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 full 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
activity for procuring its abolition. In this case, the operat
ing element may be shown to be, not the pain, but the relief
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'
CHAPTEE II.
GEOWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWEE.
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 and 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 our 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 the emotional wave, there will be
a stir over the 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 full 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 GROWTHS IN THE SENSATIONS. 327
mode of dealing with it ; while the painful contacts with the
skin are so numerous from the beginning of life, that our
education is forced on and is early completed. ^ -
The Sensations of the Lungs may be referred to. Re
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 pain 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 encoun
tered, would directly lead to an augmented respiration. The
voluntary acquisition of the command 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
dullness 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, involving 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 increased inspiration, determining the flow of the milk
when the tongue is pulled away). Being a conscious effect,
operated by muscles all 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 OF VOLUNTARY POWER.
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 hunger is a somewhat
complex arrangement ; 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 whole 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 mouth 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 are 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 effect is to suspend the action
of the organs ; the mere infant can do no more. The spitting
out of a nauseous morsel is a complex and a later acquisition.
VOLITIONAL 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 then
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 movements are part of the locomotive group,
which spontaneity brings into frequent play : and coincidences
will 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 difficult 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 effectual 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
GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER.
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 infant
is very backward, and occupies weeks or months in the
acquisition.
The pungent and painful 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
painful 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 fall into a particular pace, the whip is used with
the effect of stimulating movements, 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 consciously to seek an escape
from pain ; in point of fact to generalize its experiences of
particular pains and particular movements ot relief, and to
connect any pain with movements and the hope of relief. A
certain progress, both physical and intellectual, is requisite to
this consummation.
FOLLOWING A LIGHT. 331
The pleasures and pains of Sound have little 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 spontaneity for a lucky hit. Should a chance movement
of the head tend to recover the flame, 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 the head to be the first attained
means of recovering objects shifted away from direct vision ;
but the movements of the eyes themselves will 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
332 GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY 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
adjustment 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 course 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 sensation ; 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 exemplified 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 morsel 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
successful 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 difficulty
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 different actions, and, even-
334 GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER.
tually, 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 infants.
By uttering names in connexion with their various move
ments, a means is given of evoking 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-born 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 all events,
there is the commencement of an association between an arti
culating effort 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 must 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
child 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
alive 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 GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER.
and an associating lesson given, under the stimulus (so favour
able to contiguous 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 upon the Wish to move.
We can rise up, stretch forth the hand, sound a note, from
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 any one denying it, and then the
motive is either the pleasure of power or the pain of humilia
tion — both highly efficacious as springs of action. Most
usually when we move to a wish, it is the wish to gain some
end, the 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 further acquisition, the following out of imitation,
involves a large stock of ideal representations of all possible
movements, gained during our own performance of these move-
meats, 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
exercise 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. Voluntary power is consummated by the association
of movements with the idea of the Effect to be produced.
When we direct nr 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 painful 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 GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY POWER.
proceeding from that to the action itself, we are carried at
once from the idea of the open door to execute the movement
of turning 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 adhesions 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.
CONTEOL 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
£Sfc£>
VOLUNTARY CONTROL OPERATES THROUGH 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.
CONTROL 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
refusal of the muscles to concur. Lastly, the movements may
be requisite to the full 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 refusal of the muscular vent seems to be
the extinction of the other effects. The feeling 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
840 COXTKOL OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS.
very powerful, can soon be quieted by repressing all the
movements of expression. It is to be observed, however,
that this is an emotion peculiarly muscular in its diffusion ;
the remark being far less true 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, arid 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
muscular effort; but the 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 the
EDUCATION IN THE SUPPEESSION 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
successful 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 OF 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 of 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 thereby to
stop the current of farther resuscitation.
In all this, the will seems to transcend the usual 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 (CONTIGUITY, § 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 wre are tracing a mountain in recollection, 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-
VOLUNTARY CONTROL OF THE THOUGHTS. 343
taneity, and guided by the influence of pleasure and pain,
under the Law of Conservation. In all probability, the first
supposition is the correct one. We seem gradually 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 intellectual
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 displayed in* mental concentration, as against the forces
of mere intellectual reproduction ; two distinct parts of our
constitution, following different laws, and unequally mani
fested in different 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
344
CONTROL OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS.
mention. The distinguishing feature of the process is a
voluntary 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 constructiveriess, 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 exactly. The 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 point 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 efficacious than the voluntary sway of the muscular
manifestations. Our^ emotions_^aj^_niore or less associated
with objects, circum stance s^ and occasions, and spring up
wheirtliese are pregetffTeiiher in reality, or inldeaf ati'ection
is awakened^at the s1gh~El^ortEougEt oT~what is^lo very, or
e"n3earebT^b us ; fear is apFtoarrse^wn^S^erils are ""brought to
View. — ITTtnis connexion lies the power of the orator and the
poet to stir up the emotions of men. Now, we may ourselves,
by force of will, 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, admiration, 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 difficult to quench by mere
voluntary suppression of the muscular 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 indifferent matter ; and especially a painful or
depressing subject. Persons guilty of levity during a religious
address are usually reminded of the terrors of the unknown
world.
COMMAND OF THE FEELINGS THKOUGH THE THOUGHTS. 345
The conquering of one strong feeling by exciting another,
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. If 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
will 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 shock 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 fi^ 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, wrhether 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 teifd 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 all 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 enerey corresponding to the pain.
But we have formerly remarked, and must presently notice
still 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 will 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 powerful shock, characterized neither by pleasure nor by
pain, detains the mind upon the cause of it lor a considerable
lime, 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.
CHAPTEK IV.
MOTIVES, OR 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 FROM OUR PLEASURES 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, therefore, is the classification of pleasurable and
painful 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 Repose, 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, (Jolours,
Touches, "Sounds, Sights ; the long array of the Special
Emotions, containing potent charms 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 Impotence 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 applies 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, OR ENDS.
cause these are more tenaciously held in the memory, and
less liable to be overborne by the pressure of the actual.
The acute sensual pleasures, affection, praise, power, aesthetic
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 Repetition. 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 sjbite 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 Hank. The feelings have a 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 Fine 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 reality 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 urgencies that
BEMEMBEBED FEELINGS. 349
put to the proof our memory given motives. The pains of
incautious living are, in some 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 Retentiveness
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 dwell upon subject states, 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 pursuit and avoidance. It
is unnecessary to invoke, for such differences, 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 all 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, OR ENDS.
When any one object is constantly associated with a
primary end of life, it acquires in oar mind all the importance
of the end; fields, and springs of water, are prized with
the avidity belonging to the necessities of life. The great
comprehensive means, termed wealth or Money, when its
powers are understood, is aimed at according to the sum
of the gratifications that it can bring, and of the pains that
it can ward off, 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 unfaithful 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
partiality 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
suit. The case of Money exemplifies these disturbing causes.
In it, 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
pains 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 ideal 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 _ wonderful 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 wrhat 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 possessor
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 pursue it ; we should only be losers, if, in see'king 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 thereby forfeited, is not good enough in the mass of
men ; and needs to be re-inforced by inculcation and reflection.
Like Money, Knowledge 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 other 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 human 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, OR 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 takes 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 power of sensation, as such, to detain and con
trol the movements ; for although the distant flame may not
be painfully intense, the singed body ought to neutralize 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 general 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 all 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 pleasure. The mind of the mother
is arrested and held partly by the strong pleasures of mater
nity, and partly by the ' Fixed Idea ' consequent on the still
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 mixture. A man may be highly susceptible to the
delights of power, without being passionately so, if he is
moved solely by the strict value of that pleasure, and not by
the engrossing power of the excitement so apt to invest any
THE RATIONAL PURSUIT OF ENDS THWARTED. 353'
real pleasure. The gratification of revenge is a real pleasure,
but the allied excitement is something still stronger ; 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 circumstances ; but
under excitement, the balancing of good and evil is impos
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 in 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 ; but 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
contracted an undue persistence, baffling 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 pursuit 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 all 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
ill 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 the fluctuating estimates of hope and fear ; states that
are governed partly by the intelligence and partly by the
feelings.
23
354 CONFLICT OF MOTIVES.
In the last place, our 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 calculated for our interests
may, through change of circumstances, operate against our
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.
CHAPTEE 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
will neutralize the less, leaving a surplus.
As mere emotioDS, concurring pleasure and pain neutralize
each other ; and in this way, pain is frequently stifled before
acting as a motive to the will. 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.
Spontaneity 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, unless
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 solicited 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 instruc-
356 CONFLICT OF MOTIVES.
tion derivable from each observation of this kind is a fact in
the character 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
ing. Any one crossing the street direct, through dirty pools,
is inferred to have less pain from being splashed than from
being delayed.
This remark is of importance in furnishing 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
attainment, 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 all events, if
the test of the will 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 eliminate
difference in the active organs. We should weigh each
motive against every other, and thus check our estimate by
PAINS AND PLEASURES 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 all cases where we have an independent
clue to the strength of a motive, as pleasure or pain. Two
persons may be equally pained by an acute 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 unequal. One statement will 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
refuse 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 feeling alone, but to that
coupled with all the circumstances tending to make it persist
in the memory. 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 the 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 probabilities of capture.
Suppose him to pass through a first imprisonment. A new
358 CONFLICT OF 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 already 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, regular 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 offence ; 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 impress! veness 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 future, while the body is refreshed
for the new infliction.
Long imprisonment and penal servitude are made deterring
chiefly through the deprivation of liberty ; to which are added,
the withdrawing of the subject from the means of crime, and
the inuring to a life of labour. Perhaps the defect of the
system is the too even tenor of life, 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 ultimate 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, through 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 feeling are apt to be
exaggerated.
Vanity, Dignity, love of Power, are often found in the im
passioned form, in weak minds. The extreme case of the fixed
360 DELIBERATION. — RESOLUTION. — EFFORT.
idea in general, and of the morbid predominance of these
ideas in particular, occurs in the insane.
Sympathy, in its pure and fundamental character, is the
possession of an idea, followed out irrespective of pleasure or
pain, although these are more or less attached to its usual
exercise. In the conflict of motives, this principle of action
plays an important part ; its predominance is the foremost
motive to virtuous conduct. It subsists upon a vivid percep
tion of the pain or misery of others ; a perception more or
less acute by nature or by education, and susceptible of being
inflamed by oratory. The sympathies of individuals are gene
rally partial 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 impulses.
CHAPTEE VI.
DELIBERATION.— RESOLUTION".— EFFORT.
1. IN the prolonged weighing of motives, termed
DELIBERATION, the suspense is a voluntary act, prompted
by the remembered pains of acting too quickly.
Among our painful experiences, is the evil effect 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 him that asketh, and believe whatever any one
tells us. After a little time, we discover that the fruit of such
impulses is often bad; that other motives, such as might
change our conduct, would arise to our minds if we refrained
from immediate action, and gave time to the intellect to
suggest them. A deterring motive of the Intermediate class
is thus created, and at its instigation, we fall into the attitude
called Deliberation, which consists in pausing, waiting, ru
minating, till other considerations rise to the view, and are
confronted with one another, and with the first impulse.
We have, in this case, a conflict between some present
impulse, some pleasure or pain, actual or ideal, that has risen
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
promptings.
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 mischievous, 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 into 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 until 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, leading 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 motives 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 struck 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
open for a length of time, say a month, and recording the im-
362 DELIBERATION. — RESOLUTION.— EFFORT.
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 careful 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
haphazard 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 in 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
DELIBERATION AND FREE WILL. 363
to be * enslaved.' Now, Deliberation has the effect of bringing
us under 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 Will. 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
RESOLUTION. If action followed at once on motive, there
would be neither Deliberation nor Resolution ; 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 Resolution.
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 deliberate ; 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 DELIBERATION. — RESOLUTION. — EFFORT.
motive, inducing us 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 beon
too hurriedly concluded. Irresolution is a sign either of
want of deliberation, or of undue susceptibility to a pre
sent and actual motive. The resolute man is he that, in
the first place, allows an ample deliberative suspense, and,
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 many 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
circumstances.
We exist from day to day under a host of resolutions.
Few of our actions are either pro 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
creature 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 tbe 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 fallacia accidentis, setting
up an occasional property as the main property of a thing.
The typical will 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
tbe 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 part, if not the whole
essence, of will.
EFFORT NOT ESSENTIAL 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 an exertion that we are full j equal
to, we have a muscular feeling that is pleasurable or else in
different ; in either case, we say that the act costs no effort.
As we approach the limits of our strength, the feeling
gradually inclines to pain. The interval between easy per
formance and total inability, 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 continue to
act, but for the pressure of some still stronger motive. In
such 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 joined 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
Eesolution, is an accident, and not an essential, of the
Will.
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 delight of exercise when the organs are
fresh.*
* It has been maintained (Herschell's Astronomy, chap, viii.), that
the consciousness of effort accompanying voluntary action is the proof
that mind is the real source of voluntary 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 ability. 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. Going out into the
open air, we encounter a painful chill ; 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. Walking 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 consciousness, 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 with 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 future pain, ideally conceived, with a spur 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 is
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 will 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 fruitless. The same volition may likewise suppress
the diffusive 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 from exhaustion ; indirectly it will 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 admirable efficacy ; 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.
contenfcmeut, a 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 be 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 pains, 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, and, 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 activity
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
indulge 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 tbat remaining conflict, and
leave us in the possession of whatever enjoyment could spring
from ideal scenes and activity.
DESIRE LEAJDS 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
pursuit of them would enhance the pleasure. Still more are
the pleasures of affection, complacency, power, revenge, know
ledge, fit to be the subject of ideal longings and pursuit.
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 actual or
ideal, and no desire. Or if the reality had some painful
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 experience 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 been tasted, the recollection is afterwards a motive to
regain it. The infant has no craving but for the breast;
desire conies 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 ;
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 contemplate 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 all 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.
DESIEE NOT NECESSARY 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, affection, future
happiness.
8. Desire is incorrectly represented as a constant and
necessary prelude of volition.
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.
CHAPTEE 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 affirmations 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.
xner as beautiful and genial beyond all the summers of the
century, we should have much pleasure in this contemplation,
but the pleasure (although, as will 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 will 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 punishments, 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 believe we act upon.
The instances above given, point to this and to no other
conclusion. The difference between mere conceiving or imagin
ing, with or without strong feeling, and belief, is acting, or
being prepared to act, when the occasion arises. The belief
that a sovereign is worth twenty shillings, is shown by the
readiness to take the sovereign in exchange for the shillings ;
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
BELIE? GROUNDED IN ACTION. 373
strong when it carries us against 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; 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 present
sacrifice, he is admitted to have a real, though feeble, belief.
(2) The second apparent exception is furnished 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
nebulae of the firmament. Even the long past events of
human history, 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, believe what is told of its surface, 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
011 those past events, and carry these doctrines into operation
in our present practice.
374 BELIEF.
The belief in sidereal phenomena immeasurably remote in
space and in time, is a recognition of the scientific method em
ployed upon these phenomena. The navigator sails the seas
upon the faith of observations of the same nature as those
applied to the distant stars and nebulas. If an astronomer
propounded doctrines as to the nebulee, 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 function 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 affirmed, that intellect alone will not constitute Belief, any
more than it will constitute Volition. The reasonings of the
Geometer 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 Will, under
the pursuit of intermediate ends.
When 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
alike 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 volition 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 fills 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 Resolution. 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 consciousness would prompt, or, what is very
376 BELIEF.
common, with less than that energy ; perhaps with three-
fourths, with one-half, or with one-fourth the amount. 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 lamb 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. All the actions of human beings for remote
ends are based on the mental trains connecting the inter
mediate with the final.
We may properly describe these trains as a knowledge of
natural facts, or of the 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 from, 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
be no belief; and the greater the experience, the greater
should be the believing energy. But if we find, in point of fact,
{hat belief does not accord with experience, 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
our Experience, and (3) in the Feelings.
It is here affirmed, not only that Belief in its essence is
an active state, but that its foremost generating cause is the
Activity of the system, to which are added influences 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 fresh, 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 intellectual 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, so long as there is no check, we continue till 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.
Belief can do no more than produce unhesitating 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
effect. We do not again proceed in that track with the full
force of our spontaneous and volitional urgencies ; there is
an element of repugnance 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 move 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 would confirm this deviation
from the rule of immunity ; but before any experience, the
rule was proceeded on.
We can now understand what there 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, but 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, until 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 will always be in
the future, 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 ; and 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 moat ; 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
rnind, 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 uucontradicted 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 difficult 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 our 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 sufficient 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 brought into play, there is no action and no active
disposition, or belief.
When we have been disciplined to consult observation and
experience before making affirmations respecting things dis
tant in place or time, instead of generalizing haphazard, we
import very extensive intellectual operations into the settle
ment of our beliefs ; bat these intellectual processes do not
constitute the attitude of believing. They are set agoing by
motives to the will — 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 final 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 intensely 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 from pain), there may be other causes of plea
sure operating at the moment to impart elation or buoyancy
INFLUENCE 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 belief 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 will 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 affection. With any strong affection, 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 tantamount to believing in
a connexion of cause and effect between the two facts. The
influence of the feelings thus serves to confirm an intellectual
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 fright
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 again, 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
contracted 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 OfiDEK 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 jump 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 thoughtc
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 feeling. 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 intellectual 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 sun is risen, we must disbelieve
that he is below the horizon.
When we are unable 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 this 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 painful and distressing form, is pre
cisely the state of Fear. A cause of fear deepens the condi
tion of doubt ; circumstances of doubt will intensify 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 Belief.
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 with 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 ACQUIREMENTS. 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 diminution 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 those qualities have attained, through education, a
degree not attaching 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 attainments of the intellect.
In 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 circumstances. The moral
education seldom reaches maturity till a late period of life.
In 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 the special acquisition. If we are striving
con amore to attain any important habitude, such as the Com
mand of the Attention, the currents of the brain are exclu-
25
386 THE MORAL HABITS.
sively set in this one direction, instead of being divided with
other engrossments. A less efficient, although still a powerful,
stimulus, is the application of pain.
In the third place, individuals differ in the power of
Retentiveness 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 Retentiveness, 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 from 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. Repetition, 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 sufficient pressure from without to maintain the atten
tion during that time, 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 sufficiently 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 MOEAL HABITS.
(1) Tbere is in each person a certain 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 cultivation, 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, while Volition and Intellect are proportionably
shrivelled. If, besides the positive encouragement of the emo
tional side, there are positive discouragements 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 may place the Italians, after which come the French, Ger
mans, English. An English child domesticated in Home or
Florence, would contract something of the Italian fervour ; an
Italian child, reared 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 Amusement, great Sociability, devotion to Fine
Art, the warmer modes of Religious sentiment, and an emo
tional colouring impressed on scientific doctrines.
(2) Any single emotion may be made more or less
copious. Much important discipline is involved in the en
couragement 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 Industry, to Obedience or submission, and to the checks
and obstructions of one's lot. No better example can be given
of the power of habituation ; while the manner of attaining it
is in full 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 pleasure would be felt in breaking
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, in the case of Terror, a valuable illustration of
the imperative nature of a gradual habituation. With a view
CULTURE AND SUPPRESSION OF EMOTIONS. 389
to impart 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 circumstances
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 power 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 unseen.
The Emotion of Approbation, Praise, Glory, may be
repressed by control, and its repression rendered habitual.
Jt is a part of every one's experience to share in unmerited
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, so as to
put forth a commanding volition, and thereby initiate a habitual
coercion.
The outbursts of Irascibility have to be checked by
voluntary control confirmed into habit. The education of
390 THE MOEAL 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
as 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, born 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 Feelings 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 the 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, arid 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
CONTROL OF THE INTELLECTUAL TRAINS. 39 L
ways of re-distributing the powers of the system. A languid,
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,
might be advantageously dwelt upon. There are instances,
where endurance is made habitual, under an outward initia
tive, as in apprenticeship to work. In other cases, it is the
will's own resolution, under motives 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 voluntary 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 iletentiveness, to operate these great
moral revolutions.
392 PRUDENCE.
CHAPTEE X.
PBUDENCE.— DUTY.— MOKAL 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 our pleasures,
diminished by the total of our pains ; and the endeavour after
it resolves itself into seeking the one and avoiding the other.
There is a complicated mixture of good and evil always in the
distance, and even in the absence of moral weakness, we
should 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
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 the prudential character of the mature
individual.
INFLUENCES IX FAVOUR 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
powerful 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 future. 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 and 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 settled.
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 stronger 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 greatly 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.
II. — Ko 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
juring others. Not only is this the chief deterring instru
ment, it is also the means of settling and denning what duty
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 all events, self-love will 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 aifection
of others ; a certain amount of natural generosity is necessary
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-
MORAL INABILITY. 395
dinary man Las 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 prompt
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; — are 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 implied that motives might not be found
strong enough to change the conduct in ail 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 irresponsibility.
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 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
they occur to any one frequently, and under slight provocation,
they constitute a degree of moral inability verging on the
irresponsible.
In criminal procedure, a man is accounted responsible, if
motives still continue to have power over him. There is no
other general rule. It is requisite, in order to sustain the
plea of irresponsibility or insanity, that the accused should
not only be, but appear to the world generally to be, beyond
the influence of motives.
CHAPTER XL
LIBEETY AND NECESSITY.
1. THE exposition of the Will lias proceeded on the
Uniformity of Sequence between motive and action.
Throughout the foregoing chapters, it is either openly
affirmed or tacitly supposed, that the same motive, in the
same circumstances, will be followed by the same action.
The uniformity of sequence, admitted to prevail in the phy-
bical 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
tion, the whole superstructure of 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 mankind, in the furtherance of their
interests, assumes the principle of uniformity. No one ever
supposes, either that human actions arise without motive, or
that the same motives operate differently in the same circum
stances. Hunger always impels to the search for food ; tender
PREDICTION OF 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 the motives, but to the co
existence of others more powerful.
The operations of trade, of government, of human inter
course generally, would be impracticable without a reign of
law in the actions of human beings. The master has to
assume that wages will 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 line of physical causation, the interruption 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 uncertainty 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 modern 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
ranked 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 enquiries, and to be guided in our conduct by the conclusions
of our own intelligence.
A modern doctrine, qualifying 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 LIBERTY 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 Free-will is
mainly owing to the inaptness of the terms to express the
facts.
The idea of ' freedom' as attaching to the human will ap
pears as early as the writings of the Stoics. The virtuous man
was said to be 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
study (justice, piety, &c.), with 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 Free-will, as opposed to Neces
sity, first assumed prominence and importance in connexion
with the theory of Original Sin, and the Predestinarian views
of St. Augustin. In a later age, it was disputed between
Arminians and Calvinists.
The capital objection to Free-will, is the unsuitability,
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 TERM FREE-WILL. 399
by hunger, and proceeding unmolested to a poultry yard, is a
free agent. Free trade, free soil, free press, nave 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 tlje use of the word * free.' We might with equal
400 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
appropriateness describe the stone as free to fall, the moon
as free to deviate under 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,
Kesponsibility.
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 Free-will.
Choice. When, a person chooses one thing out of several
presented, the choice is said to involve liberty or freedom.
The simple 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 be presented to the student.
The Eleatic Zeno endeavoured to demonstrate the impossibility of
motion. He said that a body must move either in the place where it is,
or in the place where it is not ; but in neither case is motion possible ;
for on the first supposition the body leaves its place, and the second is
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
and the puzzle is at an end ; retain the incompatible expression in a place,
and there is an insoluble mystery. By a similar ingenuity in quibbling
upon the word Infinite, the same philosopher reasoned that if Achilles and
a Tortoise were to begin a race, Achilles would never beat the tortoise.
In the Philebus 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 affirmations
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 the body, or only in the whole ; the question is insoluble,
because unreal. It is not an intelligible proposition, but a jargon.
DELIBERATION. — SELF DETERMINATION. 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, unless 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 LIBERTY AND 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 temporary 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 Will. 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 tho
ideal motives, which strength is shown by the fact of superi
ority to the present and the actual. Rigorous 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 nothing 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 ' I7 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 will ; as when a man
departs from his usual line 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 Oil.
Responsibility, Accountability. 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 insufficient to purge the
accusation.
404 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
It is hard at a first glance to see what connexion a sup
posed freedom 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 follows by a natural course. To ensure obedience
to law there 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
of every one accused of disobedience, to which the words
Responsibility, Accountability, are strictly applicable ; after
these forms are satisfied, and the guilt established, the penalty
is inflicted.
Endless puzzles are foisted into a very simple process, 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, Responsibility), is amply vindicated.
Whatever be the view taken of the ends of Punishment,
it supposes the theory of the will as here contended for,
namely, 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 question has been dehated, ' Is a man responsible for his
Belief;' in other words, Is society justified in punishing men for their
opinions ? The two criteria of punishability will 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 are
IS A MAN THE AUTHOR OF HIS CHARACTER? 405
Another factitious difficulty 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 something,
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 ?
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 with 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 the 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 feelings of
another kind, such as affections, sympathies, lofty 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
senting to the hearer's mind the IDEA of improvement : and
probably, along with that, a number of fortifying considera
tions, all of the nature of proper motives.
able to control beliefs, with a slight qualification. They can put a stop
to the profession of any opinion ; and in matters of doubtful speculation,
they can so dispose the course of education and enquiry, that the mass of
mankind shall firmly believe whatever the State dictates,
406 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
The word ' will,' in such expressions as the above, 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
allow 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 Will-Freedom, 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
(licovaioc, and aKovtnoo] • but he does not ask whether the will is
self-determined or whether it is necessitated.
ARISTOTLE'S doctrine of the Voluntary and Involuntary, as
contained in the Nicomachean Ethics, Book III., is fully given in
the abstract of that work (ETHICAL SYSTEMS, Aristotle). The
misleading terms — Liberty 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 EPICUREANS, like Aristotle, can hardly be
regarded as contributing to the history of the proper Free-will
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — THE FATHERS. 407
controversy, and their views are best given in connexion with
their ethical doctrines (ETHICAL SYSTEMS, The Stoics, and The
Epicureans).
From PLOTLNTTS we learn how the problem of freedom was
understood by the NEO-PLATONISTS. Will (0€X??<rie) is not a
faculty of the soul, but its essential attribute. It is not the same
thing as liberty. Voluntary action (TO tKouaiov') 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 follow 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 MARTYR (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 Sardaiiapalus 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 all sound sense and reason.
TERTULLIAN (160-220) in his paper against Marcion, vindi
cates the freedom of the will. Could not God 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 LIBERTY 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 mystery. 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 should be so arduous — it belongs not
to any theory of the will to explain.
ST. ATJGUSTIN, Bishop of Hippo (353-429), is as warm as Ter-
tullian on the other side. He is the author of a complete scheme
of Predestination that continued with little variation to the close
of the theological discussion of Free Will. His views underwent
several changes in the course of his life, 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 irresistible
necessity awakens him to the need of redemption and to faith.
This grace is bestowed not for Tnerit, but of God's free gift. The
will is determined and controlled by the agency of God, in conse
quence of what he has foreordained. The Elect were chosen, not
because it was foreseen that they would 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 life, and others were predestined 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 consigns 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 of
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 all are irrevocably committed. God is not therefore tho
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 free-will 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
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — AQUINAS. 409
men according to any merit they possess, but according to a liid-
den judgment. Let not injustice be attributed to God, who is the
fountain of wisdom and justice. When he permits men 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 tells 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 minds.
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 evil
and to good respectively, by original sin and by grace.
AQUINAS. Aquinas is a follower of Augustin in the doctrines
of original sin, irresistible grace, and predestination. ' Prseseien-
tia meritorum non est causa vel ratio prsedestinationis.' The doc
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 laws 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 effort ; 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., ke eiidea-
410 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
vours, by an ingenious feat of interpretation, to extract the sting
from eternal punishment.
(3) Infants dying in original sin, are under the divine wrath
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 mitissimam.
Aquinas then asks, if it was a sensible (or corporeal) punishment ?
No, for then it would not be the mildest possible. Did it involve
affliction of soul ? No, for that could arise only either from culpa
or from poena. If it arose from culpa, that implied the presence
of an accusing conscience, and it would not be the mildest. Nor
could it arise from poena, which implied actual sin, or a will in
opposition to the will 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 their
lot, not repining because they are not angels. This 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. Augustin.
He accepts them in all their rigour, excluding every softening
modification. He rejects the subtlety of Thomas Aquinas, that
God predestinates man to glory, according 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 PELAGIUS, who claimed for man
complete freedom of self-determination and ascribed to God only
* Mozley's Augmtinian Doctrine of Predestination, p. 302. We may
subjoin some distinctions taken in regard to Freedom and Necessity.
Peter Lombard says that three kinds of liberty must be discriminated: —
(1) Freedom from necessity, 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) Natural, Absolute,
or Intrinsic Necessity — that which cannot but be — is either material (e.g.
quod omne composition ex contrariis necesse est corrumpi] or formal (e.g. that
the angles 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
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — HOBBES. 411
foreknowledge of what men, ' per liberae voluntatis arbitrium,'
would elect to do. After the time of Calvin, at the beginning of
the 17th century, this view was again strongly advocated by
ARMINIUS 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 follow.
HOBBES. Hobbes's opinion on the Free-will controversy is
given very clearly and concisely in a short tract on ' Liberty and
Necessity,' written in answer to another by Bishop Bramhall. 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, to deliberate, ' the doing
it or abstaining necessarily follow the present thought he hath of
the good or evil 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).
.Rash 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 life, whether he should do
that kind of action or not.'
(2) Deliberation 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 Witt, 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 judirium and ratio. Brutes have not freedom ; the
sheep avoids a wolf, not ex collatione qtiadam 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
intellectus is to ratio. Intellectus involves a mere apprehension of any
thing, as where principles are known of themselves without any collatio ;
but to Reason is devenire ex uno in cognitionem alterius. In like manner, will
(velle) is simply the desire of anything for its own sake; free-will (eliyere)
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 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
dom from compulsion ; Hobbes does not allow necessity to be a
true contrast to freedom.]
(6) Nothing begins from itself. Hence, when an appetite or
will arises, the cause is not the will itself, but something else, not
in one's own disposing. The will is the necessary cause of volun
tary actions, other things (than the will itself) are the cause of the
will, therefore all voluntary 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 which,
' when 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, that
nothing can begin without 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 necessary causes, if they have
sufficient causes, that is, in fact, if they have causes at all. From
these principles, it follows that there is no freedom from 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.
DESCARTES, in his Fourth Meditation, gives a definition of
AVill 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
greater 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 will of God must have been
indifferent from all 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 will
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
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — LOCKE — SPINOZA. 413
establish the internal fact, while otherwise willing to give up 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 efiicacy 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 taken 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. Ho
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 Collins.
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 Free-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.
Volition 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. II. Chap. XXL, §11.
*\ Locke asks the further 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 will 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 ; while a bodily pain,
violent love, passion, or revenge, can keep the will 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 his 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. Another 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 riot the author of evil, because evil is nothing positive.
Everything that is, is perfect. Any imperfection arises from our
habit of forming abstract ideas, and judging of things thereby as
if they were all susceptible of the perfection that belongs to the
definition, and Avere 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
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — LEIBNITZ. 415
in ' A Philosophical Enquiry concerning Human Liberty.' He
accepts Locke's definition of liberty as ' a power in man to do as
he wills 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-will 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 indifferent
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.
LEIBNITZ. 1. The Nature of Liberty 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 fleason, and is simply the mind
choosing the best, or following the strongest inclination. The
principle of sufficient Eeason 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
LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
3. The influence 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 speaking, motives
do not act on the mind as weights in a balance ; they are rather
dispositions in virtue of which the mind acts. To say that the
mind can prefer a weak motive to a strong one, implies that it
has other dispositions than motives, by virtue of which it can
accept or reject 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.
SAMUEL CLARKE affirmed the existence of a power of self-
motion or self-determination, which, in all 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 reasons 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 manner. 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 thevaction 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 sufficient 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.'
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — EDWARDS. 417
JONATHAN EDWARDS vindicates the doctrine of philosophical
necessity in his work 011 the ' Freedom of the Will ' (1754) in the
interest of Calvinistic theology. His treatise, however, consists
almost exclusively of philosophical arguments.
1. Ed wards' s own view. The will 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 Will 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 : (1) a
Self -determining power, whereby the will causes its own volitions;
(2) Indifference, 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-determination 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
this 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 indeter "mined. 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 soul. 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 volitions. Edwards
answers, that this may explain why the soul acts at all, but not
418 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
why it acts in a particular manner. 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 draAvn from the activity of the soul, it is neces-
\ary to examine carefully the notions of Action and Passion. It is
•said, by Dr. 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 beginning 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 ' necessity,' but keep up the old attributes in spite of
the new and distinct application of the term.
3. Liberty of Indifference. The will is alleged to be able to
choose between two things 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. Eut 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 will is more imme
diately concerned with, is not the objects, but the acts to be done
concerning them. The objects may appear equal, but among
the acts to be done affecting them, one may be decidedly pre
ferable.
If indifference is regarded as essential to liberty, several absurd
consequences follow. Indifference is often sinful. It is a state
in 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 vicious. So iri 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 generally 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 taken 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. .N"ow, 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 110 influence on the
thing known. Granted, but prescience may prove that an event is
certain, without being the cause of its certainty. Certainty of
knowledge does not make an infallible connexion between things,
but it pre-supposes such a connexion. Aerain, it is said that with
God there is no distinction of before 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 the 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 relation is erroneously supposed to exist
between our volitions and some inner determining volitions. But
mankind ck> not refer praise and blame to any occult causes of
the will ; 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 under
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. Practical Consequences. (1) Does the doctrine of necessity
render efforts towards an end nugatory ? This could only be
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?
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 entire 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 Arminian doctrines.
PRICE, contending with Priestley, followed the view brought
forward by Dr, Clarke. He denned liberty as a power of self-
motion, and took up the following positions. (1) All animals
possess spontaneity, and therefore liberty. (2) Liberty does not
admit of degrees ; between acting and not acting there is no
middle course. (3) This liberty is possible. There must be some
where a power of beginning motion, and we are conscious of such
a power in ourselves. (4) In our volitions, we are not acted upon.
(o) Liberty does not exclude the operation of motives. The power
FREE-WILL CONTROVERSY — PRIESTLEY. 421
of self-determination can never be excited without some view or
design. But it is an intolerable absurdity to make our motives or
ends the physical causes of action. Our ideas may be the occasion
of our acting, but are certainly not mechanical efficients.
PKIESTLEY, 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 will without a motive, or contrary to the influence of
all the motives 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. Philosophical necessity is consistent with accountability.
Punishment 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 evil. 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 and Pardon. Priestley admits that it sounds harsh,
but affirms 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 necessarily refer 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 no doubt feel as others.
This admission by Priestley that remorse is inconsistent with
necessity, has been turned to great account by Reid ; 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. In 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 the
422 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
mail's conduct — his circumstances, education, and opinions. In
several ways, this tends to discourage angry feeling, and to arouse
sympathy and pity. In the first place, we are looking 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
strictly applicable to many material phenomena, but incorrect
as to human actions.
5. Priestley considered that materialism, to which he sub
scribed, involved the doctrine of necessity.
REID has devoted a large part of his work on The Active
Powers, to the discussion of the Liberty of Moral Agents.
I. — The Nature 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 non of praise or blame. In order
still farther to clear up the conception of liberty, Reid 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 which has
power to produce an effect. We are efficient causes in our deli
berate 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, Reid follows
Clarke and Price, exposing himself to the refutation of Jonathan
Edwards, not to mention the criticism of Sir W. Hamilton.
II. — Arguments in Support 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 Kames, 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. Yet
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 CONTROVERSY — 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? Remorse
implies a conviction that we could have done better. Reid 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
voluntary. Reid 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 j 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.
Ill—Refutation of the Argument for Necessity. I. The influence
of motives. (1) Reid allows tha,t 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 Reid'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) Reid goes on to say that it is the glory of rational being-s 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 ? Reid thinks not. Many trifling
actions are done without any conscious motive. Stewart dis
agrees with Reid 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? If not, call this cause, or these concauses, the
424 LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.
motive, 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
wilfuliioss, caprice, or obstinacy ? But ' Are not those all ten
dencies, and fatal tendencies, to act or not to act?' (5) Does
the strongest 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
mination ? 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, is equal 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 inconceivable, and even to conceive the possibility of this incon
ceivable act, we must suppose some cause by which the man is
determined to exert it. We thus, in thought, never escape deter
mination and necessity.' (G) It is very weak reasoning to infer from
our power of predicting men's actions that they are necessarily
determined by motives. -Liberty is •«, 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 principle, of sufficient Reason. Beid 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. Eeid'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 future actions, but his foresight does not make
them necessary. (3) No free action can be foreseen. This would
prevent God foreseeing his own actions. Reid 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 CONTROVERSY — HAMILTON. 425
gents. Hamilton 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 knowledge of
past contingents), that the possibility of a memory of events as
contingent was, I believe, never imagined by any philosopher — nor,
in reality, 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. HAMILTON 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 undetermined 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 undetermined cause of the deter
mination of his will ? 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, undetermined by any motive, can be a
rational, moral, and accountable cause. There is no conceivable
medium between Fatalism and Casualism : and the contradictory
schemes of Liberty and Necessity themselves are inconceivable.
For, as we cannot compass in thought an undetermined cause, —
an absolute commencement — the fundamental hypothesis of the one ;
so we can as little tliink an infinite series of determined causes — 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. As already stated, all that can bo
done is to show, (1) That, for the fact of Liberty, we have, im
mediately or mediately, the evidence of consciousness ; and (2),
that there are, among the phenomena of mind, many facts which
426 LIBERTY AXD NECESSITY.
we must admit as actual, but of whose possibility we are wholly
unable to form any notion.' Again, ' A determination by motives
cannot, to our understanding, escape from necessitatioii. Nay,
were we even to admit as true, what we cannot think as possible,
still the doctrine of a motiveless volition would be only casualism ;
and the free acts of an indifferent, are, morally and rationally, as
worthless as the preor-^red passion of a detemiiiied, will.'
From 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-
farding causality as an impotence of thought, Hamilton thinks
e 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 KAXT'S doctrine of
Freedom. This will be stated in its proper connexion with his
Ethical doctrine. [ETHICAL SYSTEMS.]
J. S. MILL, in his Examination of Sir "W. Hamilton's Phi
losophy, has given a chapter to the Freedom of the Will. His
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 argument 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 experience.* 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 voliti >ns, 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 every 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 favour
of necessity : — ' Were it not for the direct testimony of my own conscious
ness to my own freedom, I could regard human actions only as necessary
links in the endless chain of phenomenal cause and effect.' Hansel's
Metaphysics, p. 168.
FEEE-WILL CONTROVERSY— J. S. MILL. 427
than the changes of the weather. Hence a volition follows its
moral causes, as a physical event follows its physical causes.
Whether it must 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
be. 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 differently 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. Eesponsibility
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 account. The question then is,
whether free-will 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 called to
account has probably much to do with the feeling of being
accountable. Oriental 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 petitio prindpii. Mr. Mill
considers himself entitled to assume the reality of moral distinc
tions, such reality not depending 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 ? Ravaillac and Balthasar Gerard regarded themselves as
heroic martyrs. No person capable of being operated upon by the
fear of punishment, will ever feel punishment for wrong- doing to
be unjust.
4. Necessity is not Fatalism. 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 discipline, 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 relation 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 Aveights in a
pair of scales, that the heavier will lift the other up ; although we
mean by the heavier only the weight that will 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.
INDEX.
PSYCHOLOGY AND HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY.
Abaelard, on Universals . . Ap. 25
Abstraction, . . . 176, 143
approaches to pure . • 178
Accountability . . . 403
Acquisition, conditions of, general 87
in the senses . . . 100
in associations with plea
sure and pain . . 103
mechanical, conditions of. 114
linguistic, conditions of 116
scientific, conditions of . 119
business, conditions of . 122
Fine Art, conditions of . 123
historical, conditions of . 124
limited for the individual, 126
operation of Agreement in, 150
Action, emotions of . . 267
Active and Passive feelings . 13
Activity, opposed to Sensibility, 16
quenched by terror . . 234
excited by anger . . 261
see also SPONTANEOUS
Actual, in conflict with the Ideal, 357
Admiration .... 247
Aesthetic emotions . . . 289
Agreement, consciousness of . 83
co-operating with reten-
tiveness , . 151, 155
Alimentary Canal, sensations of 34
Alison, theory of Beauty . 308
Ambition 260
Analogy 145
Anger 260
Anselm,in the history of Realism, Ap. 24
Antipathy .... 265
Anxiety 236
Appetite, control of . , 387
Appetites 67
Approbation, love of . . 255
Aquinas, in the Free-will con
troversy .... 409
on Universals . . . Ap. 25
classification of mind . Ap. 88
Aristotle, theory of Beauty . 305
in the history of Realism . Ap. 13
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 33
in the Free-will controversy, 406
Arminius in the Free-will con
troversy .... 411
Arnauld on Origin of Knowledge Ap. 51
Associated ends . . . 349
in conflict with ultimate ends 358
Association of Ideas . . 85
laws of, various statements of Ap. 91
compound . . . 151
obstructions to . . . 159
influencing Belief . . 379
Attention . . . 157,341
habitual command of, 387, 391
Augustin, theory of Beauty . 305
in the Free-will controversy, 408
Authority, pleasure of . . 258
Axioms of Mathematics, not
intuitive . . . ( . 186
Bailey, theory of external per
ception 212
on general terms . . Ap. 32
classification of Intellect . Ap. 89
Bashfulness . 237
Beauty . 302
theories of . . 304
Belief, theory of . . 371
corrected . . . Ap. 99
influenced by the feelings
generally ... 220
a test of the strength of
feeling .... 222
influenced by Fear . . 235
influenced by Affection . 243
Benevolent affections . . 244
Berkeley, theory of vision . 188
objections to ... 194
theory of Perception . 202
a Nominalist . . . Ap. 28
Binocular vision . . . 192
Body, our, has strong subject
associations .... 102
Brain, the principal organ of
Mind 5
Brown, theory of Perception . 208
on the generalizing process, Ap. 30
classification of Intellect . Ap. 88
classification of the Emo
tions , Ap. 90
11
INDEX.
PAGE
Buffier, theory of Beauty . 305
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 02
Burke, theory of Beauty . . 307
Business, acquisitions in . . 122
identification in . . 146
Calvin, in the Free-will contro
versy . . . . . 410
Categories of Aristotle . . Ap. 18
Causation, law of, not intuitive 187
Cause and effect, naturally im
pressive 113
Cerebellum and its functions . 10
Cerebral Hemispheres . . 9
Children, subject to fear . . 235
anger in . . . 204
Choice 400
Circulation, organic feelings of, 31
Clarke, in the Free-will contro
versy . . . ... 416
Classification . . . 143, 176
Collins, in the Free-will con
troversy .... 414
Colour, sensation of . . 61
reteutiveness in 98
identification in . . 136
Concentration .... 391
Conceptualism . . . 180
Concreteness, an element of
Imagination . . . . 174
Concreting the abstract, a con
structive effort . . . 169
Conflict, pain of . . 226, 274
of motives .... 354
Consciousness, meaning of term Ap. 93
Constructive association . . 101
Contentment . . . 223, 307
Contest, pleasure of . . 270
Contiguity, law of ... 85
Contiguities, composition of . 152
Contrast, association of , . 160
Courage, sources of . . . 2'SS
Cramp 30
Cudworth, on Origin of Know
ledge Ap. 52
Cycle, successions of . . 112
Day- dreaming .... 288
Death, fear of . . . . 237
Deduction .... 145
Definition 143
Deliberation . . . 360, 401
Descartes, in the Free-will con
troversy .... 412
on origin of Knowledge . A p. 49
Desire .... 219,306
Despondency .... 384
Diderot, theory of Beauty . 305
Difference, consciousness of . 82
Diffusion, law of, in feelings . 216
Digestive organs, ... 34
lity of
influenced by feeling
Discriminative sensibilit
muscle ..... 24
Discrimination, see DIFFERENCE.
Disgusts ..... 37
Distance, sensation of . . 65
analysis of perception of . 189
Distrust of self . . . 237
Doubt ..... 384
Duns Scotus, on Universals . Ap. 25
Duty ..... 393
Ear, the ..... 51.
as an Aesthetic sense, 291, 292; 294
Edwards, in the Free-will con
troversy . . . . 417
Effort ..... 365
Egotism .... 250
Emotion, always present in imagi
nation .... 175
Emotions, transformed into affec
tions by association . . 104
consfructiveness in . . 168
nature and classification of the 226
culture of the . . . 387
End, interest of, transferred to
the Means by association . 105
Endurance .... 391
Epicureans, in the Free-will con
troversy .... 406
Esteem .... 248
Evolution, successions of . 112
Exercise as an appetite . . 67
Experience, as a source of Know
ledge .... 181
and Intuition • . . Ap. 33
Expression, a key to the nature
and amount of feeling, 70, 221, 322
general theory of 76
meaning of, learnt by associ
ation .... 107
Eye, the . 57
as an aesthetic sense-, 291, 292, 296
Face, movements of under feeling, 71
Fame ..... 255
Family attachments . . 243
Fatalism . . . . 415
Fatigue, mnscular ... 30
nervous . 31
Fear ..... 232
Features, play of in feeling
Feeling in general . . . 215
a leading attribute of Mind
instinctive expression or em
bodiment of . . . 70
how linked with action . 322
Feelings, A ctive and Passive .
Muscular ... 17
plan of describing . . 18
Organic .... 28
INDEX.
Ill
principle of their connection
with physical states . 75
associated with objects . 157
tend to make abstractions in
dependent entities . 180
analysis of, how useful . 225
as influencing Belief . 380
control of the . . 339
Ferrier, theory of Perception . 2LO
Field Sports, pleasure of . 270
Fine Art, pleasures of, so far due
to association . . . 106
acquisitions in . . 122
identification in . . 149
constructiveness in . . 172
characteristics of . . 290
Fitness, a source of beauty . 299
Fixed Ideas . . . .91, 279
as thwarting rational volition, 351
as impassioned ends . 359
Flattery 255
Foreboding .... 236
Form, Sensation of . . 63
retentiveness in 97
identification in . . 136
Free-will, doctrine of . . 396
controversy, history of . 406
Gassendi, classification of Intel
lect Ap. 88
Generalization . . .143
Generosity, excites tender feeling 246
Glory 255
Gratitude .... 245
Grief 77
Habit, taming effect of . . 231
Hamilton, theory of matter . 208
in the Free-will controversy 425
on Nominalism . . Ap. 31
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 67
classification of Intellect Ap. 89
classification of the Emo
tions .... Ap. 9(
Happiness .... Ap. 76
Harmony, a source of aesthetic
pleasure .... 294
Hatred . . . •' ' . 265
Health, an element of Happi
ness Ap 7'
Hearing, sense of ... 5
Heat and cold, feelings of . 33, 44
Herbart, classification of the Emo
tions Ap. 9(
Herbert of Cherbury, on Origin of
Knowledge .... Ap. 5
classification of Mind . Ap. 8
History, acquisitions in . . 12
Hobbes, in the Free-will contro
versy 41
a Nominalist . . . Ap. 2
PAGE
logarth, theory of Beauty . 306
lope 384
lume, theory of Perception . 205
a Nominalist . . . Ap. 28
lumility .. . . . 253
lunger .... 35
as an appetite 67
lutcheson, theory of Beauty . 305
leal emotion ... 283
deality, another name for Imagi
nation .... 176
deas, the seat of ... 89
tendency of to become actuali
ties .... 90
growth of association among 92
Plato's theory of . . Ap. 4
dencification, see SIMILARITY.
m agination .... 174
mitation .... 282
.mpotence, pains of . . 260
incongruity, a cause of laughter, 3L5
nconsistency, pain of . . 274
indignation, righteous . . 266
induction .... 143
industry, as involving plot-in
terest 271
nstincts 68
intellect, primary attributes of
emotions of ... 273
[ntuition 181
and experience . . . Ap. 33
[invention in practical affairs . 171
an element of Imagination, 174
[rascible emotion . . . 260
Jealousy 260
Jeffrey, theory of Beauty . 312
Judgment, practical . . 171
Judgments .... 143
Justice involves resentment . 267
Justin Martyr, in the Free-will
controversy .... 407
Kant, in the Free-will contro
versy ..... 426
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 5S
classification of the Emo
tions .... Ap. 90
Knight, doctrine of intrinsic
beauty .... 313
Knowledge, origin of . 181, Ap. 33
as giving a sense of Power, 259
plot-interest in the search
after .... 272
an element of Happiness . Ap. 81
Language, acquisitions in . 116
coustructiveness in . . 163
Laughter ..... 77
expressive of the emotion
of power . . . 257
causes of . • • . 31£
IV
INDEX.
Leibnitz in the Free-will con
troversy .... 415
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 56
Liberty, emotion of . . . 231
of the will . ... 396
Light, sensation of . . . 60
Literature, identification in . 148
Localization of bodily feelings, 101
Locke in the Free-will contro
versy . . . . . 413
on general terms . . Ap. 27
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 53
Locomotive rhythm . . 69
Lower animals, subject to fear, 235
auger in . . . 263
excitement of pursuit in . 270
Ludicrous, the . . . 315
Malevolence, pleasure of . . 266
Hansel, theory of Perception . 211
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 73
Maternal tenderness . . 243
Material world, perception of . 197
theories of ... 202
Mechanical art, acquisitions in, 114
coustructiveuess in . . 162
Mill, James, on general ideas . Ap. 31
Mill, J. S., on External Perception 212
in the Free-will controversy 426
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 69
Mind, definition of ... 1
its leading attributes . 2
various classifications of, 3, Ap. SS
connected with a material
organism
Mnemonics
4
156
by
Modesty .
Moral agency
habits
inability
sentiment, influenced
association . .
Motives .....
conflict of opposing . .
Movement, and the Muscular
Feelings ....
spontaneous ...
feelings of ...
acquisitions in . . .
ideal feelings of
associated with sensation
identification in . .
constructiveuess in . .
Muscular system ...
Feelings ....
pleasures and pains of exercise 18
discriminative sensibility in 24
organic .... 28
Music, a Fine Art ... 294
Name, general .... 179
;jsr,
395
10S
UK;
:;^r>
13
11
22
87
89
98
1 °, L
165
L3
17
Natural objects, made up by
associations .... 109
associated with feelings . 110
Naturalist, qualifications of the 110
Nausea 35
Necessity, a character of alleged
intuitions .... 182
of the Will ... 396
Neo-Platouists, in the Free-will
controversy .... 407
Nerve, organic sensations of . 30
Nerves, and their functions . 11
Nervous System, and its functions 5
Newton's discovery of gravitation 142
Nominalism, incompatible with
Intuition .... 184
history of . . . . Ap. 1
Nominalist, rise of the name . Ap. 24
Novelty . . . . . 229
gives zest to pursuit . . 270
Object opposed to Subject . 198
Objectivity, a state of indifference, 269
Occupation, an element of hap
piness Ap. 80
Ockham, a Nominalist . . Ap. 25
Order, beauties of . . 299
Order of Nature, belief in the, 382
Organic life, sensations of . 28
identification in . . 132
Organic functions deranged by
Terror .... 233
by Anger ... 261
Pain, physical concomitants of 75
associates with . . . 102
Pains and Pleasures, as motives, 346
Panic 236
Party spirit .... 265
Passive and Active feelings . 13
Pelagius, in the Free-will con
troversy .... 410
Perception, External . . 188
Persistence of pleasures and
pains, conditions of . . 347
Personal Identity, meaning of
term . ... . Ap. 96
Persuasion, identification in . 147
Physical side of Feeling, 18, 216, 217
Pity 245
Plato, theory of Beauty . . 304
in the Free-will controversy, 406
theory of ideas . . Ap. 4
doctrine of Reminiscence, Ap. 33
Pleasure, physical concomitants of, 75
associates with . . 102
Pleasures and Pains, as motives, 346
Plot-interest ... 268
Plotinus, in the Free-will con
troversy .... 407
in the history of Eealism, Ap. 22
INDEX,
PAGE
Pons varolii .... 9
Porphyry, in the history of Real
ism, . . • . Ap. 22
Power, emotion of . . . 256
in laughter .... 317
Practical affairs, constructive-
ness in .... 171
Praise 255
Predestination . . 408,410
Presentation, meaning of term, Ap 95
Price, in the Free-will controversy, 420
Priestley, in the Free-will con-
troversy '. 421
Proportion, in architecture . 297
Prudence, nature of . 219, 392
Punishment, gratifies sympathetic
resentment . . . 267
Pursuit, emotions of . . 267
Ratiocination . . . 145
Realism .... 180
first stated by Plato . Ap. 9
first opposed by Aristotle, Ap. 13
Realist, rise of the name • Ap. 24
Realizing description . . 169
Reason 146
Reasoning .... 143
Redintegration ... 85
Reid, theory of Perception . 207
in the Free-will controversy, 422
on Abstraction . . . Ap. 29
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 63
classification of Intellect . Ap. 88
classification of the Emo
tions .... Ap. 89
Relativity, principle of . 83
in feeling .... 216
emotions of ... 229
operating in the pleasure
of truth .... 276
bearing on happiness . Ap. 78
Religious sentiment. . 248,289
Relish 34,37
Repletion 34
Repose, muscular ... 30
as an appetite ... 67
Representation, meaning of
term Ap. 95
Resolution .... 363
Respiration, feelings of . 32
Responsibility .... 403
Restraint, emotion of . . 231
Retentiveness, in general . 125
in the growth of the Will . 81
has two aspects . . 83
co-operating with Agree
ment . . . 151,155
of feeling .... 219
in the Moral Habits . 385
PAGE
Reverence .... 249
Reynolds, theory of Beauty . 306
Roscellin, in the history of
Realism .... Ap. 24
Ruskin, theory of Beauty . 314
Scenes, ideas of, made up by
association . . . . Ill
Schleidler, classification of the
Emotions .... Ap. 91
Schoolmen, on Origin of
Knowledge .... Ap. 49
Science, retentiveness in . . 119
indentification in . . 143
constructiveness in . . 170
Scotus Erigena, in the history
of Realism .... Ap. 23
Self, emotions of ... 250
Self-abasement . . . 253
Self-complacency, self-esteem,
self-confidence, self-suf-
ficingness .... 252
Self-conservation ... 80
law of . . . . 322
Self-determination . 401, 417
Sensation .... 27
constructiveness in . . 166
meaning of term . . Ap. 94
Sensations, association of
associated with movements, 98
•with ideas of movement . 99
with sensations . . ib.
Sense, voluntary control of • 386
Senses, division into five, defective 27
effects common to the . 137
Sensibility, opposed to Activity, 16
excited by Fear . 234, 261
Sexes, affections between . 244
Sexual appetite ... 68
Shaftesbury, theory of Beauty, 305
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 56
Sight, sense of ... 56
associations of ... 97
acquired perceptions of • 100
constructiveness in . . 167
Similarities, composition of . 154
Similarity, law of ... 127
pleasure of unexpected . 274
Size, sensation of ... 64
Sleep 67
Smell, sense of ... 39
Sokrates, method of, &c. . Ap. 2
Sorrow 247
Sound, sensations of
musical and articulate . 95
associations in . . . ib.
rate of acquirement in . 96
identification in . . 134
constructiveness in . . 167
Space, analysis of .
vi
INDEX.
PAGE
alleged to be intuitive . 183
Spencer on Origin of Knowledge, Ap. 72
classification of Intellect . Ap. 89
classification of the Emo
tions, .... Ap. 90
Spinal Cord and its functions, 7
Spinoza in the Free-will con
troversy .... 414
Spontaneous Activity . . 14
at the foundation of the will 79
as favouring retentiveness
doctrine of, discussed . 318
in conflict with motives . 354
in Belief .... 377
Stewart, theory of Perception 208
theory of Beauty . . 313
a Nominalist . . . Ap. 29
on Origin of Knowledge . Ap. 65
classification of Intellect . Ap. 88
classification of the Emo
tions
Stimulants
Stoics, in the Free-will contro
versy
altered Aristotle's cate-
Ap. 89
78
406
gones .... Ap. 21
Story, cultivation of plot-
interest in .... 2/2
Subject opposed to Object . 198
Subjectivity, costly to the ner
vous system .... 269
Sublimity 301
Substance, meaning of term . Ap. 98
Successions give rise to asso
ciations . . . Ill
identification of . 141
Superstition . .236
Support, adequacy of . 297
Surprise ... . 230
Suspicion ... . 236
Symmetry . . . 298
Sympathy, the foundation of,
explained . . . .91, 276
PAGE
different from tenderness . 244
leading to irascible emotion, 266
leading to plot-interest . 272
Taste, sense of ... 36
Tastes, identification of . . 133
Tears, in the expression of feel
ing 73
Temperance .... 387
Tender Emotion . . . 239
Terror, emotion of . . . 232
Tertullian, in the Free-will
controversy .... 407
Thirst, as an appetite . • 67
Thoughts, command of the . 341
Time, alleged as intuitive . 183
Touch, sense of ... 43
associations of . . . 94
acquisition in . . . ib.
identification in . . 134
constructiveness in . . 167
Touches, associated with sounds
and sights .... 100
Uncertainty, heightens the
pleasure of pursuit . • 269
Universality, a character of
alleged intuitions . . . 182
Unity in diversity, a beauty, 300, 305
Variety . . . . " . 230
Veneration .... 248
Vision, theory of ... 188
Volition, see WILL.
Wealth, pleasure of . _. . 259
an element of Happiness . Ap. 84
Will, instinctive germs of . 79
association in the growth of 109
influence of, on intellectual
processes . . • 157
moved by the feelings 218, 221
primitive elements of the . 318
growth of the ... 325
freedom of the • • . 396
Wonder ..... 231
MENTAL AND MORAL
SCIENCE.
BY
ALEXANDER BAIN, LL.D.,
PROFESSOR OJ? LOGIC IN THE UNIVERSITY Ol ABERDEEN.
PART SECOND,
THEOKY OF ETHICS
ETHICAL SYSTEMS.
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.,
1872.
[The right oj Translation is reserved.']
TABLE OF CONTENTS,
PAET I.
THE THEORY OF ETHICS.
CHAP. I.
PRELIMINARY VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS,
PAGE
I. — The ETHICAL STANDARD. Summary of views ... ... 429
II.— PSYCHOLOGICAL questions. 1. The Moral Faculty. 2. The
Freedom of the Will ; the sources of Disinterested conduct ,.. 431
III. — The BONUM, SUMMUM BONUM, or Happiness ... ... 432
IV.— The CLASSIFICATION OF DUTIES, and the Moral Code ... 433
V. — Relationship of Ethics to POLITICS ... ... ... ib.
VI. — Relation to THEOLOGY ... ... ... ... ib.
CHAP. II.
THE ETHICAL STANDARD.
1. Ethics, as a department of Practice, is denned by its End ... 434
2. The Ethical End is the welfare of society, realized through rules
of conduct duly enforced ... .. ... ... ib.
3. The Rules of Ethics, are of two kinds. The first are imposed
under a penalty. These are Laws proper, or Obligatory
Morality ... ... ... ... ... ... ib.
4. The second are supported by Rewards; constituting Optional
Morality, Merit, Virtue, or Nobleness ... ... ' ... 435
5. The Ethical End, or Morality, as it has been, is founded partly in
Utility, and partly in Sentiment ... ... ... 437
6. The Ethical End is limited, according to the view taken of Moral
Government, 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. The Ethical end that society is tending to, is Happiness, or
Utility ... ... ... 442
CONTENTS.
PAGE
11. Objections against Utility. I. — Happiness is not the sole aim
of human pursuit ... ... ... ... ... 444
12. II. — 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 all mankind ... ... ib.
4. Thirdly, It is different from any other mental phenomenon ... 449
5. Eeplies to these Arguments, and Counter-arguments : — First ;
Immediateness of operation is no proof of an innate origin ... ib.
6. Secondly, The alleged similarity of men's moral judgment holds
only in a limited degree. Answers 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
9. Fifthly, It is possible to analyze the Moral Faculty : — Estimate
of the operation of (1) Prudence, (2) Sympathy, and. (3) the
Emotions generally ... ... ... ... ... 453
10. The peculiar attribute of Rightness arises from the institution of
Government or Authority ... ... ... ... 455
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.
SOKEATES. His subjects were Men and Society. His Ethical Stand
ard 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. Review of the Dialogues containing portions of Ethical
Theory : — Alkibiades I. discusses Just and Unjust. Alkibiades II.
the Knowledge of Good or Reason. Hippias Minor identifies
Virtue with Knowledge. Minos (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
able ? and iterates the science of good and evil. Protagoras makes
Pleasure the only good, and Pain the only evil, and defines the
cisence of good and evil as the comparison of pleasures and pains.
CONTENTS.
PAQE
Gorgias contradicts Protagoras, and sets up Order or Discipline
as & final end. Politikus (on Government) repeats the Sokratic
ideal of the One Wise Man. Phikbm makes Good a compound of
Pleasure with Intelligence, the last predominating. The Republic
assimilates Society to an Individual man, and defines Justice as
the balance of the" constituent parts of each. Timceus repeats the
doctrine that wickedness is disease, and not voluntary. The Laws
place all conduct under the prescription of the civil magistrate.
Summary of Plato's views ...
THE CYNICS AND THE CYRENAICS. Cynic succession. The proper
description of the tenets of both schools comes under 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. The Cyrenaic AEISTIPPUS :— Was the first to main
tain that the summum bonum is Pleasure and the absence of Pain.
Future Pleasures and Pains taken into the account. His Psych
ology of Pleasure and Pain
ARISTOTLE. Abstract of the Nicomachean Ethics : — ... ... 477
Book First. The Chief Good, or Highest End of human endeavours.
Great differences of opinion as to the nature of Happiness. The
Platonic Idea of the Good criticized. 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 ... ... ib.
Book Second. Definition and classification of the Moral virtues.
Virtue the result of Habit. Doctrine of the MEAN. The test of
virtue to feel no pain. Virtue defined (genus) an acquirement or
a State, (differentia) a Mean between extremes. Rules for hitting
the Mean 481
Book Third. The Voluntary and Involuntary. Deliberate Prefe
rence. Virtue and Vice are voluntary. The virtues in detail : —
Courage [Self-sacrifice implied in Courage.] 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 Rational part of the Soul embraces the Scientific and the De
liberative functions. Science deals with the necessary. Prudence
or the Practical 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 ... ... ... ... 500
Books 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
friendships. Goodwill. Love felt by benefactors. Self-love.
Does the happy man need friends? .. ... •• 502
Book Tenth. Pleasure : — Theories of Pleasure — Eudoxus, Speu-
sippus, Plato. Pleasure is not The Good. Pleasure defined.
iv CONTENTS.
PAGE
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. Hap
piness of the gods. Transition from Ethics to Politics ... 500
THE STOICS. The succession of Stoical philosophers. Theological
Doctrines of the Stoics : — The Divine Government ; human beings
must rise to the comprehension of Universal Law ; the soul at
death absorbed into the divine essence ; argument from Design.
Psychology : — Theory of Pleasure and Pain : theory of the Will.
Doctrine 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 ... ... ... .. ... ... 513
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
the 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 all systems grounded on enlightened self-interest ... -525
THE NEO-PLATONISTS. The Moral End to be attained through an
intellectual regimen. The soul being debased by its connexion
with matter, the aim of human action is to regain the spiritual life.
The first step is the practice of the cardinal virtues : the next the
purifying virtues. Happiness is the undisturbed life of contem
plation. Correspondence of the Ethical, with the Metaphysical,
scheme ... ... ... ... .. ... 535
SCHOLASTIC ETHICS. ABAELARD : — 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 SALISBURY : — Combines philosophy and theology ; doctrine of
Happiness ; the lower and higher desires. ALEXANDER of HALES.
BONAVEXTURA. ALBERTus MAGNUS. AQUINAS : — Aristotelian
mode of enquiry as to the end ; God the highest good ; true hap
piness lies in the self-sufficing theoretic intelligence ; virtue ;
division of the virtues ... ... ... ... ... 537
HOBBES. (Abstract of the Ethical part of Leviathan). Consti
tuents 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 enmity and war.
Necessity of articles of peace, called Laws of Nature. Law de
fined. Rights; Renunciation of rights; Contract; Merit. Justice.
Laws of Gratitude, Complaisance, Pardon upon repentance. Laws
against Cruelty, Contumely, Pride, Arrogance. Laws of Nature,
how far binding. Summary ... ... ... ... 543
CUMBERLAND. Standard of Moral Good summed up in Benevolence.
The moral faculty is the Reason, apprehending the Nature of
CONTENTS. V
PAGE
Things. Innate Ideas an insufficient foundation. Will. Dis
interested action. Happiness. Moral Code, the common good
of all rational beings. Obligations in respect of giving and
of receiving. Politics. Eeligion ... ... ... ... 556
CUDWORTH. Moral Good and Evil cannot be arbitrary. The mind
has a power of Intellection, above Sense, for aiming at the eternal
and immutable verities ... ... ... ... ... 560
CLA.RKE. The eternal Fitness and Unfitness of Things determine
Justice, Equity, Goodness and Truth, and lay corresponding
obligations upon reasonable creatures. The sanction of Rewards
and Punishments secondary and additional. Our Duties ... 562
WOLLASTON. Resolves good and evil into Truth and Falsehood ... 566
LOCKE. Arguments against Innate Practical Principles. Freedom
of the Will. Moral Rules grounded in Law ... ... ib.
BUTLER. Characteristics of our Moral Perecptions. Disinterested
Benevolence a fact of our constitution. Our passions and affec
tions do not aim at self as their immediate end. The Supremacy
of Conscience established from our moral nature. Meanings of
Nature. Benevolence not ultimately at variance with Self-Love 573
HUTCHESON. 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
doctrine from the Sense of Honour. Happiness. The tempers and
characters bearing on happiness. Duties to God. Circumstances
affecting the moral good or evil of actions. Rights and Laws ... 805
MANDEVILLE. Virtue supported solely by self interest. Compassion
resolvable into Self-Love. Pride an important source of moral
virtue. Private vices, public benefits. Origin of Society ... 593
HUME. Question whether Reason or Sentiment be the foundation
of morals. The esteem for Benevolence shows that Utility
enters into virtue. Proofs that Justice is founded solely on Utility.
Political Society has utility for its end. The Laws. Why Utility
pleases. Qualities useful to ourselves. Qualities agreeable (1) to
ourselves, and (2) to others. Obligation. The respective share of
Reason and of Sentiment in moral approbation. Benevolence not
resolvable into Self-Love ... ... ... ... ... 598
PRICE. The distinctions of Right and Wrong are 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. Obligation. Divisions of
Virtue. Intention as an element in virtuous action. Estimate of
degrees of Virtue and Vice ... .. ... ... ... 610
ADAM SMITH. Illustration of the workings of Sympathy. Mutual
sympathy. The Amiable and the Respectable Virtues. How
far the several passions are consistent with Propriety. Influences
of prosperity 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. Connection 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
VI CONTENTS.
PAGE.
HARTLEY. Account of Disinterestedness. The Moral Sense a pro
duct of Association ... ... ... ... ... 633
FERGUSON. (Note) ... ... ... ... ... 63-5
REID. 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 Utility. ... .,. ... ... il).
STEWART. The Moral Faculty an original power. Criticism of
opposing views. Moral Obligation : connexion with Religion.
Duties. Happiness: classification of pleasures ... ... 63'J
BROWN. Moral approbation a simple emotion of the mind. Univer
sality of moral distinctions. Objections to the theory of Utility.
Disinterested sentiment ... ... ... ... ... 646
PALEY. The Moral Sense not intuitive. Happiness. Virtue ; its
definition. Moral Obligation resolved into the command of God.
Utility a criterion of the Divine Will. Utility requires us to
consider general consequences. Eights. Duties ... ..651
BEXTHAM. 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
Pains. Merit and Demerit. Pleasures and pains viewed as
Motives ; some motives are Social or Tutelary, others Dissocial or
Self-regarding. Dispositions. The consequences of a mischievous
act. Punishment. Private Ethics (Prudence) and Legislation
distinguished; their respective spheres ... ... .. 659
MACKINTOSH. Universality of Moral Distinctions. Antithesis of
Reason and Passion. It is not virtuous acts but virtuous disposi
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, Resentment, and Shame, together with Education.
Religion must presuppose Morality. Objections to Utility criti
cised. Duties to Ourselves, an improper expression. Reference of
moral sentiments to the Will ... ... ... ... 670
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. Affections
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 Praist, 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. 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 term ' 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 rules : these
are obtained from the nature of our faculties. The rule of Speech
is Truth ; Property supposes Justice ; the Affections indicate
CONTENTS. vii
PAGE
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 Eights ... ... ... ... ... ...692
TERRIER. Question of the Moral Sense : errors on both sides.
Sympathy passes beyond 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 sui generis,
The moral law caa have no authority unless emanating from a
lawgiver. The Standard is the moral nature, and not the arbitrary
will, of God ... . 700
JOHN STUART 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
Utility 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 paramount character to
the essential of Security ; there are no immutable maxims of
Justice .. ... ... ... ... ... ... 702
BAILEY. 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. Disputes as to the origin of moral sentiment
in Reason or in a Moral Sense ... ... . ... ... 714
SPENCER. Happiness the ultimate, but not the proximate, end.
Moral Science a deduction from the laws of life and the conditions
of existence. There have been, and still are, developing in the
race, certain fundamental Moral Intuitions. The Expediency-
Morality is transitional. Reference to the general theory of
Evolution ... ... ... .., ... ... 721
KANT. Distinguishes between the empirical and the rational mode
of treating Ethics. Nothing properly good, except Will. Sub
jection of Will to Reason. An action done from natural in
clination 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 Morality. The ends of Morality. The Rational nature
of man is an end-in-itself. The Will the source of its own laws
—the Autonomy of the Will. The Realm of Ends. Morality
alone has Intrinsic Worth or Dignity. Principles founded on the
VI 11
CONTENTS.
PAGE
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 Reason — 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— Good and Evil, Obligation, Liberty, Merit and De
merit. Virtue brings Happiness. Moral Satisfaction and Re
morse. The Law of Duty is conformity to Reason. The charac
teristic of Reason is Universality. Classification of Duties: —
Duties to Self ; to Others — Truth, Justice, Charity. Application
to Politics ... ... ... ... ' ... _ ... 740
JOUFPROY. 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
controlled by the Reason. The End of Interest. End of Uni
versal 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 determination ... ... ... ... 746
ETHICS.
PAET I.
THE THEOKY OF ETHICS,
CHAPTEE I.
PBELIMINAEY VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS.
As a preface to the account of the Ethical 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 Eight 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 Modern 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 under his responsibility to God, is the sole arbiter of
Eight and Wrong. As regards Obligatory Morality, this
430 PRELIMINARY VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS.
seems at first sight an identical proposition ; morality is an
other name for law and sovereignty. In the view of Hobbes,
however, the sovereign should be a single person, of absolute
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 Reason, 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 Intellectual
or llational 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 Sentirrent. JBesides 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 will 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 arid 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 used 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. All 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 conduct. 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
is acutely sensitive.
(2) Oar 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 PRELIMINARY VIEW OF ETHICAL QUESTIONS.
should tlms be moved to benevolence by an intrinsic pleasure,
and not b}T extraneous consequences.
Bentham speaks of the pleasures and the pains of Benevo
lence, meaning that we derive pleasure from causing pleasure
to others, and pain 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, purely 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-sacrilice was implied. Patriotic 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
modern 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)
CLASSIFICATION OF DUTIES. 433
refuse to sanction any pursuit of happiness or pleasure,, except
through 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 C.)
IV.-The CLASSIFICATION OF DUTIES is characteristic of differ
ent systems and different authors. The oldest scheme is the
Four Cardinal Virtues — Prudence, Courage, Temperance,
Justice. The modern 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 Paganism.
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 modern 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
supplement 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,
and 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.
Religion superadds its own sanction to the moral duties,
so far 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 modern
classification, are religious, as distinguished from moral
duties.
28
43-A THE ETHICAL STANDARD.
CHAPTEE II
THE ETHICAL STANDAKD.
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 speculation, like the
sciences of Astronomy, Physiology, or Psychology ; it is
knowledge applied to practice, or useful ends, like Navigation,
Medicine, or Politics. Every practical subject has some end
to be served, the statement of which is its 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 ths 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 kill, fulfil agreements,
speak truth — 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 acting, 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 adequate in
ducement* to comply with them.
The Ethical End is what is otherwise called the STANDARD,
test, or criterion, of Right 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 Punishment;
the imposing party is named Government, or Authority ;
and the rules so imposed and enforced, are called Laws
proper, Morality proper, Obligatory. Morality, Duty.
MORAL RULES ENFORCED BY PENALTIES. 435
4. The second are rules whose only external support is
Rewards ; constituting Optional Morality, Merit, Virtue,
or Nobleness.
Moral duties are a set of rales, 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.
I.— One class of rules are made compulsory 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 living in
society.
The Institution that issues Rules 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) All the most essential parts of Morality are adopted
and carried out by the Law of the Land. The rules for pro
tecting person and property, for fulfilling 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 official 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 Usages, —
are all prescribed by the mass of each community, to a greater
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 out, being distinct
436 THE ETHICAL STANDARD.
from the Political sphere, is called, by Austin, Positive
Morality, or Morality proper.
Public opinion also chimes in with the Law, and adds its
own sanction to the legal penalties for offences : unless the
law happens to be in conflict with the popular sentiment.
Criminals, condemned by the law, are additionally punished
by social disgrace.
(3) The Law of the Land contains many enactments, be
sides the Moral Code and the machinery for executing it.
The Province of Government passes beyond the properly pro
tective function, 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
all within the domain of the public authority.*
II. -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 so. 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 unofficial capacity, are the chief agents and administra
tors. The Law of the Land occupies itself with the enforce
ment of its own obligatory rules, having at its command a
perfect machinery of punishment. Private individuals 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 Sanction, are included ; (A) Forbearance from
(specified) injuries; as (a) Intentional injury — crimes, (b~) Injury not inten
tional — wrongs, repaired by Damages or Compensation. (B) The ren
dering of services ; (a) Fulfilling contracts or agreements ; (b) Recipro
cating anterior services rendered, though not requested, as in filial duty ;
(c) Cases of extreme or superior need, as parental duty, relief of destitution.
Under the Popular Sanction are created duties on such points as the
following: — (l) The Etiquette of small societies or coteries. (2) Reli
gious orthodoxy ; Sabbath observance. (3) Unchastity ; violations of the
etiquette of the sexes, Immodesty, and -whatever endangers chastity,
especially in women. (4) Duties of parents to children, and of children
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
Inhumanity. In all these cases the sanction, or piinishment, is social ;
and is either mere disapprobation or dislike, not issuing in overt acts, or
exclusion from fellowship and the ^ood offices consequent thereon.
MOKAL RULES SUPPORTED BY REWARDS. 437
minister praise, honour, esteem, approbation, and reward. In
a few instances, the Government dispenses rewards, as in
the bestowal of office, rank, titles, and pensions, but this
function 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 from 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 the prevention of
human misery and the promotion of human happiness, are
known and obvious. They are not the whole of Morality as
it has been.
* Optional Morality, the Morality of Reward, is 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. (6) The payment of debts that cannot be legally re
covered, as in the c?*se 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 Virtue, 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 Nobleness, Punishment and Reward, 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 Reward; yet, if it has become a thing of
course, the 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 joined or disjoined by education,
custom, or the power of the will. 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 essential 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 the 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, although properly confined to
Utility, is subject to still farther limitations, according to
the view taken 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 useful, but not morally obliga
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 machinery of coercion is not brought to bear upon
DIFFERENCE OF BEING AND WELL-BEING. 439
every conceivable utility. It is principally reserved, when
not abused, 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 Security 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 Right ; 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 fo^nd 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, but 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 to 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 causes as insult, and defamation,
and many species of fraud. 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 STANDARD.
7. Morality, in 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 styled ' 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 and mother's care to the continuance of the
race. The primary moralities could not be exchanged for rules
enacting murder, pillage, injustice, unveracity, repudiation of
engagements ; because under these rules, 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 advancing judicial machinery, the Romans followed.
In the regulations not essential to Being, but important to
Well-being, there has prevailed the widest discrepancy of
usage. The single department relating to the Sexes is a suffi
cient testimony on this head. No 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
advanced nations have adopted compulsory n*on ogam y, 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 Morality.'
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 Ethical Standard is susceptible of.
Hitherto, the doctrine of Utility has been assumed, in
order to be fully 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 PKOOF OF THE STANDARD ? 441
In the Speculative or Theoretical sciences, we prove a
doctrine hy referring it to some other doctrine or doctrines,
until we come at last to some assumption that must be
rested in as ultimate or final. We can prove the propositions
of Euclid, 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 ultimate 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 upon 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 conduct. It is an ultimate or final assump
tion, to be tested by reference to the individual judgment of
mankind. If the assumption, 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 still more
fundamental 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 would 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 all action, the
theory of Utility is proved.
9. The judgment of Mankind is very generally in
favour of Happiness, as the supreme end of human con
duct, Morality included.
This decision, however, is not given without qualifica-
442 THE ETHICAL STAND AKD.
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 us, 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 c.,j 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 pain. 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
ultimately 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 morality 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 another, 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 Religious Worship ; six are Utilitarian,
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 utilitarian.
(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 trichinice, to become numerous,
and unpreventible, there would then be a reason, such as a
modern 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 human welfare.
We have abandoned the divine sac red ness of kings. We
no longer consider ourselves morally bound to denounce and
extirpate heretics and witches ;. still 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 Utility
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 STANDARD.
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 exclusively by their pleasures and their pains.
They are urged by other motives, of the impassioned 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 will, we should be
able to maintain that the motive to act is still happiness, but
not always the agent's own happiness. We have seen, however,
that individuals, not unfrequently, act in opposition both to
their own, and to other people's happiness ; as when mastered
by a panic, and when worked up into a frenzy of anger or
antipathy.
The sound and tenable position seems to be this : — Human
beings, in their best and soberest moods, looking before and
after, weighing all the consequences of actions, are generally
disposed to regard Happiness, to some beings 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. Bat 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. Under such circumstances,
it would certainly happen that the means would participate in
the importance of 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. Yet mankind have always approved of de-
VIRTUE 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 riot cause pernicious
results ; and is even enjoined and required in the intercourse
of societ}T, 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 denned 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 virtue of Self-denial, is one that receives the commen
dation of society, and stands high in the morality of reward.
Still, it is a mevans 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 mankind, 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 known to investigation only one or two cases.
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 primary moral duties refer to
conduct where the consequences are evident and sure. The
disregard of Justice and Truth would to an absolute certainty
446 THE ETHICAL STANDARD.
bring about a state of confusion and ruin ; 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 are 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 balancing or calculating
process, we must follow blindfold the dictates of one or other
of the two opposing sentiments, — Lave 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. III. — 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 affirm. 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 minimum 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 majority, 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 PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY. 447
is bound up with prudential regards, in the total of motives 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 positive beneficence has full play.
The principal motive in this department is Reward, in the
shape either of benefits or of approbation. Now, there is
nothing to hinder 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 something 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 will 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 happiness, he must be left to his own impulses :
'the quality of mercy is not strained.' The advocates of
Utility may observe non-interference as well as others.
448 THE MORAL FACULTY.
CHAPTER III.
THE MOEAL FACULTY.
1. THE chief question in the Psychology of Ethics is
whether the Moral Faculty, or Conscience, be a simple or a
complex fact of the mind.
Practically, it would seem of little importance in what
way the moral faculty originated, 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. If it arises
from mere education, it depends 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
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 pronounce
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 fully armed with the power of deciding all
such questions ; we do not hesitate, like a person that has to
consult 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 all, invariable, eternal,
which calls to duty and deters from injustice, &c.'
IS THE 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, \ve are
precluded from resolving or analyzing it into simpler modes
of feeling, willing, or thinking.
We have many feelings 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 Irnmediateness 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,
450 THE MORAL FACULTY.
and serious, not to have been often brought forward in Ethical
controversy. Robbery and murder are legalized in whole
nations. Macaulay's picture of the Highland Chief of former
days is not singular in the experience of mankind.
' His 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 civilized men agree in, is alone to be
taken as the judgment of the race.
Now, this argument would have great 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
fundamental 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
MORALITY IS A CODE. 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 fully admitted, being, indeed, 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 effect 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 nature.
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
our knowledge, as for example time and space, there is a
comparative simplicity 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 THE 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 Sympathetic, Benevolent, or Disin
terested regards, into which, therefore Conscience would be
resolved, as it was by Hume.
But Morals is properly considered as a wide-ranging
science, having a variety of heads full of difficulty, and de
manding minute consideration. The subject of Justice, has
nothing simple but the abstract statement — giving each one
their due ; before that can be applied, we must ascertain what
is each person's due, which introduces complex questions of
relative merit, far transcending the sphere of intuition.
If any part of Morals had the simplicity of an instinct, it
would be regard to Truth. The difference between truth and
falsehood might 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 circumstances 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. Reference must be made to
other parts of the mind, from which counter-motives may
be furnished ; and the intuition in favour of Truth, not being
able to support itself, has to repose on the general foundation
of all virtue, the instituted recognition of the claims of others.
8. Fourthly, Intuition is incapable of settling the de
bated questions of Practical Morality.
If we recall some of the great questions of practical 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 marriage are wholly nndecideable
by intuition. The natural impulses are for unlimited co-habi
tation. The degree of restraint to bo put upon this tendency
is not indicated by any sentiment that can be discovered in
the mind. The case is very peculiar. In theft and murder,
the immediate consequences 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 is not to be wondered, there
fore, that nations, even highly civilized, have differed 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
societv, that a proposed criterion of morality unable to grapple
with it, would be discarded as worthless. Yet 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 fails to perform his part, others may do the
same to him.
Our self-interest may look still farther. We may readily
discover that if we set an example of injustice, it may be
taken up and repeated to such a degree that we can count
upon nothing ; social security comes to an end, 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 affections and
sympathies, which greatly augment the happiness of life.
454 THE MORAL FACULTY.
(2) Sympathy, or Fellow-feeling, tlie source of our dis
interested actions, 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 springing from
our conduct — if sympathy were perfect and unfailing — we
could hardly ever omit doing what was right.
(3) Our 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 in 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 Resentment, 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 .^Esthetic 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.
RIGHTNESS 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 Rightness. For this, we must refer
to the institution of Government, or Authority.
Although 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 Tightness in particular cases is something
different.
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 —
everything 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 Authority, 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 obligatory by what is termed penalties or
Punishment; an entirely distinct motive, artificially framed
by human society, 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 MORAL FACULTY.
own masters, to the neglect 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 foil to guide
the citizen's actions. No doubt there ought to be a general
coincidence between what Prudence and Sympathy would
dictate, and what Law dictates ; but the precise adjustment is
a matter of institution. A moral act is not merely an act tend
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 every citizen. Its morality 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 Remorse, in the case of self.
It is capable of being proved, that there is nothing natural
or primitive in these feelings, 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 affect 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 wrong, although they are not its criterion or measure in the
mind of each individual. But in those cases where an unusually
otrong 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 a certain 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 UNDER AUTHOEITY. 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 itself, 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 way most 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 cast these powerful
associations into a secondary or subordinate position.
By a familiar effect of Contiguous Association, the dread
of punishment clothes the forbidden act with a feeling ot
aversion, which in the end persists of its own accord, and
without 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
side of pain, of the acquired attachment to money. Now,
when, by such 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 MORAL FACULTY.
in the mind. It has passed through the stage of reference to
authority, 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 Con
science the primary impulses of Self-interest and Sympathy,
which in minds 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 from 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 wholly indifferent 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 than 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 rules, 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 murdered her child. There is no act, however trivial,
that 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.
PAET II.
THE ETHICAL SYSTEMS.
THE first important name in Ancient Ethical Philosophy is
SOKRATES. [469-399 B.C.]
For the views of Sokrates, as well as his method,* we have
first the MEMORABILIA 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 APOLOGY OF SOKRATES, the KRITON and the
PILE DON.
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 his 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 ' Phcedon ' 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 against the enquiries of the early philosophers
* See, on the method of Sokrates, 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 knowledge, and capable of yielding fruit. In short, his
turn of mind was thoroughly practical, we might say 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 Suinmum
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.
II. — Notwithstanding his professing ignorance of what
virtue is, Sokrates had a definite doctrine with reference to
Ethics, which we may call his PSYCHOLOGY 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 improved judgment. To make him willing to
be taught, the only condition required was to make him con
scious of his own ignorance ; the want of which consciousness
was the real cause both of indocility and of vice' (Grote). This
* In setting forth the Ethical End, the language of Sokrates was not
always consistent. 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 first view, although not
always adhered to, prevails in Xenophon ; the second appears most in
Plato.
462 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SOKRATES.
doctrine grew out of Iris 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 BONUM 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 modern 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.
IV. — 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.
Y. — 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 still 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 would 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 Sokratcs, 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, Hhetoric, &c.
We shall first pass in review the chief Dialogues contain
ing Ethical doctrines.
The APOLOGY, KRITON, and EUTIIYPHRON (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 Sokratic man
ner. It brings out the loose discordant notions of Just 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 Justice 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 life. 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 Good, or Reason, — the juat
discrimination and comparative appreciation, of Ends and Means — ap
pears in the Politikus and the Euthydemus, under the title of the Regal or
464 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PLATO.
In HTPPIAS MINOR, appears an extreme statement of the
doctrine, common to Sokrates and Plato, identifying virtue
with knowledge, or giving exclusive attention to the intel
lectual element of conduct. It is urged that a mendacious
person, able to tell the iruth if he chooses, is better 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 oat of the Sokratic
analogy of the professions, to a purely ideal demand ; the wise
man is never producible. In many dialogues (Kriton, Laches,
&c.) the decision of some Expert is sought, as a physician is
consulted in disease ; but the Moral expert is unknown to any
actual communitry.
In LACHES, the question 'what is Virtue?7 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.
CHARMIDES 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 pur-
Political Art, as employing or directing the results of all other arts,
•which are considered as subordinate : in the Protagoras, under the title
of art of calculation or mensuration : in the Philebus, as measure and
proportion : in the Phaedrus (in regard to rhetoric) as the art of turning
to account, for the main purpose of persuasion, all the special processes,
stratagems, 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 rest (Guardians and
Producers) are bound implicitly to follow : the virtue of the subordinates
consisting in this implicit obedience. In the Leges, it is defined as the
complete subjection in the mind, of pleasures 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
JSophrosyne 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, I., 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 Friendship, 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 affection. 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
teachable? 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
common 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 Right Opinion, a sort of quasi-knowledge, the
knowledge of esteemed and useful citizens, which cannot be
the highest 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-exisience 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 PROTAGORAS, 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 society 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 inculcation. Sokrates, at the end of the harangue,
puts in his usual questions tending to bring out the essence or
definition of virtue, and soon drives Protagoras into a corner,
bringing him to admit a view nowhere else developed in Plato,
30
466 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PLATO.
that Pleasure 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.
For 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.
GORGIAS, 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 predominating
views. The professed subject is Rhetoric, which, as an art,
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 dithyrambic — all provision for the most essential wants,
all protection against particular sufferings 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, &c. Immediate satisfaction or relief, and those who confer it, are
treated with contempt, and presented as in hostility to the perfection of
the mental structure. And it is in this point of view, that various Platonic
PLEASURE AND PAIN. 467
The POLITIKUS is on the Art of G-overnment, and gives the
Platonic beau ideal 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 illustration 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
KRATYLUS, on the unpromising subject of Language or the
invention of Names.
The PHILEBUS has a decidedly ethical character. It pro
pounds 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 the 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 mixed 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 adjusted by the
all-important principle of Measure or Proportion, 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, radically disparate from
pleasures and pains of any human being, and incommensurable with them ;
an Universal Idea, which, 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, Gorgias}
468 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PLATO.
A decided asceticism 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 Erotic
dialogues, Phcedrus and Symposium, where Bonuni and
Pulchrum are attained in the pursuit of an ecstatic and over
whelming personal affection.
The REPUBLIC starts with the question — what is JUSTICE ?
and, in answering it, provides the scheme of a model Republic.
Book I. 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 friends, evil
to enemies.' Another gives 'the right 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 mind ; and irrespective
of exemption from the penalties of injustice. He reaches
this result by assimilating an individual 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 religious 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 evil, nor as practising deceit. Neither
is it to be allowed to represent men as unjust, yet happy ; or
just, and yet miserable. The poetic representation of bad cha
racters is also forbidden. The musical training is to be adapted
for disposing the mind to the perception of Beauty, whence it
becomes qualified to recognize the other virtues. Useful fictions
are to be diffused, without regard to truth. This pious fraud
is openly recommended by Plato.
The division of the human mind into (1) REASON or
Intelligence ; (2) ENERGY, 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
commonwealth are attained in the same way, namely, by rea
lizing the four virtues — Wisdom, Courage, Temperance, Jus
tice ; with this condition, that Wisdom, or Reason, is sought
PLATONIC REPUBLIC. 469
only in the Ruling caste, the Elders ; Courage, or Energy,
only in the second caste, the Soldiers or Guardians ; while
Temperance and Justice (meaning almost the same thing) must
inhere alike in all the three classes, and be the only thing 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 one 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 — Reason, 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
public 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) how these sublime
generalities are to be reached.
The Ideal Commonwealth supposed established, is doomed
to degradation and decay ; passing through Timocracy,
Oligarchy, Democracy, to Despotism, with a corresponding
declension of happiness. The same varieties may be traced
in the Individual ; the ' despotized ' mind is the acme of Injus
tice and consequent misery.
The comparative value of Pleasures is discussed. The
pleasures of philosophy, or wisdom (those of Reason), are
alone true and pure ; the pleasures corresponding to the two
other parts of the mind are inferior ; Love of Honour (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 TIM^IUS, 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 bringing-up [very much the view of Robert 0\ven].
The long treatise called the LAWS, being a modified scheme
of a Republic, 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 Fine 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 contradicting1 it. Of all the
titles to command in society, Wisdom is the highest, although
policy may require it to be conjoined with some 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 Rhetoric, 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 of the
same race as the masters. As regards punishment, there is a
great complication, owing to the author's 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
and educational discipline, suited to cure the moral distemper ;
SUMMARY OF PLATO'S ETHICS. 471
not for the sake of the past, which cannot be recalled, but of
the future. 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 settle 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.
IL— The Psychology of Ethics.
1. As to the Faculty of discerning Right. 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
fury, 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 modern 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 the 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PLATO.
3. The Psychology of Pleasure and Pain is given at length
in the Philebus.
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 will show in what
points his views differed from modern Ethics.
Benevolence was not one of the Cardinal Virtues.
His notions even of Reciprocity were rendered hazy 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
tatory 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 in poetry, and all
the associations of religion and divinity. Plato employed his
powerful genius in working up a lofty spiritual reward, an
ideal intoxication, for inciting men to the 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, supplies
the Ethical sanction. All virtue is an affair of the state, a
political 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 construct 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
to virtue.
Plato was the ally of the Stoics, as against the Epicureans,
and of such modern theorists 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
beneficence, 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 CYRENAICS.
These opposing sects sprang from Sokrates, and passed,
with little modification, the one into the Stoics, the other into
the Epicureans. Both ANTISTHENES, the founder of the Cynics,
and ARISTIPPUS, the founder of the Cyrenaics, were disciples of
Sokrates.
Their doctrines chiefly referred to the Surnmum Bonum —
the Art of Living, or of Happiness.
The CYNICS were most closely allied to Sokrates ; they, in
fact, carried out 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 indifference to pain, by a discipline of endurance ; to
despise all the ordinary pursuits of wealth and pleasure, — were
Sokratic peculiarities, and were the beau ideal of Cynicism.
The Cynic succession of philosophers were, (1) ANTIS
THENES, 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)
STILPOX 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 Standard 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 from 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 indifference to the common enjoy-
474 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — CYNICS AND CYKENAICS.
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 Gynics 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 skill, his force lay in vituperation, sarcasm, and repartee.
* To Sokrates,' says Epiktetus, ' Zeus assigned the cross-exa
mining function; 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 differed
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 Rhetorical 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
AR1STIPPUS, 475
marriage laws, and maintained the liberty of individual tastes
in the intercourse 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 communism
among themselves, which was doubtless easy witli 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 of Aristotle, Essay ii.).
The CYRENAIC system originated with ARISTIPPUS 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 op pressed, unjustly treated,
sold into slavery, and the consequent wretchedness to one
unhardened 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
•iTG ETHICAL SYSTEMS— CYNICS AND CYEENAICS.
present and future taken in one great total. He would sur
render present pleasure, and incur present pain, with a view to
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
Hetreros. 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 indul
gences, he dispensed with the Cynic pride of superiority and
the luxury of contemning other men. Strength of will was
required for this course 110 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, thu" 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 bs
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 only present
or realized consciousness ; the memory of pleasures past, and
the idea of pleasures to come, are not to be counted ; the
painful accompaniments of desire, hope, and fear, are sufficient
to neutralize any enjoyment that may arise from ideal bliss.
Consequently, 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 friends 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 Cyrenaics denied that there is anything just, or
honourable, or base, by nature ; all depended on the laws and
customs. These laws and customs the wise man obeys, to
avoid punishment 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 disinterested impulses.
ARISTOTLE.. [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 Eudemian 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 Eudemian Ethics, are considered by Sir A. Grant, though
not by other critics, to have been composed by Eudernus, the
supposed author of this second treatise, and a leading disciple
of Aristotle.
Like 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 leading 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 First discusses the Chief Good, or the Highest End
of all human endeavours. Every exercise of the human
powers aims at some good; all the arts of life have their
several ends — medicine, ship-building, generalship. Bat 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
prehends the welfare of the individual (Chaps. L, II.) .
As regards the method of the science, the highest exactness
is not attainable ; the political art studies what is just,
honourable, and good ; and these are matters about which the
478 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE.
utmost 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 of life,
and given to follow their impulses, can hardly appreciate our
reasoning, and will derive no benefit from it : but reason
able men will find the knowledge highly profitable (III.).
Resuming the main question — 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 happiness
(evdaipovt'a) ; but great differences as to the nature of the
thing. The many regard it as 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 ; 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, — an Idea of the Good, apart from all the particulars, yet
imparting to each its property of being good (IV.).
Referring to men's lives (as a clue to their notions of the
good), we find three prominent varieties ; the life of pleasure
or sensuality, — the political life, aspiring to honour, — and the
contemplative life. The first is the life of the brutes, although
countenanced by men high in power. The second is too
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 to be honoured for his virtue and by
good judges — thus showing that he too regards virtue as the
superior good. Yet 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; the recognized goods (i.e., varieties of good) cannot
be brought under one Idea; moreover, even granting the reality
of such an Idea, it is useless for all practical purposes. What
our science seeks is Good, human and attainable (VI.).
THE SUPREME 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 : and 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 complete and
excellent artist in his own craft : 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
(VII.).
Aristotle thus lays down the outline of man's supreme
Good or Happiness : which he declares to be the beginning or
principle (a/>xr)) of his 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 practical wisdom.
480 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE.
(Sokrates) ; in philosophy ; or in all those coupled
with pleasure (Plato, in the Philebus). Agreeing with 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 excellent man ; which must be taken as conclusive
respecting the happiness, as well as the honourable pre-emi
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 in act, without some aid from friends
and property ; nor can he be happy if his person is disgusting
to behold or his parentage vile (VIII.).
This last admission opens the door to those that plac&
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 man, it ought
to be this ; but whether such be the case or not, it is at any
rate the most divine and best of all 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 term
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
happ}>- 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 be
made thoroughly miserable. If he be moderately supplied as
to external circumstances, he is to be styled happy ; that is,
WHEREIN DOES MAN'S EXCELLENCE CONSIST? 4-81
happy as a man — as far as man can reasonably expect. Even
after his decease he will be affected, yet only feebly affected,
by the good or ill fortune of his surviving children. Aristotle
evidently assigns little or no value to presumed posthumous
happiness (XL).
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 conducive to some ulterior end ;
while the chief good must be an End in itself, for the sake of
which everything else is done (XIL). [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
Rational 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 (0imicoV), which seems most
active in sleep ; a state where bad men and good are on a par,
and which is incapable of any human excellence. The next
portion is the Appetitive (iviOvfi^TtKov)^ 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
(a/»ery) or virtue, is either of the Appetitive part, — moral
(r]6iKi'j) virtue ; or of the Reason — intellectual (diavorj-iicr]) vir
tue. Liberality and temperance are Moral virtues ; philosophy,
intelligence, and wisdom, Intellectual (XIII.).
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
(e0os) ; 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
31
482 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE.
upward, or fire the habit of moving downward. These moral
excellencies are neither a part of our 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 exerciss 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 habit.']
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 must be conformable
to right reason : every one admits this, and we shall explain
it further in a future book. But 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 circum
stances of the case. Still, however, something may be done
to help him. Here 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 (?}#//c?y fifjertjj 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
VIRTUE DEFINED. 483
to make virtue consist in apathy, or insensibility ; but Aristotle
would regulate, and not extirpate our sensibilities (III.)-
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
man 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 enough. 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 knowing, 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
a proper motive, in order to virtue.]
Aristotle now sets himself to find a definition of virtue,
per genus et differentiam. There are three qualities in the
Soul — Passions (TTO'%), as Desire, Anger, Fear, &c., followed
by pleasure or pain; Capacities or Faculties (<5vi>a/uf*), as our
capability of being angry, afraid, affected by pity, &c. ; Fixed
tendencies, acquirements, or states (e^ets). To which of the
three does virtue or excellence belong ? It cannot be a
Passion ; for passions are not in themselves good or evil, and
are not accompanied with deliberate choice (Tr/joat/jetm), will,
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
(ejfts) — 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 j
484 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE.
Milo must have 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 detect 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 genus, as above
established, the complete definition is given thus — 'Virtue is
an acquirement or fixed state, tending by deliberate purpose
(genus), towards a mean relative to us (difference).' To which
is added the following all-important qualification, ' determined
by reason (/XoVyov), and as the judicious man (o 0/joVt/tos) 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 ' (/terror?;?),
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 from 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, Amiability 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 all things, and of
correctly estimating all 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
(aiffOi'jaiv.^)
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 voluntary 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
tary. 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 excusat, ignorantia
juris non excusat.'] If the agent, when better informed,
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 — ARISTOTLE.
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 than those of reason (I.).
The next point is the nature of Purpose, Determination, or
Deliberate Preference (Trpoaifx-ffi*), 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 (/W>\?/<7<?),
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 (£<?'£>/), 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-deli-
berated action and its results? (II.)
To answer this query, Aristotle analyzes the process oi
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, that are regulated by necessity,
by nature, or by chance ; things out of our power ; also final
ends of action, for we deliberate 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
(Tr/Joa/^ecT/s). 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 End. 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 AND VICE ARE VOLUNTARY. 487
out an incorrect choice to be 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 individual. The object of. Wish, simply,
truly, and absolutely, is the Good; while 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 virtuous 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 (ifravrtiaid) 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
•ASS ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE.
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 foregoing1 account of the Ethical questions con
nected with the Will, Aristotle is happily unembroiled with
the modern controversy. The mal-apropos 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 the 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 not on of factitious dignity. Virtue is assumed to be
voluntary, not on the evidence of fact, but because there would
be an indujnihj 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 Voluntary and In
voluntary, Aristotle takes up the consideration of the Virtues
in order, beginning with COURAGE, which was one of the
received cardinal virtues, and a subject of frequent discussion.
(Plato, Laches, Protagoras, Republic, &c.)
Courage (ai/5/ae/u), 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 will not acquire the reputation of courage from not fearing
these, nor will he acquire it if he be exempt from 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 great 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 evil. 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 both fears, and affronts
COUKAGE INCLUDES SELF-SACRIFICE. 489
without 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 by 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 effect of Experi
ence, which dispels seeming terrors, and gives skill to meet
real danger. (3) Anger, Spirit, Energy (Ov/ao?) is a species of
courage, 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 endurance 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 line should be drawn
between two aspects of courage. The one is the resistance
to Fear properly so called; that is, to the perturbation that
exaggerates coming evil : a courageous man, in this sense, is
one that possesses the true 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-sacrifice, 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE.
standing as a cardinal virtue. From this circumstance,
paganism is made to appear in a somewhat disadvantageous
light, as regards self-denying duties.]
Next in order among the excellences or virtues of the
irrational department of mind is TEMPERANCE,, or Moderation,
(owfipocvi'rj}, 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;, 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-
pera,nce 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 (XL). 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 voluntary, 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 all 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 (eXevOepio-)^-'), in the matter of property, is the
mean of Prodigality and Illiberality. The right uses of
money are spending 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
LIBERALITY. — M AGNIFICENC E. — 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 (/iG^/aXoTr/jeTrem) 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 wav a man of science (o £e fjie^aXoTrpeirt^ cTriffrij/bio^i eoiice —
II.). The motive must be honourable, the outlay unstinted,
and the effect 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 effect of a great outlay (II.)-
MAGNANIMITY, or HIGH-MINDEDNESS (^^aXo^x/n), 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 will 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 — ARISTOTLE.
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 (III.).
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 (TT^HO'T?;*?) 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 (ardpaxo?), 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. Not 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 foregoing is the observance of a due
mean, in the matter of Boastfulness. The boastful lay claim
to what they do not possess ; false modesty (eipiavda) is deny
ing or underrating one's own merits. The balance of the
two is the straightforward and truthful 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 AND CORRECTIVE. 493
serious aspect, as discriminating 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 (atdw?) is briefly described, without being put
through the comparison with its extremes. It is more a
feeling 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 mind, 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 arid 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 ETHIC A.L SYSTEMS — 1HISTOTLE.
of Commercial 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 (VI.). 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 indifference prior to
such adoption. Some persons regard all Justice as thus
conventional. They say — ' What exists by nature is un
changeable, and has everywhere the same power ; for example,
fire burns alike in Persia and here ; but we see regulations of
justice often varied — differing 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 fit 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. Tiiose regulations
of justice that are not by nature, but by human appointment,
are not the same everywhere ; nor is the political constitutioa
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 (VIIL).
Here a question arises, Can one be injured voluntarily ? It
Beems 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 outset, 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 affair 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 no place in a treatise on Ethics. But
the theory of Aristotle is altogether different. 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
Reason. 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
First Principles are here declared to be, fixed emotional states
or dispositions, engendered in the mind of the agent by a suc
cession of similar acts. 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 life, 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 Calculative, or
Deliberative (dealing with contingent matter). We must
496 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE.
touch upon the excellence or best condition of both of them (I.).
There are three principal functions of the soul — Sensation,
Reason, 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 Reason, 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 calculation. 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 (/} Touting apx?] avOpwTro^j.
Science has to do with the necessary and the eternal ; it
is teachable, but teachable always from prcecognita, 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.).
Prudence or Judiciousness ((fipovvjai*, the quality of o
0yt)oVtyu,o9), 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 the 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 VIRTUE. '497
men, as there are good and bad artists. 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 (i/ot)§) is the faculty
for apprehending the first principles of demonstrative science.
It is among the infallible faculties of the mind, together
with Judiciousness, Science, and Philosophy. Each of
these terms connotes truth and accuracy (VI.). Wisdom in
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 (<ro0m) 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 z/ot)? and eV^TT^yu,?/
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 affairs 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 — ARISTOTLE.
whereas prudence 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 Reason (No/)?)
or Intellect, but at the opposite extremity of the mental pro
cess. For Intellect (No/)?) apprehends the extreme Univer
sal^ — the first principles, — themselves not deducible, bub 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] (VIII.).
Good counsel (ev/3ov\/a) is distinguished from various
other qualities. It is, in substance, choosing right means
to a good end ; the end being determined by the great faculty
— Prudence or Judiciousness (IX.). Sagacity (avveai?) 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 (-yWyx?/) 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 different intellectual excellences just named — Con
siderateness, Sagacity, Prudence (0/>oV?y«T<9), and Intellect
(No??), 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 (Not)?) 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 principia of demonstrations : in
THEORY OF PKUDENCE. 499
practical dealings, it estimates the minor propositions of the
syllogism, the possibilities of the situation, and the ultimate
action required. All these are the principia 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 (Not)?). 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 all ; 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 is,
we have from the moment of birth a certain aptitude for
becoming temperate, courageous, just, &c. But these natural
aptitudes or possessions (QvaiKal egei?) 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 none
500 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ARISTOTLE.
of them can exist without prudence. The virtues ought to
be defined as, not merely ethical dispositions according to right
reason, but ethical dispositions along witli right reason or
prudence (i.e., prudence is an ever present co-efficient). It
is thus abundantly 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 finished
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 (XIII.).
Book Seventh has two Parts. Part first discusses the
grades of moral strength and moral weakness. Part second
is a short dissertation "on Pleasure, superseded bv 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 (aw^poavvr)} — appetite and passion
perfectly harmonized with reason. (8) Continence (e^/k-pdreta)
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 (L).
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 STRENGTH AND MORAL WEAKNESS. 501
"knowledge 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
having knowledge ? 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 to 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 (IV.).
The modes of Bestiality, as cannibalism and unnatural
passion, are ascribed to morbid depravity of nature or of
habits, analogous to disease or madness (V.).
Incontinence in anger is not so bad as Incontinence in
lust, because anger (1) has more semblance of reason, (2) is
more a matter of constitution, (3) has less of deliberate pur
pose — while lust is crafty, (4) arises under 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
temperate 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 (VII.). Intemperance or
502 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AEISTOTLE.
profligacy is more vicious, and less curable than Incontinence.
The profligate man is one who has in him no principle («/>x?/)
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. TLe 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 oil
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 unlikeriess ? 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 varieties 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 friends.
It may happen that two persons are mutually pleasant to each
qther, 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 oar
wishing to do good to the object of it, as friendship does (V.).
The parfect 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 o^har for the pleasant. Both qualities are found in the
good man ; but he will 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 father 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
mothers ; but the generality of persons desire rather to be
loved, which is akin to being honoured (although honour is
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, neither
party ever desiring base services. Friendships for the useful
are based on the contrariety of fulness and defect, as poor and
rich, ignorant 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
munity for the sake of advantage ; the expedient to all 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 Civil Government,
with a characteristic declension or perversion of each : —
Monarchy passing into Despotism ; Aristocracy into OH-
garcby ; Tiinocracy (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,
and from 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 (XII.). 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 the rule
must be for each to reciprocate liberally and fully, in such
manner and kind 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 (J.). Cases may arise of conflicting
obligation ; as, shall we prefer a friend to a deserving man ?
shall a person robbed reciprocate to robbers ? and others. [We
have here the germs of Casuistry.] (II.) As to the termina-
VARIETIES OF FRIENDSHIP. 505
tion of Friendship ; in the case of the useful and the pleasant,
the connexion ceases with the motives. In the case of the good,
it may happen that one party counterfeits the 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
seif-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 full of repent
ance (IV.). Good-will is different from friendship ; it is a
sudden impulse of feeling towards some distinguished or like
able quality, as in an antagonist. It has not the test of longing
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 (VI.).
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 sufficient 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 ; while the recipient has
the less lovable idea of profit. Finally, 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— ARISTOTLE.
&c. These noble-minded men procure 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 ; but the bad man ought not to love himself.
[Self-sacrifice, formerly brought under Courage, is here
depicted from another point of view] (VIII.).
By way of bringing 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 will 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 affection, 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 (XL). 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 01' 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 principium^ of good ethical dispositions.
Such a topic can never be left unnoticed, especially when we
look at the great difference of opinion thereupon. Some
affirm 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 PLEASURE. 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 Eudoxus 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 the 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 point ; 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 (II.).
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, but unlimited, or admitting of degrees,
while The Good is a something definite, and fines 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 degrees, 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 SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE.
tion. In all generation, there is something assignable out 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 corporeal, not mental
facts, and are applicable only to eating and drinking ; 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 per se (HI.).
He then attempts to define pleasure. It is something 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, &c. Each has its accessory 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 pleasures accessory and consummating to each,
are diversified accordingly. Each pleasure contributes 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 attached 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 indi
vidual and pain to another. The things that appear sweet
to the strong and healthy man, do not appear sweet to one
suffering from fever, or weakly. Now, amidst this discrep
ancy, what appears to the virtuous and intelligent man, really
510 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ARISTOTLE.
is. His pleasures are the true and real pleasures. Excellence,
and the good man qudtenus 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 (eW/a-yem), and not an acquirement or state (e^f;?);
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 thev 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 of
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 comic, because they proceed from tbe i
better part of man. The slave may enjoy bodily pleasures to !
the full, but a slave is not called happy (VL).
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 (Nof'v), our
most divine and commanding element ; in its exercise, which
is theoretical or speculative, having respect to matters honour- l
able, divine, and most worthy of study. Such philosophical
THE LIFE OF PHILOSOPHY. 511
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, the 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 allied to themselves. A
moderate supply of good health, food, and social position,
must undoubtedly be ensured to the philosopher ; for, without
these, human nature will 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— AEISTOTLE.
happiness than any one else. Aristotle declares this confi
dently, citing Solon, Anaxagoras, and other sages, as having
said much the same before him (VIII.)-
In the concluding chapter, Aristotle gives the transition
from Ethics to Politics. Treatises on virtue 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
will 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 Will, 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 II. — It is characteristic of Aristotle (as is fully i
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 asj 1
the doctrine of the Mean, but in the application of these
THE STOICAL SUCCESSION. 513
(which is every tiling), he trusts to the most experienced and
skilled advisers that the community can furnish.
III. — On the theory of Happiness, or the Summum Bonum,
it is needless to repeat the abstract of the tenth book.
IV. — In laying down the Moral Code, he was encumbered
with the too wide view of Virtue ; but made an advance in
distinguishing virtue proper from excellence in general.
Y. — 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 morality of
obligation from the morality of reward and nobleness.
VI. — His exclusion 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 Poecile (' 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 Jupiter is the only fragment 01
any length that has come down to us from the early Stoics,
and is a remarkable production, setting forth the unity of God,
his omnipotence, and his moral government. CHRYSIPPUS,
from Soli in Cilicia (290 — 207 B.C.), followed 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 ANTIPATER of Tarsus, who taught
PANJTTIUS 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
— ATHENODORUS, from Cana in Cilicia ; and ARCHEDEMUS,
from Tarsus, the apostle's birthplace. It is remarked by Sir
A. Grant, that almost all the first Stoics were of Asiatic birth ;
33
514 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS.
and the system itself is undeniably more akin to the oriental
mind than to the Greek.) Posidonius was acquainted with
Marius and Pompey, and gave lessons to Cicero, but the moral
treatise of Cicero, De Offi.ciis, is derived from a work of Panastius.
The third period of Stoicism is Roman. In this period, we have
Cato the Younger, who invited to his house the philosopher
Athenodorus ; and, under the Empire, the three Stoic philo
sophers, whose writings have come down to us — SENECA (6 B.C.
— 65 A.D.), EPICTETUS (60 — 140 A.D.), who began life as a
slave, and the Emperor MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS (121 —
180 A.D.). Stoicism prevailed widely in the Roman world,
although not to the exclusion of Epicurean views.
The leading Stoical doctrines are given in certain phrases
or expressions, as ' Life according to Nature ' (although this
phrase belongs also to the Epicureans), the ideal ' Wise Man,'
'Apathy,' or equanimity of mind (also an Epicurean ideal),
the power of the 'Will,' the worship of 'Duty,' the constant
' Advance ' in virtue, &c. But perspicuity will be best gained
by considering the Moral system under 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.
I. — The THEOLOGICAL doctrines of the Stoics comprehended
their system of the Universe, and of man's position in it. They
held that 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 are happy, while mis
fortunes happen to the wicked. According to Epictetus, God
is the father of men ; Antoninus exults in the beautiful 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 the same replies, as have been given in
modern 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
STOIC AJL 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 evil 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 First 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 greater 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 intellectual 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.
II. — In the PSYCHOLOGY 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 and Pain. The Stoics agreed
with the Peripatetics (anterior to Epicurus, not specially
against Jiiin) that the first principle of nature is (not pleasure
or relief from pain, but) self-preservation or selj-love; in other
words, the natural appetite or tendency of all creatures is, 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 all desires of particular pleasures, as well
as in all aversions to particular pains. We begin by loving
our own vitality ; and we come, by association, to love
what promotes or strength en sour vitality ; we hate destruction
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 tho
sake of life ; for he affirms the two to be essentially yoked
together and inseparable ; pleasure is the consummation of
our vital manifestations. 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 Epicurus.
The primary qfficium (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 officium is to keep to such
things as are according to nature, and to avert those that are
contrary to nature; our gradualty 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 those around him, — as power
ful aids towards keeping up the state of nature. When his
experience is so far enlarged as to make him aware of the
order and harmony of nature and human society, and to
impress upon him 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 Bonum 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 prima natures that he had begun by desiring.
He no longer considers any of them as worthy of being desired
in 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
and activity, is the primary element, intuitive and connate,
to which all rational preference (cfficium) was at first referred,
— they thought it not the less true, that in process of time, by
experience, association, and reflection, there grows up in the
mind a grand 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 The 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 prceposita or sumenda). 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 our
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 our power, we may connect the arguments
between the Stoics and their opponents as to what is
now called the Freedom of the Will. But we must first
begin by distinguishing the two questions. By things in
our power, the Stoics meant, things that we could do ior
acquire, if we willed: 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 fact:
the question, what determined it — or whether it was non-
determined, i.e. self- determining — was not raised in the above-
mentioned antithesis. But it was raised in other discussions
between the Stoic theorist Chrysippus, 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
soul includes 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, but self- originating,
and belonging to the class of agency that Aristotle recog
nizes under the 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 soul, but also the reality of all that
Aristotle called automatic or spontaneous agency generally.
Chrysippus said that every movement was determined by
antecedent motives ; that in cases of equal conflict, the
exact equality did not long continue, because some new but
slight motive slipped in unperceived and turned 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 different 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 wills 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
FEEEDOM OF THE WILL. 519
controlling or suppressing some emotions, generating or en
couraging others, forming new intellectual 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 shame 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 :
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
modern times the Freedom of the Will (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 men'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.
question what the proper type of character was : but each of
them aimed at the same general end — a new type of character,
regulating the grades of susceptibility to different motives.
And the purpose of all and each of these moralists precludes
the theory of free-will — i.e., the theory that our volitions are
self-originating and unpredictable.
III. — We must consider next the Stoical theory of Happi
ness, or rather of the Guod, which with them was proclaimed
to be the sole, indispensable, and self-sufficing condition of
Happiness. They declared that Pleasure was no part of Good,
and Pain no part of Evil ; therefore, that even relief from pain
was not necessary to Good or Happiness. This, however, if
followed out consistently, would dispense with all morality and
all human 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
Rejicienda* Substantially, therefore, they held that pains
are an evil, but, 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 followers partly by promising them the victory over pain,
and partly by certain enjoyments of an elevated cast that grew
out of their plan of life.
Pain of every kind, whether from the casualties of exis
tence, or from the severity of the Stoical virtues, was 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 Apatity or indifference. A great many reflections were
suggested in aid of this education. The influence of exercise
and repetition in adapting the system to any new function,
was illustrated by the Olympian combatants, and by the Lace
daemonian 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 could
ruffle the mind. It was pointed out how much might still be
* Aristotle and the Peripatetics held that there were tria genera bon-
orum : (1) Those of the mind (mem sanaj, (2) those of the body, and (3)
external advantages. The Stoics altered this theory by saying that only
the first of the three was bomim ; the others were merely prceposita or
sumenda. The opponents of the Stoics contended that this was an 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
patience, as with triple steel.' It has often been remarked
that such a discipline of endurance was peculiarly suited to
the unsettled condition of the world at the time, when any
man, in addition to the ordinary evils of life, 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 full 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.
IV. — 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
g-eneral interests— to family, country, mankind, the whole
* This also might truly be said of the Epicureans ; though with them
it is not so much pride, as a quiet self-satisfaction in escaping pains and
disappointments that they saw others enduring. See the beginning of
Lucretius' second book, and the last epistle of Epicurus to Idomeneus.
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 life, he has embraced an ideal of
virtue of the loftiest order. Accordingly, the Stoics were the
first to preach wbat is called ' Cosmopolitanism ;' for although,
in tbeir 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 w^orld is our city.' Seneca
urges kindness to slaves, for ^are they not men like ourselves,
breathing the same air, living and dying like ourselves ?r
The Epicureans declined, as much as possible, interference
in public affairs, but the Stoic philosophers urged men to the
duties of active citizenship. Chrysippus 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 life of pleasure ; though Plutarch observes that
neither Chrysippus nor Zeno ever meddled personally with
any public 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 Epictetus afterwards —
but in a position quite different from Seneca, the preceptor of
Nero, who might hope to influence the great imperial power
of Rome, 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 BENEFICENCE. 523
The Stoic recognized the gods (or Universal Nature,
equivalent expressions in his creed) as managing the affairs
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 J, 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 meditation and
philosophical teaching, 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 s}Tstem by the Stoics, and to a
great extent even by the Epicureans.
The Stoic was taught to reflect how 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 follows 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 that
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, of 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — THE STOICS.
the reciprocities of family, citizenship, and common humanity.
The Stoic theorists agreed with Epicurus in inculcating the
reciprocities of justice between all fellow-citizens ; and they
even went farther than he did, by extending the sphere of
such duties beyond the limits of city, so as to comprehend all
mankind. But as to the reciprocities of individual friendship,
Epicurus went beyond the Stoics, by the amount of self- sacrifice
and devotion that he enjoined for the benefit 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, shorb
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
meaning 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 exhortations 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 Roman spirit and legislation. The early Stoics
had two different words, — one for the ' suitable' («-u0/}*oi/), or
incomplete propriety, admitting of degrees, and below the
point of rectitude, and another for the 'right' (Varo/j^o/m), or
complete rectitude of action, which none could achieve except
the wise man. It is a significant circumstance that the
1 suitable' is the lineal ancestor of our word ' duty' (through
the Latin officium).
It was a great point with the Stoic to be conscious of
' advance ' or improvement.* By self-examination, he kept
* This was a later development of Stoicism : the earlier theorists laid
it down that there were no graduating marks below the level of wisdom ;
all shortcomings were on a par. Good was a point, Evil was a point ;
there were gradations in the prceposita or sumenda (none of which were
good], and in the rtjecta or rejicienda (none of which were evil), but there
was no wore or less good. The idea of advance by steps towards virtue
or wisdom, was probably familiar 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 mental
training and meditation.
SELF-CONTRADICTIONS OF STOICISM. 525
himself constantly acquainted with 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 friends. 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 all motives to benevo
lence ; and virtue, instead of being set on a loftier pinnacle,
is left without any foundation.
EPICURUS. [341 -270 B.C.].
Epicurus was born 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 simple, 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 La.ertius 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 Horn an Empire, the im
portant writings of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Antoninus,
afford most valuable evidence.
To Epicurus succeeded, in the leadership of his school,
526 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — EPICURUS.
Hermarchus, Polystratus, Dionysius, 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 Rerum Natura), being the completest account
of the system that exists. Other distinguished followers were
Horace, Atticus, and Lucian. In modern times, Pierre
Gassendi (1592 — 1655) revived the doctrines of Epicurus,
and in 1647 published his ' Syntagma Philosophic Epicuri,'
and a Life of Epicurus. The reputation of Gassendi, in his
life time, rested chiefly upon his physical theories ; but his in
fluence was much felt as a Christian upholder of Epicureanism.
Gassendi 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, Moliere, Saint Evremond, Count de Grammont, the
Duke of Rochefoucalt, Fontenelle, and Voltaire.
The standard of Virtue and Vice is referred by Epicurus
to pleasure and pain. Pain is the only evil, Pleasure is the
only good. Virtue is no end in itself, 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 suffering.*
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 differing 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 by his followers after him, called the
Cyrenaics. Lastly, it was maintained by Eudoxus, one of the most
estimable philosophers contemporary with Aristotle. Epicurus was thus
in no way the originator of the theory : but he had his own way of con
ceiving 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.
REGULATION OF THE DESIRES. 527
and enjoyment of pleasure. It is essential, however, to
understand, how Epicurus conceived pleasure and pain, and
what is the Epicurean scale of pleasures and pains, graduated
as objects of 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 Epicurean. 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 continuous
drinkings and revellings, nor the society of women, nor rare
viands, and other 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 affects the will.
A neutral state of feeling is necessarily imperilled by a greedy
pursuit of pleasures; hence the dictum, to be content with
little is a 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 natural 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 varies the pleasure. Hence
the luxuries which go beyond the relief of our wants are
thoroughly superfluous ; and the desires arising from them
(forming the second grade) though natural, are not necessary.
A third class of desires is neither natural nor 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 account 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 most 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 discipline. 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 rny life, which, 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 towards philosophy.'
Bodily pain might thus be alleviated, when it occurred ; it
might be greatly 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 HUMAN MISERY. 529
was at any rate terminated, or terminable at pleasure, by
death.
In the view of Epicurus, the chief miseries of life arose,
not from bodily pains, but partly from delusions of hope, and
exaggerated aspirations for wealth, honours, power, &c., in
all which the objects appeared most seductive 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
death, as announced by prophets and poets, and Fear of the
Gods. 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 us (he said) ; when 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
lity 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 tbe 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 of man
kind. Epicurus believed sincerely in the gods ; reverenced
them as beings at once perfectly happy, immortal, and un
changeable ; and took delight in the public religious festivals
and ceremonies. 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 soul, according to Epicurus, was a subtle but energetic com
pound (of air, vapour, heat, and another nameless ingredient), with its best
parts concentrated in the chest, yet pervading and sustaining the whole
body ; still, however, depending for its support on the body, and incapable
of separate or disembodied continuance.
34
530 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — EPICUKUS.
accomplish some object desired but not yet attained — in short,
to fill up 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, but of 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
stood 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 so 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, f
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, Aristotle
assigns theorizing contemplation to the gods, as the only process worthy
of their exalted dignity and supreme felicity.
f Xenophon Memor. I. 1—10 ; IV. 3—12
RECIPROCITY OF JUSTICE AND OF FRIENDSHIP. 531
this is not the whole of the Epicurean Ethics. The system
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, or reciprocity, was essential to
social companionship: those 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. Yet he declined to recommend an established
community of goods among the members of his fraternity, 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.*
* These exhortations to active friendship were not unfruitful. We
know, even by the admission of witnesses adverse to the Epicurean
doctrines, that the harmony among the members of the sect, with common
veneration for the founder, was more marked and more enduring than
532 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 Grods.*
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 management 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
and rivals. The harmony among the Epicureans 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 philosophical communion
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.
FKEE-WILL. 533
as much pleasure as our bodily organs are capable of affording.
Fortitude 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. The 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.
Bat 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 auxiliary hypothesis ;
534 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — EPICURUS.
they affirmed that he invented the individual deflection of each
atom, without assigning any cause, and only because he was
perplexed by the mystery of man's f Tee-will. But Epicurus
was not more open to attack on tin's 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 unfelt 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 contained
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 Menceceus) 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
Epicurus meant by Pleasure was, not what most people meant
by it, but 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 evGvpia. This 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-PLATONISTS.
PLOTINUS (A.D. 205— 70),.PORPHYEY, &c.
Constructed with reference to the broken-down state of
ancient society, and seeking its highest aim in a regenera
tion of humanity, the philosophical system of Neo-Platonism
was throughout ethical or ethico-religious in 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 cosrnological and psychological
doctrines, their place in the works, as now arranged, is to be
regarded as arbitrary. The soul having fallen from its
original condition, and, in consequence and as a penalty,
having become united with a material body, the one true
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 con
tent with the world of sense, wisdom consists in pursuing
pleasure 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 Reason.
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 — THE NEO-PLATONISTS.
means of the KaOapzeiso? purifying virtues ; where it is sought to
root out, instead of merely moderating, the sensual affections.
If the soul is thus altogether freed from the dominion of sense,
it becomes at once able to follow its natural bent 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 unknown 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 up'on the undisturbed life of contemplation.
If this recalls, at least in name, the Aristotelian ideal, there
are points added that appear to be echoes of Stoicism. Rapt
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-Platonie
teaching is at variance with Stoical doctrine. Though its
first and last precept is to rid the soul from the bondage of
matter, it warns against the attempt to sever body and soul
by suicide. By no forcible separation, which would be
followed 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-Platonisrn. 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 turn, 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 soul ;
the contemplative life, as the result of complete purification
ABAELARD. 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 form, 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 till perchance the state comes on. It is one of ineffable
bliss, but, from the nature of man, transitory and rare.
SCHOLASTIC ETHICS.
ABAELARD (1079-1142) has a special treatise on the subject
of Ethics, entitled Scito ie 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
sophy 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. Yet, 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-
scientia). All actions, he says, are in themselves indifferent,
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 (consensus^ is clearly established, there is peccatum,
though the action remains unexecuted. When the consensus
is absent, as in original sin, there is only vitium ; 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 moral conviction, an action
is not to be called good, yet it is not so bad as an action
objectively right but done against conscience. Thus, with
out allowing that conscientious 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 j
not listening to their conscience, they spared their victims. |
But this means only that by following conscience we avoid
sinning; for virtue in the full sense, it is necessary that the I
conscience should have judged rightly. By what standard, |
however, this is to be ascertained, he nowhere clearly says, j
Contemptus Dei, given by him as the real and only thing that j
constitutes an action bad, is merely another subjective de* i
scription.
ST. BERNARD of Clairvaux (1091-1153), the strenuous j
opponent of Abaelard, and the great upholder of mysticism j
against rationalism in the early scholastic period when the i
two were not yet reconciled, gave utterance, in the course of
Ins mystical effusions, to some special views of love and dis- j
interestedness.
There are two degrees of Christian virtue, Humility and j
Charity or Love. When men look into themselves, and behold j
the meanness that is found there, the fitting state of mind is, I
first, humility ; but soon the sense of their very weakness j
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 from ]
meriting, not from seeking. It is purely voluntary, and, as a I
free 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, j
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 i
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 AEISTOTLE. 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 uses 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 staunchest 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 Policraticus especially, but also in his other works,
the foundations and provisions of his moral system are found.
He has no distinction to draw in Ethics between theology and
philosophy, but uses Scripture 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 j or, otherwise expressed, there are the
various affections that have their roots in sense and centre in
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
lie is in the natural state of sin ; if, amid great conflict arid
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 Aristotelian text. But in
540 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SCHOLASTIC ETHICS.
Ethics, the nature of the subject demanded of men in
their position a less entire submission to the doctrines of
the pagan philosopher ; and here accordingly they clung
to the traditional 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 Platonism 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 bound besides to
works of supererogation : first of all, to take on the con- |
dition of poverty ; while the state of mystic contemplation j
remains as a still higher goal for the few. ALBERT THE GREAT i
(1193-1280), the most learned and complete commentator of j
Aristotle that had yet appeared, divide the whole subject of j
Ethics into Monastic^ (Economica, and Politico,. In this I
division, which is plainly suggested by the Aristotelian division j
of Politics in the large sense, the term Monastica not inaptly i
expresses the reference that Ethics has to the conduct of men j
as individuals. Albert, however, in commenting on the j
jSTicomachean Ethics, adds exceeedingly little to the results of j
his author beyond the incorporation of a few Scriptural ideas.
To the cardinal virtues he appends the virtutes adjunct®, \
Faith, Hope, and Charity, and again in his compendious work, •
Summa Theologies, distinguishes them as infusce, the cardinal j
being considered as acquisitce.
Besides his commentaries on the Aristotelian works (the i
Ethics included) and many other writings, THOMAS AQUINAS |
(1226-74) left two large works, the Summa philosophic} ,
and the famous Summa Tkeologice. 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 theological purposes
that the whole practical philosophy of Aquinas is contained,
it is to be inferred that he regarded the subject of Ethics
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 unusual
tendency to desert Aristotle, at the really critical moments,
for Plato or Plotinus, or any other authority of a more theo
logical cast.
In the (unfinished) Summa Theologies, the Ethical views
and cognate questions occupy the two sections of the second
part — the so-called prima and secunda secundoe. 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 consecutio, that is, a possessing. Desire
precedes consecutio, 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
to pleasure. Thomas concludes that the consecutio, or hap
piness, is an act of the intelligence ; what pleasure there is
being a mere accidental accompaniment.
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 far surpassing demonstrative knowledge or
542 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— SCHOLASTIC ETHICS.
mortal faith — he is more theologian than philosopher, or if
a philosopher, more Platonist than Aristotelian.
The condition of perfect happiness being a theoretic or
intellectual state, the visio, and not the delectatio, is consistently j
given as its central fact; and when he proceeds to consider the j
other questions of Ethics, the same superiority is steadily j
ascribed to the intellectual function. It is because we know a
thing to be good that we wish it, and knowing it, we cannot i
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 i
appetitive side of human nature, over which Reason is called i
to rule, he is brought to the subject of virtue. He is Aristo
telian enough to describe virtue as habitus — a disposition or I
quality (like health) whereby a subject is more or less well dis- j
posed with reference to itself or something else ; and he takes
account of the acquisition of good moral habits (virtutes 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 j
quality of mind, quam .Deus in nobis sine nolis operatur, as
a ground for virtutes infusce, conferred as gifts upon man, or
rather on certain 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 j
will for good ends, it may be used in the first sense, and thus j
the intellectual virtues will be the habits of intelligence that i
procure the truest knowledge. The well-known division of
the cardinal virtues is his next theme ; and it is established as j
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- Platonic i
description of the four virtues as politicee, piirgatorice, and I
purgati animi, according to the scale of elevation reached '<
by the soul in its efforts to mount above sense. They are :
called by Thomas also exemplares, when regarded at once;
AQUINAS ON THE VIRTUES. 543
as the essence of the Deity, and as the models of human
perfections.
This mystical division, not unsupported by philosophical
authority, smooths the way for his account of the highest
or theological virtues. These bear upon the vision of Deity,
which was recognized above 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 arc
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 us.
Aquinas thc'n 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 De 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,
ifter discussing Sense, Imagination, Train of Imaginations,
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,
)r voluntary. Vital motions, e.g., circulation, nutrition, &c.,
iced no help of imagination ; on the other hand, voluntary
notions, as going and speaking — since they depend on a pre-
^edent thought of whither, which way, and what — have in
544 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HOBBES.
the imagination their first beginning. Bat imagination is
only the relics of sense, and sense, as Hobbes always declares,
is motion in the human organs communicated by objects
without ; consequently, visible voluntary motions begin in
invisible internal motions, whose nature is expressed by the
word Endeavour. 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 describes 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 parti
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 representa
tive person, or to an arbitrator if chosen to settle a dispute.
Good in the promise is pulchrum, for which there is no exact
English term ; good in the effect, as the end desired, is ;
delightful ; good as the means, is useful or profitable. There
is the same variety of evil.
His next topic is Pleasure. As sense is, in reality, motion,
but, in 'apparenceS light or sound or odour; so appetite, in
reality a motion or endeavour effected in the heart by
action of objects through the organs of sense, is, in 'appar-
ence,' delight or trouble of mind. The emotion, whose
parence (i.e., subjective side) is pleasure or delight, seei
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, all desire and love; the other,
all aversion and hatred. Pleasures are either of sense;'
or of the mind, when arising from the expectation that pro
ceeds from the foresight of the ends or consequence of things.,
irrespective of their pleasing the senses or not. For these
mental pleasures, there is the general name joy. There is a!
corresponding division of displeasure into pain and grief.
All the other passions, he now proceeds to show, ar<
these simple passions — appetite, desire, love, aversion, hate
joy, and grief, diversified in name for divers considerations
SIMPLE PASSIONS. 545
Incidental remarks of ethical importance are these. Covet-
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. Pity 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 ; l 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. Tt is apparent good and evil, come at by the best
possible foresight of all the consequences of action, that excite
the appetites and aversions in deliberation. Felicity he defines
continual success in obtaining the things from time to time
desired ; perpetual tranquillity of mind being impossible in
this life, which is but motion, and cannot be without desire
and fear any more than without sense. The happiness of the
future 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 Greeks had also the word
/LiaKapiajLLo?, to express an opinion of a man's felicity.
In Chapter VII., Of the Ends of Discourse, he is led to
remark on the meaning of Conscience, in connection with the
word Conscious. Two or more men, he says, are conscious of
a thing when they know it together (con-scire.} Hence arises
the proper meaning of conscience ; and the evil 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 VIII. by denning 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, and 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 IX. is given his Scheme of Sciences. 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 falls 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 SovereigD,
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 Politics 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 containing
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 future 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.
Honour and dishonour 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
unlawful, 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 right 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 finis ultimus nor summum bonuin. The
aim of all men is, therefore, not only to enjoy once and for an
instant, but to assure for ever the way of future 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 hand, 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. Requitable benefits,
even from equals or inferiors, dispose to love ; for hence
548 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HOBBES.
arises emulation 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 effect 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 Religion 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. Differences 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 offen
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,
makino* 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 STA.TE OF NATUEE. 549
not actual fighting, bat the known disposition thereto, and
no assurance to the contrary.
He proceeds to draw a very dismal 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 lust ; 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 different 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
Jus Naturale 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 naturalis, is defined, a general rule,
550 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HOBBES.
found ont 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, Right being liberty, and Law
obligation.
In 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 seek peace and follow it, if possible : fail
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
Gospel 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 renounced,
when a man cares not for whose benefit ; transferred, when
intended to benefit some certain person or persons. In 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 injustice or injury, because he acts now sine Jure. Such
conduct Hobbes likens to an intellectual absurdity or self-
contradiction. Voluntary signs to be employed 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 the 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 distinguishes 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 Covenant of this other,
CONTRACT. — MERIT. 551
(a distinction 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, offered 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 mav 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 alike 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, wounds, imprisonment, &c. 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 corrupted. Accusation upon torture is not to be reputed
as testimony. At the close he remarks upon oaths. He finds
in human nature two imaginable helps to strengthen the force
of words, otherwise too weak to insure the performance of
covenants. One of these — pride 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. XV., the
third, that men perform their covenants made, opens up the
discussion of Justice. 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 there
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 breach of covenant as rebellion may sometimes be supposed
a means. For that, 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 commutative 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 will be an end to
benevolence and mutual help, unless gratitude is given as
compensation.
The 5th enjoins Complaisance; 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 Crueltt/.
The 8th is against Contumely, 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 llth 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
natural 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 like Intent
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
interno, to the extent of its being desired they should take
place ; but in foro externo, only when there is security. As
binding in foro interno, they can be broken even by an act
according 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 fulfilment 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 moral
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 all, 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 arid 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.
II. — 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,
comprehending 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 affections, 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
556 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — CUMBERLAND.
Laws of Nature, in force in the Natural State under Divine
Sanction. It inculcates all the common virtues, and makes
little or no departure from the usually received maxims.
Y . — 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 social) state, the laws of nature are superseded, by being
supposed taken up into, the laws of the Sovereign Power.
VI. — As regards Religion, he affirms the coincidence of his
reasoned deduction of the laws of Nature with the precepts of
Revelation. He makes a mild use of the sanctions of a Future
Life 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 Rational moralists, along with Wollaston and Price
(who fall to be noticed later).
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. [1632-1718.]
Cumberland's Latin work, De Legibus Naturae disquisitio
pliilosopliica contra Holibium 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 Good 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 Greatest 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 from the observation of their
effects, 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 way, 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, tbat such ideas are both born with us and
afterwards impressed upon us from without.
4. Will, he defines as ' the consent of the mind with the
judgment of the understanding, concerning things agreeing
558 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — CUMBERLAND.
among themselves.' Although, therefore, he supposes that
nothing but Good and Evil can determine the will, and that
the will is even necessarily determined to seek the one and
flee the other, he escapes the conclusion that the will is moved
only by private good, by accepting the implication of private
with common good as the fixed judgment of the understand
ing or right reason.
5. He argues against the resolution of all Benevolence
into self-seeking, 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 Law of
Nature, and is the most effectual means of promoting the
happiness of individuals, viz., through the happiness of all.
III. — Happiness is given as connected with the most full
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 Individual,
to the notion of Common Good, as the end of action. Reason
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 of all the
particular rational agents in their respective places, from God
(to whom he ventures to ascribe a Tranquillity, Joy, or Compla
cency) downwards. The happiness of men he considers as In
ternal, arising immediately from the vigorous exercise of the
faculties about their proper and noblest objects ; and External,
the mediate advantages procurable from God and men by a
course of benevolent action.
IV. — 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 Good 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 affections, or of
the body as determined by the will. From this he finds that
Prudence (including Constancy of Mind and Moderation) is
enjoined in the Understanding, and, in the Will, Universal
Benevolence (making, with Prudence, Equity), Government or
the Passions, and the Special Laws of Nature — Innocence, Self'
denial, Gratitude, fyc.
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 division 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 Eights of particular persons
are fixed and preserved, viz., that the common good of all
should be promoted by every one, — two Obligations are laid
upon all.
( 1 ) Of G LYING : 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, I/iberality, Generosity,
Compassion, &c.; (b) in regard to Common Conversation or
Intercourse, Gravity and Courteousness, Veracity, Faith,
Urbanity, &c.
(2) Of RECEIVING : 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 ; (5) with
regard to goods of fortune — Modesty, Humility, and Mag
nanimity.
V. — He connects Politics with Ethics, by finding, in the
establishment of civil government, a more effectual 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 — CUD WORTH.
by these. Practically, however, the difference between him
and Hobbes conies to very little ; he recognizes no kind of
earthly check upon the action of the civil power.
VI. — With reference to Religion, he professes 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.
RALPH CUDWORTH. [1617-88.]
Cudworth's Treatise concerning 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 Fate'
(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 piling 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 Commanded, 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 from
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 measureable; and if it be the
ETERNAL AND IMMUTABLE VERITIES. 561
case that above even his wisdom, and determining it in turn,
stands his Infinite Goodness, the greatest perfection of his
will must lie in its being thus twice determined.
By far the largest part of Cudworth's treatise consists of
a general metaphysical argument to establish the indepen
dence of the mind's faculty of Knowledge, with reference to
Sense and Experience. In Sense, according to the doctrine
of the old 'Atomical philosophy' (of Democritus, 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
and natures of things, and their unchangeable relations to one
another. These Rationes or Verities of things are intelligible
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 Will 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 matter — 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 Matter. 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 beings, 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 naturally 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—CLARKE.
lively Good and Due are such as are in themselves indifferent,
but the intellectual nature obliges to them accidentally or
hypothetically, upon condition, in the case of a command,
of some voluntary act of another person invested with lawful
authority, 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 recognises 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.
II. — The general Intellectual Faculty cognizes the moral
verities, which it contains within itself and brings rather than
finds.
III. — He does not touch upon Happiness ; probably he
would lean to asceticism. He sets up no moral code.
IV. — 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 thing's is.
O
SAMUEL CLAEKE. [1675-1729.]
CLARKE 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
Religion and the Truth and Certainty of the Christian
Revelation,' 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 different things or different
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 all 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 from 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 bring under this general head the
special case of differences of Persons (e.g., God and Man, Man
and Fellow-man), for the sake of the implication that to
different persons there belong peculiar 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
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 misunderstanding or wilful passion. Herein
564
ETHICAL SYSTEMS— CLARKE.
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 refuse
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 Punishments
(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 still 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 Good 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 God, 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
absurd makes the other unreasonable ; ' it would be impossible
for men not to be as much (!) ashamed of doing Iniquity, as
they are of believing Contradictions;' (2) Universal Love or
Benevolence, the promoting the welfare or happiness of all,
which is obligatory on various grounds : the Good 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 affinities, which means to found
society, for the sake of the more comfortable life that mutual
good offices bring. [This is a very confused deduction of an
obligation."] (c) Duties in respect to our Selves, viz., self-
preservation, 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 DEITY. 565
of Nature or Bight Reason, 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 the relations 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 expecta
tion of a future 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
i 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 Rewards and Punish
ments in a future state.
The summary of Clarke's views might stand 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 Reason ; its action a case of mere intellectual
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.
IV. — 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
tjelieving 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 Revelation. 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 ' Religion
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 indifferent 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, Wollaston makes large 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. [1632-1704.]
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
v/ith one another.
In Book I. of the ' Essay on the Understanding' he devotes
himself to the refutation 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 PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. 56?
1. The Innate Practical Principles are for the most part
not self-evident j. they are, in this respect, not on an equal
footing with the Speculative 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 they 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 as-sent, 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 for 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 up with this consideration, is the circumstance that
moral rules differ among men, according to their views of
happiness. The existence of God, and our 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 practised. 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 Morality (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 break 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
MORALITY TOO COMPLEX TO BE INNATE. 569
and cherish their children. If such a principle be innate, it
must 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 Reward or Punishment. And as punishment does
not always follow in this life, nothing 'less than a recognition
of Divine Law will suffice; 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 silently connive at such transgressions.
4. The supporters of innate principles are unable to point
out distinctly what they are.* Yet, if these were imprinted
* Locke examines the Innate Principles put forth by Lord Herbert
in his book De Veritate, 1st, There is a supreme governor of the world;
2nd, Worship is due to him; 3rd, Virtue, joined with Piety, is the best
Worship; 4th, Men must repent of their sins; 5th, 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 ta ; but he will 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 marks 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 God ; 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.
Nay 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
evil, 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 o1
different countries, educations, and tempers, and held as
unquestionable first principles ; but then the absurdity oi
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 Religion 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 Nature, and, while we are yet young,
seldom fails to make 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 much.}
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 future 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. XXVIII. 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— LOCKE.
jnoral 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 Reputation, a power often surpassing
in efficacy both the other sanctions.
Morality is the reference of all actions to 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 Reflection.
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 grea.t positions —
First, That the production of pleasure and pain to sentient
beings is the ultimate foundation 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 Nation, 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.
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE MORAL 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.]
BUTLER'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 wholly resolvable into Benevolence (that is, the
general good, or Utility*). This is shown by the fact that
* In this respect, Butler differs from both Shaftesbury and Hutcheson.
With Shaftesbury, the main function of the moral sense is to smile ap
proval on benevolent affections, by which an additional pleasure is thrown
into the scale against the selfish affections. The ' superiority of the
574 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BUTLER.
our approbation is not in proportion to the amount of happi
ness flowing from an action [he 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 principle 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, like Cudworth 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 affections, 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 disinterested
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 maintains, 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-affection, leading to the
' good of the private/ such as love of life, revenge, pleasure or aptitude
towards nourishment 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 affections.
WELL-BEING NOT THE END OF APPETITE. 575
Psychology, although he was not the first 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 seeking those ends, but some different
ends. Such are our various Appetites and Passions. Thus,
hunger promotes our private well-being, but in obeying its
dictates we are not thinking of that object, bat 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 conscience, and his whole treatment of it, have
created a great puzzle of classification, as to whether he is to be placed
ilong with the upholders of a ' moral sense. ' Shaftesbury is more ex
plicit : ' No sooner does the eye open upon figures, the ear to sounds,
;han straight the Beautiful results, and grace and harmony are known
md acknowledged. No sooner are actions viewed, no sooner the human
iffections discerned (and they are, most of them, as soon discerned as
elt), than straight an inward eye distinguishes the fair and shapely, the
imiable and admirable, apart from the deformed, the foul, the odious, or the
576 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BUTLER.
reflection in men, whereby they distinguish between, approve
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 urges him with added force and
with more steady persistency than any affection ; which prin
ciple must therefore be different 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. III. — Conscience, of
which the same is to be said.
His reply to the objection, — against our being made for
Benevolence, — founded on our mischievous 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 abuse 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, arid 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 part of our nature, there ,
despicable.'' ' In a creature capable of forming 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 the aff'ec- !
tions of pity, kindness, and gratitude, and their contraries, being brought
into the mind by reflection, become objects. 80 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 selfish affections, ' virtue ' is attained.
SUPREMACY OF CONSCIENCE. 577
being two other parts, namely, (1) Benevolence and Self-love,
and (2) the particular 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.
Bat, 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.
It 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, urged 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 kind 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 — BUTLER.
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
cerned about anything out of or beyond ourselves ? ' 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
having regard 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 discreprmcies in different 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 XI I.) 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 be all
possible concessions made to the favourite passion.
His mode of arguing is still the same as in the sermons on
CONNEXION OF 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 affections — 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 oat ; 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.
III. — With regard to the Summum 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 pursue
happiness ; that would be to fall into the narrow rut of self-
love, and would 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 in 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.
FRANCIS 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 cornpletest exposition of
his Ethics, Speculative and Practical, is followed here.
There are three books ; the first treating of Human Na
ture and Happiness ; 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
PRIMARY FEELINGS. 581
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 volitions. Acts of the will are selfish OK benevolent,
according as one's own good, or (as often really in fact hap
pens) the good of others is pursued. Two calm natural de
terminations of the will 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 gratifica
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 will.
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,
and 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 usefulness 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 all 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 and characters. This,
the Moral Sense, falls to be fully discussed later. Distinct
from our moral sense is the Sense of Honour or Shame, 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, further, 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 affections, 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 affections terminating ultimately in the
good of others, and constituted by nature (either alone, 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
could 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 cultivating 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 — HUTCHESON.
of the world by the Deity, this is nothing, unless by some
determination of the soul 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 the agent, or to the
approver, and this direct or imagined; tendency to procure
honour ; conformity to law, to truth, fitness, congruity, &c.-;
also education, association, &c. 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 relish, discerning 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, &e. — 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 consciousness ;
we must ever prefer moral good to the good apprehended by
the other perceptive powers. For 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 dignity, 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 affections — >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 similar 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 faculty 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 Y.
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. lu
586 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — HUTCHESOtf.
defence of the doctrine of a moral sense, against the argu
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. Bat the moral sense is
really more uniform. For, in every nation, it is the bene
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 moral approbation
are three : (1) Different notions of happiness and the means
of promoting it, whereby much that is peculiar in national
customs, &c., is explained, without reflecting upon the moral
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 I
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 j
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 j
supreme happiness of any being is the full enjoyment of all the !
gratifications its nature desires or is capable of; but, in case of I
their being inconsistent, the constant gratification of the higher, j
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 must be surrendered, and what of the second en-j
dured, in aiming at highest attainable happiness. Pleasures j
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 j
tastes regarding pleasures, he supposes the ultimate decision
HAPPINESS. 587
as to the value 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 transitory 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 offices of rational piety. The sympathetic
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 in 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
bliss. The pleasures of mirth, such as they are, fall in best
with virtue, and so, too, the pleasures of wealth and power,
in themselves unsatisfying. Anger, malice, 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 satisfaction
, 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 for 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 evil of excess in narrow gene
rous affection lies in the want of proportion ; in calm extensive
good-will 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, ill-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 God —
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 the 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 nobler virtues, espe
cially love and resignation to God, and of all 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 Con
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 II. is a deduction of the more special laws of nature
and duties of life, 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 the 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 difficulty 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.).
In Chapter II., he lays down general rules of judging 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 Idnd of the affections.
590 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — IIUTCHESON.
Here he attempts to fix, in the first place, the degree of
benevolence, as opposed to private interest, that is necessary
to render men virtuous, or even innocent, in accordance
with his principle that there is implanted in us 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 affections, where he does not forget to allow that, in
general, a great 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 salve of the
good to others that will result therefrom, that men should foster
their benevolence by the thought of the advantage accruing
to themselves here arid 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 noiion of Rights
and Laws, and their divisions. From 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 i
tendency. He proceeds to argue, on utilitarian principles, |
that the rights that seem to attend every natural desire are i
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, j
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 j
authority, and so are in a state of nature. Rights belong (1) j
to individuals, (2) to societies, (3) to mankind at large. They i
are also natural, or adventitious, and again perfect or im- j
perfect.
Chapter V. Natural rights are antecedent to society, such J
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, i
EIGHTS AND LAWS. 591
Chapter VII. treats of the Acquisition of property, Hu f: die-
son, as is usual with moralists, taking the occupatio of the
Roman Law as a basis of ownership. Property involves the
right of (1) use, (2) exclusive use, (3) alienation.
Chapter VIII. 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 etiquette 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
mbject is the values of goods in commerce, and the nature of
Chapter XIII. enumerates the various classes of contracts,
Llowing the Roman Law, taking up Mandatum', Depositum,
jtting to Hire, Sale, &c.
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 Bights and Duties of Parents and Chil
dren.
Chapter III. The Rights and Duties of Masters and Ser
vants.
Chapter IV. discusses the Motives to constitute Civil Go
vernment. If men were perfectly wise and upright, there
would be no need for government. Man is naturally sociable i
and political (%uoov TroKniKov.}
Chapter Y. shows that the natural method of constituting
civil government is by consent or social compact.
Chapter VI. The Forms of Government, with their respec- i
tive advantages and disadvantages.
Chapter VII. How far the Bights of Governors extend, j
Their lives are more sacred than the lives of private persons ; :
but they may nevertheless be lawfully resisted, and, in certain i
cases, put to death.
Chapter VIII. The ways of acquiring supreme Power, i
That government has most divine right that is best adapted i
to the public good : a divine right of succession to civil offices \
is ridiculous.
Chapter IX. takes up the sphere of civil law. ( 1 ) To enforce
the laws of nature ; (2) To appoint the forms &c., of contracts
and dispositions, with a view to 'prevent fraud ; (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 cases
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 : — 1
I. — The Standard, according to Hutcheson, 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.
II. — His division of the feelings is into calm and tur-
bnlent, 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
id 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 of fixed ideas, the lower to those affections that are
merated 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.
III. — The Summum Bonuni is fully discussed. He places
the pleasures of sympathy and moral goodness (also of piety)
the highest rank, the passive sensations in the lowest.
istead of making morality, like health, a neutral state
'though an indispensable condition of happiness), he ascribes
it the highest positive gratification.
IV. — In proceeding upon Bights, instead of Duties, as a
5is of classification, Hutcheson is following in the wake of
jurisconsults, rather than of the moralists. When he
iters into the details of moral duties, he throws aside his
moral sense,' and draws his rules, most of them from Roman
iw, the rest chiefly from manifest convenience.
V. and VI. — Hutcheson's relation to Politics and Theology
jquires no comment.
BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE. [1670-1733.]
MANDEVILLE 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
hollowness 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 Mandeville, ' 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.' Mandeville
examined not what human nature ought to be, but what it
really is. In contrast, therefore, to the moralists that dis
tinguish between a higher and a lower in our nature, attribut-
38
594 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— HAND EVILLE.
ing to the higher everything good and noble, while the lower
ought to be persecuted 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. Virtue and Vice. Morality is not natural to man ; it is
the invention of wise men, who have endeavoured to infuse
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 self-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
left 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
satisfaction 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
we 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 AND PRIDE. 595
the sufferings 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 share 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
be curbed and controlled in order to produce any benefit to
society.
Mandeville draws a nice distinction between self-love, and,
what he calls, self -liking. 'To increase the care in creatures to
preserve themselves, Nature has given them an instinct, by
which every individual values itself above its real worth.' 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 Mandeville7 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 fames 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 neglect his
present life, nay court and covet death, if he but imagines that
it will add to the glory he had acquired before.' But the
596 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MANDEVILLE.
most notable institution 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 close 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. Private vices, public 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 folly 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 natural affection for one another, or any natural aversion
or hatred. Each seeks his own happiness, and conflict arises
in the opposition of men's desires. To make a society out
of the raw material of uncivilized men, is a work of great dim
ity, requiring the concurrence of many favourable 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
ild beasts. The traditions of antiquity are full of the prowess
f heroes in killing dragons and monsters. The second step
• society is the danger men are in from one another. To pro-
ct themselves, several families would be compelled to accept
he leadership of the strongest. The leaders, seeing the mis-
iefs of dissension, would employ all their art to extirpate
hat evil. Thus they would forbid killing one another, steal-
ng one another's wives, &c. The third and last step is the
vention of letters ; this is essential to the growth of society,
d to the corresponding expansion of law.*
I. — Mandeville's object being chiefly negative and dialec-
alt 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
nterest.
II, — He denies the existence of a moral sense and of dis-
terestedness. The motive to observe moral rules is pride
* It is instructive to compare Mandeville's a priori guesses with the
ults of Mr. Maine's historical investigation into the condition of early
societies. The evidence shows that society originated in the family
system. Mandeville conjectured 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 gentes and tribes, which took place probably when a
family held together instead of separating on the death of the patriarch.
The features ot% 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 V esprit,
De Vliomme, &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.
DAVID HUME. [1711-1776.]
The Ethical views of Hume are contained in ' An Enquinj
concerning the Principles of Morals.'
In an Introductory Section (I.) he treats of the GENERAL
PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.
After describing those that profess to deny the reality of
the distinction of Right 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 amiable, and of vice to be odious,
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
blameable, 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 qualities, called PERSONAL
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 II. is OF BENEVOLENCE.
His first remark on Benevolence is,, that it is identified in
all countries with the highest merits 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 offices. Like the
sun, an inferior minister of providence, he cheers, invigorates,
and sustains the surrounding world. May we not therefore
conclude that the UTILITY resulting from social virtues,
forms, at least, a part of their merit, and is one source of the
approbation paid to them. He illustrates this by a number
of interesting 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 III. is on JUSTICE. That Justice is useful to
society, and thence derives part of its merit, would be super
fluous to prove. That public utility 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 maintained;
He puts the supposition, that the human race were pro
vided with such abundance of all external things, that with
out industry, care, or anxiety, every person found eveiy want
fully satisfied ; and remarks, that while every other social
virtue (the affections, &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 particular 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 beau idSal 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 discard 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 enjoyments 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 vc y 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
virtuous, so as to give the power of doing good where there
was the most inclination. But so unpracticable 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 complain ; 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 ultimate reason of law the
necessities and convenience of mankind. Uninstructed nature
«ould -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 particular, 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 undistinguishable 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 — HUME.
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
praetors, and chancellors, and juries ?
Instincts are uniform in their operation ; birds of a species
build 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 without 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 usefulness. 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 SOCIETY, and is intended
to show that Government, Allegiance, and the Laws of each
State, are justified solely by Utility.
If 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 totallv 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 UTILITY 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. J^or all
such cases, the common interest and utility begets a standard
of right and wrong in those concerned.
Section V. proceeds to argue WHY UTILITY 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 own account, are not indifferent to us.
Have we any difficulty to comprehend the force of hu
manity or benevolence ? Or to conceive that the very aspect
of happiness, joy, prosperity, gives pleasure ; while pain,
suffering, sorrow, communicate uneasiness ? Here we have
an uninistakeable, 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
Avith 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 QUALITIES USEFUL TO
OUESELVES. 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 our part. For example, DISCRETION, so necessary to
the accomplishing of any useful 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
is there to display the praises of INDUSTRY, or of FRUGALITY,
virtues useful to the possessor in the first instance ? Then
the qualities of HONESTY, FIDELITY, and TRUTH, are praised, in
the tirst place, for their tendency to the good of society ; and,
being established on that foundation, they are also approved
as advantageous to the individual's own self. A part of our
blame of UNCHASTITY in a woman is attached to its imprudence
with reference to the opinion regarding it. STRENGTH OF
MIND being to resist present care, and to maintain the search1
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-
AGREEABLE QUALITIES. 605
piness and misery of others are not indifferent spectacles to
us : 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 beauty 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 powerful, but from the reflexion to the
mind of prosperity, happiness, ease, plenty, authority, and the
gratification of every appetite. Rank and family, although
they may be detached from wealth and power, had originally
a reference to these.
In Section VIL, Hume treats of QUALITIES IMMEDIATELY
AGREEABLE TO OURSELVES. Under this head, he dilates on the
influence of CHEERFULNESS, as a social quality : on GREATNESS OF
MIND, or Dignity of Character ; 011 COURAGE ; 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
to the connexion of that with our sentiment of approbation
towards actions or persons.
Section VIII. brings forward the QUALITIES 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; all 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 mankind, 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 approbation being thus solved, there
remains the nature of obligation ; 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 sentiment. 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 the other hand, reason is insufficient of itself to con
stitute the feeling of moral approbation or disapprobation.
Reason shows the means to an end ; but if we are otherwise
indifferent 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 repugnance 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, or 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, while 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 offensive
view, that all benevolence and generosity are resolvable in
the last resort into self-love. He does not attribute to the
holders of this opinion any laxity 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 speculation, it is open to these objections. (1) Being
contrary to the unprejudiced notions of mankind, it demands
some very powerful 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 i
Justice differs from Generosity or Beneficence in a regard to
distant consequences, and to General Rules. The theme is i
handled in the author's usual happy style, but contains nothing
special to him. He omits to state what is also a prime attri- (
bute of Justice, its being indispensable to the very existence
of society, which cannot be said of generosity apart from its
contributing to justice.
Appendix IV. is on some YERBAL 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 intellectual andmoraZ
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 conscious 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 OF 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 Faculty, 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 — PRICE.
and the recipients are moved by their self-love to encourage
beneficence. The regard to our own benefactor makes all
benefactors interesting.
III. — 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 the beauties of nature,'
although not demanding extraordinary wealth, cannot be
secured without a larger share of worldly means than has
ever fallen to the mass of men in any community.
IY. — As to the substance of the Moral Code, he makes no
innovations. He talks somewhat more lightly of the evils of
Unchastity 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
mote both our own good and the good of mankind.
V. — The connexion of Ethics with Politics is not specially
brought out. The political virtues are moral virtues. He
does not dwell upon the sanctions of 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.
RICHARD 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 : 1st, Right and Wrong ; 2nd,
IDEAS OF EIGHT AND WRONG. 611
Beauty and Deformity ; 3rd, Good or 111 Desert. It is the
first of these perceptions that he proposes mainly to consider.
He commences by quoting Hutcheson'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 Will 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 flight 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, he 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
ment 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 Inertice
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 Effect, 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 Right 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 themselves. 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? Or is it no determination of the judgment at all, bat
a species of mental taste [as Shaftesbury and Htitcheson sup
posed] ? [As against a moral sense, this reasoning may be
effective ; 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, aud 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 DETERMINED BY THE UNDERSTANDING. 613
complain justly ; he 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 effects 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PRICE.
it would 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 known 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 discernment may
explain the whole . of the appearances, but interior natures,
such as the human, are aided by instinctive 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
both a perception of the understanding and a feeling of the heart;1
but that this feeling of the heart, while partly instinctive, is
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 IY. 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
MORAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY. 615
happiness 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 his will ; as
his Existence, Immensity, Power, .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 are 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 Cud worth.
He then starts another difficulty. 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 Feeling, 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 Corigruity or Incongruity, and
are necessarily a perception of the Understanding.
The term Obligation is more perplexing. Still, 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 obliger.
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 Wollaston, 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 benevolence, or would
resolve beneficence into veracity. He urges against Hutcheson,
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) Duty 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 MORALITY. 617
tude. (5) Veracity, which, he inculcates with great earnest
ness, adverting especially to impartiality and honesty in our
enquiries after truth. (6) Justice, which he treats in its appli
cation to the Rights 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 virtuous
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 likewise. 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 ; 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— PRICE.
tion of the Reason or the Understanding, — a sense of fitness or
congruity between actions and the agents, and all the circum
stances attending them, — is what determines Bight and Wrong.
He finds it impracticable to maintain his position without
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 tnorality is not to be resolved
into feeling or instinct. We have also noticed another singu
lar admission, to the effect 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 affection 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 or 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 form 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 facility 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 to 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 ; 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 III.) and a
vague assertion of the absurdity of denying disinterested
benevolence.
WORKINGS OF SYMPATHY. 619
III. — On Human Happiness, he has only a few general
remarks. Happiness is an object of essential and eternal
value. Happiness is the end, and the only end, conceivable
by us, of God's providence 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 up all possibility of any present reward,
and loses the more in proportion as his virtue is more glorious.
Neither on the Moral Code, nor in the relations of Ethics
to Politics and to Theology, are any further remarks on
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.
PART I. is entitled, OF THE PROPRIETY OF ACTION. Section
I. is, ' Of the Sense of Propriety.' Propriety is his word for
Rectitude or Right.
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; 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — ADAM SMITH.
Chapter II. 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 painful 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 standard 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 fully 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 Y. 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 princi-
THE PASSIONS AS CONSISTENT WITH PKOPKIETY. 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
are consistent with propriety.1 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 circumstances ; 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.
social and the unsocial. 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 mankind 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 feeling in the person con- '
cerned. It is agreeable to sympathize with joy, and we do so
with the heart ; the painfulness of entering into grief and ,
misery holds us back. Hence, as he remarked before, the j
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 j
the corruption of our moral sentiments, arising from this i
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.' i
' 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 j
of a warrior, a statesman, a philosopher, or a legislator.'
PART II. is OF MERIT AND DEMERIT ; OR OF THE OBJECTS OP !
REWARD AND PUNISHMENT. It consists of three Sections.
Section I. is, Of the Sense of Merit and Demerit.
Chapter I. maintains that whatever appears to be the j
proper object of gratitude, appears to deserve reward.; and
that whatever appears to be the proper object of resentment, \
appears to deserve punishment. The author distinguishes i
between gratitude and mere love or liking ; and, obversely,
between resentment and hatred. Love makes us pleased to j
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 j
Resentment, these being also the proper objects of Reward
and Punishment respectively. ' These, as well as all the
other passions of human nature, seem proper, and are approved
of, when the heart of every impartial spectator entirely sympathizes
MERIT AND DEMERIT. G23
with 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 taken by the
mind in the two contrasting situations. In sympathizing with
the joy of a prosperous person, we approve of his complacent
and 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 IV. supposes the case of our approving strongly
the conduct and the motives of a benefactor, in which case we
sympathize to a corresponding degree with the gratitude of
the receiver.
Chapter V. 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.
Section II. is Of Justice and Beneficence.
Chapter I. compares the two virtues. Actions of a 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, Remorse, 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 ; he 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 ill-desert, and those ;
terrors of mental 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 MERIT 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 Fortune upon the senti
ments of mankind, with 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 L 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 effects 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
painful 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 effects 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 off' the edge of our resent
ment of great crimes.
The author thinks (Chapter III.) that final causes can 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 infringing
one another's happiness.
PART III. is entitled OF THE FOUNDATION OF OUR JUDGMENTS
CONCERNING OUR OWN SENTIMENTS AND CONDUCT, AND OF THE
SENSE OF 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 oar own
conduct, according as we feel that the impartial spectator
would approve or disapprove of it.
To a solitary 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 will 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 fellow-
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
mcert, thwarting each other when opposed. The author
has painted a number of striking situations arising out of
their conflict. He enquires why we are more pained by un-
lerited reproach, than lifted up by unmerited approbation ;
nd assigns as the reason that the painful state is more
>ungent than the corresponding pleasurable state. He shows
>w those men whose productions are of uncertain merit, as
jts, are more the slaves of approbation, than the authors of
mmistakeable discoveries in science. In the extreme cases
of unmerited reproach, he points out the appeal to the all-
iing Judge of the world, and to a future state rightly con
ceived; protesting, however, against the view that would
jrve the celestial regions for monks and friars, and condemn
the infernal, all the heroes, statesmen, poets, and philo-
>phers of former ages; all the inventors of the useful arts;
protectors, instructors, and benefactors of mankind ; and
those to whom our natural sense of praise- worthiness
forces us to ascribe the highest merit and most exalted virtue.
Chapter III. is ' On the influence and authority of Con
science;' another long chapter, occupied more with moral
jflections of a practical kind than with the following out of
the analysis of our moral sentiment. Conceding that the testi-
lony of the supposed impartial spectator does not of itself
Lways support a man, he yet asserts its influence to be great,
ind that by it alone we can see what relates to ourselves in
proper shape and dimensions. It is only in this way that
re can prefer the interest of many to the interest of one ; the
iterest of others to our own. To fortify us in this hard
isson two different schemes have been proposed; one to
increase our feelings for others, the other to diminish our
clings for ourselves. The first is prescribed by the whining
id melancholy moralists, who will never allow us to be
lappy, because at every moment many of our fellow-beings
in misery. The second is the doctrine of the Stoics, who
inihilate self-interest in favour of the vast commonwealth
nature ; on that the author bestows a lengthened comment
ind correction, founded on his 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ADAM SMITH.
ation, and to restore tranquillity, which is the one secret of
happiness.
Chapter IV. handles Self-Deceit, and the Origin and Use
of General Rnles. The interference of our passions is the
great obstacle to our 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 ic
THE EFFECT OF UTILITY ON MOKAL APPROBATION. 629
ought to join 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.
PART IV. OF THE EFFECT OF UTILITY .UPON THE SENTIMENT
>F APPROBATION.
Chapter I. is on the Beauty arising out of Utility. It is
lere that the author sets forth the dismal career of ' the poor
in's son, whom heaven in the hour of her anger has curst
ith .ambition,' and enforces his favourite moral lesson of
mtentment and tranquillity.
Chapter II. is the connexion of Utility with Moral Appro-
ition. There are many actions possessing the kind of beauty
charm arising from utility ; and hence, it may be main-
ained (as was done by Hume) that our whole approbation of
rtue may be explained on this principle. And it may be
ranted that there is a coincidence between our sentiments
)f approbation or disapprobation, and the useful or hurtful
qualities of actions. Still, the author holds that this utility
or hurtfulness is not the foremost or principal source of our
pprobation. In the first place, he thinks it incongruous that
should have no other reason for praising a man than for
ising a chest of drawers. In the next place, he contends at
igth that the usefulness of a disposition of mind is seldom
the first ground of our approbation. Take, for example, the
[ualities useful to ourselves — reason and self-command ; we
rove the first as just and accurate, before we are aware of
its being useful ; and as to self-command, we approve it quite
much for its propriety as for its utility ; it is the coincidence
of our opinion with the opinion of the spectator, and not an
stimate of the comparative utility, that affects us. Regarding
le 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 our 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 human being, who might see fitness
in actions, but could not feel moral approbation.
PART V. THE INFLUENCE OF CUSTOM ON THE MORAL SENTI
MENTS. The first chapter is a pleasing essay on the influence
of custom and fashion on manners, dress, and in Fine 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 delicacy 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.
PART VI. THE CHARACTER OF VIRTUE.
Section I. is on Prudence, and is an elegant essay on the
beau ideal of the prudential character. Section II. considers
character as affecting 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 country ; in pastoral countries
clanship is man i tested ; in commercial countries distant rela
tionship becomes indifferent. Official and business connexions,
and the association of neighbourhood, determine friendships.
Special estimation is a still 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. II.), 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 PHILOSOPHY. On this
we need only to 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
iference 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 all 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 ? '
632 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— ADAM SMITH.
is valueless in all questions where there are fundamental
differences of view.
II. — 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 but 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 Free-will. 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 all, 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.
IV. — 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 efficacious 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
Religious sanction on all occasions. He assumes a bene
volent and all- wise Governor of the world, who will ultimately
GKOWTH OF DISINTERESTED FEELING. 633
redress all inequalities, and remedy all outstanding injustice.
What this Being approves, 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
•effort 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, Malice ; 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 — HAETLEY.
circumstances 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
enhanced 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 us 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 shall 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 old, the
connexion between a feeling and its adjuncts has beenj
weakened by experience. Also, when children are brought j
up together, they are often annoyed by the same things, and \
this tends powerfully to create a fellow-feeling. Again, when i
their, parents are ill, they are taught to cultivate pity, and
are also subjected to unusual restraints. All those things |
conspire to make children desire to remove the sufferings of i
others. Various circumstances increase the feeling of pity, as i
when the sufferers 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 loveliness of virtue, arising
from the suitableness of the virtues to each other, and to the
beauty, order, and perfection of the world. (5) The hopes
and fears connected with a future life, strengthen the feelings
connected with virtue. (6) Meditation upon God and prayer
have a like effect. * All the pleasures and pains of sensation,
imagination, ambition (pride and vanity), self-interest, sym
pathy, and theopathy (affection towards Grod), 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 all the 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 REID.* [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 his
views is made by Professor Veitch : — 'Ferguson, while holding with
Reid that the notion of Rightness is not resolvable into utility, or to be
derived from sympathy or a moral sense, goes a step beyond both Reid
and Stewart in the inquiry which he raises regarding the definite nature
and ground of Rigbtness 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
' excellence ' 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); (3) Application of mind (Temperance) ; (4) force, or
energy to overcome obstacles (Fortitude). Regarding the motives to
636 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — REID.
ESSAY III., entitled THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION, contains
(Part III.) a disquisition on the Rational Principles of Action,
as opposed to what Reid 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 be 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 all 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 j
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, honestum and
utile, &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 is 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 moral sense.
He sums up the chapter thus : — ' That, by an original
power of the mind, which we call conscience, or the moral
faculty, we have the conceptions of right and wrong in human
conduct, of merit and demerit, of duty and moral obligation,
and our 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 affection and esteem accompany
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.
Regarding Conscience, Reid 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 IY. is OF THE LIBERTY OF 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 comply with the intention of nature, apparent in
our constitution ; (3) no man is born for himself alone ; (4)
we should judge according to the rule, ' Do to others,' &c. ;
(5) if we believe in God, we should 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 II. remarks upon the growth and peculiar advan
tages of Systems of Morals. Chapter III. 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 Hume.
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 Utility 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 from having 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 motive of justice, only a select number would ever be I
possessed of the virtue. The notion of justice carries inse-l
parably along with it a notion of moral obligation ; and no
act can be called an act of justice unless prompted 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 ;l
so that, if Hume's system be true, they have been very unfairly]
treated.
Reid illustrates his positions against Hume to a lengtl
unnecessary to follow. The objections are exclusively am
effectively aimed at the two unguarded points of the Utility
system as propounded by Hume ; namely, first, the not recog
nizing moral rules as established and enforced among men
the dictation of authority, which does not leave to individual
the power of reference to ultimate ends ; and, secondly, the
not distinguishing between obligatory, and non-obligatory,
useful 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 OUR RATIONAL AND GOVERNING PRIN
CIPLES 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,
3r Self-love. His first argument is the existence in all lan
guages of different words for duty and for interest. Secondly,
(The emotions arising from the contemplation of right and
j^rong are different from those produced by a regard to our
!)wn happiness. Thirdly, although in mosb instances a sense
)f duty, and an enlightened regard to our own happiness,
vould suggest to us the same line of conduct, yet this truth
s not obvious to mankind generally, who are incapable of
Appreciating enlarged views and remote consequences. He
•epeats the common remark, that we secure our happiness
)est by not looking to it as the one primary end. Fourthly,
moral judgments appear in children, long before they can
brm the general notion of happiness. His examples of this
)osition, however, ha,ve exclusive reference to the sentiment
)f pity, which all moralists regard as a primitive feeling,
vhile few admit it to be the same as the moral sense.
640 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — STEWART.
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 born
with the knowledge of light and colours, therefore the sense;
of seeing is not an original part of the frame. [It would be
easy to retort that all that Paley's case demanded was the
same power of discrimination in moral judgments, as the power
of discriminating light and dark belonging to our sense of
sight.]
Chapter III. 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 diversity 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 fall
allowance for three circumstances — I. — Difference of situation
with regard to climate and civilization. II. — Diversity of
speculative opinions, arising from difference of intellectual
capacity ; and, III. — The different moral import of the same ;
action under different systems of behaviour. On the first ,
head he explains the indifference 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 differences of men's views as to political assassin- r ;
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 the
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 IV. comments farther on the objections to the
reality and immutability of moral distinctions and to the
universal diffusion of the moral faculty. The reference is, in
the first instance, to Locke, and then to what he terms, after
Adam Smith, the licentious 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 Bight. 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 doctrines
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 believe 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 man 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 him 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 : —
' According to some systems, moral obligation is founded
entirely on our belief that virtue is enjoined by the command of
41
642 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— STEWART.
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 punishment 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 life, 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 if or 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 Kidiculous,
(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 the 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 Smith, 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- creatures and ourselves.
Our duties to our fellows are summed up in Benevolence,
Justice, and Veracity. He devotes a chapter to each. In
Chapter L, 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 IL 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 Right of Property.
In Chapter IIL, 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 on the 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, he 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
constitutional 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 having 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 are to suffer for
truth, and not to cultivate opinions because of their happy
results.]
Stewart remarks finally 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 our 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
Repose ; II. — The pleasures of Sense ; III. — 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 enlightened dis
charge of our duty often demands an exercise of .the Reason
,-, SUMMARY OF VIEWS. 645:
to adjudge between conflicting claims ; there is a close rela
tionship, not denned, 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-will, 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 painful feeling, (2) a selfish desire to remove the
cause of the uneasiness, (3) & disposition grounded on bene
volent concern about the sufferer. This is at best vague.
Equally so is what he states respecting the pleasures of sym
pathy and benevolence (Book II., 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 affection ; 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, arid that he is the friend and protector of
virtue, this belief affords 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— BKOWX.
THOMAS BROWN. [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 obligation 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 lunate Moral Sense. He illustrates it by
another elementary fact of the mind, involved in the concep
tion of cause and effect on his theory of that relation — the
belief that the future will resemble the past. Excepting a
teleogical 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 sui generis, 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 murmurs 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 ot
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 MOEAL DISTINCTIONS. 647
He begins by purging away the realistic notion of Virtue,
considered as a self-existing entity. He defines it — a term
expressing the 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 us.
[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 goes on to ask whether men,, in approving
these exceptions to morality, approve them because they are
knmoral ? [The opponents of a moral sense do not contend
for an Immoral 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 -r 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 usr 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 — BE OWN.
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 property is largely possessed, and under complicated
tenures, we become very sensitive to its violation, and acquire
a proportionally intense sentiment of Justice. Again, asso
ciation operates in modifying our approval and disapproval of
actions according to their attendant circumstances ; 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 Wollaston, 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,
iu 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 all 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, he concedes the
point in dispute ; he admits an approvableness peculiar to
living and voluntanj agents, a capacity of exciting moral emo-
OBJECTIONS TO UTILITr AS THE STANDAKD. 649
tions hot 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
utility of virtue and the utility of talent or genius, which we
view with very different and unequal sentiments ; the inven
tors of the printing press do not rouse the same emotions as
the charities of the Man of Ross.
Still, he contends, like the other supporters of innate
moral distinctions, for a pre-established harmony bstween 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 object, 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 moral 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 ; 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 self, near
or remote. Secondly, it may be maintained that we become
at last disinterested by the associations of our own interest.
650
ETHICAL SYSTEMS — BROWtf.
He calls in question tliis alleged process of association.
Because a man's own cane is interesting to himT it does not
follow 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 primitive, 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 rale. 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 <
oar actions. There must be a certain vividness of feeling or of j
the display of feeling, or at least a sunicient 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 Smithrs 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 i
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 approbation of those feelings.
Although siding in the main with Shaftesbury and Hut-
cheson, Brown objects to their designation Moral Sense, as \
expressing the innate power of moral approbation. If ' Sense '
be interpreted merely as susceptibility, he has nothing to say, ,
FOUNDATION OF DISINTERESTED SENTIMENT. 651
but if it mean a primary medium of perception, like the eye
or the ear, he considers it a mistake. It is, in his view, an
emotion, like hope, jealousy, 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 love 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 Ourselves. Duties
to others he classifies thus : — I. — Negative, or abstinence from
injuring others in Person, Property, Affections, Character or
Reputation, Knowledge (veracity), Virtue, and Tranquillity ;
II. Positive, or Benevolence; and III. — Duties 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 Faculty being thus determined, along with the
Standard, 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 origin. He makes some attempt to refer to the laws ot
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, and of all virtuous
feelings and conduct.
WILLIAM TALEY. [1743-1805].
The First Book of Paley's * Moral- and Political Philosophy*
is entitled ' PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS ;' it is in fact an
652 ETHICAL SYSTEMS —PALE Y.
unmethodical account of various fundamental points of the
subject. He begins by denning Moral Philosophy as ' that
science which teaches men their duty, and the reasons of it? The
ordinary rules are defective and may mislead, unless aided by
a scientific investigation. These ordinary rales are the Law
of Honour, the Law of the Land, and the Scriptures.
He commences with the Law of Honour, which he views
in its narrow sense, as applied to people of rank and fashion.
This is of course a very limited code.
The Law of the Land also must omit many duties, properly
compulsory, as piety, benevolence, <fcc. It must also leave
unpunished many vices, as luxury, prodigality, partiality. It
must confine itself to offences strictly definable.
The Scriptures lay down general rules, which have to be
applied by the exercise of reason and judgment. Moreover,
they pre-suppose the principles of natural justice, and supply
new sanctions and greater certainty. Accordingly, they do
not dispense with a scientific view of morals.
[The correct arrangement of the common rules would have
been (1) the Law of the Land, (2) the Laws of Society
generally, and (3) the Scriptures. The Law of Honour is
merely one application of the comprehensive agency of society
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 point
in dispute that he quotes the anecdote of Caius Toranius, as
an extreme instance of filial ingratitude, and supposes it to
be put to the wild boy caught in the woods of Hanover, with
the view of ascertaining whether he would feel the sentiment
of disapprobation as we do. Those that affirm an innate
moral sense, must answer in the affirmative ; those that deny
it, in the negative.
He then recites the arguments on both sides.
For the moral sense, it is contended, that we approve
examples of generosity, gratitude, fidelity, &c., on the instant,
without deliberation and without being conscious of any
assignable reason ; and that this approbation is uniform and
universal, the same sorts of conduct being approved or dis
approved in all ages and countries ; which circumstances
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 fact.
According to the authentic accounts of historians and travellers,
there is scarcely a single vice that, in some age or country of
THE MORAL SENSE.
the world, has not been countenanced by public opinion. The
murder 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 society-
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 disliking*, 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
born with any such ideas.
On the whole, either there exist no moral instincts, or
they are undistinguishable from -prejudices and habits, and
654 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— PALET.
are not to be trusted 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 differing 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 profusion 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, however, are
to be supposed.] 3rdly, 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 value, 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 Relativity
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 difficulties 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 affections.
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.] 3rdly, 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 4th ly, 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 happiness.'
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 suffice, 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
sufficient 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
md wrong, he remarks, first, that they all ultimately coincide ;
- in other words, all the theorists agree upon the same rules of
luty — 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
rf the Divine Will, which is partly his own theory].
656 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PALEY.
In proceeding to supply this want, he asks first ' what is i
meant by being obliged to do a thing;' and answers, ' a violent j
motive resulting 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 ji
the command 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- 1
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 j
case, 'Why am I obliged to keep my word ?' The answer J
accords with the above explanation ; — Because I am urged to I
do so by a violent motive (namely, the rewards and punish- }
ments of a future life), resulting from the command of God.il
Private happiness is the motive, the will of God the rule.
[Although not brought out in the present connexion, it is
implied that the will of God intends the happiness of man-j
kind, and is to be interpreted accordingly.]
Previously, when reasoning on the means of human hapj
ness, he declared it to be an established conclusion, that virtue
leads to happiness, even in this life ; now he bases his 01
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 poi-
to certain happiness in this life, or to a much greater share of
it than he could attain by a different behaviour.' He d(
not make the obvious remark that human authority, as far as
it goes, is also a source of obligation ; it works by the vei
same class of means as the divine authority.
He next proceeds to enquire into the means of determii
the WILL OF GOD. There are two sources — the express declai
tions of Scripture, when they are to be had ; and the
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 thal:
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 tc
promote or to diminish the general happiness.
He then discusses UTILITY, with a view of answering the
objection that actions may be useful, and yet such as no mai
will allow to be right. This leads him to distinguish betweei:
GENERAL RULES. 657
the particular and the general consequences of actions, and to
enforce the necessity of GENERAL RULES. An assassin, by
knocking a rich villain 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
"luman 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 all its eifects collateral and
remote, as well as immediate and direct. When the
honestum is opposed to the utile, the konestum means the
general and remote consequences, the utile the partici^ar 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 Rights 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 RELATIVE DUTIES. 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 Religion. 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 Revenge; Gratitude, &c. Thirdly, the Relative
Duties growing out of the Sexes.
Book IV. is DUTIES TO OURSELVES, and treats of Self-
defence, Drunkenness, and Suicide.
Book V. comprises DUTIES TOWARDS GOD.
Book VI. 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,
Ac.
42
658 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — PALEY.
The Ethical Theory of Paley may be briefly resumed
thus: —
I. — The Ethical Standard with him is the conjoined
reference to the Will of the Deity, and to Utilit}-, or Human
Happiness. He is unable to construct a scheme applicable to
mankind generally, until they are first converted to a belief
in Revelation.
II. — The Psychology implied in his system involves 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 Utilitarians 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 all reference to gene
rosity. Under ' Pecuniary Bounty ' he makes this remark —
* They who rank pity amongst the original impulses 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,
III. — 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 are, 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.
JEREMY 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, Utility, serves, in his judgment,
for Ethics, or Morals.
The first chapter, entitled * THE PRINCIPLE OP UTILITY,'
begins thus : — ' Nature has placed mankind under the gover
nance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for
them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to
determine what we shall do. On the one hand, the standard
of right and wrong ; on the other, the chain of causes and
effects, are fastened to their throne. They govern us in all
we do, in all we say, in all we think ; every effort we can
make to 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 light.'
He defines Utility 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) if 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 j (4) if he is inclined
660 ETHICAL SYSTEMS -BKNTHAM.
to set up his own approbation or disapprobation as the rule ;
and if so, whether he will force that upon others, or allow each
person to do the same ; (5) in the first case, if his principle is
not despotical; (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 part:
and if so, for what part ; (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 II., 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 external 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 is 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 presumptive 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 FOUR SANCTIONS OR SOURCES OF PAIN AND
PLEASURE whereby men are stimulated to act right ; they
are termed, physical, political, moral, and religious. These are
the Sanctions of Bight.
The physical 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. The 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 OP A LOT OF PLEASURE OR PAIN,
HOW TO BE MEASURED. 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 uncertainty, (4) its propinquity or
remoteness; all which are obvious distinctions. To these are
to be added (5) its fecundity, 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, convenience, advantage, benefit, emolument, profit,
&c. ; 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 skill. 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 : — 1 . The pains of privation. 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 last being
those of benevolence and of malevolence.
In a long chapter (VI.), he dwells on CIRCUMSTANCES INFLU
ENCING SENSIBILITY. They are such as the following: — 1.
Health. 2. Strength. 3. Hardiness. 4/Bodily imperfection.
PLEASURES AND PAINS.— MOTIVES. 663
5. Quantity and Quality of knowledge. 6. Strength of intel
lectual powers. 7. Firmness 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 occupations. 20. Pecuniary circum
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 act itself, the circum
stances, the intention, and the consciousness — 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, &c.
Of great importance is the Order of pre-eminence among
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 — BENTIIA.M.
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, Bentbam 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 benevolent as he is supposed to be wise and powerful, and
were the notions of his benevolence as correct as the notions
of his 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
reality. 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 uncoiiformable to utility, deduced from
texts, well or ill interpreted, of the writings held for sacred
by each sect. These dictates, however, gradually approach
nearer to utility, 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 Rules for indicating Disposition. Thus, 'The
strength of the temptation being given, the mischievousness
of the disposition manifested by the enterprise, is as the
apparent mischievousness of the act,' and others to a like
effect.
Chapter XII. — OF 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
primary, as when sustained by a definite number of indi
viduals ; or secondary, by extending over a multitude of un
assignable individuals. The evil in this last case may be
PRIVATE 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.,
XIV., XV.), to the classification of OFFENCES (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 than 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 inefficacious, 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 private 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. First,
negatively, by forbearing to diminish it ; this is called
PROBITY. Secondly, in a positive way, by studying to increase
it ; which is expressed by BENEFICENCE.
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 probity and beneficence? A]
man can have no adequate motives for consulting any interests!
but his own. Still there are motives for making us consult;
the happiness of others, namely, the purely social motive oil
Sympathy or Benevolence, and the semi- social motives of Love;
of Amity and Love of Reputation. [He does not say here j
whether Sympathy is a motive grounded on the pleasure iti
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,i
happiness. Their means, the actions prompted, must be
nearly the same. Still they are different. There is no caselj
where a man ought not to be guided by his own, or his fellow-'
creatures', happiness ; but there are many cases where thej
legislature should not compel a man to perform such actions.!
The reason is that the Legislature works solely by Punish- j
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 off
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 inefficacious, where ;
punishment has no deterring motive power, — as in Infancy, •
Insanity, overwhelming danger, &c., — the public and the pri
vate sanctions are also alike excluded.
Thirdly. It is in the cases where Legislative punishment
would be unprofitable, 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 j
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 j
the crime in precise language. Hence it is that rude be- \
haviour, treachery, and ingratitude are not punished by law ; |
and that in 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 drunkenness 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 offences
against property, private ethics presupposes legislation, which
alone can determine what things are to be regarded as each
man's property. If private ethics takes a different 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
motives — sympathy, amity, and reputation ; whereas political
action can work only through the self-regarding motives. In
a word these duties must be free or voluntary. 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 the Ethics of Bentham. I. — The Standard or
End of Morality is the production of Happiness, or Utility.
668 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— BENTH AM.
Bentham is thus at one in his first principle with Hume and
with Paley ; his peculiarity is to make it fruitful in numerous
applications both to legislation and to morals. He carries
out the principle with an unflinching rigour, and a logical
force peculiarly his own.
II. — 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 different 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
would regard this as merely co-operating with our sensibilities
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 Pains 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 plenty,
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 Sensibility, as being the
propensity to derive pleasure from the happiness, and pain from
the unhappiness, of other sensitive beings. 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 Will.
He uses the terms /ree and voluntary only with reference to spon
taneous beneficence, as opposed to the compulsion of the law.
SUMMARY. 669
III. — As regards Happiness, or the Summum 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, certainty,
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 Politics, the points of
agreement and the points of difference of the two departments,
are signified with unprecedented care and precision (Chap.
XVII.).
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
religion 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 will, 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.
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. [1765-1832.]
In the ' Dissertation on the progress of Ethical Philosophy '
chiefly during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,' ;
Mackintosh advocates a distinct Ethical theory. His views i
and arguments occur partly in the course of his criticism of j
the other moralists, and partly in his concluding General >
Remarks (Section VII. ).
In Section I., entitled PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS, he re- [
marks on the universality of the distinction between Bight i
and Wrong. On no subject do men, in all ages, coincide on (
so many points as on the general rules of conduct, and the i
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 j
principles. In tribes where new-born infants are exposed, I
the abandonment of parents is condemned ; the betrayal and >
murder of strangers is condemned by the very rules of faith )
and humanity, acknowledged in the case of countrymen.
He complains that, in the enquiry as to the foundation of j
morals, the two distinct questions — as to the Standard and the !
Faculty — have seldom been fully discriminated. Thus, Paley j
opposes Utility to a Moral Sense, not perceiving that the j
two terms relate to different subjects ; and Bentham repeats I
the mistake. It is possible to represent Utility as the criterion j
of Bight, and a Moral Sense as the faculty. In another place, I
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, Cud worth, Clarke, &c., he gives his objections j
to the scheme that founds moral distinctions solely on the
Beason. Beason, as such, can never be a motive to action ;
an argument to dissuade a man from drunkenness must appeal |
to the pains of ill-health, poverty, and infamy, that is, to i
Feelings. The influence of Beason is indirect ; it is merely a
channel whereby the objects of desire are brought into view, j
so as to operate on the Will.
The abused extension of the term Beason to the moral
faculties, he ascribes to the obvious importance of Beason in j
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 Beason 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 act
may not lead to the greater happiness of the agent, yet the
disposition to virtuous acts, in its intrinsic pleasures, far 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 oat 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 unlawful 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 the actions
(lowing from these dispositions. We approve some dispositions
and actions, and disapprove others; we desire to cultivate
bhem, 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
oosition is that Conscience is an acquired principle ; which he
"epeats and unfolds in subsequent places.
He finds fault with Hume for ascribing Virtue to qualities
)f the Understanding, and considers that this is to confound
idmiration with moral approbation. Hume's general Ethical
loctrine, that Utility is a uniform ground of moral distinc-
;ion, he says can never be impugned until some example be
produced of a virtue generally pernicious, or a vice gener-
illy beneficial. But as to the theory of moral approbation,
>r the nature of the Faculty, he considers that Hume's
loctrine of Benevolence (or, still better, Sympathy) does not
Account for our approbation of temperance and fortitude,
672 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — MACKINTOSH.
nor for the supremacy of the Moral Faculty over all other
motives.
He objects to the theory of Adam Smith, that no allowance
is made in it for the transfer of our 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 imperative 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 pleasure of our
coinciding 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- j
pathy, whereas Butler, Hutcheson, 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 i
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 deliglit
in doing good. Self-love, or the principle of permanent well-
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 tbei
ELEMENTS OF THE MORAL SENSE. 673
moral sentiments 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 action, 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
Resentment, 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 full 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 enouo-h. Why do these particular sentiments and no
43
G74 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— MACKINTOSH.
others coalesce in the total — Conscience. The answer is what
was formerly given with reference to Butler ; namely, while
all other feelings relate to outward 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 universally 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 Pity,), 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-snppose Morality.
His criticism of Bentham 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 misplaced
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
utility to actions and not to disposition's ; 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 life 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 juridically. He would probably
UTILITY DEFENDED. 675
admit that Ethics is strictly speaking a code of laws, but 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 Religion, 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 affirms 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 affirms it to be a sufficient
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, VII., entitled General Remarks,
gives some farther explanations of his characteristic views.
He takes up the principle of Utility, 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 affirmation
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 all 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 maxims
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 fall 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 from 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 meano 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 beneficent
volitions, and to cultivate the dispositions to these. Such
dispositions are at last desired for their 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.
ISTor 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 pumshing such offenders ; while we so far
CONSCIENCE AND WILL CO-EXTENSIVE. 677
sympathize with the culprit as to disapprove of excess of
punishment. Such moderated anger is the sense of Justice,
and is a new element of Conscience. Of all the virtues, this is
the one most directly aided by a conviction of general interest
or utility. All 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 aven 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 will 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 farther 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 bring 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 human welfare. The private desires
have respect to oar 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 sake;
to attain this characteristic is the highest mark of a virtuous
character.
III. — -His Summnm Bonum, or Theory of Happiness, is
contained in his much iterated doctrine of the deliciousness
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, thab do not need the motive of a
regard to outward consequences.
His chief Ethical precursor in this vein is Shaftesbury;
PLEASUKEABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS. 679
but he is easily able to produce from Theologians abundant
iterations of it.
IV. — He has 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 he 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.]
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 a,re 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.— XXIII. 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 pasfc
and future time in our ideas of pleasure and pain, he defines
Hope 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 painfnl
sensations are viewed as past or future, 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 : Poverty, 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 and 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 Dio-nity, but in their proper personality. This leads the
author to the consideration of the pleasurable affections of
Friendship, Kindness, Family, Country, Party, Mankind. He
resolves them 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 ; — The idea
of a man enjoying a train of pleasures, or happiness, is felt by
everybody to be a pleasurable idea ; this can arise from
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, and 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 Compassion.
Under the other heads, the author's 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 our 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 emanating from ourselves,
combined with those emanating from our fellow- creatures, ex
ceed all other Causes of our Pleasures and Pains. 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 acts 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 in 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 pain. 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 placej
those are the acts for 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
Beneficect 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 consequences
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 an 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 influences of association,
the power at bottom being still our own pleasurable and pain
ful sensations. We must 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 horrors 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.
Still, 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 Right 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 will 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 is just, but somewhat hypercritical.
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 as to a certain act, whether
it is a moral act, we compare it with what we deem the essen
tial quality 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 quality 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 the 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 the will. Allowance
being made for the great difference in the way that the two
writers express themselves, they are at one in maintaining
Utility to be the ultimate standard, and in regarding Conscience
as a derived faculty of the mind.
The author's handling of Ethics does not extend beyond
the first and second topics — the STANDARD 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
Mill considers that the existing moral rules are all 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 I. 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 by 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 or public
opinion,' ' the law of honour or of fashion.' The author pro
poses for these laws the name positive morality. The laws now
enumerated differ in many important respects, but agree in
this — that all of them are set by 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 evil if that desire is not com
plied with. The person so desired is bound or obliged, or
placed under a duty, to obey. Refusal 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 commanded, or that obedience
is constrained or enforced by the offer of a reward. Again,
when a reward is offered, a right and not an obligation is cre
ated : the imperative function passes to the party receiving
the reward. In short, it is only by conditional evil, that duties
are sanctioned or enforced.
The correct meaning of superior and inferior is determined
bv command and obedience.
G86 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — AUSTIN.
LECTURE II. The Divine 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. Palej 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 resolving this question may be
reduced to two: (1) an Innate Sentiment, called a Moral
Sense, Common Sense, Practical Reason, &c. ; 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
ofBentham. 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 effect 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 source 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 must 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 into 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 specific 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 fully 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 numerous 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 peculiar 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 Malthus,
all 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 in the domain of ethics. With many commendable
points, there is, in that work, much ignoble truckling to the
dominant and influential few, and a deal of shabby sophistry
in defending abuses that the few were interested in upholdin
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 itself 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.
First, 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
neither 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 know not wliy.
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
involuntary 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 as 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 REGARDING UTILITY. 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 all mankind : Observation and induction, as applied
to the same subject, lead different men to different conclusions.
Now, the judgments passed internally on the rectitude or
pravity 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 facts.
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 adjustment 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 system. 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 part of
that system ; hence the supporters of utility are styled ' selfish,
sordid, and cold-blooded calculators.' But, as already said,
the theory of utility 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 en
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 full 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 allied
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 & command, and emanates
from 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 God 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 rights.
But as regards Positive Morality, or moral rules, some
MORAL RULES 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 by 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 indeterminate 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 or 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,
i 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 naturally, 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 replies to the
objections made against it.
He is also the best expounder of the relationship of
Morality to Law.
692 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — WHEWELL.
WILLIAM WHEWELL. [1794-1866.]
Dr. Whe well's chief Ethical works are, * Elements of-'
Morality, including Polity,' and ' Lectures on the History of
Moral Philosophy in England.'
We may refer for his views to either work. The follow
ing abstract 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 Sense 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
Utility, 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 wliy 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, first, as not existing ; and next, 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, although 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, just, 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. Right must be the Supreme Rule.
How then are we to arrive at this rule ?
The supreme rule is the authority over all the faculties
and impulses ; 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 other 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 regu-
694 ETHICAL 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 his position farther, by professing to follow
Butler in the doctrine that, through the mere contemplation j
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 being considered as social beings, capable of
mutual understanding through speech, it is self-evident that
their rule must include veracity. In like 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 common allegation
in favour of « 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 -aud
Fact 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 light on his position. He only repeats that
THE SPEINGS OF ACTION. 695
the Supreme rule of Human 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 Affections.
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 need 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 Reflex Sentiments,
696 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — WHEWELL.
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 maintains 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 from,
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 (in 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.
IV. — With respect to the Moral Code, Whewell's arrange-
THE MORAL 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 ; PURITY, the con
trol of the Bodily Appetites; and ORDER (obedience to the
Laws), which engages the Reason in the consideration of
Rules and Laws for denning 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 Reason.
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 ; Justice, 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 EARNESTNESS, or
Zeal, and MORAL 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, &c., 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, grounded on his classification of the Springs
698 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — FERRIER.
of Human Action ; Rights of Personal Security, Property, Con
tract, Marriage, Government; and justifies this division as
against others proposed by jurists.
VI. — He introduces the Morality of Religion 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 we 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 FERRIER. [1808-64.]
In his ' Lectures on Greek Philosophy' (Remains, Vol. I.),
Ferrier 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 effect
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
nature, 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 tbat 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
ittribute more to' the natural man than properly belongs to
im. The other error into which inquirers are apt to fall in
taking 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 boundary ; 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 to 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-ground 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 — M ANSEL.
It is not enough for man to be ; he must, moreover, if possib'e,
be happy. The fundamental ethics look merely to his being,
i.e., his being rational ; the upper ethics look principally to
his being happy, but they are bound to take care that in all
his happiness he does nothing to violate his rationality, the
health and virtue of the soul.'
HENRY LONGUEVILLE HANSEL.
Mr. Mansel, in his ' Metaphysics,' has examined the question
of a moral standard, and the nature 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 Reason ; 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 in intuition. The moral
sense is usually supposed to involve the perception of qualities
only in so far as they are pleasing or displeasing. 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 representative 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 which we can give no account.' The
intuitive element may be called conscience; the representing
element is the understanding. 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 representing his mind as constituted like
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.* Now, 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 in the mind,
* ' The theory which places the standard of morality in the Divine
nature must not he confounded with that which places it in the arbitrary
will of God. God did not create morality hy his will ; it is inherent in
his nature, and co-eternal with himself; nor can he be conceived aa
capable of reversing it.' The distinction here drawn does not avoid the
fatal objection 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, be 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-contradiction 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, morality could not exist. Hence the only
part of morality that can be co-eternal 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 disputed ;
and it is quite conceivable that he may not adopt any of those objects.
702 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUART 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 a 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. Bat 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 STUART MILL.
Mr. J. S. Mill examines the basis of Ethics in a small work
entitled Utilitarianism.
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
happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, and the ab
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 kinds 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 suffering — indigence, disease,
and the unkindness, worthlessness, or premature loss of objects
of affection. 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 STUART MILL.
ability to do without happiness, in such 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, h'rst,
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. The 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 virtuous 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 sufficient 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 UTILITY ANSWERED. 705
The next objection considered is that Utility is a godless
loctrine. 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 lie, but so momentous and so widely extended are the utilities
of truth, that veracity is a rule of transcendent expediency.
Yet 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 Christianity, 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
PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY.
It is a proper question with regard to a supposed moral
standard, — What is its sanction ? what is the source of its
45
706 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOHN STUART MILL.
obligation ? -wherein lies its binding force ? The customary
morality is consecrated by education and opinion, and seems
to be obligatory in 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-creatures, or
(2) from the Ruler 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 rises, in the more serious
cases, into shrinking from it as an impossibility. This feeling,
when disinterested, and connecting itself with the pure idea
of duty, is the essence of Conscience; 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-a,basement. 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 feeling to le 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 FAVOUR 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 in 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 of man
kind. 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
increase 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
social 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 OF PROOF THE PRINCIPLE ofr
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 ; all 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 indifferent, 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 it makes
HAPPINESS THE ULTIMATE OBJECT OF DESIRE. 709
the individual a blessing to society, while 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 JUSTICE 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 the 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 ought 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 STUAUT MILL.
vicinal 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 loe 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 injustice to do a
thing, we should like to see him punished for not doing it ; we
lament the obstacles tha,t 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 JUSTICE AND UTILITY. 711
doing, and despise them for not doing, while 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 moral 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 legal claim to
any one recipient. Every such right is a case 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 Justice 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
wral in it.
The two essentials of justice are (1) the desire to punish
some oner 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 rigrht
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 utility. 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 STUAKT 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 unintermittedly in
active play. Our notion, therefore, of the claim we have on
our fellow- creatures to join in making 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 utility, 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 right and wrong, and that of ordinary expediency
and inexpediency.
Having presented his own analysis of the sentiment of
Justice, the author proceeds to examine the intuitive 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 Punishment,
some hold it unjust to punish anyone by way of example, or
for any end but the good of the sufferer. Others maintain
that the good of the society is the only admissible end of
punishment. Robert Owen affirms that punishment altogether
is unjust, and that 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 one
has a maxim of justice on its side. Then as to the apportion
ing of punishments 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 commission of the offence.
Besides the differences of opinion already alluded to, as to
the payment of labour, how many, and irreconcileable, are the
standards of justice appealed to on the matter of taxation r5
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 ot
well-being — the moral rules forbidding mankind to hurt one
another — and the rules that only point out the best mode 01
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, tho 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 ot 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 injustice.
Besides the ' Utilitarianism,' Mr. Mill's chief Ethical disser
tations are his review of Whewell's Moral Treatises (Disserta
tions and Discussions, Vol. II.), 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 strict causation 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 j
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 I
great importance of special tastes, and urges the full right of
each person to the indulgence 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.
IY. — As regards the Moral Code, he would repeal thel
legal and moral rule that makes marriage irrevocable. Hel
would also abolish all restraints on freedom of thought, and]
on Individuality of conduct, qualified as above stated.
He would impose two new moral restraints. He eon-[
siders that every pa.rent 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..
SAMUEL BAILEY.
Mr. Samuel Bailey devotes the last four in his Third Series j
of ' Letters on the Philosophy of the Human Mind,' to the sub-|
ject of the Moral Sentiments, or the feelings inspired in usJ
by human conduct. He first sets down five facts in the|
human constitution, in which raoral phenomena originate —
1. Man is susceptible of pleasure and pain of various kinds j
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 affections •
should be reciprocated to the givers.
These rudimentary affections, states and operations of;
consciousness [he is careful to note that, besides feelings, j
intellectual conditions and processes are involved in them]
RUDIMENTARY SUSCEPTIBILITIES OF THE MIND. 715
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-creature
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 thought 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 tho
word moral, in philosophy, should not eulogistically be op-
716 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— BAILEY.
posed to immoral, but should be held as neutral, and to mean
'relating to conduct, 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 affected.
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 the 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 receiver and of spectators. 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 will 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 directlv 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
Teal 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 force of tradition 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 the}r 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 different 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 idiosyncracies 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 CRITERION 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-
principle 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 Justice. 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 morally 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— BAILEY.
use of tbc 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 uncompounded substantive expressing the two attri
butes of conferring and conducing to happiness ; as a descrip
tive phrase, producing 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 should 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 called 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 Reason 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 Happiness. [It
should be remarked, however, that happiness is a wider aim
than morality ; although all virtue tends to produce happiness,
very much that produces happiness 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 contribute to the pro
duction of moral sentiment deserved to be, as it has been, well
handled. The great omission in Mr. Bailey's account is the
absence of the element of authority, which is the main instru
ment in imparting to us the sense of obligation.]
HERBERT SPENCER.
Mr. Spencer's ethical doctrines are, as yet, nowhere fully
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 letter written by him to
Mr. Mill ; repudiating the title anti-utilitarian, which Mr.
Mill had applied to him : —
* 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 be the proximate end.
The Expediency- Philosophy having concluded that happiness
is a thing to be achieved, assumes that Morality ha.s no other
business than empirically to generalize the results of conduct,
and to supply for the guidance of conduct nothing more than
its empirical generalizations.
' 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
sary 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 con
formed to irrespective of a direct estimation of happiness or
misery.
46
722 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — SPENCER.
' Perhaps an analogy will most clearly show my meaning.
During its early stages, planetary Astronomy consisted of
nothing more than accumulated observations respecting the
positions and motions of the sun and planets; from which
accumulated observations it came by and by to be empirically
predicted, with an approach to truth, that certain of the
heavenly bodies would have certain positions at certain times.
But the modern science of planetary Astronomy consists of
deductions from the law of gravitation — deductions showing
why the celestial bodies necessarily occupy certain places
at certain times. Now, 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, gradually 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 him 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 will have
their rough conclusions interpreted and verified by them.'
MOKAL INTUITIONS ATTAINED BY DEVELOPMENT. 723
The relations between the Expediency-Morality, and Moral
jience, conceived by Mr. Spencer to be, the one transitional,
and the other ultimate, 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 itself tend to establish a system of things any
better than that which exists. While absolute morality owes
to expediency the checks which prevent it from rushing into
Utopian absurdities; expediency is indebted to absolute
morality for all stimulus to improvement. Granted that we
, are chiefly interested in ascertaining what is relatively right ;
it still follows that we must first consider what is absolutely
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 a.pplied, 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
means 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 follows
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 — SPENCER.
To be fully understood, this conception must be taken along
with the general theory of Evolution. Mr. Spencer argues
that all things whatever are inevitably tending towards equi
librium ; and that consequently the progress of mankind
cannot cease until there is equilibrium between the human
constitution and the conditions of human existence. Or, as
he argues in first Principles (Second Edition, p. 512),
' The adaptation of man's nature to the conditions of his
existence cannot cease until the internal forces which we
know as feelings 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 liberty of citizens, and the reciprocal removal of political
restrictions, 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 MORALS. — The principles of private conduct — H
physical, intellectual, moral, and religious— that follow from the ;
conditions to complete individual life ; or, what is the same j •
thing, those modes of private action which must result from the j
eventual equilibration of internal desires and external needs, i
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 oi'j
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 j
destruction of happiness in various indirect ways : in other j
words — those minor self-restraints dictated by what may be j
called passive sympathy.
POSITIVE BENEFICENCE. — Comprehending all modes of con
duct, dictated by active sympathy, which imply pleasure in i
giving pleasure — modes of conduct that social adaptation;
CONTINENTAL MORALISTS. 725
has induced and must render ever more general ; and which,
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 in ethical philosophy has been
hardly, if at all, affected by anything 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
different in the new German philosophy since the time 01
Kant; besides Kant himself, Fichte, Hegel, Schleiermacher,
and many later and contemporary thinkers having devoted a
large amount of attention to practical philosophy. But unless
it be Kant — and he not to any great extent — none of these has
influenced 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 Hume.
IMMANUEL KANT. [1724-1804.]
The ethical writings of Kant, in the order of their appear
ance, are — Foundation for the Metaphysic of Morals (1785) ;
Critique of the Practical Reason (1788) ; Metaphysic of Morals
(1797, in two parts — (1) Doctrine of Right or Jurisprudence,
(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.
726 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — KANT.
In the introduction to the Metaphysic of Morals, Kant
distinguishes between the empirical and the rational mode j
of treating Ethics. He announces his intention to depart :
from, the common plan of mixing up the two together, and to j
attempt for once to set forth the pure moral philosophy that i
is implied even in the vulgar ideas of 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 experience is only a practical rule, and never a moral
law. A purely rational moral philosophy, or Metaphysic of
Morals, will serve the double end of meeting a speculative
requirement, and of furnishing the only true norm of practice.
It investigates the 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 Reason), but merely a foundation for such will be
given. The supreme principle of morality is to be established,
apart from detailed application. First, common notions will
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 of the three main sections of the work, he
makes the passrge from Common Rational Knowledge of
Morals to Philosophical. Nothing in the world, he begins,
can without qualification be called good, except Will. Qua- j
lities of temperament, like courage, &c., gifts of fortune, like |
wealth and power, are good only with reference to a good |
will. 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 absolute worth of mere Will, though it is [
allowed even by the vulgar understanding, he seeks to estab- j
lish beyond dispute, by an argument from the natural suljec- \
tion of Will to Reason. In a being well-organized, if Con- ;
servation or Happiness were the grand aim, such subjection i
would be a great mistake. When Instinct could do the work !
far better and more surely, Reason should have been deprived
of all practical function. 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. Such a Will, 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 sacrifice
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 in 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
principle of Volition. That is to say, in action done out of
regard to duty, the will must be determined by its formal a
vriori principle, not being determined by any material d
posteriori 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 Respect. When inclination and motives are both
excluded, nothing remains to determine Will, except Law
objectively ; and, subjectively, pure respect for a law of prac
tice — i.e.j 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 — KANT.
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
law. This is what he finds implied in the common notions of
Duty.
Having illustrated at length this reading, in regard to the
duty of keeping a promise, he contrasts, at the close 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 Reason
and Inclination, 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
Reason.
In Section II. 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 from 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 diffi
culty of proving that acts most apparently conformed to duty
are really such. The fact is, no act can be proved by expe
rience to be absolutely moral, i.e., done solely from regard to
duty, to the exclusion of all inclination ; and therefore to
concede that morality and duty are ideas to be had from
experience, is the surest way to get rid of them altogether.
Duty, and respect for its law, are not to be preserved at all,
unless Reason is allowed to lay absolute injunctions on the
will, whatever experience 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
T-ational, must originate a priori in pure (practical) Reason?
Instead of yielding the principles of morality, empirical exam
ples of moral conduct have rather to be judged by these.
All supreme principles of morality, that are genuine, must
rest on pure Reason solely ; and the mistake of the popular
practical philosophies in vogue, one and all — whether advanc
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 and a little of that — is that there has been
no previous consideration whether the principles of morality
are to be sought for in our empirical knowledge of human
MORALITY RESTS ON PURE REASON. 729
nature at all. Such consideration would have shown them to
be altogether d priori, and would have appeared as a pure
practical philosophy or metaphysic of morals (upon the com
pletion of which any popularizing might have waited), kept
free from admixture of Anthropology, Theology, Physics,
Hyperphysics, &c., and setting forth the conception of Duty
as purely rational, without the confusion of empirical motives.
To a metaphysic of this kind, Kant 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 nature 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 Reason, reason being required in deducing
actions from laws. If the Will follows Reason exactly and
without fail, actions1 objectively necessary are necessary also
subjectively; 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
Imperative, for which the expression is Ought. A will perfectly
good — i.e., subjectively determined 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, being problematical or assertory
principles, according as the end is possible or real. Categorical
Imperatives represent an action as objectively necessary for
itself, and count as apodeictical 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 question 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), beiug assertory
while hypothetical. The categorical Imperative, enjoining 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). Counsels
730 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — KA.NT.
(of prudence), Commands or Laws (of morality) ; also as
technical, pragmatical, moral.
Now, as to the question of the possibility of these different
Imperatives — how they can be supposed able to influence or
act upon the Will — there is in the first case no difficulty ; in
wishing an end it is necessarily implied that we wish the
indispensable means, when this is- in our power. In like
manner, the Imperatives of Prudence are also analytical in
character (i.e., given by implication), if only it were possible to I
have a definite idea of the end sought, viz., happiness. But, in j1
fact, with the elements of happiness to begot from experience j
at the same time that the idea requires an absolute whole, or j
maximum, of satisfaction now and at every future moment, no
finite being can know precisely what he wants, or what may
be the effect of any of his wishes. Action, on fixed principlesl
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 proYO the possibility 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 will then
appear no matter of wonder, when it is remembered (from the
Critique of Pure Reason) how hard it is to establish synthetic
propositions a 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, like a hypothetical Imperative, on any
external condition. Besides the Law (or objective 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 necessary.
The Imperative is thus single, and runs : Act according to that
maxim only which you can u-ish at the same time to become a
FORMULA OF THE CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE. 731
universal law. Or, since universality of law as determining
effects is what we understand by nature : Act as if the maxim
of your action ought by your will to become the universal law of
nature.
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
Bame as the establishment of the possibility of the Imperative
as a synthetic practical proposition a 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 maxim of conduct cannot
therefore become a universal law of nature. Next, the case ot
a man borrowing without meaning to repay, has only to be
turned into a universal 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
maxim 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 has not yet been proved a priori actually
existent; and it was allowed that it could not be proved
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 ? 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 a
vriori 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.
rented to the mind, existing only in rational beings. And, if
the objective ground of self-determination, or End, is supplied
by mere Reason, it must be the same for all rational beings.
Ends may be divided into Subjective, resting upon individual
Impulses or subjective grounds of desire ; and Objective, de
pending on Motives 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,
or 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 rationa.1 being, as Person. There is no other objec
tive end with absolute value that can supply to the Reason
the supreme practical principle requisite for turning subjective
principles of action into objective principles of volition. Ra
tional Nature as End-in-self 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 Reason. Hence a new form (the second) to the
practical Imperative : Act so as to use Humanity f Human
Nature) as well in your own person, as in the person of another,
ever as end also, and never merely as means.
To this new formula, the old examples are easily squared.
Suicide is using one's person as a mere means to a tolerable
existence ; breaking faith to others is using them as means,
not as ends-iii-self ; neglect of self-cultivation is the not
furthering human nature as end-in-self in one's own person;
withholding help is refusing to further Humanity as end-in-sek
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 law of duty : it contains the ground,
neither of duties to self; 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 universality of this principle of Human and Rational
Nature as End-in-self, as also its character of objective end
limiting merely subjective ends, prove that its source is in pure
Reason. Objectively, the ground of all practical legislation is
THE WILL IS AUTONOMOUS. 733
Rule and the Form of Universality that enables rule to be
Law (of Nature), according to principle first (in its double
form) ; subjectively, it is End, the subject of all 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 being as
a Will that legislates universally. 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 will 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
will 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 Will; every other
its Heteronomy.
The new point of view opens up the very fruitful concep
tion of an Empire or Realm 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 common 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 will 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 Duty, lying on
every Member in the Realm of Ends (not on the Head) alike.
This necessity of practice reposes, not on feeling, impulse, or
inclinEition, 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 Price or a
Dignity. Skill, Diligence, &c., bearing on human likings and
needs, have a Market-price; Qualities like Wit, Fancy, &c.,
appealing to Taste or Emotional Satisfaction, have an Affection-
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 t 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 Respect, testifving 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 Respect
is the only 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. Universal application of the Maxim
of Conduct, as if it were a law of nature, is the formula
of the Will as absolutely good ; universal 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 HETERONOMY 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 Nature),
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
Will, i.e., to possible universal legislation through its maxims.
A.ctions 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 will not thus absolutely good is Obligation. The
objective necessity of an action from obligation is Duty. 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 will ; 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 apodeictic character,
it can be proved completely a 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 Will, 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 Empirical or Rational. The
Empirical, embodying the principle of Happiness, are founded
on (1) physical or (2) moral feeling • the Rational, embodying
the principle of perfection, on (1) the 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 principles 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 up an
empty and indefinite conception, has the merit of at least
making an appeal from sense to pure reason. But the fatal
objection to all four is their implying Heteroiiomy ; no impera
tive founded on them can utter 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 morality. 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 a 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 f
argument, and the rather because some important points j
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 Will, properly understood. Theoreti- ;
cally (speculatively), Freedom is undemonstrable ; being
eternally met, in one of the (cosmological) Antinomies of the
Pure Reason, by the counter-assertion that everything in the
universe takes place according to unchanging laws of nature. .
Even theoretically, however, Freedom is not inconceivable,
and morally we become certain of it ; for we are conscious of)
the 'ought' of duty, and with the 'ought' there must go aj
1 can.' It is not, however, as Phenomenon or Sensible Ens j
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. But man is also Noumenon, i
Thing- in- self, Intelligible Ens ; and as such, being free from j
conditions of time and space, stands outside of the sequence I
POSTULATES OF THE PRACTICAL REASON. 737
Nature. Now, the Noumenon or Ens of the Reason (he
sumes) stands higher than, or has a value above, the Pheno-
lenon or Sensible Ens (as much as Reason stands higher
Sense and Inclination) ; accordingly, while it is only man
Noumenon that * can,' it is to man as Phenomenon that the
1 ought' is properly addressed ; it is upon man as Phenomenon
"lat the law of Duty, prescribed, with perfect freedom from
lotive, by Man as Noumenon, is laid.
Freedom of Will in Man as Rational End or Thing-in-self
thus the great Postulate of the pure Practical Reason ; we
in be sure of the fact (although it must always remain spe-
latively undemonstrable), because else there could be no
qplanation of the Categorical Imperative of Duty. But inas-
luch as the Practical Reason, besides enjoining a law of
)uty, must provide also a final end of action in the idea of an
iconditioned Supreme Good, it contains also two other Pos-
ilates : Man being a sentient as well as a rational being,
ippiness as well as Perfect Virtue or Moral Perfection must
iter into the Summum Bonum (not, one of them to the
Delusion 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 out of respect for law, with a con
stant tendency to fall away, is all that is attainable in life.
The Holiness, or complete 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 specula
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 Reason.]
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 Reason 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 moral certainty of the existence of the Deity :
47
738 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — KANT.
the negative result of the Critique of the Pure (speculative)
Reason abides what it was.]
We may now attempt to summarize this abstruse Ethical
theory of Kant.
I. — The STANDARD of morally good action (or rather Will),
as expressed in the different forms of the Categorical Impera
tive, is the possibility of its being universally extended as a
law for all rational beings. His meaning comes out still better
in the obverse statement : The action is bad that cannot be, or
at least cannot be wished to be, turned unto a universal law.
II.- — Kant would expressly demur to being questioned as
to his PSYCHOLOGY 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 x)f answers to the usual queries.
The Faculty is the (pure Practical) Reason. The appre
hension of what is morally right is entirely an affair of Reason;
the only element of Feeling is an added Sentiment of Awe or
Respect for the law that Reason 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 Reason, which
means with Kant the Faculty of Principles, is Speculative or
Practical. As Speculative, it requires us to bring our know
ledge (of the understanding) to certain higher unconditioned
unities (Soul, Cosmos, God) ; but there is error if these are
themselves regarded as facts of knowledge. As Practical, it
sets up an unconditional law of Duty in Action (unconditioned
by motives) ; and in this and in the related conception of the
Summum 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 Free-will, nothing more need be said.
Disinterested Sentiment, as sentiment, is very little re
garded : disinterested action 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 — 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 constituents of Happiness could 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.
IV. — His MORAL CODE may here be shortly presented
from the second part of his latest work, where it is fully given.
Distinguishing Moral Duties or (as he calls them) ' Virtue-
duties^ left to be enforced internally by Conscience, from
Legal Duties (Rechtspflichten), externally enforced, he divides
them into two classes — (A) Duties to Self; (B) Duties to
Others.
(A) Duties to Self. These have regard to the one private
dm or End that a man can make a duty of, viz., his own
^erfection ; for his own Happiness, being provided for by a
latural propensity or inclination, is to himself no duty. They
ire (a] perfect (negative or restrictive) as directed to mere
^-Conservation ; (b) imperfect (positive or extensive) as
lirected to the Advancement or Perfecting of one's being,
^he perfect are concerned about Self (a), as an Animal crea-
;ure, and then are directed against — (1) Self-destruction, (2)
Sexual Excess, (3) Intemperance in Eating and Drinking •
(ff] as a Moral creature, and then are directed against — (1)
Lying, (2) Avarice, (3) Servility. The imperfect have reference
(a) physical, (ft) moral advancement or perfection (subjec
tively, Purity or Holiness).
(BJ Duties to Others. These have regard to the only Aim
or End of others that a man can make a duty of, viz., their
lappiness ; for their Perfection can be promoted only by them
selves. Duties to others as men are metaphysically deducible ;
ind 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-
ince : (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 (Affability, &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 into Kant's
theory of morals, but in a sense purely transcendental, and
not as subjecting or assimilating1 morality to positive political
institution. The Legality of external actions, as well as the
Moralify of internal dispositions, is determined by reference
to the one universal moral Imperative. The principle under
lying all legal or jural (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 freedom and freedom of all must be
made to subsist together in a universal law.
VI. — With Kant, Religion and Morality are very closely
connected, or, in a sense, even identified ; but the alliance is
not at the expense of Morality. So far from making this
dependent on Religion, he can find nothing but the moral
conviction whereon to establish the religious doctrines of
Immortality and the Existence of God ; while, in a special
work, he declares further that Religion consists merely in the
practice of Morality as a system of divine commands, and
claims to judge of all religious institutions and dogmas by the
moral consciousness. Besides, the Postulates themselves, in
which the passage to Religion is made, are not all equally
imperative, — Freedom, as the ground of the fact of Duty, being
more urgently demanded than others ; and he even goes so
far as to make the allowance, that whoever has sufficient moral
strength to fulfil the Law of Reasan without them, is not
required to subscribe to them.
The modern French school, that has arisen in this cen
tury under the combined influence of the Scotch and the
German philosophy, has bestowed some attention on Ethics.
We end by noticing under it Cousin and Jouffroy.
VICTOR COUSIN. [1792-1867.]
The analysis of Cousin's ethical views is made upon his
historical lectures Sur les Idees du Vrai, du Beau et du Bien,
as delivered in 1817-18. They contain a dogmatic exposition
of his own opinions, beginning at the 20th lecture ; the three
preceding lectures, in the section of the whole course devoted
to the Good, being taken up with the preliminary review of
other opinions required for his eclectical purpose.
He determines to consider, by way of psychological analysis,
the ideas and sentiments of every kind called up by the spec-
FUNDAMENTAL ANALYSIS. 741
tacle of human actions ; and first he notes actions that please
and displease the senses, or in some way affect our interest :
those that are agreeable and useful we naturally choose, avoid
ing the opposites, and in this we are prudent. But there is
mother set of actions, having no reference to our own per-
mal interest, which yet we qualify as good or bad. When
armed robber kills and spoils a defenceless man, we, though
^holding the sight in safety, are at once stirred up to disin-
3rested horror and indignation. This is no mere passing sen
timent, but includes a two-fold judgment, pronounced theD
id ever after ; that the action is in itself bad, and that it
)ught not to be committed. Still farther, our anger implies
ihat the object of it is conscious of the evil and the obligation,
ind is therefore responsible ; wherein again is implied that he
a free agent. And, finally, demanding as we do that he
lould be punished, we pass what has been called a judgment
)f merit and demerit, which is built upon an idea in our minds
of a supreme law, joining happiness to virtue and misfortune
crime.
The analysis thus far he claims to be strictly scientific ; he
now proceeds to vary the case, taking actions of our own. I
im supposed entrusted by a dying friend with a deposit for
lother, and a struggle ensues between interest and probity
to whether I should pay it. If interest conquers, remorse
jusues. 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
all the rest. It lies in the original constitution of human
nature, being simple and indecomposable, like the judg
ment 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 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — COUSIN.
other sciences, morality has its axioms, justly called moral
truths ; if it is good to keep an oath, it is also true, 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.
Bat, he goes on, a moral verity is not simply to be be
lieved ; it must also be practised, and this is obUyation, the
second of the elements of moral sentiment. Obligation, like
moral truth, on which it rests, is absolute, immutable, univer
sal. Kant even went so far as to make it the principle of our
morality ; but this was subjectivizing good, as he had 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 faculty
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 duty to
respect myself, and have the right to be respected by you.
My duty (he means, of course, what I owe to self) is the exact
measure of my right. 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
morality, 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 good from evil. Upon itself follow 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
lie could comprehend the absolute necessity of expiation ; and
are there not real cases of such criminals ? But 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 Sentiment, 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 the 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 Reason, 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 will 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, truth becomes obligatory, and absolute truth being
known by the reason only, to obey the law of duty is to obey
744 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — COUSIN.
reason. But what actions are conformable to reason ? The
characteristic of reason he takes to be Universality, 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 discover whether an action is duty, is, if its motive
when generalized appear to the reason to be a maxim of
universal legislation for all free and intelligent beings. This,
the norm set up by Kant, as certainly discovers what is and
is not duty, as the syllogism detects the error and truth of an
argument.
To obey reason is, then, the first duty, at the root of all
others, 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 such 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 of us,
and what we share with humanity. Individual peculiarities
are things indifferent, 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 self-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 prudence,
meaning providence in all things, which regulates courage,
enjoins temperance, is, as the ancients said, the mother of all
the virtues, — in short, the government of liberty by reason ;
(3) veracity; (4) duty towards the body; (5) duty of per
fecting (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 Tnith; their liberty I am bound to respect,
sometimes even to the extent of not hindering them from
GROUNDS OF THE SEVERAL DUTIES. 745
making a wrong use of it. I must respect also their affections
(family, &c.) which form part of themselves ; their bodies ;
their goods, whether acquired by labour or heritage. All these
duties are summed up in 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 is not however compre
hended in justice. Conscience complains, if we have only not
done injustice to one in suffering. There is a new class of
duties — consolation, charity, sacrifice — to which indeed cor
respond no rights, and which therefore are not so obligatory
as justice, but which 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 everywhere, and making man to be what
he is ? Into the hopeless question of its origin he refuses 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 our 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.
Liberty is made out to be assured and developed in society,
instead of diminished. Equality is established upon the char
acter of moral personality, which admits of no degree. 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 liberty 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 guidance, a rule superior to itself, i.e., law, the expres-
746 ETHICAL SYSTEMS— JOUFFROY.
sion of universal and absolute justice. Here follows the usual
distinction of positive and natural 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 again of charity coming in after justice.
Here the philosopher stops on the threshold of the special
science of politics. Bat already the fixed and invariable prin
ciples of society 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 summary of Cousin's views : —
I. — The Standard is the judgment of good or evil 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,
miser}''.
IV. — He accepts the criterion of duties set forth by Kant.
He argues for the existence of duties towards ourselves.
V. and VI. require no remark.
THEODORE SIMON JOUFFROY. [1796-1842.]
In the Second Lecture of his unfinished Cours de Droit
Natural, Jouffroy gives a condensed exposition of the Moral
Facts of human nature from his own point of view.
What distinguishes, he says, one being from another, is its
Organization ; and as having a special nature, every creature has
EVERY BEING HAS ITS SPECIAL END. 747
a special end. Its end or destination is its good, or its good
msists in the accomplishment of its end. Further, to have
end implies the possession of faculties wherewith to attain
; and all this is applicable also to man. In man, as in other
features, from the very first, his nature tends to it? end, by
leans of purely instinctive movements, which may be called
)rimitive and instinctive tendencies of human nature ; later
ley are called passions. Along with these tendencies, and
inder their influence, the intellectual faculties also awake and
?ek 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 constraint always experienced, and the
glad rebound, after effort, to the indeterminate condition.
One fact, too, remains even after everything possible has been
done, viz., that the satisfaction of the primitive tendencies is
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 that 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
primary 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 pernicious. 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
stronger over the weaker.
748 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOUFFROY.
He now passes to consider the double transformation of
this original state, that takes place when reason appears.
Reason is the faculty of comprehending, which is different from
knowing, and is peculiar to man. As soon as it awakes in man,
it comprehends, and penetrates to the meaning of, the whole
spectacle of human activity. It first forms the 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, ifc constructs the general idea of
Happiness oat 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 perfectly 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 calculation 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 passion, the new principle supplies a real motive,
under whose guidance oar natural power over our faculties
is developed and strengthened. All partial ends are merged
in the one great End 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
victory over the single passions, the change nevertheless
abides. To the state of Passion has succeeded the state of
Egoism.
Reason must, however, he thinks, make another discovery
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 tendencies, which is the good of egoism. Not
till the special ends of all creatures are regarded as elements
IDEA OF UNIVERSAL ORDER. 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
proof. 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
in the eye of reason.
No sooner is the idea of Universal Order present to the
on, than it is recognized as an absolute law ; and, in con-
uence, the special end of our being, by participation in its
character of goodness and sacredness, 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. From the idea of good-in-itself, i.e.,
Order, flow all duty, right, obligation, morality, and natural
legislation.
He carries the idea of Order still farther back to the
ity, making it the expression of the divine thought, and
ning 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 from either of the foregoing. 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
from self, is impersonal, even when prescribing our own good.
Hence there is in the latter case devouement of self to some
thing else, and it is exactly the devouement to a something
that is not self, but is regarded as good, that gets the name
of virtue or moral good. Moral good is voluntary 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 act of mere
imprudence involving no violation of universal order.
He denies that there is any real contradiction among the
750 ETHICAL SYSTEMS — JOUJFFEOY.
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
fi'om being at this stage fully 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 habitual conduct, are known as passionate, egoistic, or
virtuous.
We now summarize the opinions of Jouffroy : —
I. — The Standard is the Idea of Absolute Good or Uni
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 us
SUMMARY.
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.
II. — 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.
Jouffroy'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 Reid, that there is a stage in our
existence when we are ruled by the passions, and are destitute
of liberty.
III. — 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 and Realism, p. 181.
THE controversy respecting Universals 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 Parmenides and Heracleitus, who, in a confused and
unsystematic 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 Ens as
opposed to Eelative Fientia : i.e., the Cogitable, which Parmenides
conceived as the One and All of reality, "Ev ical Tlav, 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 of contraries, in which everything
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, and presented as incapable of yield
ing satisfaction to the search of a philosophizing mind, which
could find neither truth nor reality except in the 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 all study, as though the
48 '
2 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
problems were hopeless. But Parmenides and Heracleitus, 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 Heracleitus, 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 subtlety,
that the hypothesis of an Absolute, composed of Entia Plura Dis-
continua, led to consequences even more absurd than those that
opponents deduced from the Parmenidean hypothesis of Ens Unum
Continuum. 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
puzzling 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 < clear '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 rf .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
his own 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 TERMS. 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 universal 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 : 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 afterwards
called REALISM, 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 imported into the schools the portent of Eealism. 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 Realism 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 task I shall not enter, since it is
of the greatest depth, and requires another larger investigation ;
but shall try at once to show you how the ancients (especially
* See the Latin verses — De Idea Platonica quemadmodum Aristoteles
intellect—
* At tu, perenne runs Academi decus,
H»c monstra si tu primus induxti scholia,' Ac.
4 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
the 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, next by Aristotle against Plato, again by
the Stoics against both, and lastly 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 the 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 mankind, f He 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 make others feel, for the first time, that
they 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 which he postulates
as the objective reality, though only a cogitable reality, correlating
with each general term. These Entia he considers to be not merely
distinct realities, but the only true and knowable realities : 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 unless such separate
Universal Entia be supposed, there is nothing whereon cognition
can fasten, and consequently there can be no cognition at all.J
These are the substantive, self-existent Ideas or Forms that
Plato first presented to the philosophical world : sometimes with
logical acuteness, oftener still with rich poetical and imaginative
colouring. They constitute the main body and characteristic of
the hypothesis of Realism.
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 opinions in
* Porphyry — Introd. in Categor. init.
t Xenophon Memorabil. I. 4, 9-17; IV. 3, 14.
J Aristotel. Metaphys. I. 6, p. 987. b. 5 ; XIII. 4, p. 1078, b. 15.
PLATONIC IDEAS. 5
his own name. We have from him an aggregate of detached
dialogues, in many of which this same hypothesis is brought
under discussion. But in each dialogue, the spokesmen approach it
from a different side : while in others (distinguished 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 general terms without
postulating in correlation with them an objective reality, apart
from their respective particulars.
At the close of the Platonic dialogue called KRATYLTJS,
Sokrates is introduced as presenting the hypothesis of self-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 changing (it is here argued) and are thus out of the reach
of cognition ; but unless the Universal Ideas above them, such as
the Self-beautiful, the Self-good, &c., be admitted as unchangeable
objective realities, there can be nothing either nameable or know-
able : cognition becomes impossible.
In the TIMAEUS, Plato describes the construction of the
Cosmos by a divine Architect, and the model followed by the
latter in his work. The distinction is here 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 are. Entia are apprehended by the cogi-
tant or intelligent soul of the Kosmos, Fientia by the sentient or
percipient soul ; the cosmical 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 — Diversum, correlating
with the second — and Idem implicated with Diversum, correspond
ing to both in conjunction. The Divine Architect is described
as constructing a Cosmos, composed both of soul and body, 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 order 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
(announced distinctly as his own) is as follows : If intellection
(cogitation, NoDg), 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 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM AND KEALISM.
from intellection, then we must admit all the objects perceived by
our senses as firm realities. Now, 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 man ; 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,
unchangeable Forms, apprehended by intellect or cogitation, but
imperceptible by sense; and, secondly, resemblances of these
bearing the same 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 arid spurious
kind of computation.
We see here that the proof given by Plato, in support of the
existence of Forms as the primary realities, is essentially psycho
logical : 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, shared only by a few chosen men. This last
point of the case is more largely and emphatically brought out in
the PH^EDKTJS, where Sokrates delivers a highly poetical effusion
respecting the partial inter-communion of the human soul with
these eternal intellectual Realia. 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 the pre- existent state, prior
to incorporation with the human body ; though only in a few cases
is such aspiration realized. Even those few human 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 mind, 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 makes nearest
approach to the perfection of the Universal Idea or Type. At the
same time, Plato again presents to us the Cogitable Universals as
the only objects of true cognition — the Sensible Particulars being
objects merely of opinion.
In the PELEDON, 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 Oogitant Mind disengages itself
from the body and comes into direct contemplation of the Univer
sal Entiar 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
real ; 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 will attain it fully after death, (their souls being
immortal), if their lives have been . passed in sober philosophical
training. And their souls enjoyed it before birth, during the
period of pre-existence : havi.ig 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 Phsedon 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 Universals to a, certain, extent, or resemble them
imperfectly ; and they are therefore called by the same name.
In the REPUBLIC, 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 Real . Ens is knowable, Non-
Ens is altogether unknowable;, 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 affirm 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 Real Ideas (among which
the Idea of Good is the highest, predominant over all the rest),
and the unreal Particulars, or Percepta of sense, more forcibly in-
* Plato Republ. V. p. 477-478. .
8 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
sisted upon than in the Eepublic. Even the celestial bodies and
their movements, being among these Percepta of sense, are ranked
among phantoms interesting but useless to observe ; they are the
best of all Percepta, but they fall very short of the perfection
that the mental eye contemplates in the Ideal — in the true
Figures and Numbers, in the Heal Velocity and the Real Slowness.
In the simile commencing the seventh book of the Eepublic, Plato
compares mankind to prisoners in a cave, chained in one particular
attitude, so as to behold only an ever-varying multiplicity of
shadows, projected, through the opening of the cave, upon the
wall before them, by certain unseen Realities behind. The
philosopher is one among a few, who by training or inspiration,
have been enabled to face about from this original attitude, and to
contemplate with his mind the real unchangeable Universals,
instead of having his eye fixed upon their particular manifesta
tions, at once shadowy and transient. By such mental revolution
he comes round from the perceivable to the cogitable, from opinion
to knowledge.
The distinction between these two is farther argued in the
elaborate dialogue called THE2ETETUS. 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 is not true
opinion coupled with rational explanation. But he confesses
himself unable to show what Knowledge or Cognition is, though
he continues to announce it as correlating 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),! which he affirms to be the only Real 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, called
Opinion, which he pronounces to be fallible and misleading.
Plato holds, moreover, that the Particulars, though generically
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 Theffitet., p. 173, 176, 186. Grote's Plato, vol. II. ch. 26,
p. 370-395.
f Plato Philebus, p. 15, A — B, tvdSiov fiovddac, piav tKacrrjv ovaav ad
TTJV dvrrjv, &c., Eepublic X., p. 596, A. The phrase of Milton — Unus et
Universus — expresses this idea : — -
' Sed quaralibet natura sit commnnior,
Tamen scorsus extat ad moduin unius," &c.
FIRST STATEMENT OF EEALISM. 9
qualified Realism, which came to be known in the Middle Ages
under the phrase Universalia ante rem or extra 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 —
What are the objects correlating with Universal terms, and with
Particular terms ? What is the relation between the two ? Plato
first gave to the world the solution called Realism, which lasted
so long after his time. We shall presently find Aristotle taking
issue with him on both the affirmations 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 Philebus, wherein he breaks down the unity
even of his sovereign Idea, which in the Republic 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 taken against the Realistic 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
Materialists, who recognized no Entia except the Percepta of
Sense ; next, the Realistic Idealists, who refused to recognize
these last as real Entia, 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 real 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 Philebus, p. 65-66 ; see Grote's Plato, vol. II. ch. 30, p.
584-585.
10 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
and both cognizable ; that Non-Ens (instead of being set in glar
ing contrast with Ens, as the totally incogitable against the
infallibly cognizable)* is one among the multiplicity of Eeal
Forms, meaning only what is different from Ens, and therefore
cognizable not less than Ens ; that Percepta and Cogitata are alike
real, yet both only relatively real, correlating with minds per
cipient and cogitant. Thus, the reasoning in the Sophistes, while
it sets aside the doctrine of Universalia ante rem, does not mark
out any other relation between Universals and Particulars (neither
in re nor post rem}. It discusses chiefly the intercommunion or
reciprocal exclusion of 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 the dialogue PAIIMENIDES that Plato
discusses with dialectical acuteness the relation of Universals to
their Particulars ; putting aside the intercommunion (affirmed in
the Sophistes) or reciprocal exclusion between one Univeisal and
another, as an hypothesis 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 Republic and in Timaeus. The
veteran Parmenides appears as the opponent 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 unless the theory be ad
mitted, and unless Universalia ante rem can be sustained as existent,
there is no trustworthy cognition attainable, nor any end to be
served by philosophical debate. Moreover, Parmenides warns
Sokrates that before he can acquire a mental condition competent
to defend the theory, he must go through numerous 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
Ens Unum. He takes first the hypothesis Si Unum Est — next,
the hypothesis Si Unum 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 affirming his thesis.
Apart from these antinomies at the close of the dialogue, the
* Plato Republic, V., 478-479.
t Plato Parmenid. p. 129 E ; with Stallbaum's Prolegomena to that
Dialogue, p. 38-42.
PLATO'S OBJECTIONS TO HIS OWN THEORY. 11
cross-examination of Sokrates by Parmenides, in the middle of it,
brings out forcibly against the Realistic theory objections such as
those urged against it by the Nominalists of the Middle Ages. In
the first place, we find that Plato conceived the theory itself 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 ? Now, the
world of Forms (the Cogitable or Ideal world as opposed to the
Sensible), is not here conceived by Plato as peopled in the first
instance by Genera and Species. Its first tenants are attributes,
and attributes distinctly relative — Likeness, One and Many, Jus
tice, Beauty, Goodness, &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, Fire,
Water, &c., and instead of replying 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 affirmative 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 so 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
when 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 Realism 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, e.g., Quality, Quantity, Relation, &c., to
use the language afterwards introduced by the Aristotelian Cate
gories) ; that no Genera 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 Universalia in 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 — Particulars apart from Universals, yet having some parti
cipation in them, and named after them), next to bring out the
* Plato Sophist. 227 A. Politiktw, p. 266 D.
.12 APPENDIX— NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
difficulties attaching to it. The Universal or Form (he 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 Great, Equal, Small ; Equal
magnitudes are equal because they partake in the Form of equa
lity. But how can a part of the Form Equality, less than the
whole Form, cause the magnitudes to be equal ? How can the
Form Smallness have any parts less than itself, or how can it be
greater than anything ?
The Form cannot be divided, nor can it co-exist undivided in
each separate particular ; accordingly, particulars can have no par
ticipation in it at all.
Again, you assume a Form of Greatness, because you see many
particular objects, each of which appears to you great; this being
the point of resemblance between them. But if you compare the
Form of Greatness with any or all of the particular great objects,
you will perceive a resemblance between them ; this will require
you to assume a higher Form, and so on upward, without limit.
Sokrates, thus embarrassed, starts the hypothesis that perhaps
each of these Forms may be a cogitation, and nothing more,
existing only within the mind. How ? rejoins Parmenides. Can
there be a cogitation of nothing at all ? Must not each cogitation
have a real cogitatum correlating with it — in this case, the one
Form that is identical throughout many particulars ? If you say
that particulars partake in the Form, and that each Form is
nothing but a cogitation, does not this imply that each particular
is itself cogitant ?
Again, Sokrates urges that the Forms are constant, unalter
able, stationary in nature ; that particulars resemble them, and
participate in them only so far as to resemble them. But (rejoins
Parmenides) if particulars resemble the Form, the Form must
resemble them ; accordingly, you must admit another and higher
Form, as the point of resemblance between the Form, and its par
ticulars ; and so on, upwards.
And farther (continues Parmenides), even admitting these Uni
versal Forms as self-existent, how can we know anything about
them ? Forms can correlate only with Forms, Particulars only
with Particulars. Thus, if I, an individual man, am master, I
correlate with another individual 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 the two different worlds, but between different mem
bers of the same world respectively. Thus the Form of Cognition
correlates with the Form of Truth ; and the Form of each variety
of Cognition, with the Form of the corresponding variety of
Truth. But we, as individual subjects, do 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
ABISTOTLE. 1"3
Form; we can know nothing of the Self-good, Self -beautiful,
Self-just, &c., even supposing such Forms to exist.
These acute and subtle arguments are nowhere answered by
Plato. They remain as unsolved difficulties, embarrassing the
Realistic theory ; they are reinforced by farther difficulties 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 produced. Yet still
Plato, with full consciousness of these difficulties, asserts unequivo
cally, that unless the Realistic 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 he called The Great and Little, or the Indeter
minate Dyad. This last, however, is not the programme wherein
the Eealistic theory stands opposed to Nominalism.
But the dialogue Parmenides, though full of acuteness on the
negative side, not only furnishes no counter-theory, but asserts
continued allegiance to the Realistic theory, which passed as
Plato's doctrine to his successors. To impugn, forcibly and even
unanswerably, a theory 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 — ARISTOTLE.
The Realistic Ontology of Plato is founded (as Aristotle him
self remarks) upon mistrust and contempt of perception of sense, as
bearing entirely on the flux of particulars, which never stand still
so as to become objects of knowledge. All reality, and all cog-
noscibility, were supposed to reside in the separate world of
Cogitable Universals (extra rem or ante remj, 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 sometimes 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 Realism.
1. Realism, is a useless multiplication of existences, serving
no purpose. Wherever a number .of particulars— be they sub-
14 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND KEALISM.
stances eternal or perishable — be they substances, qualities, or
relations — bear the same name, and thus 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 up.*
2. Plato's arguments in support of Eealism are either incon
clusive, or prove too much. Wherever there is cognition (he
argues), there must exist an eternal and unchangeable object of
cognition, apart from particulars, which are changeable and
perishable. No, replies Aristotle : cognition does not require the
Universalia 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 Universals of mere negations —
for many of the constant predicates are altogether negative.
Again, if Self -Existent Universals are to be assumed corre
sponding to all our cogitations, we must assume Universals of
extinct particulars, and even of fictitious particulars, such as Hip-
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 Relata,
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 Realistic theory that powerful
and unsolved objection, entitled The Third Man.\
4. The supporters of these Self -Existent Universals trace them
to two principia — 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 Relative 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 stable 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 also to the
other Categories — Quality, Quantity, Relation, &c. But hereby
we exclude the possibility of participation in them by Particulars :
* Aristot. Metaph. A. 990, a. 34; M. 1079, a. 2. Here we have the
first appearance of the argument that William of Ockham, the
Nominalist, put in the foreground of his case against Realism — ' Entia
non sunt multiplicanda praster necessitatem,' &c.
t Aristot. Metaphys. A. 990, h. 14; Scholia, p. 565, b. 10, Brandit.
J Aristot. Metaph. A. 990, b. 15, o! a/cpi/3«oT£poi rCJv Xoywy. Both the
points here noticed appear in the Parmenides of Plato.
The objection called The Third Man, is expressed by saying, that if
there be a Form of 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.
ARISTOTLE'S CRITICISM OF PLATO. 15
sjnce from such participation the Particular derives its Substance
or Essence alone, not its accidental predicates. Thus the Self-
Existent Universal 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. Well then, if the Form of the Universals, 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 parti
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 understand 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 intelligible
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 Universals ? Any one thing may be like, or may become 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 archetype 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
things ? Plato tells us in the Phasdon, 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 AND REALISM.
produce movement ; moreover, many other things come into
being, though there be no Universals 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
being, without assuming any Universals extra rem at all.
8. Again, if the Universals or Forms are Numbers, how can -
they ever be causes ? Even if we suppose Particulars to be Num
bers also, how can one set of Numbers be causes to the others ?
There can be no such causal influence, even if one set be eternal,
and the other perishable.*
Out of the many objections raised by Aristotle against Plato,
we have selected such as bore principally upon the theory of
Realism : that is, upon the theory of Universalia ante rein or extra
rem — self -existent, archetypal, cogitable substances, in which Par
ticulars faintly 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 Parmenides.
Moreover, several of them are founded upon Aristotle's point of
view, and would have 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. Instead of considering the Cogitable Universals 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 aloiie,t and treated the cogitable uni-
versals as contributory appendages thereto ; some being essential,
* Aristot. Metaph., A. 991, b. 13. Several other objections 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 controversy of Realism against Nominalism.
f Aristotle takes pains to vindicate against both Plato and the Hera-
cleiteans 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 uniformity.
In appreciating the sensible world (Aristotle says), philosophers ought to
pai'don the shortcomings of the smaller portion on account of the excel
lencies of the larger; and not condemn both together on account of the
smaller— (Metaphys., r. 1010, a, 32),
IMPROVED ONTOLOGY OF ARISTOTLE. 17
others non-essential, but all of them relative, and none of them
independent integers. His philosophy was a complete revolution
as compared with 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
modern exigencies, still, as compared with the Platonic Eealism,
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 Eepublic, Phsedon, and
Tiingeus), 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 Eealism 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 (avupeflrjKos), 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 Unum) to be a Genus, partible into Species ; he recognizes it
only as a word of many analogous meanings, one of them princi
pal and fundamental, 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 Aliquid, 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 into
the language of Logic, the first theory of which we owe to
Aristotle. His ontological classification was adapted to that
theory.
As we are here concerned only with the different 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 Aristotle, both in his
Treatise called by that name and elsewhere. For our purpose it
* In enumerating the ten Categories, Aristotle takes his departure
from the proposition — Homo currit — Homo vincit. He assumes a particu
lar individual as Subject: and he distributes, under ten general heads, all
the information that can be asked or given about that Subject — all the
predicates tbat can be affirmed or denied thereof.
49
18 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
is enough to point out that the particular sensible Hoc Aliquid is
declared 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
Eiitia. 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 or Accidents,
and some of them fall so much short of complete Entity that he
These ten KaTrjyopiai — ytvr] TWV Karrjyopiwv, sometimes simply TO. ytvr]
— <TXWaTa T&V KaTqyopt&v— Jfy&dicamenta in Latin — are as follows: —
1. Ovffia — Substantia — Substance.
2. Uoffbv — Quantum— Quantity.
3. Ilotoi/ — Quftle — Quality.
4. TlpoQ TL — Ad aliquid — Relation.
5. not) — Ubi — Location.
6. Ilort — Quando — Period of Time.
7. Kf7<T0ai — Jacere — Attitude, Posture.
8. ^E^a^ — Habere — Equipment, Appurtenances, Property.
9. Houlv — Facere — Active occupation.
10. T\a.axtLV — ^at^ — 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 propositions, 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 — Kallias — you ask, What is Kallias ? Answer is made by
declaring the Second Substance, the Species he belongs to- -Kallias is
a man.
2. Quantum — How large is he ? To this question answer is made
under the same Category — He is six feet high, as thin as Kinesias, &c.
3. Quale — 'What manner of man is he ? Answer the third Category
— He is fair, flat-nosed, muscular, &c.
4. Eelata — What are the relations that he stands in ? He is father,
master, director, &c.
5. Ubi — Where is he ? In his house, in the market-place, &e.
6. Quando — Of what point of time do you speak? Yesterday, last
year, now, &c.
7. Jacere — In what attitude or posture is he ? He is 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 cut, &c.
THE CATEGORIES. 19
describes them as near to Non-Entia.* But all of them, essential
or unessential, are alike 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 Realism. 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 is 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 —
Relata — 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 modern
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 Relata.
Among all the ten heads of the Aristotelian scheme, the two that
have been usually considered as most incongruous, and least entitled to
their places, are, No. 7 and 8 — Jacere and Ilabere* 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 applicable 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 Relata, 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. ^atVercu yap TO av^ptftriKo^ tyyiiQ
TI rov firi OVTOQ.
There cannot be a stronger illustration of the difference between the
Platonic and the Aristotelian point of view, than the fact that Plato
applies 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 EEALISM.
illusion, lessening the beneficial efficacy of universal demonstrative
reasoning.* And he declares it to be a corollary, 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 Nous.f
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 always conformable to this declaration,
and that he often seems to forget Induction altogether. 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
Realism. 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 particulars. 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 Aristotle (especially
the third book De Animd and the twelfth book of the Metaphysica)
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. 85, a. 31, b. 19.
t See the concluding chapter of the Analytica Posteriora.
A similar doctrine is stated by Plato in the Phsedon (p. 96 B.), as one
among the intellectual phases that Sokrates had passed tb.ro ugh in the
course of his life, without continuing in them.
REALISM CONTESTED UNDER THE FIRST CATEGORY. 21
denies to the predicates a separate reality, he recognizes in them
an adjective reality, as accompaniments 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
First 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 much dis
cussed by the sects coming after him ; 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 Conceptualism or Nominalism) is not
materially concerned. The standard against Eealism 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, Parmemdes)
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 Realism 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. oaax^>Q yap Xaytrai
TTJQ Karrjyopiaq) TOffavTa\a>Q TO tlvai arifiaivti.
t This is the just remark of Trendelenburg — Kategorienlehre — p. 217.
22 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
authors ; so that we are compelled to accept the list on secondary
authority, from the comments of critics, mostly opponents. But,
as far as we can make out, they retained in their First Category
the capital feature of Aristotle's First 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 First Category of the Stoics (Something or Subject)
included only particular substances ; all Universals were by them
ranked in the other Categories, being regarded as negations of
substances, and designated by the term Non- Somethings — Non-
Substances.*
The Nco-Platonist PLOTINTJS, 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 First 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 First;) among them the highest, Unurn or
Bonum, is the grand fountain and sovereign of all the rest.
Plotiuus thus departed altogether from the Aristotelian Cate
gories, and revived the Platonic or Parmenidean Realism ; yet
not without some Aristotelian modifications. But it is remarkable
that in this departure his devoted friend and scholar PORPHYRY
did not follow him. Porphyry not only composed a.n 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 4 Still, though Porphyry stood forward both as
admirer and champion of the Aristotelian Categories, he did
not consider that the question raised by the First Category
of Aristotle against the Platonic Realism 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
* Prantl — Gesch. der Logik. Vol. I. sect. vi. p. 420. ovnva ~ct
KOiva Trap' CLVTOIQ Xeyfrat, &c.
f Plotinus. Ennead. VI. 1, 2.
j Simplicius. Schol. in Aristotel. Categ. — p. 40 a-b. Brandis.
SCOTUS ERIGENA. 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 Aristotelian 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, Khabanus Maurus, and Eric of Auxerre,J in the eighth
and ninth centuries, repeated what they found in Boethius, and
upheld the Aristotelian tradition unimpaired. But ScOTUS
ERIGENA (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.|| 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, apart from and anterior to indivi
duals^ The controversy for and against the Platonic Eealism
was thus distinctly launched in the schools of the middle ages.
* Prantl— 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 Rohheit des Empirismus.'
t Prantl— Geschichte der Logik. Vol. I., sect. 12, p. 685 ; Vol. II.,
sect. 1, p. 4-7. Trendelenburg— Kategorienlehre, p. 245.
J Uebcrweg — Geschichte der Pnilosophie der patristischen und
echolastischen'Zeit, sect. 21, p. 115, ed. 2nd.
|| Prantl— Gesch. der Logik. Vol. If., ch. 13, p. 29-35.
§ Ueberweg— Geschichte der Philos., sect. 21, p. 113. Prantl— Gesch.
der Logik, Vol. IT., ch. 13, 44, 45-47.
24 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
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
or 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.
Rather 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 ROSCELLLN", a canon of Compiegne, and ANSELM,
Archbishop of Canterbury. Anselm maintained that all individual
men were in specie homo unus, and formed a real unity; so too,
although every person in the Godhead was perfect God, they were
but one God. To this realistic doctrine, Roscellin (of whom very
little is known), founding upon some of his immediate precursors,
opposed a theory different from the Aristotelian. Maintaining with
Aristotle, 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 nannc, bestowed upon them for
their points of similarity. The Universals were neither ante rem
(with Plato), nor in re (with Aristotle), but post rem; and in
themselves were nothing at all beyond voces or nomina. Roscellin
appears to have carried out the theory consistently, and not
merely with reference to the special theological question. So far
as that was concerned, he was not afraid to pronounce that the
three persons 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 vocales or nomi-
nales, Nominalists ; and it was at the same period of excited
feeling that the name realis, Realist, 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 Roscellin
till the beginning of the second period of scholasticism, 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 distinguished
AQUINAS. — DUNS SCOTUS. — OCKHAM. 25
ras ABAELARD (1079-1142), who took up a position between the
ctrenies of Realism and Nominalism. On the one hand, he
lied the independent existence of Universals, and inclined
ither to the Aristotelian view of their immanence in rebus ; on
other, he inveighed against the nominalism of Eoscellin, and
mounced that the Universals were not mere voces, but sermones
predications. Yet it is a mistake to describe him as a Concep-
ilist, the name conferred upon such as, agreeing with the
Tominalists in regard to the purely subjective character (post
nj of the Universals, differed from these in ascribing to the
lind the power of fashioning a Concept or notion correspondent
the general name.
In the 13th century, when Scholasticism reached its highest
levelopment, the supremacy of Aristotle was firmly established.
~fe find accordingly in THOMAS AQUINAS (1226-74) a supporter of
le Aristotelian doctrine of the Universals as immanent in re;
mt, at the same time, he declared that the intellect, by abstract-
ig the essential attributes (quiddities) of things from their acci-
attributes, forms Universals post rem ; and, although he
itterly rejected the Platonic assumption of ideas as real — the only
uly real — entia, he yet maintained that the ideas or thoughts of
lings in the Divine mind, antecedent to creation, were Universalia
te rem.
His great rival in the next generation, DUNS SCOTUS (d. 1300),
Imitting the Universals in the same three-fold sense, deter-
lined the various related questions in a way peculiar to
limself. Especially in regard to the question of the relation
)f the universal to the singular or individual, was he at war
ri.th his predecessors. Thomas had declared that in the indi-
idual, 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 matter, e.g. in Sokrates, hcec
caro, hoRc 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 quidditas, or universal, must be
supplemented by a hcecceitas to make it singular or individual ;
Sokrates was made individual by the addition of Sokratitas 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 pupil 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.
2G APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
Universals (genera, species, and the like) were, he held, nothing
real extra animam, but were only in mente. Calling everything that
existed in or out of the mind a singular or individual, he asked how
a term (terminus} like hnmo could be predicated of a number of indi
viduals. The answers of every form of Realism, that of Duns
Scotus included, led to absurdity ; the Realists 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 risibilis, 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
that were or might be held, without deciding for one in particular.
But he was ever ready with the warning : Entia -non sunt multi-
plicanda prceter necessiiatem. 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 William of Ockham, the nominalistic 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
Realism that became the suspicious 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 Univer
sals, fell into discredit : as a tendency of the human mind,
Realism remained active as before, and upon the extension of the
field of philosophy at the beginning of the modern 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 modern 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.
HOEBES is one of the few in later times to whom the question
HOBBES. — LOCKE. 27
had lost none 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 that 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 all mankind, but of every
one, as of Peter, John, and the rest severally), is therefore called
an universal name ; and therefore this word universal is never the
name of anything existent in nature, nor of any idea or phantasm
formed in the mind, but always the name of some word or -name ;
so that when a living creature, a stone, a spirit, or any other thing,
is said to be universal, it is not to be understood that any man,
stone, &c., ever was or can be universal, but only that these
words, living creature, stone, &c., are universal names, that is, names
common to many things ; and the conceptions answering to them
in our mind, are the images and phantasms of several living
creatures or other things. And, therefore, for the understanding
of the 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 Corpore, c. 2, § 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 existing 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 generalities,
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 observes 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.
BERKELEY'S Nominalism is notorious and pronounced, and was
in reality the wedge that split up, in his mind, the received
theory of Perception. In the well-known passage in the Introduc
tion to his ' Principles of Human Knowledge,' he quotes the con-
ceptualist doctrine, — as implying that the mind can form an idea
of colour in the abstract by sinking every individual colour, and
of motion in the abstract without conceiving a body moved, or the
figure, direction, and velocity of the motion, — and comments upon
the doctrine in these terms : — ' Whether others have this wonder
ful faculty 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 particular 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, or a tawny; a
straight, or a crooked, a tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man. I
cannot by any effort of thought conceive the abstract idea 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 some 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 follows 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. — REID. — STEWAKT. 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 : — ' 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 individuals which are 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 particular ideas, and readily 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.'
REID (INTELLECTUAL POWERS — Essay on Abstraction) contends
for the mind's power of forming general conceptions. He starts
from the faculties 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 nature, 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.
Reid refers to the history of the question of Realism and
Nominalism. He dwells chiefly on the views of Berkeley and of
Hume, 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 uriiversals,' admitting,
at the same time, that it cannot be by images of them, for there
can be no image of a universal. In fact, Reid's position coincides
very nearly with Conceptualism.
DUGALD STEWAKT 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 fixing 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 arid 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
operation. 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 BROWN expresses the generalizing process thus: There
is, in the first place, the perception of two or more objects ; in the
second place, the feeling or notion [better consciousness] 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 affirmation of Resemblance among
particular objects ; but he 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 still a general notion, or
' relative feeling, ' of the circumstances of agreement of particular
things; without which general notion of a line, or a triangle,
he thinks the demonstrations impossible and absurd. He says
it is the very nature of a general notion not to be particular :
for who can paint 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 difficulty 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 in the 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 Anschauunc/, to denote
different kinds of thought, there would have been as little differ
ence of opinion in regard to the nature of general notions ID
this country as in the Empire. With us, Idea, Notion, Con
ception, &c., are confounded, or applied by different philosophers
in different senses. I must put the reader on his guard against
Dr. Thomas Brown's speculations on this subject. His own doc
trine of universals, 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 by a general term"1 (Edition
of Eeid, p. 360). He also holds that we have a priori abstract
ideas of Space and Time, a view difficult to reconcile with
Nominalism.
JAMES MILL 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' begins 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 Jiost, which is an important part of the
case. In making general affirmations, we must be perpetually
running over the particulars, to see that our generality conflicts
o2 APPENDIX — NOMINALISM AND REALISM.
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 in dividual,
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 thinking, 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 Conceptualism.
SAMUEL BAILEY (Letters 011 the Human Mind, Yols. I., II.)
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 the
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 reflection, 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 a,n appellation, the
utmost that the nature 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 sometimes only one, of the objects covered by the
general term. It also appears that, 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 Knowledge — Experience and Intuition,
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 Reminiscence, as set forth in the Phsedrus,
Phsedon, 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 ; all 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 Intelligibles is
opposed to Opinion of Sensibles, and again each of them includes
a higher and lower form — Cognition is Nous or Dianoia as it is
direct or indirect, and Opinion may be Belief or mere Conjecture.
The most explicit discussion of the question, What is knowledge ?
is in the Theaetetus. 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, likeness, 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 Reid, Appendix,
p. 771-773) enrolls Aristotle with confidence among the philoso
phers that have vindicated the authority of Common Sense, 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.
I» 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-
cipia or beginnings of scientific reasoning — the dp^al
OV\\Oyi<TTlKO.l ?
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 Causality, when we read the great and perplexing
diversity of meaning which Aristotle (and Plato before him in the
Phsedon) recognizes as belonging to this term, we cannot but be
surprised to find modern 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, DEMONSTRATION, or the method of Science—
which divides itself into special subjects, each having some special
principia 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
BHETORIC and DIALECTIC, which deal with and discuss opinions
upon all subjects, comparing opposite arguments, and landing in
results more or less probable. Contrasting these two as separate
lines of intf llectual 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.
Rhetoric and Dialectic are treated by Aristotle as analogous
processes. Of the matter of opinion and belief, with which both
of them deal, he distinguishes three varieties : — 1. Opinions or
APJSTOTLE 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 Rhetoric opens with the following
words : — ' Ehetoric 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 one
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. From the first truths or prindpia, upon which scientific
demonstration proceeds. 3. From the paralogisms, or fallacious
assumptions (tl/ti^oypa^/zara), liable to occur in each particular
science.
Now, what Aristotle here designates and defines as ' matters
of common opinion and belief (TO. lj/<5o£a), 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 'both pro 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. After
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 him) by some
pretenders, he declares, that in all cases of common 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 beginning 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 not 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 principia of each parti
cular science. These, since they are the first and highest of all,
cannot be discussed out of principia special and peculiar 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 principia, 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 reasonings 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
principia of that science.
II. — We will next advert to the judgment of Aristotle re
specting these principia of science ; how he supposes them to be
acquired and verified. He discriminates various special sciences
(geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, &c.), each of which has its
own appropriate matter, and special principia from which it takes
its departure. But there are also certain principia common to
^ them all : and these he considers to fall under the cognizance of
ARISTOTLE ON THE SOURCE OF FIRST 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 principia 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 principia 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 con, consistent and inconsistent : the First Philo
sopher performs this too, or supposes it to be performed by others
— but proceeds farther : namely, to determine certain axioms
that may be trusted as sure grounds (along with certain other
principia j for demonstrative conclusions in science.
Aristotle describes in his Analytica £he process of demonstra
tion, and the conditions required to render it valid. But what is
the point of departure 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 en. You 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
clusions. 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 by nature or absolutely, are
the most universal 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 principia, indispensable as the grounds
of all demonstration, some are peculiar to each separate 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 immediate principia
are innate or congenital, — in 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 both perceptions and remembrances. Fartherinore,
we are distinguished even from the better animals by this difference
— that with us, but not with 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 — Tha.t 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 principium of
Art, in reference to Agenda, or Facienda — of Science, in reference
to Entia.
Thus these cognitive principia are not original and determinate
possessions of the mind— nor do they spring from 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 will presently acquire the character of a Universal in the
mind : for though we perceive the particular, our perception is of
the universal (i.e., when we perceive Kallias, our perception is of
man generally, riot of the man Kallias). Again, the fixture of
these lowest Universals in the mind will bring in those of the
next highest order ; until at length the Suiimia 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 principia 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 naturd or simpliciter (Universals). Some
among our mental habits that are conversant with truth, are
also capable of falsehood (such as Opinion and Reasoning) : others
are not so capable, but embrace uniformly truth, and nothing but
truth — such are Science and Intellect (Nove). 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 all 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, b. 2, drjXov 8r) on -fjfjuv TO. Trpwra
l-jrayuyy yvupiZfiv avayKaiov ' KOL yd/> Kai aladrjaic; OVTM TO Ka96\ov
ifirroiu; also Anal. Post. I., p. 81, b. 3, c. 18, — upon which passage,
Waitz, in his note, explains as follows (p. 347): 'Sententia nostri loci
hsec est. Universales propositiones oranes inductione comparantur,
quum etiam in iis, quse a sensibus maxime aliena videntur, et quse (ut
mathematica, ra t£ a^aipscrcwt;) cogitatione separantur a materia quacum
conjuncta sunt, inductione probentur ea quso de genere (e.g. de linea, de
corpore mathematico) ad quod deinonstratio pertineat prasdicentur Ka9'
dura et cum ejus natura conjuncta sint. Inductio autem iis nititur qua3
sensibus percipiuntur : nam res singulares sentiuntur, scientia vero rerum
singularium non datur sine inductione, non datur inductio sine sensu.'
f Aristot. Metaphys. A. I. 980, a. 25, b. 27, Qpovipa fiiv dvev TOV
fj.avda.viiv, oaa fj,ij dvvarai TU>V \^6<pit)v aKoveiv, olov /ueXtrra, Kai el TI
TOIOVTOV aXXo ykvoq Zwwv tanv.
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 universals. 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 Kallias,
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 affirm 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 may have learnt 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 effective 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, this was the occasion for saying so. He says the exact
contrary. No modern 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 omnis a mente primam
originem, a Sensibus exordium habet primiim.' In Aristotle's
view, the Senses furnish both originem and exordium : the succes
sive stages of mental procedure, whereby we rise from sense to
universal 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 discountenances
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
ARISTOTLE OPPOSED TO INTUITIVE COGNITIONS. 41
that the mind includes cognitions of such value, without 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 Kallias, 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 legitimate 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 principia 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 (Noug) 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,
* Aristot. Anal. Post. II. 19, p. 99, b. 26, el dij tx°Psv airr&c, droirov
ovpfiaii'ti yap aKpifitarkpctQ t\ovraQ yvwaeic; a.7rodti%tw£ \av9dvtiv —
(ftavtpbv TO'IVOV on OVT' t\tiv oiov Tt, OVT' ayvoovai Kcti p.r)Sfp,iav t\ovaiv
f£iv tyyivinQai. dvdyKT] dpa fxtlv V^v Tlva o^vafUV, ^n ToidvTrjv S' txtlv
rj tffTai TovTbiv TifiuaTepa KCLT u.KpiJ3tiav. See Metaphys. A. 993. a. 1.
Some modern psychologists, who admit that general propositions of a
lower degree of universality are raised from induction and sense, contend
that propositions of the highest universality are not so raised, hut are the
intuitive offspring of the intellect. Aristotle does not countenance such a
doctrine: he says (Metaphys. 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 be the common possession of the race.
42 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE,
and through the gradual upward march of the inductive process.
To say that they originate from sense through Induction, and
nevertheless to refer them to Intellect (Noug) 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
(NoDt), 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 commensurate dignity between the Cognitum and the
Cognoscens), they belong as objective correlates to the most un
erring cognitive function — the Intellect (NoDf). 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 principium principii.
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 tells 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 of 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.
ARISTOTLE'S FIRST PHILOSOPHY. 43
proves (against Melissus and Parmenides) by an express appeal to
induction, as sufficient 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 Cselo, he lays it down that
the principia must be homogeneous with the matters they be
long to : the principia 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 iri 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 principia .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
Mctaphysica}. 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 Entia. Ontology treats of Ens in
its largest sense, with all its properties quatenus 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— OllIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
comprehensive among all the objective sciences. Each of these
sciences 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 — Heracloitus, Anaxagoras, Demo-
critus, 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 Metaphysica, 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 riot 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 contrary or contradictory. These last-mentioned formulae
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 matter 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
disbelieve 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 conceptions of his pre
decessors and contemporaries. An excellent view of the Maxims 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. 45
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 — Rational 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 Nous) and all 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 affirmation 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. f
Both the two above-mentioned theories are objective. A third,
that of Protagoras — Homo Mensura — 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 falling 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 principia 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 Noug. He does not repeat that
observation here ; but he intimates that there is only one process
* See Grote's Plato— voL I., ch. 1, p. 28-38.
t Grote— Plato, &c.— ch. 1, p. 49-57.
46 APPENDIX — OKIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
available for defending them, and that process amounts to an appeal
to Induction. You can give no ontological reason in support of the
axioms, except what will be condemned as a petitio principii ;
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 terms 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. The 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
those 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 Acharnenses of Aristophanes,
Dikaeopolis knocks at the door of Euripides, and inquires whether
the poet is within ; Kephisophon, the attendant, answers —
' Euripides is within and not within.' This answer is unintel
ligible ; Dikaeopolis cannot act upon it ; until Kephisophon ex
plains that 'not within' is intended metaphorically. Then,
again, all the actions in detail of a man's life 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. You may cite innumerable
examples both of speech and action in the detail of life, which the
Heracleitean must go through like other persons ; and when, if he
proceeded upon his own theory, he could 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 Kratylus (so Aristotle says) renounced the use of
affirmative speech, and simply pointed with his finger, t
* This argument is given by Aristotle, Metaph. T. 1010, a. 6-24, con
trasting change Kara. TO iroabv and change Kara. TO iroiov.
f Aristot. Metaph. T. 1010, a. 13. Compare Plato Thesetet. p. 179-180,
about the aversion of the Heracleiteans for clear issues and propo
sitions.
MAXIM OF EXCLUDED MIDDLE. 47
The maxim 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 ill regard to proposi
tions affirming changes, 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 Posteriora
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 shown
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 belief s 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. I\ 1011 a. 15) old' l.v
T(p X6y<£> rriv fiiav fiovov £r;rotJvrf<, dSvvarov ZqTouaiv' kvavria yap tiirtlv
dZioiiffiv, tvOvQ tvavria \kyovrtQ. 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 Protagoreana and Hera
cleiteans.
48 APPENDIX— ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
medium of communication 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 Heracleitus", by asserting the Maxim of Contradiction,
but also against Anaxagoras, by asserting the Maxim of Excluded
Middle. Here we have the second principium 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 Heracleitus 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 Organ on, 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 Kephisophon about Euripides. Here
Aristotle would justly contend that the two propositions —
Euripides is within — Euripides is not ivithin — could not be either
both of them true, or both of them false : that is, that we could
neither believe both, nor disbelieve both. If Kephisophon 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 Heracleitus (to believe both
affirmation and negation) nor that of Anaxagoras (J,o 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 universal
affirmative and the universal negative are contrary ; the particular
affirmative and the particular negative are sub-contrary ; the uni
versal affirmative and the particular negative, or the universal
negative and the particular affirmative, are contradictory. It is
now noted in all 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 bo.th cannot be false ; and
that, of two contradictories, one must be true and the other false.
THE SCHOOLMEN.— DESCAKTES. 49
THE SCHOOLMEN. In the mediaeval 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 di brent 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 prius fuerit in
sensu ; on the other, we can see by the argument of Aquinas
against the theory of knowledge per species — omnium intclligi-
bilium rationed, animcs 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 Realism (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 before or in experience, started into full importance.
During the whole course of modern thought it has held a first
place among philosophical questions.
DESCARTES heads the modern 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 unimpeachable at every
point : — There is, he declared, not a single thing that I am not
able to doubt or call in question, save the fact of my own
doubting. But doubting is thinking, and in thinking is implied
being or existing : / am, I exist, is, therefore, a proposition neces
sarily true every time I pronounce or conceive it ; Cogito ergo sum
or Ego sum res cogitam 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 consciousness of self as a thinking being : — I find in
me an idea of perfection, or of an all-perfect being called God.
Like everything else, 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 his 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 God exists, and that he must be the real cause of my
own existence.
3. In the Veracity of God, in this way proved to exist, he now
51
50 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
thing 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 constituted me to apprehend it, when,
that is to say, the apprehension is perfectly dear and distinct.
Thus, clearly and distinctly apprehending Bodies to be real ex
ternal substances, i.e., independent existences with real attributes
of Figure, 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 being 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 union of Mind and Body in man— in
man only, for he regarded the lower animals as mere automata —
an explanation of all 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 clearness 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.
ARNAULD. 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,
&c. — 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 Intuition, 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 much 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 ARNAULD in the
Port Royal 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 Pure 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 Descartes, 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, Arnauld, 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 Cogito ergo sum) never entered by any sense,
and are not compounded from 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 c 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 the brain.
In England, views in strong antithesis to Locke, were ad-
52 APPENDIX— OKIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
vanced by Cudworth, founding not upon Descartes, but upon
the ancients ; and, at a still earlier date (even than Descartes),
by Lord Herbert of Cherbury.
CUD WORTH'S views, as explicitly .set forth in the treatise on
Eternal and Immutable 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 Reasons of things (RationesJ, &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 things
the bringing and comprehending of them under such Rationes,
and finds that ' scientific knowledge is best acquired by the soul's
abstraction from the outward objects of sense, that it may the
better attend to its own inward notions and ideas.'
LOUD HERBERT OF CHERBURY, in his book ' De Veritate* (1624)
maintains the doctrine of Innate Ideas, under the name of Natural
Instincts. Instinct is the first of our faculties brought into
play, as Discursus (the understanding) is the last ; the senses, both
external and internal, coming between them. It is the speciality
of Instinct to work natiiraliter (i.e. without Discursus ) ; in the
same way as minerals and vegetables have a faculty of self-pre
servation. Notitias Communes (nearly equivalent to First 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
immediately, at first sight, so presenting a contrast to the slow and
uncertain steps of the Discursive 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 Religion 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 repeating, is universality : what is accepted by
all men must be true, and can arise from no source except natural
instinct. Universal consent is to be gathered from laws, religions,
philosophies, and books. Thus Religion 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 together 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-
examination ; if you examine your faculties, you will find God
CHARACTERS 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 veritas rei, • of which the principium is without
the mind, and veritas intdlectus, which depends on the mind
alone ; in fine, between propositions always and everywhere
true, and propositions true only here and now. [This
seems to be 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 folly 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 little do we understand how touch, or taste, or smell is
produced.
All common notions are not independent of Discursus, 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. (5) Paramount Utility (NecessitasJ. "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, nutta 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 universally admitted. Take two that have a high title
54 APPENDIX— ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
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 would not
prove them innate ; for by reason we discover many truths that
are not innate. Reason, as the faculty of deducing one truth
from another, plainly cannot lead to innate principles. Reason
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 110 proposition can be innate, unless the
ideas composing it be innate, then our ideas of colours, tastes,
sounds, &c., will 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 found 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 nurse
and the cat, without the aid of the maxim, that the same thing
cannot be and not be — for that is a maxim wholly 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
will 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 Pythagoras, 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 ? The notion of identity is far from being clear or distinct ;
can it then be the subject of undoubted and innate truth ? 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 a priori
character of Space as the corner-stone of his metaphysical con
struction.] In like manner, Locke examines whether the ideas of
WorsJn'p and God 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 Substance be an innate idea. This idea, 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.
SIIAFTESBURY, in England, attempted to turn the edge of
Locke's objections by declaring (but before Locke, the same had
been affirmed) that all that was contended for was better expressed
by the words Connate or Connatural 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, LEIBXITZ 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 truths 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 faculties are there from the first : ' the
mind is innate to itself :' ' nihil est in intellectu quod non fuerit in
sensu, nisi ipse inteUectus.' His detailed objections are to be found
in his posthumous work, Nouveaux Essais sur T 'entendenient humain.
A passage in a letter of Leibnitz's to a friend, gives a good idea
of the position he took up against Locke. He there says : ' In
Locke 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 Truth. 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
NECESSARY TRUTHS AND TRUTHS OF FACT. 57
— the so-called innate ideas ; because the 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 all. Nihil
est in intellectu quod non fuerit in sensu, nisi ipse intellectual
The Nouveaux Essais is a dialogue, continued through four books,
corresponding to the books of Locke's essay, between Theophilus
(Leibnitz himself ) 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 all
bur 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 within 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 fact 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 should 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 universal 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, Reasoning ;' 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 — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
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 preforniatioii, 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 KASTT ; 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 critical inquiry into the foundations and
limits of the mind's faculty of knowledge; in his famous work, 'The
Critique of the Pure Reason' (1781).
2. As here implied in the word 'pure' used of Reason, or the
general faculty of knowing, he contended for the inherence in the
niind, before all experience, of certain principles of knowledge,
which he called d 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 universality 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 d
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
origin of the notion of Causality, proceeded to place all the
native d priori, or non-empirical elements of knowledge in certain
subjective or mental 'Forms' destined to enfold, while requiring to be
supplemented 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 Avhich
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 wherein
this does, and others wherein it does not take place — the mind is
then not bound down to its particular experiences, but can really
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. — Transcendental ^Esthetic. The impressions of sense are (pas
sively) received as empirical ' matter' into certain pure or a 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 ; indirectly, 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 concepts.
3. If they were not d priori, there would be no foundation
possible for the established (synthetic d 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 d 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 — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
or noumena] are ever open to our intuitive apprehension, we may
pronounce freely a priori in all that relates to determinations of
Space and Time, provided it is understood of phenomena, consti
tuted 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,' which the mind, as spon
taneously active, combines and orders in the process of Judgment,
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 QUANTITY: Unity, Plurality, Univer
sality (as involved in Singular, Particular, Universal judgments
respectively).
b. Three of QUALITY : Reality, Negation, Limitation (in Posi
tive, Negative, Infinite judgments).
c. Three of RELATION : Substantiality, Causality, Community or
Reciprocal action (in Categorical, Hypothetical, Disjunctive judg
ments).
d. Three of MODALITY : Possibility, Existence, Necessity (in
Problematic, Assertory, Apodeictic judgments).
2. Until a synthesis of intuitions (perceptions) takes place
under some one of these pure or d priori concepts, there is no
Knowledge, or, in the proper meaning of the word, Experience.
The fact of such a synthesis makes all the difference 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 all, The body is heavy.
'6. The reason, now, why we can farther say that no possible
experience will not come under the Categories, as in saying that
effects must 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 all ; 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 Xoumena, 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 ' Principles of the pure un
derstanding ' or (synthetic d priori] Rules for the objective use
of the Categories, that follows. These, including (1) 'Axioms
IDEAS OF THE REASON. 61
of Intuition,' (2) 'Anticipations of Perception,' (3) 'Analogies of
Experience' — Amid all changes of phenomena, Substance abides
the same, All 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 is able to make of a Pure Science, or Metaphysie, of
Nature.]
III. — Transcendental Logic — Dialectic. Besides the Categories of
the Understanding, there are certain other forms of the thinking
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 ' [Beason to be taken here in a nar
row sense as opposed to Sense and Understanding].
1 . The Ideas of the Beason are three in number : (a) The
(psychological) idea of the Soul, as a thinking substance, immate
rial, simple and indestructible ; (&) The (cosmological) idea of the
World, as a system or connected whole of phenomena; (c) The
(theological) idea of God, a,s supreme condition of the possibility
of all things, the being of beings.
2. These Ideas of the Eeason applied to our Cognitions have
a true regulative function, being a constant spur towards bringing
our relative intellectual experience to the higher unity of the
absolute or unconditioned : 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 our mental nature, we cannot
avoid ascribing an illusory objective reality to these Ideas, making
thus a c 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 Eeason,' we become involved in a maze
of deception or ' transcendental show,' as seen in the Paralogisms
regarding 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 Eeason to
find conditions for the validity of the synthetic judgments d 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 the Practical Eeason or Moral Faculty ;
and the Ideas of the Eeason then became of use in helping the
mind to conceive assumptions that were morally necessary.)
Besides rousing Kant in Germany to undertake his critical
inquiries, the general philosophical scepticism of Hume, evoked in
Scotland a protest of a different kind, in the believing Common-
sense doctrine of Eeid. But of Eeid's views there was a singular
anticipation made by the Jesuit Pere Buiner in 1724, in an attempt
to refute another and earlier sceptical doctrine^ developed out of
the fundamental principle of Cartesianisnu
62 APPENDIX — ORIGIN" OF KNOWLEDGE.
FATHER, BUFFIER. Buffier anticipated Reid, 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. (I) 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 Burner 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 mariner, 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: — (1) '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 body; 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 ? Buffier' 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
KEID - 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.'
DR. 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-labourer, 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 may be applied
in their support. (1) To show that the principle rejected stands
upon the same footing with others that are admitted. (2) As in
Mathematics, the redudio 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 effect of education
or of false reasoning, have a good claim to be considered as first
principles.
Reid asks whether the decisions of Common Sense can be
brought into a code such as all reasonable men shall acquiesce in.
He acknowledges the difficulty 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 cylinder, of
the same base and height, is a necessary truth. It does not
depend upon the will 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
()4 APPENDIX- -ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
that I call myself, my mind, my person. (3) Those things did
really 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. [This 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 our 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 fellow-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
born, may be frightened by an angry or threatening tone of
voice. (10) There is a certain regard due to human testimony in
matters of fact, and even to human authority in matters 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, Reid
thinks it enough to divide them into classes, and to mention some
by way of specimen in each class.
1. Grammatica] 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 proposition, 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) Reasoning 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 partly
animal and partly rational. Rational taste is the pleasure of
ENUMERATION OF FIRST PRINCIPLES. 65
contemplating what is conceived as excellent in its kind. 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 unjust 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 we should think unjust or unfair
to be done to us in like circumstances. [By endeavouring to make
the golden rule more precise, Reid 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 (which we call body), and
the thoughts we are conscious of must have a subject (which 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 all languages. (2) What
ever begins to exist must have a cause. (3) Design and intelli
gence in the cause may be 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 belief 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 our body affected by particular pains.
DUGALD 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. Mathematical Axioms. On this subject Stewart follows
Locke in preference to Reid. 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 maxims
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 identical 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
Stewart adheres so far as Arithmetic is concerned. In Algebra
52
G6 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
and Arithmetic, ' All our investigations amount to nothing more,
than to a comparison of different expressions of the same thing.
But the axioms of Euclid are not definitions, they are universal
propositions applicable to an infinite variety of instances. Reid
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 could 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-called 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 definitions 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 all
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 -j- 2 = 5, are definitions analogous to those in Euclid, and
forming the material of all the complicated results in the science.
But he objects to the theory of Leibnitz, that all 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; all 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 slide into the belief tliat identity and equality were
convertible terms. Hence it is said, all mathematical propositions
are reducible to the form, a = 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 o±
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
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 instinct 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 inimical powers con
nected with our bodily 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.1 Also, we imitate instinctively the tones
and accents of our companions. As we advance in years, this
propensity to imitation grows weaker.
SIR 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 our 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 all 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 vulgar. 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 — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE
regarded as an appeal to ' the undeveloped beliefs of the unre
flecting many.' Into this error fell Beattie, Oswald, and, in his
earlier work, even Eeid. But Hamilton alleges that Reid 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. Incomprehensibility [an inapt word for expressing that they are
fundamental and not to be explained by reference to anything
else]. 2. Simplicity [another name for the same fact]. 3. Neces
sity, and Absolute Universality. 4. Certainty [what is both neces
sary and universal must be certain. Hence in reality the four
criteria consist of (1) the denning 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
Necessity: — (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 and negative necessity ; the
application appears under the next head.
II. — The Law of the Conditioned. Necessity may be the result
either of a power (positive J, or of an impotency (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 110 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 applications of the Law of the Conditioned are to the
Principles of Causality and Substance. Take first Causality.
HAMILTON'S LAW OF THE CONDITIONED. 69
Causality is the law of the Conditioned applied to a thing thought
as existing in time. No object can be known unless thought as ex
istent ; and in time. Thinking the object, 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 : — it is conceived, and is 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 some causes, but what those causes are must be learned
from experience. Granting his theory of Causality, 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 freedom,
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.
Hamilton has not applied the law of the Conditioned, with
much detail, to the principle of Substance. The problem is —
Why must I suppose that 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 unthinkable. 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.
JOITN- STUART 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 visible. A
70 APPENDIX — ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
Geometrical line is inconceivable. Mr. Mill agrees with Dugald
tewart in regarding geometry as built upon hypotheses. The
definitions of geometry are generalizations, obviously easy, of the
properties of lines and figures. 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 "VVhewell 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. Regarding the foundation of the
axioms, two views are held ; one that they are experimental truths
resting on observation ; the other that they are d priori truths.
The chief arguments in support of the d 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 thinking 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
lines 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 character of necessity. The meaning of a necessary
truth, as explained by Dr. "Who well, is a proposition the negation
of which is not only false but inconceivable. The test of a neces
sary truth is the inconceivableness 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. Whewell 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 basis 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. Since, then, algebra is true, not merely of lines
and angles like geometry, but of all 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-called 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 all
objects, although a hypothetical element maybe involved ; the unit
72 APPENDIX -ORIGIN OF KNOWLEDGE.
of the numbers 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 hypothetically ; 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.
Criticism 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 inconceivableness 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 school, but he differs from that school in
holding the fallibility of the test of inconceivableness. 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 inconceivableness are
two in number. (1) Every invariable belief represents the aggre
gate of all past experience. The inconceivableness of a thing
implies that it is wholly 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 ? Uniformity of
experience is itself far from being universally a criterion of truth ;
and inconceivableness is still farther from being a test of unifor
mity of experience. (2) Whether inconceivability 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
cannot 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 cannot 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-
MANSEL ON THE AXIOMS. 73
ness, inability to get rid of an idea or inability to get rid of
a belief, Mr. Spencer's argument fails to be convincing.
HENRY L. MAXSEL. Mr. Mansel has examined the subject of
Intuition in his Prolegomena Logica, Chap. III. — VI., and in his
Metaphysics. He takes up four kinds of necessity : mathematical,
metaphysical, logical, and moral. He, to a great degree, follows
Kant and Sir W. Hamilton.
I. — MATHEMATICAL 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 ideas, but associations however frequent and uni
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 argumentum ad liominem
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 truths 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 Geometry ? The answer
is taken direct from Kant. It is because space is itself an a 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. Geometrical 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 OF KNOWLEDGE.
supplied with 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. — METAPHYSICAL 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 reject 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 ? Koid 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 as 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 -f- 2 are at bottom identical — so that both being given, an analysis
of each will ultimately show their correspondence ; hut 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 which
he possesses already.'
CAUSALITY. 75
2. The Principle of Causality. — 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 of productive power. Reid 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 found ? In
mind as determining its own modifications. ( In every act of voli
tion, I am fully conscious that it is in my power to form 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 meaning1 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. — LOGICAL 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.
IV. — MORAL 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 highest application of the facts a-nd 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 Ethics.
Happiness being denned 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. Still, the practical carrying out of the maxim, under all
the complications of the human system, bodily and mental, de
mands many adjustments and reservations.
If the enumeration of Muscular Feelings, Sensations, and
Emotions be complete, it contains all our pleasures and pains. It
is unnecessary to repeat the list in detail. On the side of PLEA
SURE, we have, as leading elements ; — Muscular Exercise, Eest
after exercise.; Healthy Organic Sensibility in general, and
Alimentary Sensations in particular ; Sweet Tastes and Odours ;
Soft and Warm Touches ; Melody and Harmony in Sound ; Cheer
ful Light and Coloured Spectacle ; the Sexual feelings ; Liberty
after constraint ; Novelty and Wonder ; the warm Tender Emo
tions ; Sexual, Maternal and Paternal Love, Friendship, Admira
tion. Esteem, 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 Sentiment. 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, and
especially on the means or instrumentality 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 ; Eestraint 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 ; Intellectual Contradictions
THE ELEMENTARY PLEASURES AND PAINS. 77
and Obscurity ; the JEsthetically 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.
Looking at human nature on the whole, 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, would make up a joyful existence.
There are various practically important distinctions among our
pleasures. In the first 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 unfelt : 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 pleasurable is
found in the soothing tendency of the massive pleasures ; a gentle
and diffused 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 con
tains, and glories in, ways of stimulating unbounded desire, under
the name of the Ideal.
A farther mode of classifying pleasures 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 all, but are consumed by the user, as many material
agencies — food, space, house furniture, and, with a certain quali
fication, love, which, in the actual, is limited 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 pleasure and remove pain — is qualified, in the
first place, by the Law of RELATIVITY, 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
delight be maintained ; the stimulus then requires to be with
drawn for a period corresponding to the intensity of the effect.
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 complete the alterna
tion, the greater the happiness. It is hopeless to attain much
enjoyment by playing upon any single string, however acute may
be its thrill.
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 oi
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 susceptibilities of delight, in addition to what we
have by nature. This will be again alluded to among the bearings
of education on happiness.
HEALTH. 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 all 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 ; in 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 sensibility. 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 chief 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 special pre
cautions against the known injuries and ailments. It involves
the still more comprehensive purpose expressed generally 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 bo commenced from our earliest years, and not,
as usually happens, after a conscious reduction of vigour has
roused the individual 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, until 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
happiness.
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 the anaesthetic ten
dency of pursuit, already dwelt upon. Whatever may be the num
ber or variety of our passive 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 self -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 — the emotional tem
perament — be highly developed, and the sources of pleasure
numerous and uiiexhausting, 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 KNOWLEDGE, or an
acquaintance 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 all 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 complications 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 lives
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 footsteps in the society we
live in. Fifthly, whatever studies lead to an accurate estimate of
Evidence, are of the highest import ; their application 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 judging 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 sake 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. Yet, as these
ideals, although they should be moderately indulged in, cannot
be expelled from human life, 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 roniancist uniformly 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, without 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 life.
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 to.
1. AVhatever training and instructions can do to fit us 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 ease than the
late learner. Pitt's training in oratory under his father, contri
buted alike to his greatness, and to his enjoyment of the exercise
of speaking.
2. 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 born 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
is an education possessing a like fitness.
There can be no very great happiness without paying regard
to INDIVIDUALITY. 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, the
84 APPENDIX -HAPPINESS.
opportunities should correspond ; if little, there should be an
exemption from society. 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 placed 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 Avorldly 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 fortunate lot. Next to a harmonizing avocation is the choice
of Recreations 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 unsatisfied 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 midst 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 indulgence 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 be little doubt as to which is the safe side.
We are next to consider the relation of Happiness to WEALTH,
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
judgment of the great mass of mankind, and the guiding principle
of nearly all their labours ; some may be industrious from other
WEALTH. — VIRTUE. 85
motives, but the general multitude labour for money. And scarcely
any limit is admitted to the pursuit ; it would seem as if, at no
pitch of pecuniary fortune, farther acquisition were considered
futile.
Some of the consequences of this principle in its naked and
unqualified aspect are undoubtedly grave and unpalatable to con
template. Whoever would 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, moralists 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
well 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 abundance.
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 more 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 VIRTUE, 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 with the clear and undeniable 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 virtue 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
feeling to whatever society deems wrong ; vice is clothed with
painful associations, and virtue 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 RELIGION, 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 o{ 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 pursuits 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
system; 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, will 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. — Classifications of the Mind.
THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS.
1. THOMAS AQUINAS.
First, Powers preceding the Intellect.
I. — VEGETATIVE. 1. Nutrition; 2. Growth; 3. Generation.
II. — EXTERNAL SENSES (five in number).
III. — INTERNAL SENSES. 1. Common Sense (the sense that
compares and distinguishes the objects of the several senses) ;
2. Imagination; 3. sEstimativa (discerning in ob j ects what is not
revealed by the senses, as the enmity of the wolf to the sheep) ;
4. Memory (including Reminiscence).
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 Eeason ;
5. Conscience.
2. HERBERT OF CHERBURY.
His classification is mixed, and we give it as it stands, includ
ing Emotions as well as Intellect.
I. — NATURAL INSTINCT (explained under the history of In
tuition, Appendix B).
II. — INTERNAL SENSE. 1. Incorporeal (having no physical
antecedents, as joy, love, hope, trust) ; 2. Corporeal, arising from
the humores (hunger, thirst, lust, melancholy, &c.) ; 3. Objective
feelings fab objectis invectij, 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 di/erentice in the objects
of sense.
IV.— DISCUESUS, which is the faculty of intellect proper.
3. GASSENDI.
I. — SENSE.
II. — PHANTASY.
III.— INTELLECT. 1. Apprehension of God or Spirits; 2. Pie-
flection; and 3. Reasoning.
4. THOMAS REID.
1. External Senses ; 2. Memory ; 3. Conception or Simple Appre
hension; 4. Abstraction (Nominalism and Realism); 5. Judgment
(First Truths) ; 6. Reasoning (Demonstration and Probable Reason
ing); 7. Taste.
5. DUGALD STEWART.
1. Consciousness; 2. External Perception; 3. Attention; 4. Con
ception; 5. Abstraction; 6. Association of Ideas; 7. Memory; 8.
Imagination; 9. Reasoning (taking up Logic).
6. THOMAS BROWN.
I.— EXTERNAL AFFECTIONS. 1. Sensation; 2. Organic States.
II. — INTERNAL AFFECTIONS. 1. Intellectual States. (1) Simple
THE INTELLECTUAL PO WEES.— THE EMOTIONS. 89
Suggestion (the laws of Association) ; and (2) Eelative Suggestion
(Comparison, Resemblance). 2. The Emotions (given in detail
afterwards).
7. SIB W. HAMILTON.
Sir "W. Hamilton enumerates six faculties: — 1. Preservative
(the Senses and Self-consciousness) ; 2. Conservative (mere retention
in the memory) ; 3. Reproductive (depends on the Laws of Associ
ation) ; 4. Elaborative (Abstraction and Reasoning) ; 5. Represen
tative (Imagination) ; 6. Regulative (the faculty of a priori truths).
8. SAMUEL BAILEY.
I.— DISCERNING. 1. Through the Senses; 2. Not through the
(Introspection].
II.— CONCEIVING, having ideas or mental representations. 1.
Conceiving without individual recognition ; 2. Conceiving with indi
vidual recognition; 3. Imagining, or conceiving under new com
binations.
III. — BELIEVING, 1. On evidence, and 2. without evidence.
IV.— REASONING, 1. Contingent, and 2. Demonstrative.
9. HERBERT SPENCER.
Mr. Spencer defines cognitions as the relations subsisting
among our feelings, and classifies them as follows ; 1. Presentative
cognitions (localizing sensations) ; 2. Presentalive-representative,
perception of the whole from a part (as when the sight of an
orange brings to mind all its other attributes); 3. Representative;
including all acts of recollection : 4. Re-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 ANTECEDENTS or THE
INTELLECT. 1. Muscularity, and 2. The Senses. II. — THE IN
TELLECT. 1. Discrimination, or the sense of difference; 2. Simi
larity, or the sense of agreement ; and 3. Retentiveness.
THE EMOTIONS.
1. REID.
His Active Powers are divided into three parts : —
I. — MECHANICAL PRINCIPLES or ACTION. 1. Instinct; 2. Haiti.
II. — ANIMAL PRINCIPLES. 1. Appetites; 2. Desires (Power,
Esteem, Knowledge) ; 3. Affections (Benevolent and Malevolent ;
Passion, Disposition, Opinion).
III. — RATIONAL PRINCIPLES. 1. Self-love; 2. Duty.
2. DTJGALD STEWART.
I.— INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 1. Appetites; 2.
Desires (Knowledge, Society, Esteem, Power, Superiority); 3.
Affections (Benevolent and Malevolent).
II.— RATIONAL AND GOVERNING PRINCIPLES or ACTION. 1.
Prudence ; 2. Moral Faculty ; 3. Decency, or a regard to character ;
4. Sympathy ; 5. the Ridiculous ; 6. Taste.
90 APPENDIX— CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE MIND.
3. THOMAS BROWN.
I. — IMMEDIATE, excited by present objects. 1. Cheerfulness
and Melancholy ; 2. Wonder; 3. Languor; 4. Beauty ; 5. Sublimity;
6. the Ludicrous; 7. Moral feeling ; 8. Love and Hate; 9. Sym
pathy ; 10. Pride and. Humility.
II. — RETROSPECTIVE. 1. Anger ; 2. Gratitude; 3. Simple Re
gret and Gladness ; 4. Remorse and its opposite.
III. — PROSPECTIVE. 1. The Desires (Continued Existence,
Pleasure, Action, Society, Knowledge, Power, Affection, Glory,
the Happiness of others, Evil to others); 2. Fears; 3. Hope;
4. Expectation ; 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 Elaborative Faculty (Wit, the pleasures of Truth 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 PRACTICAL feelings relate to, 1. Self-Preservation
(Hunger and Thirst, Loathing, Sorrow, Bodily pain, Anxiety,
Repose, &c.) ; 2. The Enjoyment of our Existence ; 3. The Preser
vation of the Species ; 4. Our Tendency towards Development and
Perfection; and 5. The Moral Law.
5- HERBERT SPENCER.
Mr. Spencer's classification runs parallel to his arrangement
of the intellectual powers. 1. Presentative feelings, ordinarily
called Sensations ; 2. Preservative-representative feelings, including
the simple emotions, as Terror ; 3. Representative feelings, such as
those roused by a descriptive poet ; 4. Re-representative feelings,
such as Property, Justice.
6. KANT.
I. — SENSUOUS, coming through — 1. Sense (Tedium, Content
ment), or 2. Imagination (Taste).
II.— INTELLECTUAL, from 1. the Concepts of the Understand
ing; and 2. the Ideas of the Reason. He takes the Affections and
Passions under the Will.
7. HERBART.
Herbart, and his followers Waitz and Nahlowsky. First,
Feelings Proper. I. — FORMAL. 1. The general or elementary feel
ings (Oppression and Relief, 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. — QUALITATIVE. 1. Feelings of Sense; 2. higher or Intel
lectual feelings (Truth and Probability) , the ^Esthetic ; the
Moral , the Religious.
THE LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. 91
Secondly, Complex Emotional States. I. THOSE INVOLVING
CONATION (Desire or Aversion). 1. Sympathetic feeling ; 2 Love,
both Sensual and Ideal.
II. — STATES RESTING ON AN ORGANIC FOUNDATION. 1. The
Disposition or mood of mind, tone, or general hilarity; 2. the
Affections.
8. SCHLEIDLER.
I. — SENSE-FEELING. 1. Connected with lodily existence (Health,
Depression, Hunger, &c.) ; 2. Organic (feelings of Special Sense) ;
3. Inner Sense (Temper or high spirits).
II. — FEELINGS CONNECTED WITH IDEAS. 1. Ideas from Sense
(Disgust, Sympathy with pain) ; 2. from Imagination (Hope and
Fear); 3. from Understanding (Shame, Reproach, &c.); 4. the
lower ^Esthetic feelings (Physical Beauty).
III. — INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 1. From acquiring Know
ledge ; pain of idleness ; 2. from Intellectual exercise (Novelty,
System, Order, Symmetry, Harmony and Ehythm, Simple and
Complex, Wit and Humour, Comic and Ridiculous).
IV. — RATIONAL FEELINGS. 1. Truth feelings; 2. the Higher
^Esthetic; 3. Moral feelings ; 4. Sympathetic feelings ; 5. Religious
feelings.
THE LAWS 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, Coadjaceney
or Contiguity, but gives no detailed exposition of them.
2. Ludovicus Vives. ' Quae simul sunt a Phantasia coinpre-
hensa, si alterutrum occurrat, solet secuin alterum representare.'
Hamilton's Reid, 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. Locke, 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 Resemblance, Contiguity, and Cause and
Effect ; and he resolves Contrast into Causation and Resemblance.
6. Gerard, in his ' Essay on Genius,' states two kinds of prin
ciples of Association — Simple and Compound. Of the Simple,
there are three:—!. Resemblance, whenever perceptions 'at all
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 and Effect ; (3) Order.
7. Beattie has — 1. Resemblance, ' one event or story leads us to
think of another that is like it' ; 2. Contrariety; 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 and 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.' Association is thus synchronous or successive.
9. James Mill follows Hartley's statement. ' Our ideas 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 principle, but is unsuccessful in his attempt to resolve
Resemblance into Contiguity. Contrast arises generally from a
vivid co) t/un ction .
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, Resemblance (including Analogy J, Contrariety, Vicinity in
time and place ; he adds as less obvious modes, Cause and Effect,
Means and Ends, Premises and Conclusions.
11. Thomas Brown mentions Contiguity, Resemblance (including
Analogy Jf 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 laws of
mental succession. I. — The Law of Associability or Possible Co-
suggestion: — All thoughts of the same mental subjects are as-
sociable, or capable of suggesting each other. II. — The Law
of Repetition or Direct Remembrance : — Thoughts co-identical in
modification, but differing in time, tend to suggest each other.
III. — The Law of Redintegration, of Indirect Resemblance, or of
Reminiscence : — Thoughts once co-identical in time, are, however
different as mental modes, again suggestive of each other, and
that in the mutual order which they originally 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 Repetition. 2. The Law of
Contrast. 3. The Law of Coadjacency, embracing Cause and Effect,
Whole and Parts, Substance and Attribute, Sign and Signified.
CONSCIOUSNESS. 93
E. — Meanings of certain Terms.
CONSCIOUSNESS. 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 meaning 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 Eeid 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 all 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 mix 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
versally ; 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 know 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 feeling ; 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 TERMS.
having some knowledge 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 all, 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.
SEXSATIOX. 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 owing 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
betAveen 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 ; the
PRESENTATION AND REPRESENTATION. 95
meaning of which 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 boun
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 sum 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 clear
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 excludes such
intellectual elements as Likeness, Unlikeness, Equality and Pro
portion ; whereas it is impossible to exclude such attributes from
the perceptive process.
PRESENTATION and EEPRESENTATION. 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 cognitions. 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 the theories of External Perception. His own view
96
APPENDIX— MEANINGS OF TEEMS.
is Presentationism ; he holds that the consciousness of external
reality is immediate like the consciousness of colour, touch, or
resistance.
Presentation thus corresponds to Sensation in the third meaning
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 IDENTITY. Much controversy has been raised on
the question as to our personal or continual identity. Some of
the difficulty arises from the ambiguity of the words Sameness, 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 human body is
called the same, or identical, through its whole life, in spite of
important diversities ; for not only a,re the actual particles re
peatedly changed, but the plan, or arrangement, of those particles
is greatly altered in the different 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 life, that the question
of sameness is most subtle and perplexed. There are different
modes of expressing the identity of a being 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 ' consciousness of
present and past actions in the person to whom they belong.'
Person ' is a thinking, intelligent beins1, that has reason and re
flection, and can consider itself as itself, the same thinking being,
in different times and places ; which it does only by that conscious
ness which is inseparable from thinking.' ' For, since consciousness
always accompanies thinking, and is what makes every one to be
what each calls ' self,' and thereby distinguishes self from all
PEESONAL IDENTITY. 97
other thinking beings ; in this alone consists personal identity ' —
(Essay, Book II., chap. 27).
Locke has been attacked on various grounds. 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 within 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 belief in memory (see, among
others, Brown, Lect. XIII.). We have certain states that we call
E resent, actual, immediate, as in the consciousness of a present
ght, sound, or taste. We have another class of experiences when
these effects are 110 longer supported in the actual, but remembered,
or retained in the ideal ; with them is involved the belief 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 fully 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 pa,gt, 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 date; the
identity prior to each one's earliest recollection of self, is only
objective, like a tree ; the parents and others are the testimony to
the succession of the individual in the years of mental incompetency.
54
98 APPENDIX — MEANINGS OF TERMS.
The Belief in Memory may probably be regarded as standing
at one remove from an ultimate law of the mind, namely, the
law that connects Belief with our Spontaneous arid Voluntary
Activity (p. 377).
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.
SUBSTANCE. 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, £c. ; what then is the substance ' gold ' ? Matter
has the property ' Inertia ; ' what is the substance P
One way out of the difficulty is to postulate an unknown, and
unknowable entity, underlying, 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.
There 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 — •
the noumenon as against the phenomenon ; what is, in contrast to
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 ' inertia1 is fundamental
and irremovable ; the properties — colour, transparency, hardness,
elasticity, oxidation, &c., 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
wall ; 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 property
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 denning 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.
Eeid 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, unknown, 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 Fichte : — 'Attributes synthetically united give
substance, and substance analyzed gives attributes ; a continued
substratum, or supporter of attributes, is an impossible concep
tion.'
100 APPENDIX — NOTE ON BELIEF.
Note on the chapter on BELIEF, p. 371.
In the chapter on Belief, I have given what I now regard as
a mistaken view of the fundamental nature of the state of Belief,
namely, to refer it to the Spontaneous Activity of the System. I
consider the correct view to be, that belief is a primitive disposi
tion to follow out any sequence that has been once experienced,
and to expect the result. It is a fact or incident of our Intel
lectual nature, although dependent as to its energy upon our
Active and Emotional tendencies.
The several agencies in Belief may be enumerated in the fol
lowing order : —
1. The primitive tendency to expect that what has been will
be again. The mere fact, that a stone dropped into a pool of
water makes a splash and a series of waves, is accompanied with
the expectation that the same sequence will recur. The mind
proceeds in a track onee formed ; and if it is capable of any in
ference, or of any resolution founded on that, repeats the act in
perfect confidence of the result.
The nice point in the situation is the full assurance based on
a single trial. Repetition, scarcely adds anything to the primitive
confidence growing out of the first occurrence of the event. The
efficacy of Repetition, belongs to a later stage.
2. Suppose next, what happens in a great number of our
primitive expectations, that we encounter a failure, in other
words, a breach of sequence. A stone is thrown in what seems
to be water, but makes no splash, and no waves. This failure,
or interruption, produces a mental shock, a breach of expecta
tion, a disappointment, which unhinges and discomposes the
mind. It is in point of fact destructive of the prior state of
expectation ; that state cannot be renewed without a roundabout
process. In some instances, we find that we have made a mis
take of identity : as when we took ice for water ; in other
instances there is a flat contradiction, as when we expect to
morrow's sun to rise as bright as to-day's.
It is not the number of instances that gives us our confident
expectation ; it is the unbroken uniformity. The occurrence of
two cases for and none against, is a case of full belief ; the
occurrence of ten cases for and one against, leaves a shaken and
imperfect confidence, or else no confidence at ail.
It becomes a serious part of our education to surmount,
reconcile, and accomodate, these interrupted sequences ; and we
fall upon various modes of effecting the end. There are some
methods of a purely rational kind ; as, for example, when we
set ourselves to discover the reasons of the discrepancy and find
that it is only apparent. Another way is to surrender entirely
certain sequences as having no validity whatever. At this stage
repetition is useful as a test to discriminate the accidental from
the persistent sequences.
3. Our active and emotional tendencies operate as stated in
NOTE ON BELIEF. 101
the text. They may get us over the shock of failure by their
own peculiar efficacy in counteracting and obliterating any pain
ful impressions. When we are actively disposed, we overlook
and disregard the obstacles to our activity. When a result is very
agreeable to us, we merge and forget the hostile experiences, and
proceed as if the uniformity had been complete. Whether the
shocks of disappointed expectation shall generate a doubting
turn of mind, or shall be made light of and leave a disposition
to expect too much, depends greatly on these active and emotional
forces, and in some measure upon the education of the intellect.
The details of this complex influence are furnished in the text,
allowance being made for the correction indicated in this Note.
INDEX.
THEORY OF ETHICS AND ETHICAL SYSTEMS.
Abaelard, ethical theory of
Agreeable Qualities, Hume
Albert the Great
Alexander of Hales
Antipater
Apathy, Stoical
Aquinas, ethical theory of
Archidemus
Aristippus, ethics
Aristotle, ethical
Athenodorus .
Austin, ethical theory of
Authority, involved in notion
of right and wrong
moral, province of
Bailey, ethical theory of .
Beneficence, Stoical view of
Benevolence, disinterested,
Butler .
H )<-cheson
the highest h
Bentham, ethical theory of
Bernard St.
Bonaventura
Bonum summum
Brown, ethical theory of
Butler, ethical theory of .
Categorical imperative, Kant .
Chrysippus
Clarke, ethical theory of .
Cleanthes
Code, morality a
Conscience, ultimate or deri
vative ? .
Butler on .
Mackintosh on .
Contract, according to Hobbes
Cosmopolitanism,first preached
by the Stoics
Courage, virtue of
Cousin, ethical theory of
Cud worth, ethical theory of
Cumberland;, ethical theory of,
Cynics, ^thical theory of
Cyrenaios, ethical theory of
PAGE
PAGE
ry of
537
Death, fear of, in the view of
Lame
605
540
ib.
Epicurus . . . 529
Desires, Epicurean regulation of, 527
Development of moral intui
.
513
tions, Spencer . . . 723
.
520
Diogenes 474
yof .
540
Disinterestedness maintained . 432
513
Butler on . • , . 574
ory of .
475
Hartley on ... 633
-y of
477
Duties, classification of . . 433
513
Kant's .... 739
of' ;
6*5
Duty, Kant .... 727
i notion
End, the Ethical . . 434, 442
.
455
Epictetus, ethical theory of . 514
.
438
Epicurus, ethical theory of . 525
of.
ew of .
ested,
714
523
Eternal and Immutable verities 560,613
Ferguson, ethical theory of . 635
Ferrier, ethical theory of . 699
.
574
Fitness of things, Clarke . 563
.
583
Freedom of the Will, Stoical
t merit .
"y of
599
659
538
views regarding . . . 517
Friendship, in Aristotle's system, 503
Gassendi, an Epicurean . . 526
. .
540
Happiness, the Ethical end 442, 703
.
432
according to Aristotle . 510
of
646
according to Hutcheson . 587
rf .
573
according to Paley . . 654
Kant .
731
not the proximate end,
513
Spencer .... 721
Df '. '.
562
Hartley, ethical theory of . 633
,
513
Helvetius, ethical theory of . 598
.
451
Hobbes, ethical theory of . 543
or deri-
Honour, laws of ... 435
_,
431
Hume, ethical theory of . . 598
575
Humility, a Christian virtue . 538
.
672
Hutcheson, ethical theory of . 580
Hobbes
550
Imperatives, Kant . . . 729
reached
Injustice, a disease according
m
522
to Plato . . . 466,471
488
Innate ideas, Locke . . 566
3f' '.
741
John of Salisbury ... 539
*y o£
560
Jouffroy 746
eory of,
556
Justice, not an end in itself 445
*
473
Aristotle on ... 493
ry of .
475
Hume on . . . . 599
11
INDEX.
J. S. Mill's analysis of . 711
Kant, ethical theory of . . 725
Law how far coincident with.
Morality . . _ . . 435
meaning of, Austin , . 6(JO
Legislation, province of . . GG6
Liberality .... 490
Locke, ethical theory of . . 566
Lucretius .... 526
Mackintosh, ethical theory of . 670
Magnanimity . . . . 491
Magnificence .... ib.
Mandeville, ethical theory of . 593
Mansel . . . . . 701
Marcus Aurelius . . . 514
Merit, sense of, Smith . . 622
Mildness 492
Mill, James, ethical theory of 679
Mill, J. S., ethical theory of . 703
Modesty ..... 492
Moral approbation, Hume . 606
Moral distinctions, universality of 647
Moral Faculty .... 448
Moral Government, province of, 438
Moral obligation, Paley . . 655
Moral sense, Hutcheson . . 584
remarks on, Smith . . 631
denied, Hartley . . 634
objections to, Paley . . 652
Ferrier on ... 698
Motives, order of pre-eminence
among 663
Natural Right .... 549
Nature, laws of, Hobbes . 553
Neo-Platonists ... 535
Nicomachean. Ethics, abstract
of 4/7
Optional Morality ... 437
Order, Universal, Jouffroy . 749
Pains, Bentham's classification of 662
Paley, ethical theory of . . 651
Panaetius . . - • 513
Plato, ethical theory of . . 463
Pleasure, stoical view of . 516, 520
Aristotle's view of . . 506
Pleasures, Bentham's classifica
tion of 662
Plotinus 535
Politics related to Ethics . 433
Porphyry .... 535
Posidonius .... 513
Postulates of the Practical Reason 737
Praise, love of, Smith . . 626
Price, ethical theory of . . 611
Pride, stoical .... 521
Private ethics, Bentham . . 665
Private vices, public benefits,
Mandeville .... 597
Propriety of expression, Smith 621
Prudence, an element of the
Moral Faculty . . . 453
in Ai-istotle's system . 496
Psychological questions on
Ethics 431
Punishments .... 434
Bentharn's theory of . 665
Reason, Pure, Kant . . 728
Practical, Kant . . . 729
Reciprocity, in Epicurean sys
tem 531
Reid, ethical theory of . . 635
Rewards ..... 435
Rightness, implies authority . 455
Sanctions .... 435
Bentham's four . . 661
Scholastic Ethics ... 537
Security contrasted with Improve
ment 439
Self, reference of Benevolence to, 431
Self-approbation, Smith . 626
Self-denial, a means to an end, 445
Self-government, Beutham . 665
Self-love, utility not . . 446
Mandeville on . . . 595
Self-restraint, in Aristotle's
system 500
Sensibility, how influenced,
Bentham .... 662
Seneca ..... 514
Sentiment, as affecting Morality 437
Smith, ethical theory of . 619
Socrates, ethical theory of . 460
Standard, ethical ... 434
various doctrines of the . 429
Stewart, ethical theory of . 639
Stoics, ethical theory of . 513
Spencer, ethical theory of . 721
Sympathy, an element of the
Moral Faculty ... 454
Adam Smith ... 619
Ferrier .... 699
Temperance, virtue of . . 490
Theology, related to Ethics , 433
Utilitarianism . . . 702
Utility, as determining actual
morality . 437
the criterion of Morality 440
why pleasing, Hume . 603
as affecting approbation . 629
objections to, Brown . 648
Bentham on ... 659
defended by Mackintosh . 675
objections to, answered,
Austin .... 686
J. S. Mill, ... 704
Veracity, not an end in itself , 444
Virtue, how far an end in itself ib.
doctrine that knowledge is 461
INDEX.
Ill
teachable . . . 465
Aristotle's definition of . 483
and vice voluntary . . 487
Paley's definition of . 655
Virtues, Plato's four cardinal 470
of the intellect . . 459
Weil-being contrasted with Being 439
Whewell, ethical theory of . 692
Will, Autonomous, Kant . 733
Wollaston, ethical theory of . 566
Zeno, of Sidon . . . 513
Zeno, the Stoic, of Cyprus . ib.
WORKS BY PROFESSOR BAIN.
A FIEST ENGLISH GEAMMAE ................
A KEY, with Additional Exercises .................
A HIGHER ENGLISH GEAMMAE .............
ENGLISH COMPOSITION AND EHETOEIC
LOGIC, DEDUCTIVE AND INDUCTIVE-
PART I.— DEDUCTION ......................
PART II.— INDUCTION .....................
MENTAL AND MOEAL SCIENCE, a Com
pendium of Psychology and Ethics ..........
Also,
PART I. — PSYCHOLOGY AND HIS
TORY OF PHILOSOPHY ..........
PART IT. — ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY
AND ETHICAL SYSTEMS .......
THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT
THE EMOTIONS AND THE WILL. Com
pleting a Systematic Exposition of the
Human Mind... ..............
Is. 4a
Is. 9o.
2s. 60.
4s. OD.
4s. OD.
6s. OD.
10s. 60.
6s. 6D
4s. GD.
15s. OD.
15s. OD.
London : LONGMANS, GREEN, & Co., Paternoster Row.
[A.TJGS-TJST 1873.]
GENERAL LIST OF VOBKS
PUBLISHED BY
MESSRS. LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
History, Politics, Historical Memoirs, &c.
The HISTOEY of ENGLAND from the Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat
of the Spanish Armada. By JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, M.A. late Fellow
of Exeter College, Oxford.
LIBRARY EDITION, Twelve Volumes, 8vo. price £8. 18*.
CABINET EDITION, Twelve Volumes, crown Svo. price 72s.
The ENGLISH in IRELAND in the EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
By JAMES ANTHONY FIIOUDE, M.A. late Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford.
VOL. I. Svo. price 16*.
ESTIMATES of the ENGLISH KINGS from WILLIAM the CON-
QUEROR to GEORGE III. By J. LANGTON SANFOUD. Crown Svo. 12*. 6<J.
The HISTORY of ENGLAND from the Accession of James II. By
Lord MACAULAY.
STUDENT'S EDITION, 2 vols. crown Svo. 12*.
PEOPLE'S EDITION, 4 vols. crown Svo. 16s.
CABINET EDITION, 8 vol$. post Svo. 485.
LIBRARY EDITION, 5 vols. Svo. £4.
LORD MACAULAY'S WORKS. Complete and Uniform Library
Edition. Edited by his Sister, Lady TREVELYAN. 8 vols. 8vo. with Portrait,
price £5. 5s. cloth, or £8. 8*. bound in tree-calf by Riviere.
On PARLIAMENTARY GOVERNMENT in ENGLAND; its Origin,
Development, and Practical Operation. By ALPHEUS TODD, Librarian of the
Legislative Assembly of Canada. 2 vols. Svo. price £1. 17*.
The CONSTITUTIONAL HISTORY of ENGLAND, since the Acces
sion of George III. 1760—1860. By Sir THOMAS ERSKINB MAY, C.B. The
Third Edition, thoroughly revised. 3 vols. crown Svo. price 18*.
The HISTORY of ENGLAND, from the Earliest Times to the Year
1865. By C. D. YONGE, B.A. Regius Professor of Modern History in Queen's
College, Belfast. New Edition. Crown Svo. price 7*. Gd.
ROYAL and REPUBLICAN FRANCE. A Series of Essays reprinted
from the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and British and Foreign Revieics. By HENRY
REEVK, C.B. D.C.L. 2 vols. 8vo. price 21*.
CHAPTERS from FRENCH HISTORY; St. Louis, Joan of Arc
Henri IV. with Sketches of the Intermediate Periods. By J. H. GURNET M.A.
New Edition. Fcp. Svo. 6*. Crf.
2 NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONG-MANS AND CO.
The OXFORD REFORMERS — John Colet, Erasmus, and Thomas
More ; being a History of their Fellow-work. By FREDERIC SEEBOHM.
Second Edition, enlarged. 8vo. 145.
LECTURES on the HISTORY of ENGLAND, from the Earliest Times
to the Death of King Edward II. By WILLIAM LONGMAN. With Maps and
Illustrations. Svo. loa.
The HISTORY of the LIFE and TIMES of EDWARD the THIRD-
By WILLIAM LONGMAN. With 9 Maps, 8 Plates, and 1C Woodcuts. 2 vols.
8vo. 28s.
GAUL or TEUTON ? Considerations as to our Allies of the Future.
By Lord DUNSANY. 8vo. price 105. 6d.
LORD HATHERTON'S MEMOIR and CORRESPONDENCE relating
to POLITICAL OCCURRENCES in June and July 1834. Edited by HENRY
REEVE. Svo. price 75. 6d.
WATERLOO LECTURES ; a Study of the Campaign of 1815. By
Colonel CHARLES C. CHESNEY, R.E., late Professor of Military Art and
History in the Staff .College. New Edition. Svo. with Map, 105. 6d.
The LIFE and TIMES of SIXTUS the FIFTH. By Baron HUBXER.
Translated from the Original French, with the Author's sanction, by HUBERT
E. H. JERNINGHAM. 2 vols. Svo. price 245.
IGNATIUS LOYOLA and the EARLY JESUITS. By STEWART EOSE.
New Edition, revised. Svo. with Portrait, price 165.
The SIXTH ORIENTAL MONARCHY ; or, the Geography, History,
and Antiquities of Parthia. By GEORGE RAWLINSON, M.A. Cainden Professor
of Ancient History in the University of Oxford. With Maps and Illustrations.
Svo. price 165.
A HISTORY of GREECE. From the Earliest Period to the Present
Time. By the Rev. GEORGE W. Cox, M.A., late Scholar of Trinity College,
Oxford ; Author of ' The Aryan Mythology,' &c. 4 vols. Svo.
*** The First and Second Volumes of this History, to be published in No
vember, will comprise the historical narrative to the end of the Pelopponesian
War, and will form in themselves a complete work, provided with a copious
Index.
The HISTORY OF GREECE. By C. THIELWALL, D.D. Lord Bishop
of St. David's. 8 vols. fcp. 8vo. price 285.
GREEK HISTORY from Themistocles to Alexander, in a Series of
Lives from Plutarch. Revised and arranged by A. H. CLOUGH. New Edition.
Fcp. with 44 Woodcuts, 65.
The TALE of the GREAT PERSIAN WAR, from the Histories of
Herodotus. By GEORGE W. Cox, M.A. New Edition. Fcp. 85. Gd.
The HISTORY* of ROME. By WILLIAM IHNE. English Edition,
translated and revised by the Author. VOLS. I. and II. Svc. price 30s.
HISTORY of the ROMANS under the EMPIRE. By the Very Rev.
C. MERIVALE, D.C.L. Dean of Ely. 8 vols. post Svo. 485.
The FALL of the ROMAN REPUBLIC ; a Short History of the Last
Century of the Commonwealth. By the same Author. 12mo. 7s. 6d.
THREE CENTURIES of MODERN HISTORY. By CHARLES DUKE
YONGE, B.A. Regius Professor of Modern History and English Literature in
Queen's College, Belfast. Crown Svo. price "5. 6d.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
The STUDENT'S MANUAL of the HISTOKY of INDIA, from the
Earliest Period to the Present. By Colonel MEADOWS TAYLOR, M.R.A.S..
M.R.I.A. Second Thousand. Crown 8vo. with Maps, 7*. Gd.
The HISTOKY of INDIA, from the Earliest Period to the close of Lord
Dalhousie's Administration. By JOHN CLAKK MA.RSHMAN. 3 vols. crown
8vo. 22s. Qd.
INDJAN POLITY : a View of the System of Administration in India.
By Lieutenant-Colonel GEORGE CHESNEY, Fellow of the University of Calcutta.
New Edition, revised ; with Map. 8vo. price 21 s.
The IMPERIAL and COLONIAL CONSTITUTIONS of the BRI
TANNIC EMPIRE, including INDIAN INSTITUTIONS. By Sir EDWARD
CREASY, M.A. With 6 Maps. 8vo. price 15s.
REALITIES of IRISH LIFE. By W. STEUABT TRENCH, late Land
Agent in Ireland to the Marquess of Lansdowne, the Marquess of Bath, and
Lord Digby. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. price 65.
The STUDENT'S MANUAL of the HISTORY.1 of IRELAND. By
MARY F. CUSACK. Crown Svo. price 6s.
CRITICAL and HISTORICAL ESSAYS contributed to the Edinburgh
Review. By the Right Hon. LORD MACAULAY.
CABINET EDITION, 4 vols. post Svo. 245. I LIBRARY EDITION, 3 vols. Svo. 36.?.
PEOPLE'S EDITION, 2 vols. crown Svo. 85. | STUDENT'S EDITION, 1 vol. cr. Svo. 65.
HISTORY of EUROPEAN MORALS, from Augustus to Charlemagne
By W. E. H. LECKY, M.A. Second Edition. 2 vols. Svo. price 285.
HISTORY of the RISE and INFLUENCE of the SPIRIT of
RATIONALISM in EUROPE. By W. E. H. LECKY, M.A. Cabinet Edition
being the Fourth. 2 vols. crown Svo. price 165.
GOD in HISTORY ; or, the Progress of Man's Faith in the Moral
Order of the World. By Baron BUNSEN. Translated by SUSANNA WINKWORTH,
with a Preface by Dean STANLEY. 3 vols. Svo. price 425.
The HISTORY of PHILOSOPHY, from Thales to Comte. By
GEORGE HENRY LEWES. Fourth Edition. 2 vols. Svo. 325.
The MYTHOLOGY of the ARYAN NATIONS. By GEORGE W.
Cox, M.A. late Scholar of Trinity College, Oxford, Joint-Editor, with the
late Professor Brande, of the Fourth Edition of ' The Dictionary of Science
Literature, and Art,' Author of ' Tales of Ancient Greece ' &c. 2 vols. Svo. 285.
HISTORY of CIVILISATION in England and France, Spain and Scot
land. By HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE. New Edition of the entire Work, with
a complete INDEX. 3 vols. crown Svo. 245.
HISTORY of the CATHOLIC CHURCH of JESUS CHRIST from the
Death of St. John to the Middle of the Second Century. By the Rev. T. W.
r MOSSMAN, B.A. Svo. price 16$.
HISTORY of the CHRISTIAN CHURCH, from the Ascension of
•: Christ to the Conversion of Constantine. By E. BURTON, D.D. late
Prof, of Divinity in the Univ. of Oxford. New Edition. Fcp. 35. 6d.
s. SKETCH of the HISTORY of the CHURCH of ENGLAND to the
i: Revolution of 1688. By the Right Rev. T. V. SHORT, D.D. Lord Bishop of
St. Asaph. Eighth Edition. Crown Svo. 7*. 6d.
A 2
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
HISTORY of the EARLY CHURCH, from the First Preaching of the
Gospel to the Council of Nicrea, A.D. 325. By ELIZABETH M. SEWELL, Author
of ' Amy Herbert.' New Edition, with Questions. Fcp. 4s. Gd.
The ENGLISH REFORMATION. By F. C. MASSINGTJEBD, M.A.
late Chancellor of Lincoln and Rector of South Ormsby. Fourth Edition,
revised. Fcp. 8vo. 7s. Gd.
MAUNDER'S HISTORICAL TREASURY ; comprising a General In
troductory Outline of Universal History, and a series of Separate Histories.
Latest Edition, revised and brought down to the Present Time by the Rev.
GEORGE WILLIAM Cox, M.A. Fcp. 6*. cloth, or 10s. calf.
GATES' and WOODWARD'S ENCYCLOPEDIA of CHRONOLOGY,
HISTORICAL and BIOGRAPHICAL ; comprising the Dates of all the Great
Events of History, including Treaties, Alliances, Wars, Battles, &c. ; Incidents
in the Lires of Eminent Men and their Works, Scientific and Geographical Dis
coveries, Mechanical Inventions, and Social Improvements. 8vo. price 42*.
Biographical Works.
BIOGRAPHICAL and CRITICAL ESSAYS, reprinted from Reviews,
•with Additions and Corrections. Second Edition of the Second Series. By A.
HAIWARD, Q.C. 2 vols. 8vo. price 28s.
The LIFE of LLOYD, FIRST LORD KENYON, LOED CHIEF
JUSTICE of ENGLAND. By the Hon. GEORGE T. KEXYON, M.A. of Ch. Ch.
Oxford. With Portraits. 8vo. price 14s.
MEMOIR of GEORGE EDWARD LYNCH COTTON, B.D. Bishop of
Calcutta and Metropolitan. With Selections from hid Journals and Corre
spondence. Edited by Mrs. COTTOX. Second Edition, with Portrait. Crown
8vo. price 7s. 6d.
MEMOIR of the LIFE of Admiral Sir EDWARD CODRINGTON.
With Selections from bis Public and Private Correspondence. Edited by his
Daughter, Lady BOURCHIER. With Two Portraits, Maps, and Plans. 2 vols.
8vo. price 36s.
LIFE of ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT. Compiled in Commemo
ration of the Centenary of his Birth. Edited by Professor KAUL BRUHNS,
Director of the Observatory at Leipzig. Translated by JANE and CAROLINE
LASSELL. 2 vols. Svo. with Three Portraits, price 3Cs.
MEMOIRS of BARON STOCKMAR. By his SON, Baron E. VON
STOCKMAR. Translated from the German by G. A. M. Edited by F. MAX
MijLLBR, M.A. 2 vols. crown Svo. price 21s.
LORD GEORGE BENTINCK ; A Political Biography. By the Right
Hon. BENJAMIN DISRAELI, M.P. Eighth Edition, revised, with a Xew Preface.
Crown Svo. price 6s.
The LIFE OF ISAMBARD KINGDOM BRUNEL, Civil Engineer.
By ISAMBARD BRUNEL, B.C.L. of Lincoln's Inn ; Chancellor of the Diocese of
Ely. With Portrait, Plates, and Woodcuts. Svo. 21s.
The LIFE and LETTERS of FARADAY. By Dr. BENCE JONES,
Secretary of the Royal Institution. Second Edition, thoroughly revised. 2 vols.
Svo. with Portrait, and Eight Engravings on Wood, price 28s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
FARADAY as a DISCOVERER. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D. D.C.L.
F.B.S. Professor of Natural Philosophy in the Boyal Institution. Fcp. 8vo.
2s. 6J.
RECOLLECTIONS of PAST LIFE. By Sir HENRY HOLLAND, Bart.
M.D. F.B.S. &c. Physiciau-in-Ordinary to the Queen. Third Edition. Post
8vo. price 10s. 6d.
The LIFE and LETTERS of the Rev. SYDNEY SMITH. Edited
by his Daughter, Lady HOLLAND, and Mrs. AUSTIN. Crown 8vo. price 6s.
LEADERS of PUBLIC OPINION in IRELAND; Swift, Flood,
G rattan, and O'Connell. By W. E. H. LECKY, M.A. New Edition, revised and
enlarged. Crown Svo. price 7.?. 6<7.
DICTIONARY of GENERAL BIOGRAPHY; containing Concise
Memoirs and Notices of the most Eminent Persons of all Countries, from the
Earliest Ages to the Present Time. Edited by W. L. B. CATES. 8vo. 21s.
LIVES of the QUEENS of ENGLAND. By AGNES STRICKLAND.
Library Edition, newly revised ; with Portraits of every Queen, Autographs,
and Vignettes. 8 vols. post 8vo. 7s. 6d. each.
LIFE of the DUKE of WELLINGTON. By the Eev. G. E. GLEIG,
M.A. Popular Edition, carefully revised ; with copious Additions. Crown Svo.
with Portrait, 5*.
FELIX MENDELSSOHN'S LETTERS from Italy and Switzerland,
and Letters from 1833 to 1847, translated by Lady WALLACE. New Edition, with.
Portrait. 2 vols. crown Svo. 5s. each.
MEMOIRS of SIR HENRY HAVELOCK, K.C.B. By JOHN CLARK
MAHSHMAN. Cabinet Edition, with Portrait. Crown Svo. price 3*. M,
VICISSITUDES of FAMILIES. By Sir J. BERNARD BURKE, C.B.
Ulster King of Arms. New Edition, remodelled and enlarged. 2 vols. crown
Svo. 21.'.
The RISE of GREAT FAMILIES, other Essays and Stories. By Sir
J. BERNARD BUEKE, C.B. Ulster King of Arms. Crown Svo. price 12.?. 6cJ.
ESSAYS in ECCLESIASTICAL BIOGRAPHY. By the Eight Hon.
Sir J. STEPHEN, LL.D. Cabinet Edition, being the Fifth. Crown Svo. 7s. Gd.
MAUNDER'S BIOGRAPHICAL TREASURY. Latest Edition, re
constructed, thoroughly revised, and in great part rewritten ; with about 1,000
additional Memoirs and Notices, by W. L. B. CATES. Fcp. Svo. price 65.
LETTERS and LIFE of FRANCIS BACON, including all his Occa
sional Works. Collected and edited, with a Commentary, by J. SPEDDING,
Trin. Coll. Cantab. (5 vols. Svo. price £3 12s. To be completed in One more
Volume.
Criticism, Philosophy, Polity, &c.
A SYSTEMATIC VIEW of the SCIENCE of JURISPRUDENCE.
By SHELDON AMOS, M.A. Professor of Jurisprudence to the Inns of Court,
London. Svo. price 18s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AXD CO.
The INSTITUTES of JUSTINIAN; with English Introduction, Trans
lation and Notes. By T. C. SAXDAUS, M.A. Barrister, late Fellow of Oriel
Coll. Oxon. New Edition. 8vo. 15,$.
SOCRATES and the SCCRATIC SCHOOLS. Translated from the
German of Dr. E. ZELLER, with the Author's approval, by the Rev. OSWALD J.
REICHEL, B.C.L. and M.A. Crown 8vo. Ss. Gd.
The STOICS, EPICUREANS, and SCEPTICS. Translated from the
German of Dr. E. ZELLER, with the Author's approval, by OSWALD J. REICHEL,
B.C.L. and M.A. Crown 8vo. price Us.
The ETHICS of ARISTOTLE, illustrated with Essays and Notes,
By Sir A. GRANT, Bart. M.A. LL.D. Third Edition, revised and partly
rewritten. \_In the press.
The NICOMACHEAN ETHICS of ARISTOTLE newly translated into
English. By R. WILLIAMS, B.A. Fellow and late Lecturer of Merton College,
and sometime Student of Christ Church, Oxford. 8vo. 125.
ELEMENTS of LOGIC. By E, WHATELY, D.D. late Archbishop of
Dublin. New Edition. 8vo. 10*. Gd. crown 8vo. 4s. (id.
Elements of Rhetoric. By the same Author. New Edition. Svo.
10s. Gd. crown Svo. 4s. Gd.
English Synonymes. By E. JANE WHATELY. Edited by Archbishop
WHATELY. Fifth Edition. Fcp. 8vo. price 3s.
BACON'S ESSAYS with ANNOTATIONS. By E. WHATELY, D.D.
late Archbishop of Dublin. Newr Edition, Svo. price 10s. (id.
LORD BACON'S WORKS, collected and edited by J. SPEEDING, M.A.
R. L. ELLIS, M.A. and D. D. HEATH. New and Cheaper Edition. 7 vols. Svo.
price £3. 13s. Gd.
The SUBJECTION of WOMEN. By JOHN STUART MILL. New
Edition. Post Svo. 5s.
On REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT. By JOHN STUART MILL.
Crown Svo. price 2s.
On LIBERTY. By JOHN STUART MILL. Fourth Edition. Post
8vo. 7s. Gd. Crown Svo. price Is. 4t7.
PRINCIPLES of POLITICAL ECONOMY. By the same Author.
Seventh Edition. 2 vols. Svo. 30s. Or in 1 vol. crown Svo. price 5s.
UTILITARIANISM. By JOHN STUART MILL. Fourth Edition. Svo. 5s
DISSERTATIONS and DISCUSSIONS, POLITICAL, PHILOSOPHI
CAL, and HISTORICAL. By JOHN STUART MILL. Second Edition, revised.
3 vols. Svo. 36s.
EXAMINATION of Sir. W. HAMILTON'S PHILOSOPHY, and of the
Principal Philosophical Questions discussed in his Writings. By JOILV STUART
MILL. Fourth Edition. Svo. 16s.
An OUTLINE of the NECESSARY LAWS of THOUGHT ; a Treatise
on Pure and Applied Logic. By the Most Rev. W. THOMSON, Lord Archbishop
of York, D.D. F.R.S. Ninth Thousand. Crown Svo. price 5s. Gd.
PRINCIPLES of ECONOMICAL PHILOSOPHY. By HENRY DUNNING
MACLEOD, M.A. Barrister-at-Law. Second Edition. In Two Volumes. VOL. I.
Svo. price 15s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO. 7
A SYSTEM of LOGIC, RATIOCINATIVE and INDUCTIVE. By JOHN
STUART MILL. Eighth Edition. Two vols. 8vo. 25s.
The ELECTION of REPRESENTATIVES, Parliamentary and Muni
cipal ; a Treatise. By THOMAS HARE, Barrister-at-Law. Fourth Edition, with
Additions. Crown 8vo. 7s.
SPEECHES of the RIGHT HON. LORD MACAULAY, corrected by
Himself. People's Edition, crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
Lord Macaulay's Speeches on Parliamentary Reform in 1831 and
1832. 16mo. Is.
A DICTIONARY of the ENGLISH LANGUAGE. By R. G. LATHAM,
M.A. M.D. F.R.S. Founded on the Dictionary of Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSOX, as
edited by the Rev. H. J. TODD, with numerous Emendations and Additions.
In Four Volumes, 4 to. price £7.
THESAURUS of ENGLISH WORDS and PHRASES, classified and
arranged so as to facilitate the Expression of Ideas, and assist in Literary
Composition. By P. M. ROGET, M.D. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
LECTURES on the SCIENCE of LANGUAGE. By F. MAX MULLER,
M.A. &c. Foreign Member of the French Institute. Seventh Edition. Two rols.
crown 8vo. price 16s.
MANUAL of ENGLISH LITERATURE, Historical and Critical. By
THOMAS ARNOLD, M.A. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
THREE CENTURIES of ENGLISH LITERATURE. By CHARLES
DUKE YOXGE, Regius Professor of Modern History and English Literature in
Queen's College, Belfast. Crown 8vo. price 7s. 6d.
SOUTHEY'S DOCTOR, complete in One Volume. Edited by the Rev.
J. W. WARTER, B.D. Square crown 8vo. 12s. 6d.
HISTORICAL and CRITICAL COMMENTARY on the OLD TESTA
MENT ; with a New Translation. By M. M. KALISCH, Ph.D. VOL. I. Genesis,
8vo. 18s. or adapted for the General Reader, 12s. VOL. II. Exodus, 15s. or
adapted for the General Reader, 12s. VOL. III. Leviticus, PART I. 15s. or
adapted for the General Reader, 8s. VOL. IV. Leviticus, PART II. 15s. or
adapted for the General Reader, 8s.
A DICTIONARY of ROMAN and GREEK ANTIQUITIES, with
about Two Thousand Engravings on Wood from Ancient Originals, illustrative
of the Industrial Arts and Social Life of the Greeks and Romans. By A. RICH,
B.A. Third Edition, revised and improved. Crown 8vo. price 7s. 6d.
A LATIN-ENGLISH DICTIONARY. By JOHN T. WHITE, D.D.
Oxon. and J. E. RIDDLE, M.A. Oxon. Third Edition, revised. 2 vols. 4to.
pp. 2,128, price 42s. cloth.
WHITE'S COLLEGE LATIN-ENGLISH DICTIONARY (Intermediate
Size), abridged for the use of University Students from the Parent Work (as
above). Medium 8vo. pp. 1,048, price 18s. cloth.
WHITE'S JUNIOR STUDENT'S COMPLETE LATIN-ENGLISH and
ENGLISH-LATIN DICTIONARY. New Edition. Square 12mo. pp. 1,058,
price 12s.
The ENGLISH-LATIN DICTIONARY, price 5s. 6d.
The LATIN-ENGLISH DICTIONARY, price 7s. 6d.
An ENGLISH-GREEK LEXICON, containing all the Greek Words
used by Writers of good authority. By C. D. YOXGE, B.A. New Edition
4to. price 21s.
8 NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AXD CO.
Mr. YONGE'S NEW LEXICON, English and Greek, abridged from
his larger work (as above). Revised Edition. Square 12mo. price 85. Gd.
A GEEEK-ENGLISH LEXICON. Compiled by H. G. LIDDEIX, D.D.
Dean of Christ Church, and R. SCOTT, D.D. Dean of Rochester. Sixth Edition.
Crown 4to. price 36s.
A Lexicon, Greek and English, abridged from LIDDELL and SCOTT'S
Greek-English Lexicon. Fourteenth Edition. Square 12mo. 7s. Bd.
A SANSKRIT-ENGLISH DICTIONARY, the Sanskrit words printed
both in the original Devanagari and in Roman Letters. Compiled by T.
BENFEY, Prof, in the Univ. of Gb'ttingen. 8vo. 52s. (id.
A PRACTICAL DICTIONARY of the FRENCH and ENGLISH LAN-
GUAGES. By L. COXTAXSEAU. Fourteenth Edition. Post 8vo. 10.s. Gd.
Contanseau's Pocket Dictionary, French and English, abridged from
the above by the Author. New Edition, revised . Square 18mo. 3s. Gd.
NEW PRACTICAL DICTIONARY of the GERMAN LANGUAGE;
German-English and English-German. By the Rev. W. L. BLACKLEY, M.A.
and Dr. CARL MARTIX FRIEDLAXDEU. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d.
The MASTERY of LANGUAGES ; or, the Art of Speaking Foreign
Tongues Idiomatically. By THOMAS PREXDERGAST, late of the Civil Service at
Madras. Third Edition. 8vo. 6s.
Miscellaneous Works and Popular Metaphysics.
MISCELLANEOUS and POSTHUMOUS WORKS of the Late HENRY
THOMAS BUCKLE. Edited, with a Biographical Notice, by HELEN TAYLOR.
3 vols. 8vo. price 52s. Gd.
In the MORNINGLAND ; or, the Law of the Origin and Transformation
of Christianity. By JOHX S. STUART-GLEXXIE, M.A. Barrister-at-Law.
VOL. I. the New Philosophy of History and the Origin of the Doctrines of
Christianity. Svo/jprice 15s.
MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS of JOHN CONINGTON, M.A. late
Corpus Professor of Latin in the University of Oxford. Edited by J. A.
SYMOXDS, M.A. With a Memoir by H. J. S. SMITH, M.A. LL.D. F.R.S.
2 vols. 8vo. price 28s.
SEASIDE MUSINGS ON SUNDAYS AND WEEK-DAYS. By
A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. price 3s. Gd.
Recreations of a Country Parson. By A. K. H. B. FIRST and
SECOXD SERIES, crown Svo. 3s. Gd. each.
The Common-place Philosopher in Town and Country. By A. K. H. B.
Crown Svo. price 3s. Gd.
Leisure Hours in Town; Essays Consolatory, JEsthetical, Moral,
Social, and Domestic. By A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. 3s. Gd.
The Autumn Holidays of a Country Parson ; Essays contributed to
Fraser's Magazine, &c. By A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. 3s. Gd.
The Graver Thoughts of a Country Parson. By A. K. H. B. FIEST
and SECOXD SERIKS, crown Svo. 3s. Gd. each.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
Critical Essays of a Country Parson, selected from Essays con
tributed to Fraser's Magazine. By A. K. H. B. Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd.
Sunday Afternoons at the Parish Church of a Scottish University
City. By A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. 85. Gd.
Lessons of Middle Age ; with some Account of various Cities and
Men. By A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. 3s. Gd.
Counsel and Comfort spoken from a City Pulpit. By A. K H. B.
Crown Svo. price 35. Bd.
Changed Aspects of Unchanged Truths ; Memorials of St. Andrews
Sundays. By A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. 3s. Gd.
Present-day Thoughts; Memorials of St. Andrews Sundays. By
A. K. H. B. Crown Svo. 3s. 6d.
SHOET STUDIES on GEEAT SUBJECTS. By JAMES ANTHONY
FROUDE, M.A. late Fellow of Exeter Coll. Oxford. 2 vols. crown Svo. price 12*.
LOED MAC AUL AY'S MISCELLANEOUS WEITINGS :—
LIBRARY EDITION. 2 vols. Svo. Portrait, 21s.
PEOPLE'S EDITION. 1 vol. crown Svo. 4s. Gd.
LOED MACAULAY'S MISCELLANEOUS WEITINGS and SPEECHES.
STUDENT'S EDITION, in crown Svo. price 6*.
The Eev. SYDNEY SMITH'S MISCELLANEOUS WOEKS; including
his Contributions to the Edinburgh Review. Crown Svo. Gs.
The Wit and Wisdom of the Eev. Sydney Smith ; a Selection of
the most memorable Passages in his Writings and Conversation. 16mo. 3s. Gd.
The ECLIPSE of FAITH; or, a Visit to a Religious Sceptic. By
HENRY ROGERS. Latest Edition. Fcp. Svo. price 5s.
Defence of the Eclipse of Faith, by its Author ; a rejoinder to Dr.
Newman's Reply. Latest Edition. Fcp Svo. price 3s. Gd.
CHIPS from a GEEMAN WOEKSHOP ; being Essays on the Science
of Religion, and on Mythology, Traditions, and Customs. By F. MAX MULLER,
M.A. &c. Foreign Member of the French Institute. 3 vols. Svo. £2.
ANALYSIS of the PHENOMENA of the HUMAN MIND. By
JAMES MILL. A New Edition, with Notes, Illustrative and Critical, by
ALEXANDER BAIN, ANDREW FINDLATER, and GEORGE GROTE. Edited, with
additional Notes, by JOHN STUART MILL. 2 vols. Svo. price 28s.
An INTEODUCTION to MENTAL PHILOSOPHY, on the Inductive
Method. By J. D. MORELL, M.A. LL.D. Svo. 12s.
ELEMENTS of PSYCHOLOGY, containing the Analysis of the
Intellectual Powers. By the same Author. Post Svo. Is. Gd.
The SECEET of HEGEL ; being the Hegelian System in Origin,
Principle, Form, and Matter. By J. H. STIRLING, LL.D. 2 vols. Svo. 28«.
SIE WILLIAM HAMILTON ; being the Philosophy of Perception : an
Analysis. By J. H. STIRLING, LL.D. Svo. 5s.
LECTUEES on the PHILOSOPHY of LAW. Together with Whewell
and Hegel, and Hegel and Mr. W. R. Smith ; a Vindication in a Physico-
Mathematical Regard. By J. H. STIRLING, LL.D. Svo. 6s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
As REGARDS PROTOPLASM. By J. H. STIRLING, LL.D. Second
Edition, with Additions, in reference to Mr. Huxley's Second Issue and a new
Preface in reply to Mr. Huxley in ' Yeast.' 8vo. price 2s.
The SENSES and the INTELLECT. By ALEXANDER BAIN, M.D.
Professor of Logic in the University of Aberdeen. Third Edition. Svo. 15s.
MENTAL and MORAL SCIENCE: a Compendium of Psychology
and Ethics. By the same Author. Third Edition. Crown Svo. 10s. Gd. Or
separately : PART I. Mental Science, price 6s. Gd. ; PART II. Moral Science,
price 4s. Gd.
LOGIC, DEDUCTIVE and INDUCTIVE. By the same Author. In
Two PARTS, crown Svo. 10s. Gd. Each Part may be had separately : —
PART I. Deduction, 4s. PART II. Induction, 6s. (id.
TIME and SPACE ; a Metaphysical Essay. By SHADWORTH H.
HODGSOX. (This work covers the whole ground of Speculative Philosophy.)
Svo. price 16s.
The THEORY of PRACTICE ; an ETHICAL ENQUIRY. By the same
Author. (This work, in conjunction with the foregoing, completes a system of
Philosophy.) 2 vols. Svo. price 24s.
The PHILOSOPHY of NECESSITY ; or, Natural Law as applicable to
Mental, Moral, and Social Science. By CHARLES BRAY. Second Edition.
Svo. 9s.
A Manual of Anthropology, or Science of Man, based on Modern
Research. By the same Author. Crown Svo. price 6s.
On Force, its Mental and Moral Correlates. By the same Author.
Svo. 5s.
A TREATISE on HUMAN NATURE ; being an Attempt to Introduce
the Experimental Method of Reasoning into Moral Subjects. By DAVID HUME.
Edited, with Notes, &c. by T. H. G-REEX, Fellow, and T. H. GROSE, late Scholar,
of Balliol College, Oxford. 2 vols. Svo. [/« the press.
ESSAYS MORAL, POLITICAL, and LITERARY. By DAVID HUME.
By the same Editors. 2 vols. Svo. [In the press.
UEBERWEG'S SYSTEM of LOGIC and HISTORY of LOGICAL
DOCTRINES. Translated, with Notes and Appendices, by T. M. LINDSAY,
M.A. F.R.S.E. Svo. price 16s.
A BUDGET of PARADOXES. By AUGUSTUS DE MORGAN, F.E.A.S.
and C.P.S. Reprinted, with the Author's Additions, from the Athenaeum. Svo.
price 15s.
Astronomy, Meteorology, Popular Geography, &c.
OUTLINES of ASTRONOMY. By Sir J. F. W. HERSCHEL, Bart.
M.A. Latest; Edition, with 9 Plates and numerous Diagrams. Square crown
Svo. price 12s.
ESSAYS on ASTRONOMY: a Series of Papers on Planets and Meteors,
the Sun and Sun-surrounding Space, Stars and Star- Cloudlets ; and a Dissertation
on the approaching Transit of Venus : preceded by a Sketch of the Life and
Work of Sir John Herschel. By RICHARD A. PROCTOR, B.A. Hon. Sec. R.A.S.
With 10 Plates and 24 Woodcuts. Svo. price 12s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
The MOON ; her Motions, Aspect, Scenery, and Physical Condition.
By RICHARD A. PROCTOR, B.A. Cantab. Hon. Sec. R.A.S. With Plates, Charts,
Woodcuts, and Three Lunar Photographs by Rutherford, of New York. Crown
8vo. price los.
The SUN; RULER, LIGHT, FIRE, and LIFE of the PLANETARY
SYSTEM. By RICHARD A. PROCTOR, B.A. F.R.A.S. Second Edition, with 10
Plates (7 coloured) and 107 Figures on Wood. Crown 8vo. 14*.
OTHER WORLDS THAN OURS; the Plurality of Worlds Studied
under the Light of Recent Scientific Researches. By the same Author. Third
Edition, with 14 Illustrations. Crown Svo. 10s. 6d. .
The ORBS AROUND US ; a Series of Familiar Essays on the Moon
and Planets, Meteors and Comets, the Sun and Coloured Pairs of Stars. By the
same Author. Crown Svo. price 7s. Gd.
The STAR DEPTHS ; or, Other Suns than Ours : a Treatise on
Stars, Star-Systems, and Star-Cloudlets. By the same Author. Crown Svo.
with numerous Illustrations. \_Nearly ready.
SATURN and its SYSTEM. By the same Author. Svo. with UPlates, 14s.
SCHELLEN'S SPECTRUM ANALYSIS, in its application to Terres
trial Substances and the Physical Constitution of the Heavenly Bodies. Trans
lated by JANE and C. LASSELL ; edited, with Notes, by W. HUGGINS, LL.D.
F.R.S. With 13 Plates (6 coloured) and 223 Woodcuts. 8vo. price 28s.
A NEW STAR ATLAS, for the Library, the School, and the Observatory,
in Twelve Circular Maps (with Two Index Plates). Intended as a Companion
to ' Webb's Celestial Objects for Common Telescopes.' With a Letterpress
Introduction on the Study of the Stars, illustrated by 9 Diagrams. By RICHARD
A. PROCTOR, B.A. Hon. Sec. R.A.S. Crown Svo. 5s.
CELESTIAL OBJECTS for COMMON TELESCOPES. By the Kev.
T. W. WEBB, M.A. F.R.A.S. Third Edition, revised and enlarged ; with Maps,
Plate, and.Woodcuts. Crown Svo. price 7s. 6d.
AIR and RAIN; the Beginnings of a Chemical Climatology. By
ROBERT ANGUS SMITH, Ph.D. F.R.S. F.C.S. Government Inspector of Alkali
Works. With 8 Illustrations. Svo. price 245.
NAUTICAL SURVEYING, an INTRODUCTION to the PRACTICAL
and THEORETICAL STUDY of. By JOHN KNOX LAUGHTON, M.A. F.R.A.S.
Small Svo. price 6s.
MAGNETISM and DEVIATION of the COMPASS. For the Use of
Students in Navigation and Science Schools. By JOHN MERRIFIELD, LL.D.
F.R.A.S. 18mo. price Is. 6d.
DOVE'S LAW of STORMS, considered in connexion with the Ordinary
Movements of the Atmosphere. Translated by R. H. SCOTT, M.A. T.C.D.
Svo. 105. 3d.
KEITH JOHNSTON'S GENERAL DICTIONARY of GEOGRAPHY,
Descriptive, Physical, Statistical, and Historical ; forming a complete Gazetteer
of the World. New Edition, revised and corrected to the Present Date by the
Author's Son, KEITH JOHNSTON, F.R.G.S. 1 vol. Svo. [Nearly ready.
The PUBLIC SCHOOLS ATLAS of MODERN GEOGRAPHY. In
31 Maps, exhibiting clearly the more important Physical Features of the
Countries delineated, and Noting all the Chief Places of Historical, Commercial,
or Social Interest. Edited, with an Introduction, by the Rev. G. BUTLER, M.A.
Imp. 4to. price 3s. Gd. sewed, or 5s. cloth.
12
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
A MANUAL of GEOGEAPHY, Physical, Industrial, and Political.
By W. HUGHES, F.R.G.S. With 6 Maps. Fcp. 7*. Gd.
MAUNDEE'S TEEASUEY of GEOGEAPHY, Physical, Historical,
Descriptive, and Political. Edited by W. HUGHES, F.R.G.S. Revised Edition,
with 7 Maps and 16 Plates. Fcp. Gs. cloth, or 10s. bound in calf.
Natural History and Popular Science.
TEXT-BOOKS of SCIENCE, MECHANICAL and PHYSICAL, Edited
by T. M. GOODEVE, M.A. and C. W. MERUIFIELD, F.R.S.
1. GOODEVE'S Mechanism, 3s. Gd.
2. BLOXAJI'S Metals, 3s. Gd.
3. MILLEH'S Inorganic Chemistry, 3s. Gd.
4. GRIFFIN'S Algebra and Trigonometry, 3s. Gd.
Notes and Solutions to Algebra and Trigonometry, 3s. Gd.
5. WATSON'S Plane and Solid Geometry, 3s. Gd.
ti. MAXWELL'S Theory of Heat, 3s. Gd.
7. MERRIFIELD'S Technical Arithmetic and Mensuration, 3s. Gd.
HUNTER'S KEY to MBRHIFIELD'S Arithmetic and Mensuration, 3s. Gd.
S. ANDERSON'S Strength of Materials and Structures, 3s. Gd.
9. JENKIN'S Electricity and Magnetism, 3s. Gd.
10. SHELLEY'S Workshop Appliances, 3s. Gd.
ELEMENTAEY TEEATISE on PHYSICS, Experimental and Applied.
Translated and edited from GANOT'S Elements de Physique (with the Author's
sanction) by E. ATKINSON, Ph.D. F.C.S. New Edition, revised and enlarged ;
with a Coloured Plate and 726 Woodcuts. Post Svo. 15s.
NATUEAL PHILOSOPHY for GENEEAL EEADEES and YOUNG
PERSONS ; being a Course of Physics divested of Mathematical Formuk
expressed in the language of daily life. Translated from GANOT'S Cours de
Physique (with the Author's sanction) by E. ATKINSON, Ph.D. F.C.S. Crown
8vo. with 404 Woodcuts, price 7s. Gd.
HELMHOLTZ'S POPULAE LECTUEES on SCIENTIFIC SUBJECTS.
Translated by E. ATKINSON, Ph.D. F.C.S. Professor of Experimental Science,
Staff College. With an Introduction by Professor TYNDALL. 8vo. with nume
rous Woodcuts, price 12s. Gd.
Mrs. MAECET'S CONVEESATIONS on NATUEAL PHILOSOPHY.
Revised by the Author's Son, and augmented by Convei-sations on Spectrum
Analysis and Solar Chemistry. With 3G Plates. Crown Svo. price 7*\ Gd.
SOUND: a Course of Eight Lectures delivered at the Royal Institution
of Great Britain. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D. D.C.L. F.R.S. New Edition,
crown Svo. with Portrait of M. Schladni and 1G9 Woodcuts, price 9s.
HEAT a MODE of MOTION. By Professor JOHN- TYNDALL, LL.D.
D.C.L. F.R.S. Fourth Edition. Crown Svo. with Woodcuts, 10*. Gd.
CONTEIBUTIONS to MOLECULAE PHYSICS in the DOMAIN of
RADIANT HEAT ; a Series of Memoirs published in the Philosophical Trans
actions and Philosophical Magazine. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D. D.C.L. F.R.S.
With 2 Plates and 31 Woodcuts. Svo. price IGs.
EESEAECHES on DIAMAGNETISM and MAGNE-CEYSTALLIC
ACTION ; including the Question of Diamagnetic Polarity. By the same Author.
With 6 plates and many Woodcuts. Svo. price 14s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AXD CO. 15
NOTES of a COURSE of SEVEN LECTURES on ELECTRICAL
PHENOMENA and THEORIES, delivered at the Royal Institution, A.D. 1870.
By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D. Crown Svo. Is. sewed, or Is. Gd. cloth.
ELEMENTARY TREATISE on the WAVE-THEORY of LIGHT.
By HUMPHREY LLOYD, D.D. D.C.L. Provost of Trinity College, Dublin. Third
Edition, revised and enlarged. Svo. price 10*. 6d.
LECTURES on LIGHT delivered in the United States of America in
the Years 1872 and 1873. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D. D.C.L. F.R.S. With
Frontispiece and Diagrams. Crown Svo. price 7*. 6d.
NOTES of a COURSE of NINE LECTURES on LIGHT delivered at the
Royal Institution, A.D. 1869. By the same Author. Crown 8vo. price 1*. sewed,
or Is. 6d. cloth.
FRAGMENTS of SCIENCE. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D. D.C.L. F.R.S.
Third Edition. Svo. price 145.
LIGHT SCIENCE for LEISURE HOURS; a Series of Familiar
Essays on Scientific Subjects, Natural Phenomena, &c. By R. A. PROCTOR,
B.A. F.R.A.S. Second Edition, revised, of the First Series. Crown Svo. price
7s. 6d.~— SECOND SERIES, including a Sketch of the Life of Mary Somerville.
Crown Svo. price 7*. 6d.
The CORRELATION of PHYSICAL FORCES. By Sir W. R. GROVE,
Q.C. V.P.R.S. Fifth Edition, revised, and followed by a Discourse on Continuity.
Svo. 10*. Gd.
Professor OWEN'S LECTURES on the COMPARATIVE ANATOMY
and Physiology of the Invertebrate Animals. Second Edition, with 235 Woodcuts.
Svo. 21J.
The COMPARATIVE ANATOMY and PHYSIOLOGY of the VERTE
BRATE ANIMALS. By RICHARD OWES', F.R.S. D.C.L. With 1,472 Woodcuts.
3 vols. Svo. £3. 13*. 6d.
PRINCIPLES of ANIMAL MECHANICS. By the Rev. S. HAUGHTON,
F.R.S. Fellow of Trin. Coll. Dabl. M.D. Dubl. and D.C.L. Oxon. Svo. with 111
Figures on Wood, price 21s.
The ANCIENT STONE IMPLEMENTS, WEAPONS, and ORNA
MENTS of GREAT BRITAIN. By JOHN EVAXS, F.R.S'. F.S.A. With 2 Plates
and 476 Woodcuts. Svo. price 28*.
The ORIGIN of CIVILISATION and the PRIMITIVE CONDITION
of MAN ; Mental and Social Condition of Savages. By Sir JOHN LUBBOCK,
Bart. M.P. F.R.S. Second Edition, with 25 Woodcuts. Svo. price 16*.
The PRIMITIVE INHABITANTS of SCANDINAVIA: containing a
Description of the Implements, Dwellings, Tombs, and Mode of Living of the
Savages in the North of Europe during the Stone Age. By SNBV NlLSSOJf.
With 16 Plates of Figures and 3 Woodcuts. Svo. 18*.
BIBLE ANIMALS; being a Description of every Living Creature
mentioned in the Scriptures, from the Ape to the Coral. By the Rev. J. G.
WOOB, M.A. F.L.S. With about 100 Vignettes on Wood. Svo. 21*.
HOMES WITHOUT HANDS ; a Description of the Habitations of
Animals, classed according to their Principle of Construction. By the Rev. J.
G, WOOD, M.A. F.L.S. With about 110 Vignettes on Wood. Svo. 21*.
14
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AXD CO.
MANKIND, their ORIGIN and DESTINY, By an M.A. of Balliol
College, Oxford. Containing a New Translation of the First Three Chapters of
Genesis ; a Critical Examination of the First Two Gospels ; an Explanation of
the Apocalypse ; and the Origin and Secret Meaning of the Mythological and
Mystical Teaching of the Ancients. With 31 Illustrations. 8vo. price '31s. Gd.
INSECTS AT HOME ; a Popular Account of British Insects, their
Structure, Habits, and Transformations. By the Rev. J. G. WOOD, M.A. F.L.S.
With upwards of 700 Illustrations engraved on Wood (1 coloured and 21 full size
of page). Svo. price 21s.
INSECTS ABROAD; being a Popular Account of Foreign Insects,
their Structure, Habits, and Tranformations. By J. G. WOOD, M.A. F.L.S.
Author of ' Homes without Hands,' &c. In One Volume, printed and illus
trated uniformly with ' Insects at Home,' to which it will form a Sequel and
Companion. [In the press.
STRANGE DWELLINGS ; a description of the Habitations of
Animals, abridged from ' Homes without Hands.' By the Rev. J. G. WOOD,
M.A. F.L.S. With about CO Woodcut Illustrations. Crown Svo. price 7s. Qd.
A FAMILIAR HISTORY of BIRDS. By E. STANLEY, D.D. F.R.S.
late Lord Bishop of Norwich. Seventh Edition, with Woodcuts. Fcp. 3s. Gd.
The HARMONIES of NATURE and UNITY of CREATION. By Dr.
GEORGE HARTWIG. Svo. with numerous Illustrations, 1 8s.
The SEA and its LIVING WONDERS. By Dr. GEORGE HARTWIG.
Latest revised Edition. Svo. with many Illustrations, 10s. Gd.
The TROPICAL WORLD. By Dr. GEORGE HARTWIG. With above 160
Illustrations. Latest revised Edition. Svo. price 10s. Gd.
The SUBTERRANEAN WORLD. By Dr. GEORGE HARTWIG. With
3 Maps and about 80 Woodcuts, including 8 full size of page. Svo. price 21s.
The POLAR WORLD, a Popular Description of Man and Nature in the
Arctic and Antarctic Regions of the Globe. By Dr. GEORGE HARTWIG. With
8 Chromoxylographs, 3 Maps, and 83 Woodcuts. Svo. 21s.
KIRBY and SPENCE'S INTRODUCTION to ENTOMOLOGY, or
Elements of the Natural History of Insects. 7th Edition. Crown Svo. 5s.
MAUNDER' S TREASURY of NATURAL HISTORY, or Popular
Dictionary of Birds, Beasts, Fishes, Reptiles, Insects, and Creeping Things.
Latest revised Edition, with above 900 Woodcuts. Fcp. Svo. price 6s. cloth, or
10s. bound in calf.
HANDBOOK of HARDY TREES, SHRUBS, and HERBACEOUS
PLANTS, containing Descriptions, Native Countries, &c. of a Selection of the
Best Species in Cultivation ; together with Cultural Details, Comparative
Hardiness. Suitability for Particular Positions, &c. By W. B. HEMSLEY, for
merly Assistant at the Herbarium of the Royal Gardens, Kew. Based on
DECAISXE and NAUDIN'S Manuel de I' Amateur des Jardins, and including the 264
Original Woodcuts. Medium Svo. 21s.
A GENERAL SYSTEM of BOTANY DESCRIPTIVE and ANALYTICAL.
I. Outlines of Organography, Anatomy, and Physiology ; II. Descriptions and
Illustrations of the Orders. By E. LE MAOUT, and J. DECAISXE, Members of
the Institute of France. Translated by Mrs. HOOKER. The Orders arranged
after the Method followed in the Universities and Schools of Great Britain, its
Colonies, America, and India, with Additions, an Appendix on the Natural
Method, and a Synopsis of the Orders, by J. D. HOOKER, F.R.S. &c. Director
of the Royal Botanical Gardens, Kew. With 53500 Woodcuts. Imperial Svo.
price 52s. Gd.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
The TREASURY of BOTANY, or Popular Dictionary of the Vegetable
Kingdom ; including a Glossary of Botanical Terms. Edited by J. LINDLEY,
F.R.S. and T. MOORE, F.L.S. assisted by eminent Contributors. With 274
Woodcuts and 20 Steel Plates. Two Parts, fcp. 125. clotli, or 205. calf.
The ELEMENTS of BOTANY for FAMILIES and SCHOOLS.
Tenth Edition, revised by THOMAS MOORE, P.L.S. Fcp. with 154 Wood
cuts, 2*. Bd.
The ROSE AMATEUR'S GUIDE. By THOMAS EIVEES. Fourteenth
Edition. Fcp. 4s.
LOUDON'S ENCYCLOPAEDIA of PLANTS ; comprising the Specific
Character, Description, Culture, History, &c. of all the Plants found in
Great Britain. With upwards of 12,000 Woodcuts. 8vo. 42s.
MAUNDER' S SCIENTIFIC and LITERARY TREASURY. New
Edition, thoroughly revised and in great part rewritten, with above 1,000
new Articles, by J. Y. JOHNSON, Corr. M.Z.S. Fcp. 65. cloth, or 105. calf.
A DICTIONARY of SCIENCE, LITERATURE, and ART. Fourth
Edition, re-edited by W. T. BRANDE (the original Author), and GEORGE W.
Cox, M.A., assisted by contributors of eminent Scientific and Literary
Acquirements. 3 vols. medium 8vo. price 635. cloth.
Chemistry, Medicine, Surgery, and the
Allied Sciences.
A DICTIONARY of CHEMISTRY and the Allied Branches of other
Sciences. By HENRY WATTS, F.R.S. assisted by eminent Contributors.
Complete in 6 vols, medium 8vo. price £8. 145. Bel.
ELEMENTS of CHEMISTRY, Theoretical and Practical. By W. ALLEN
MILLER, MiD. late Prof, of Chemistry, King's Coll. London. New
Edition. 3 vols. 8vo. £3. PART I. CHEMICAL PHYSICS, 155. PART II.
INORGANIC CHEMISTRY, 21s. PART III. ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, 24s.
A Course of Practical Chemistry, for the use of Medical Students.
By W. ODIING, F.R.S. New Edition, with 70 Woodcuts. Crown 8vo. 75. Qd.
A MANUAL of CHEMICAL PHYSIOLOGY, including its Points of
Contact with Pathology. By J. L. W. THUDICHUM, M.D. With Woodcuts.
8vo. price 75. 6d.
SELECT METHODS in CHEMICAL ANALYSIS, chiefly INOR
GANIC. By WILLIAM CROOKES, F.R.S. With 22 Woodcuts. Crown 8vo.
price 125. 6d.
CHEMICAL NOTES for the LECTURE ROOM. By THOMAS WOOD,
F.C.S. 2 vola. crown 8vo. I. on Heat, &c. price 55. II. on the Metals, 5s.
The HANDBOOK for MIDWIVES. By HENRY FLY SMITH, B.A.
M.B. Oxon. M.R.C.S. late Assistant-Surgeon at the Hospital for Women,
Soho-square. With 41 Woodcuts. Crown 8vo. 5s.
The DIAGNOSIS, PATHOLOGY, and TREATMENT of DISEASES
of WOMEN ; including the Diagnosis of Pregnancy. By GRAILY HEWITT,
M.D. Third Edition, partly rewritten ; with several additional Illustrations.
8vo. price 245.
16
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
On SOME DISORDERS of the NERVOUS SYSTEM in CHILD
HOOD ; being the Lumleian Lectures delivered before the Royal College of
Physicians in March 1871. By CHARLES WEST, M.D. Crown 8vo. price 5s.
LECTURES on the DISEASES of INFANCY and CHILDHOOD. By
CHARLES WEST, M.D. &c. New Edition, revised and enlarged. 8vo. IGs.
The SCIENCE and ART of SURGERY ; being a Treatise on Surgical
Injuries, Diseases, and Operations. By JOHN ERIC ERICHSEX, Senior
Surgeon to University College Hospital, and Holme Professor of Clinical
Surgery in University College, London. A new Edition, being the Sixth,
revised and enlarged ; with 712 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 8vo. price 325.
A SYSTEM of SURGERY, Theoretical and Practical. In Treatises
by Various Authors. Edited by T. HOLMES, M.A. &c. Surgeon and Lecturer
on Surgery at St. George's Hospital, and Surgeon-in-Chief to the Metro
politan Police. Second Edition, thoroughly revised, with numerous Illus
trations. 5 vols. 8vo. £-5. 5s.
The SURGICAL TREATMENT of CHILDREN'S DISEASES. By
T. HOLMES, M.A. &c. late Surgeon to the Hospital for Sick Children.
Second Edition, with 9 plates and 112 Woodcuts. 8vo. 21s.
LECTURES on the PRINCIPLES and PRACTICE of PHYSIC. By
Sir THOMAS WATSOX, Bart. M.D. Fifth Edition, thoroughly revised.
2 vols. 8vo. price 30s.
LECTURES on SURGICAL PATHOLOGY. By Sir JAMES PAGET,
Bart. F.R.S. Thii'd Edition, revised and re-edited by the Author and
Professor W. TURXER, M.B. 8vo. with 134 Woodcuts, 21s.
COOPER'S DICTIONARY of PRACTICAL SURGERY and Encyclo
paedia of Surgical Science. New Edition, brought down to the present time.
By S. A. LAXE, Surgeon to St. Mary's Hospital, assisted by various Eminent
Surgeons. 2 vols. 8vo. price 25s. each.
On CHRONIC BRONCHITIS, especially as connected with GOUT,
EMPHYSEMA, and DISEASES of the HEART. BY E. HEADLAM
GRBHXHOW, M.D. F.R.C.P. &c. 8vo. Is. Cd.
The CLIMATE of the SOUTH of FRANCE as SUITED to INVALIDS ;
with Notices of Mediterranean and other Winter Stations. By C. T.
WILLIAMS, M.A. M.D. Oxon. Physician to the Hospital for Consumption
at Brompton. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.
PULMONARY CONSUMPTION; its Nature, Varieties, and Treat
ment : with an Analysis of One Thousand Cases to exemplify its Duration.
By C. J. B. WILLIAMS, M.D. F.R.S. and C. T. WILLIAMS, M.A. M.D. Oxon.
Post 8vo. price 10s. Qd.
The SKIM-MILK TREATMENT of DIABETES and BRIGHT'S
DISEASE ; with Clinical Observations on the Symptoms and Pathology of
these Affections. By ARTHUR SCOTT DOXKIX, M.D. &c. Crown 8vo.
price 10s. 6d.
QUAIN'S ELEMENTS of ANATOMY. Seventh Edition [1867],
edited by W. SHAKPEY, M.D. F.R.S. ALLEX THOMPSON, M.D. F.R.S. and
J. CLELAXD, M.D. With upwards of 800 Engravings on Wood. 2 vols. 8vo.
price 31s. 6d.
ANATOMY, DESCRIPTIVE and SURGICAL. By HENRY GRAY,
F.R.S. With about 400 Woodcuts from Dissections. Sixth Edition, by
T. HOLMES, M.A. Cautab, with a new Introduction by the Editor. Royal
8vo. 28s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO 17
A TREATISE on the CONTINUED FEVEKS of GREAT BRITAIN,
By CHARLES MURCHISON, M.D. LL.D. F.R.S. P.R.C.P. &c. Second Edition,
thoroughly revised and enlarged, with numerous Illustrations. 8vo. price 24s.
CLINICAL LECTURES on DISEASES of the LIVER, JAUNDICE,
and ABDOMINAL DROPSY. By CHARLES MURCHISON, M.D. Post 8vo.
with 25 Woodcuts, 10*. 6d.
OUTLINES of PHYSIOLOGY, Human and Comparative. By JOHN
MARSHALL, F.R.C.S. Surgeon to the University College Hospital. 2 vols.
crown 8vo. with 122 Woodcuts, 32s.
PHYSIOLOGICAL ANATOMY and PHYSIOLOGY of MAN. By the
late R. B. TODD, M.D. F.R.S. and W. BOWMAN, F.R.S. of King's College.
With numerous Illustrations. Vol. II. 8vo. 25s.
VOL. I. New Edition by Dr. LIONEL S. BEALE, F.R.S. in course of publi
cation, with many Illustrations. PARTS I. and II. price 7s. 6d. each.
COPLAND'S DICTIONARY of PRACTICAL MEDICINE, abridged
rom the larger work and throughout brought down to the [present State
of Medical Science. 8vo. 36s.
On the MANUFACTURE of BEET-ROOT SUGAR in ENGLAND
and IRELAND. By WILLIAM CROOKES, F.R.S. Crown 8vo. with 11
Woodcuts, 8s. 6d.
DR. PEREIRA'S ELEMENTS of MATERIA MEDICA and THERA
PEUTICS, abridged and adapted for the use of Medical and Pharmaceutical
Practitioners and Students ; and comprising all the Medicines of the
British Pharmacopoeia, with such others as are frequently ordered in Pre
scriptions or required by the Physician. Edited by Professor BENTLEY,
F.L.S. &c. and by Dr. REDWOOD, F.C.S. &c. With 125 Woodcut Illustra
tions. 8vo. price 25s.
The ESSENTIALS of MATERIA MEDICA and THERAPEUTICS.
By ALFRED BARING GARROD, M.D. F.R.S. &c. Physician to King's College
Hospital. Third Edition. Seventh Impression, brought up to 1870. Crown
8vo. price 12s. 6d.
The Fine Arts., and Illustrated Editions.
The THREE CATHEDRALS DEDICATED to ST. PAUL, in LONDON ;
their History from the Foundation of the First Building in the Sixth Century
to the Proposals for the Adornment of the Present Cathedral. By WILLIAM
LONGMAN, F.A.S. with numerous Illustrations. Square crown 8vo. price 21s.
GROTESQUE ANIMALS, invented, described, and portrayed by E. W.
COOKE, R.A. F.R.S. F.G.S. F.Z.S. &c. in Twenty-four Plates, with Elucidatory
Comments. Royal 4 to. 21s.
IN FAIRYLAND ; Pictures from the Elf- World. By KICHABD
DOYLE. With a Poem by W. ALLIXGHAM. With Sixteen Plates, containing
Thirty-six Designs printed in Colours. Folio, 31s. 6cZ.
HALF-HOUR LECTURES on the HISTORY and PRACTICE of the
Fine and Ornamental Arts. By WILLIAM B. SCOTT. New Edition, revised
by the Author ; with 50 Woodcuts. Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d.
ALBERT DURER, HIS LIFE and WORKS; including Auto
biographical Papers and Complete Catalogues. By WILLIAM B. SCOTT.
With Six Etchings by the Author, and other Illustrations. 8vo. 16s.
B
18 NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
Tlie CHOEAIE BOOK for ENGLAND : the Hymns translated by
Miss C. WINKWOUTH; the Tunes arranged by Prof. W. S. BENNETT and
OTTO GOLDSCHMIDT. Fcp. 4to. 12«. Gd.
The NEW TESTAMENT, illustrated with Wood Engravings after the
Early Masters, chiefly of the Italian School. Crown 4to. G3s. cloth, gilt top ;
or £5 5s. elegantly bound in morocco.
LYRA GERMANICA ; the Christian Year. Translated by CATHERINE
WINKWORTH; with 125 Illustrations on Wood drawn by J. LEIGHTON,
F.S.A. 4 to. 21 5.
LYRA GERMANICA; the Christian Life. Translated by CATHERINE
WIXKWORTH ; with about 200 Woodcut Illustrations by J. LEIGHTON, F.S.A.,
and other Artists. 4 to. 21 s.
The LIFE of MAN SYMBOLISED by the MONTHS of the YEAR.
Text selected by R. PIGOT ; Illustrations on Wood from Original Designs by
J. LEIGHTON, F.S.A. 4to. 42$.
CATS' and FARLIE'S MORAL EMBLEMS ; with Aphorisms, Adages,
and Proverbs of all Nations. 121 Illustrations on Wood by J. LEIGHTON,
F.S.A. Text selected byR. PIGOT. Imperial 8vo. 31s. Gd.
SACRED and LEGENDARY ART. By MRS. JAMESON.
Legends of the Saints and Martyrs. New Edition, with 19
Etchings and 187 Woodcuts. 2 vols. square crown 8vo. 31s. Gd.
Legends of the Monastic Orders. New Edition, with 1 1 Etchings
and 88 Woodcuts. 1 vol. square crown 8vo. 21s.
Legends of the Madonna. New Edition, with 27 Etchings and
165 Woodcuts. 1 vol. square crown 8vo. 21.?.
The History of Onr Lord, with that of his Types and Precursors.
Completed by Lady EASTLAKE. Revised Edition, with 31 Etchings and
281 Woodcuts. 2 vols. square crown 8vo. 42$.
The Useful Arts, Manufactures, &c.
HISTORY of the GOTHIC REVIVAL ; an Attempt to shew how far
the taste for Medireval Architecture was retained in England during the
last two centuries, and has been re-developed in the present. By C. L. EAST-
LAKE, Architect. With 48 Illustrations (3G full size of page). Imperial 8vo.
price 31s. Gd.
GWILT'S ENCYCLOPAEDIA of ARCHITECTURE, with above 1,600
Engravings on Wood. Fifth Edition, revised and enlarged by WYATT
PAPWORTH. 8vo. 52s. Gd.
A MANUAL of ARCHITECTURE: being a Concise History and
Explanation of the principal Styles of European Architecture. Ancient,
Mediieval, and Renaissance ; Avith a Glossary of Technical Terms. By
THOMAS MrreiiELL. Crown 8vo. with 150 Woodcuts, 10*. 6d!.
HINTS on HOUSEHOLD TASTE in FURNITURE, UPHOLSTERY,
and other Details. By CHARLES L. EASTLAKE, Architect. New Edition,
with about 90 Illustrations. Square crown 8vo. 14*-.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
19
PRINCIPLES of MECHANISM, designed for the Use of Students in
the Universities, and for Engineering Students generally. By R.
WILLIS, M.A. F.R.S. &c. Jacksonian Professor in the University of Cam
bridge. Second Edition, enlarged ; with 374 Woodcuts. 8vo. 18s.
GEOMETRIC TURNING: comprising a Description of Plant's New
Geometric Chuck, with directions for its use, and a series of Patterns cut by
it, with explanations of the mode of producing them, and an account of a New
Process of Deep Cutting and of Graving on Copper. By H. S; SAVORY. With,
numerous Woodcuts. 8vo. 21s.
LATHES and TURNING, Simple, Mechanical, and ORNAMENTAL.
By W. HENRY NOUTHCOTT. With about 240 Illustrations on Steel and
Wood. 8vo. ISs.
PERSPECTIVE ; or, the Art of Drawing what One Sees. Explained
and adapted to the use of those Sketching from Nature. By Lieut. W. H.
COLLINS, E.E. F.R.A.S. With 37 Woodcuts. Crown 8vo. price 5t.
URE'S DICTIONARY of ARTS, MANUFACTURES, and MINES.
Sixth Edition, chiefly rewritten and greatly enlarged by ROBERT AUNT, F.R.S.
assisted by numerous Contributors eminent in Science and the Arts, and
familiar with Manufactures. With above 2,000 Woodcuts. 3 vols. medium
8vo. price £4 14s. Gd.
HANDBOOK of PRACTICAL TELEGRAPHY. By E. S. GULLET,
Memb. Inst. C.E. Engineer-in-Chief of Telegraphs to the Post Office. Fifth.
Edition, with 118 Woodcuts and 9 Plates. Svo. price 14s.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA of CIVIL ENGINEERING, Historical, Theoretical,
and Practical. By E. CRESY, C.E. With above 3,000 Woodcuts. Svo. 42s.
The STRAINS IN TRUSSES Computed by means of Diagrams ; with
20 Examples drawn to Scale. By F. A. RANKEN, M.A. C.E. Lecturer at the
Hartley Institution, Southampton. With oo Diagrams. Square crown Svo.
price 6s. Gd.
TREATISE on MILLS and MILLWORK. By Sir W. FAIRBAIRN,
Bart. F.R.S. New Edition, with IS Plates and 322 Woodcuts, 2 vols.
Svo. 32s.
USEFUL INFORMATION for ENGINEERS. By the same Author.
FIRST, SECOND, and THIRD SERIES, with many Plates and Woodcuts, 3 vols.
crown Svo. 10s. Gd. each.
The APPLICATION of CAST and WROUGHT IRON to Building
Purposes. By Sir W. FAIRBAIRN, Bart. F.R.S. Fourth Edition, enlarged ; with
6 Plates and 118 Woodcuts. Svo. price 16s.
A TREATISE on the STEAM ENGINE, in its various Applications
to Mines, Mills, Steam Navigation, Railways, and Agriculture. By J. BOURNE,
C.E. Eighth Edition ; with Portrait, 37 Plates, and 546 Woodcuts. 4to. 42s.
CATECHISM of the STEAM ENGINE, in its various Applications to
Mines, Mills, Steam Navigation, Railways, and Agriculture. By the same
Author. With 89 Woodcuts. Fcp. 6s.
HANDBOOK of the STEAM ENGINE. By the same Author, forming
a KEY to the Catechism of the Steam Engine, with 67 Woodcuts. Fcp. 9s.
BOURNE'S RECENT IMPROVEMENTS in the STEAM ENGINE in its
various applications to Mines, Mills, Steam Navigation, Railways, and Agri
culture. Being a Supplement to the Author's ' Catechism of the Steam
Engine.' By JOHN BOURNE, C.E. New Edition, including many New
Examples ; with 124 Woodcuts. Fcp. Svo. 6s.
u 2
20 NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
PRACTICAL TREATISE on METALLURGY, adapted from the last
German Edition of Professor KERL'S Metallurgy by W. CROOKES, F.R.S. &c.
and E. BOHRIG, Ph.D. M.E. With G25 Woodcuts. 3 vols. 8vo. price £4 195.
MITCHELL'S MANUAL of PRACTICAL ASSAYING. Fourth Edi
tion, for the most part rewritten, with all the recent Discoveries incorporated,
by W. CROOKES, F.R.S. With 199 Woodcuts. 8vo. 21s. Gd.
LOUDON'S ENCYCLOPEDIA of AGRICULTURE: comprising the
Laying-out, Improvement, and Management of Landed Property, and the Culti
vation and Economy of the Productions of Agriculture. With 1,100 Woodcuts
8vo. 21s.
London's Encyclopaedia of Gardening : comprising the Theory and
Practice of Horticulture, Floriculture, Arboriculture, and Landscape Gardening
With 1,000 Woodcuts. 8vo. 21s.
BAYLDON'S ART of VALUING RENTS and TILLAGES, and Claims
of Tenants upon Quitting Farms, both at Michaelmas and Lady Day. Eighth
Edition, revised by J. C. HORTOX. 8vo. 105. Gd.
Religious and Moral Works.
INTRODUCTION to the SCIENCE of RELIGION. Four Lectures
delivered at the Royal Institution ; with Two Essays on False Analogies and
the Philosophy of Mythology. By F. MAX MULLER, M.A. Crown 8vo.
price 105. 6d.
ESSAYS on the HISTORY of the CHRISTIAN RELIGION. By JOHN
Earl RUSSELL. Second Edition, revised, 8vo. price 105. Gd.
EIGHT ESSAYS on ECCLESIASTICAL REFORM, by Various Writers ;
together with a Preface and Analysis of the Essays. Edited by the Rev. ORBY
SHIPLEY, M.A. Crown Svo. 105. Gd.
The SPEAKER'S BIBLE COMMENTARY, by Bishops and other
Clergy of the Anglican Church, critically examined by the Right Rev. J. W.
COLENSO, D.D. Bishop of Natal. Svo. PART I. Genesis, 3s. Gd. PART II.
Exodus, 45. Gd. PART III. Leviticus, 2s. Gd. PART IV. Numbers, 3s. Gd.
PARE V. Deuteronomy, 5s.
The OUTLINES of the CHRISTIAN MINISTRY DELINEATED, and
brought to the Test of Reason, Holy Scripture History, and Experience, with a
view to the Reconciliation of Existing Differences concerning it, especially
between Presbyterians and Episcopalians. By C. WORDSWORTH, D.C.L. Bishop
of St. Andrews. Crown Svo. price 75. Gd.
CHRIST the CONSOLER; a Book of Comfort for the Sick. With a
Preface by the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Carlisle. Small Svo. price 65.
REASONS of FAITH ; or, the ORDER of the Christian Argument
Developed and Explained. By the Rev. G. S. DREW, M.A. Second Edition,
revised and enlarged. Fcp. Svo. price 65.
The TRUE DOCTRINE of the EUCHARIST. By THOMAS S. L. VOGAN,
D.D. Canon and Prebendary of Chichester and Rural Dean. Svo. price 185.
SYNONYMS of the OLD TESTAMENT, their BEARING on CHRIS
TIAN FAITH and PRACTICE. By the Rev. ROBERT BAKER GIRDLESTOXB,
M.A. STO. price 155.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO. 21
An INTRODUCTION to the THEOLOGY of the CHURCH of
ENGLAND, in an Exposition of the Thirty-nine Articles. By the Rev. T. P.
BOULTBEE, LL.D. New Edition, Fcp. 8vo. price 6s.
FUNDAMENTALS ; or, Bases of Belief concerning MAN and GOD :
a Handbook of Mental, Moral, and Religious Philosophy. By the Rev. T.
GRIFFITH, M.A. 8vo. price 10s. 6d.
PRAYERS for the FAMILY and for PRIVATE USE, selected
from the COLLECTION of the late BARON BUNSEN, and Translated by
CATHERINE WINKWORTH. Fcp. 8vo. price 3s. 6d.
The STUDENT'S COMPENDIUM of the BOOK of COMMON
PRAYER ; being Notes Historical and Explanatory of the Liturgy of the
Church of England. By the Rev. H. ALLDEN NASH. Fcp. 8vo. price 2s. 6d.
An EXPOSITION of the 39 ARTICLES, Historical and Doctrinal.
By E. HAROLD BROWNE, D.D. Lord Bishop of Ely. Ninth Edit. 8vo. 16s.
The LIFE and EPISTLES of ST. PAUL. By the Eev. W. J.
CONYBEARE, M.A., and the Very Rev. J. S. HOWSON, D.D. Dean of Chester :—
LIBRARY EDITION, with all the Original IDustrations, Maps, Landscapes on
Steel, Woodcuts, &c. 2 vols. 4to. 48s.
INTERMEDIATE EDITION, with a Selection of Maps, Plates, and Woodcuts.
2 vols. square crowrn 8vo. 21s.
STUDENT'S EDITION, revised and condensed, with 46 Illustrations and Maps,
1 vol. crown 8vo. price 9s.
The VOYAGE and SHIPWRECK of ST. PAUL ; with Dissertations
on the Life and Writings of St. Luke and the Ships and Navigation of the
Ancients. By JAMES SMITH, F.R.S. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
COMMENTARY on the EPISTLE to the ROMANS. By the Eev.
W. A. O'CoNOR, B.A. Rector of St. Simon and St. Jude, Manchester. Crown
8vo. price 3s. 6d.
The EPISTLE to the HEBREWS ; with Analytical Introduction and
Notes. By the Rev. W. A. O'CoNOR, B.A. Crown 8vo. price 4s. 6d.
A CRITICAL and GRAMMATICAL COMMENTARY on ST. PAUL'S
Epistles. By C. J. ELLICOTT, D.D. Lord Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol. SYO.
Galatians, Fourth Edition, 8s. 6d.
Ephesians, Fourth Edition, 8s. 6d.
Pastoral Epistles, Fourth Edition, 10s. 6d.
Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon, Third Edition, 10s. 6d.
Thessalonians, Third Edition, 7s. 6d.
HISTORICAL LECTURES on the LIFE of OUR LORD JESUS
CHRIST : being the Hulsean Lectures for 1859. By C. J. ELLICOTT, D.D. Lord
Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol. Fifth Edition. 8vo. price 12s.
EVIDENCE of the TRUTH of the CHRISTIAN RELIGION derived
from the Literal Fulfilment of Prophecy. By ALEXANDER KEITH, D.D. 37th
Edition, with numerous Plates, in square 8vo. 12s. 6d. ; also the 39th Edition, in
post 8vo. with 5 Plates, 6s.
History and Destiny of the World and Church, according to
Scripture. By the same Author. Square 8vo. with 40 Illustrations, 10s.
The HISTORY and LITERATURE of the ISRAELITES, according
to the Old Testament and the Apocrypha. By C. DE ROTHSCHILD and A. DE
ROTHSCHILD. Second Edition, revised. 2 vols. post 8vo. with Two Maps,
price 12s. 6rf. Abridged Edition, in 1 vol. fcp. 8vo. price 3s. 6d.
22 NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AXD CO.
An INTRODUCTION to the STUDY of the NEW TESTAMENT,
Critical, Exepretical, and Theological. By the Rev. S. DAVIDSON, D.D. LL.D.
2 vols. 8vo. 305.
EW AID'S HISTORY of ISRAEL to the DEATH of MOSES. Trans
lated from the German. Edited, with a Preface and an Appendix, by RUSSELL
MARTIXEAU, M.A. Second Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 24.?. VOLS. III. and IV.
edited by J. E. CARPENTER, M.A. price 21s. VOL. V. translated by Mr.
CARPEKTER, is in the press.
The TREASURY of BIBLE KNOWLEDGE ; being a Dictionary of the
Books, Persons, Places, Events, and other matters of which mention is made in
Holy Scripture. By Rev. J. AYRE, M.A. With Maps, 1C Plates, and numerous
Woodcuts. Fcp. Svo. price 6s. cloth, or 10s. neatly bound in calf.
EVERY-DAY SCRIPTURE DIFFICULTIES explained and illustrated.
By J. E. PRESCOTT. M.A. VOL. I. Matttieu: aud Mark ; VOL. II. Z«/.-eand John,
2 vols. Svo. 9s. each.
LECTURES on the PENTATEUCH and the MOABITE STONE;
with Appendices, containing— I. The Elohistic Narrative ; II. The Original
Story of the Exodus ; III. The Pre-Christian Cross. By the Right Rev. JOHN
WILLIAM COLEXSO, D.D. Bishop of Natal. 8vo. price 12s.
The PENTATEUCH and BOOK of JOSHUA CRITICALLY EXAMINED.
By the Right Rev. J. W. COLEXSO, D.D. Lord Bishop of Natal. People's
Edition, in 1 vol. crown Svo. 6s.
The FORMATION of CHRISTENDOM. By T. W. ALLIES. PARTS I.
and II. Svo. price 12s. each Part.
ENGLAND and CHRISTENDOM. By ARCHBISHOP MAXXING, D.D.
Post Svo. price 10s. 6c/.
A VIEW of the SCRIPTURE REVELATIONS CONCERNING a
FUTURE STATE. By RICHARD WHATELY, D.D. late Archbishop of Dublin.
Ninth Edition. Fcp. Svo. 5s.
THOUGHTS for the AGE. By ELIZABETH M. SFAVELL, Author of
' Amy Herbert,' &c. New Edition, revised. Fcp. Svo, price 5s.
Passing Thoughts on Religion. By the same Author. Fcp. Svo. 3s 6d.
Self-Examination before Confirmation. By the same Author, 32mo.
price Is. 6d.
Readings for a Month Preparatory to Confirmation, from Writers
of the Early and English Church. By the same Author. Fcp. 4s.
Readings for Every Day in Lent, compiled from the "Writings of
Bishop JEREMY TAYLOR. By the same Author. Fcp. /is.
Preparation for the Holy Communion ; the Devotions chiefly from
the Works of JEREMY TAYLOR. By the same Author. 32mo. 3s.
THOUGHTS for the HOLY WEEK for Young Persons. By the Author
of ' Amy Herbert.' New Edition. Fcp. Svo. 2s.
PRINCIPLES of EDUCATION Drawn from Nature and Revelation,
and applied to Female Education in the Upper Classes. By the Author of
' Amy Herbert.' 2 vols. fcp. 12s. 6d.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO. 23
LYRA GERMANICA, translated from the German by Miss C.
WORTH. FIRST SERIES, Hymns for the Sundays and Chief Festivals. SECOND
SERIES, the Christian Life. Fcp. 3*. 6 d. each SERIES.
SPIRITUAL SONGS for the SUNDAYS and HOLIDAYS through
out the Year. By J. S. B. MOXSELL, LL.D. Vicar of Egham and Rural Dean.
Fourth Edition. Sixth Thousand. Fcp. 45. Gd.
TRADITIONS and CUSTOMS of CATHEDRALS. By MACKENZIE
E. C. WALCOTT, B.D. F.S.A. Przecentor and Prebendary of Chichester. Second
Edition, revised and enlarged. Crown 8vo. price 6i.
ENDEAVOURS after the CHRISTIAN LIFE: Discourses. By
JAMES MARTIXEAU. Fourth Edition, carefully revised. Post 8vo. 7*. Gd.
WHATELY'S INTRODUCTORY LESSONS on the CHRISTIAN
Evidences. 18mo. Gd.
BISHOP JEREMY TAYLOR'S ENTIRE WORKS. With Life by
BISHOP HEBER. Revised and corrected by the Rev. C. P. EDEN. Complete in
Ten Volumes, 8vo. cloth, price £5. 5s.
Travels, Voyages, &c.
SLAVE-CATCHING in the INDIAN OCEAN. By Capt. COLOMB,
R.N. With a Map and Illustrations from Photographs and Original Drawings.
8vo. price 21s.
UNTRODDEN PEAKS and UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS; a Mid
summer Ramble among the Dolomites. By AMELIA B. EDWARDS. With a
Map and 27 Illustrations, engraved on WooJ. from Sketches by the Author.
Medium 8vo. price 21s.
The DOLOMITE MOUNTAINS ; Excursions through Tyrol, Carinthia,
Carniola, and Friuli, 1861-1863. By J. GILBERT and G. C. CHURCHILL, F.R.G.S.
With numerous Illustrations. Square crown 8vo. 21s.
CADORE; or, TITIAN'S COUNTRY. By JOSIAH GILBERT, one of
the Authors of the ' Dolomite Mountains.' With Map, Facsimile, and 40 Illus
trations. Imperial 8vo. 31s. Gd.
HOURS of EXERCISE in the ALPS. By JOHN TYNDALL, LL.D.
D.C.L. F.R.S. Third Edition, with 7 Woodcuts by E. Whymper. Crown 8vo.
price 12s. Gd.
MAP of the CHAIN of MONT BLANC, from an Actual Survey in
1863-1864. By ADAMS-REILLY, F.R.G.S. M.A.C. Published under the Au
thority of the Alpine Club. In Chromolithography on extra stout drawing-
paper 28in. x 17in. price 10s. or mounted on canvas in a folding case, 12s. Gd.
TRAVELS in the CENTRAL CAUCASUS and BASHAN. Including
Visits to Ararat and Tabreez and Ascents of Kazbek and Elbruz. By D. W.
FKESHFIELD. Square crown 8vo. with Maps, &c. 18s.
PAU and the PYRENEES. By Count HENRY KUSSELL, Member of
the Alpine Club, &c. With 2 Maps. Fcp. 8vo. price 5s.
HOW to SEE NORWAY. By Captain J. E. CAMPBELL. With Map
and 5 Woodcuts. Fcp. 8vo. price 5s.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
LIFEfftn INDIA ; a Scries of Sketches shewing something of the
Anglo-Indian, the Land he lives in, and the People among whom he lives. By
EDWARD BBADDON. Post 8vo. price 9s.
MY WIFE and I in QUEENSLAND ; Eight Years' Experience in
the Colony, with some account of Polynesian Labour. By OHARLES H. EDEN.
With Map and Frontispiece. Crown Svo. price 9s.
The JAPANESE in AMERICA. BY CHARLES LANMAN, American
Secretary, Japanese Legation, Washington, U.S.A. Post 8vo. price 10s. 6d.
RAMBLES, by PATRICITJS WALKER. Koprinted from Frascr's Magazine,
with a Vignette of the Queen's Bower in the New Forest. Crown 8vo. iOs. Gd.
HISTORY of DISCOVERY in our AUSTRALASIAN COLONIES,
Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand, from the Earliest Date to the Present
Day. By WILLIAM HOWITT. 2 vols. 8vo. with 3 Maps. 20s.
JOTTINGS DURING the CRUISE of HER MAJESTY'S SHIP, the
CURAQOA, AMONG the SOUTH SEA ISLANDS in 1865. By the late
JULIUS BRENCHLEY, Esq. M.A. F.R.G.S. With Chart, 43 Coloured Plates and
Chromolithographs, and 9 Illustrations in Lithography, 8 full-page Wood
Engravings and several other Plates, and 3C Woodcuts in the Text. Imperial
8vo. price 42s.
GUIDE to the PYRENEES, for the use of Mountaineers. By
CHARLES PACKE, 2nd Edition, with Map and Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 7s. Gd.
The ALPINE GUIDE. By JOHN BALL, M.K.I.A. late President of
the Alpine Club. 3 vols. post 8vo. Thoroughly Revised Editions, with Maps
and Illustrations :— I. Western Alps, 6s. Gd. II. Central Alps, 7s. Gd. III.
Eastern Alps, 10s. Gd.
Introduction on Alpine Travelling in General, and on the Geology
of the Alps, price Is. Each of the Three Volumes or Parts of the Alpine Guide
may be had with this INTRODUCTION prefixed, price Is. extra.
VISITS to REMARKABLE PLACES : Old Halls, Battle-Fields, and
Stones Illustrative of Striking Passages in English History and Poetry. By
WILLIAM Howrrr. 2 vols. square crown 8vo. with Woodcuts, 25s.
The RURAL LIFE of ENGLAND. By the same Author. With
Woodcuts by Bewick and Williams. Medium 8vo. 12s. Gd.
Works of Fiction.
LADY WILLOUGHBY'S DIARY, 1635—1663 ; Charles the First, the
Protectorate, and the Restoration. Reproduced in the Style of the Period to
which the Diary relates. Crown 8vo. price 7s. Gd.
POPULAR ROMANCES of the MIDDLE AGES. By GEORGE W.
Cox, M.A., Author of the ' Mythology of the Aryan Nations,' &c. and EUSTACE
HINTON JONES. Crown 8vo. price 10s. 6(7.
TALES of the TEUTONIC LANDS ; a Sequel to ' Popular Eomances
of the Middle Ages.' By the same Authors. Crown Svo. 10s. Gd.
The BURGOMASTER'S FAMILY ; or, Weal and Woe in a Littl
World. By CHRISTINE MULLER. Translated from the Dutch by Sir JOHN SHAW
LEFEVRE, F.R.S. Crown Svo. price Cs.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO^ 25
NOVELS and TALES. By the Eight Hon. B. DISRAELI, M.P.
Cabinet Edition, complete in Ten Volumes, crown 8vo. price 6*. each, as follows: —
LOTHAIR, 6*.
CONINGSBY, 6s.
SYBIL, 6s.
TANCRED, Gs.
VENETIA, Gs.
HENRIETTA TEMPLE, 6s.
CONTARINI FLEMING, &c. 6s.
ALROY, IXION, &c. 6s.
The YOUNG DUKE, &c. 6s.
VIVIAN GREY, 6s.
The MODERN NOVELIST'S LIBRARY. Each Work, in crown 8vo.
complete in a Single Volume :—
ATHERSTONE PRIORY. By L. N. COMYN, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
MELVILLE'S GLADIATORS, 2s boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
GOOD FOR NOTHING, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
HOLMBY HOUSE, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
. INTERPRETER, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
KATE COVENTRY, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
.• QUEEN'S MARIES, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
DIGBY GRAND, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
GENERAL BOUNCE, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
TROLLOPE'S WARDEN, Is. 6d. boards ; 2s. cloth.
BARCHESTER TOWERS, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
BRAMLEY-MOORE'S Six SISTERS of the VALLEYS, 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth.
CABINET EDITION of STORIES and TALES by Miss SEWBLL:—
AMY HERBERT, 2s. 6d.
GERTRUDE, 2s. 6d.
The EARL'S DAUGHTER, 2s. 6d.
EXPERIENCE of LIFE, 2s. 6d.
IVORS, 2s. 6d.
KATHARINE ASHTON, 2s. 6d.
MARGARET PERCIVAL, 3s. 6d.
LANETON PARSONAGE, 3s. 6d.
CLEVE HALL, 2s. 6d. | URSULA, 3s, 6d.
CYLLENE; or, the Fall of Paganism. By HENRY SNEYD, M.A.
University College, Oxford. 2 vols. post 8vo. price 14s.
BECKER'S GALLUS; or, Eoman Scenes of the Time of Augustus :
with Notes and Excursuses. New Edition. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d.
BECKER'S CHARICLES; a Tale illustrative of Private Life among the
Ancient Greeks : with Notes and Excursuses. New Edition. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d.
TALES of ANCIENT GREECE. By GEORGE W. Cox, M.A. late
Scholar of Trin. Coll. Oxon. Crown 8vo. price 6s. 6d.
Poetry and The Drama.
FAUST: a Dramatic Poem. By GOETHE. Translated into English
Prose, with Notes, by A. HAYWARD. Eighth Edition. Fcp. 8vo. price 3
BALLADS and LYRICS of OLD FRANCE; with other Poems. By
A. LANG, Fellow of Merton College, Oxford. Square fcp. 8vo. price 5s.
MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES, Maclise's Edition, with 161 Steel Plates
from Original Drawings. Super-royal Svo. 31s. 6d.
Miniature Edition of Moore's Irish Melodies, with Maclise's De
signs (as above) reduced in Lithography. Imp. 16mo. 10s. 6d.
MOORE'S LALLA ROOKH. Tenniel's Edition, with 68 Wood
Engravings from Original Drawings and other Illustrations. Fcp. 4to. 21
SOUTHEY'S POETICAL WORKS, with the Author's last Corrections
and copyright Additions. Library Edition, in 1 vol. medium Svo. with Portrait
and Vignette, 14s.
26 NEW WORKS PUHLISHKO liY LONGMANS AND CO.
LAYS of ANCIENT ROME ; with IVRY and the ARMADA. By the
Right Hon. Lord MACAULAY. 16mo. 3s. Gd.
Lord Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. "With 90 Illustrations on
Wood, from the Antique, from Drawings by G. SCHARP. Fcp. 4to. 21s.
Miniature Edition of Lord Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome,
with the Illustrations (as above) reduced in Lithography. Imp. 16mo. 105. Gd.
GOLDSMITH'S POETICAL WORKS, with Wood Engravings from
Designs by Members of the Etching-Club. Imp. 16mo. 75. Gd.
The JENEID of VIRGIL Translated into English Verse. By JOHN
CONINGTON, M.A. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 9s.
The ODES and EPODES of HORACE ; a Metrical Translation into
English, with Introduction and Commentaries. By Lord LYTTON. With Latin
Text. New Edition. Post Svo. price 105. Gd.
HORATII OPERA. Library Edition, with Marginal Eeferences and
English Notes. Edited by the Rev. J. E. YONGE. Svo. 21s.
BOWDLER'S FAMILY SHAKSPEARE, cheaper Genuine Editions.
Medium Svo. large type, with 36 WOODCUTS, price 14s. Cabinet Edition, with
the same ILLUSTRATIONS, 6 vols. fcp. 3s. Gd. each.
POEMS. By JEAX INGELOW. 2 vols. fcp. 8ro. price 10s.
FIRST SERIES, containing ' DIVIDED,' ' The STAR'S MONUMENT,' &c. Sixteenth
Thousand. Fcp. 8vo. price as.
SECOND SERIES, ' A STORY of DOOM,' ' GLADYS and her ISLAND,' &c. Fifth
Thousand. Fcp. 8vo. price 5s.
POEMS by Jean Ingelow. FIRST SERIES, with nearly 100 Illustrations,
engraved on Wood by Dalziel Brothers. Fcp. 4to. 21s.
Rural Sports, &c.
The DEAD SHOT ; or, Sportsman's Complete Guide : a Treatise on
the Use of the Gun, Dog-breaking, Pigeon-shooting, &c. By MARKSMAN.
Revised Edition. Fcp. Svo. with Plates, 5s.
ENCYCLOPEDIA of RURAL SPORTS ; a complete Account, Histo
rical, Practical, and Descriptive, of Hunting, Shooting, Fishing, Racing,
and all other Rural and Athletic Sports and Pastimes. By D. P. ELAINE.
With above 600 Woodcuts (20 from Designs by JOHN LEECH). Svo. 21s.
The FLY-FISHER'S ENTOMOLOGY. By ALFRED RONALDS. With
coloured Representations of the Natural and Artificial Insect. Sixth Edition,
with 20 coloured Plates. Svo. 14s.
A BOOK on ANGLING ; a complete Treatise on the Art of Angling
in every branch. By FRANCIS FRANCIS. New Edition, with Portrait and 15
other Plates, plain and coloured. Post Svo. 15s.
WILCOCKS'S SEA-FISHERMAN ; comprising the Chief Methods of
Hook and Line Fishing in the British and other Seas, a Glance at Nets, and
Remarks on Boats and Boating. Second Edition, enlarged ; with 80 Woodcuts.
Post 8vo. 12s. Gd.
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AXD CO. 27
GYMNASTS and GYMNASTICS. By JOHN H. HOWARD, Author of
'Athletic and Gymnastic Exercises.' New and Cheaper Edition, vrith 135
Woodcuts. Crown 8vo. price 6s.
HORSES and STABLES. By Colonel F. FITZWYGRAM, XV. the King's
Hussars. With Twenty-four Plates of Illustrations, containing very numerous
Figures engraved on Wood. 8vo. 15s.
The HORSE'S FOOT, and HOW to KEEP it SOUND. By W.
MILES, Esq. Ninth Edition, with Illustrations. Imperial 8vo. 12s. Gd.
A PLAIN TREATISE on HORSE-SHOEING. By the same Author.
Sixth Edition. Tost 8vo. with Illustrations, 2s. Gd.
STABLES and STABLE-FITTINGS. By the same. Imp. Svo. with
13 Plates, 15s.
REMARKS on HORSES' TEETH, addressed to Purchasers. By the
same. Post Svo. Is. Gd.
A TREATISE on HORSE-SHOEING and LAMENESS. By JOSEPH
GAMGEE, Veterinary Surgeon, formerly Lecturer on the Principles and Practice
of Farriery in the New Veterinary College, Edinburgh. 8vo. with, 55 Wood
cuts, price 15s.
The HORSE: with a Treatise on Draught. By WILLIAM YOUATT.
New Edition, revised and enlarged. 8vo. with numerous Woodcuts, 12s. Gd.
The DOG. By the same Author. Svo. with numerous Woodcuts, 6s.
The DOG in HEALTH and DISEASE. By STONEHENGE. With 70
Wood Engravings. Square crown Svo. 7s. Gd.
The GREYHOUND. By STONEHENGE. Eevised Edition, with 24
Portraits of Greyhounds. Square crown Svo. 10s. Gd.
The SETTER : with Notices of the most Eminent Breeds now Extant.
Instructions how to Breed, Rear, and Break, Dog Shows, Field Trials, and
General Management, &c. By EDWARD LAVEIIACK. Crown 4 to. with 2 plates,
price 7s. Gd.
The OX; his Diseases and their Treatment: with an Essay on Parturi
tion in the Cow. By J. E. DOBSOK. Crown 8vo. with Illustrations, 7s. Gd.
Works of Utility and General Information.
The THEORY and PRACTICE of BANKING. By H. D. MACLEOD,
M.A. Barrister-at-Law. Second Edition, entirely remodelled. 2 vols. Svo. 30s.
A DICTIONARY, Practical, Theoretical, and Historical, of Com
merce and Commercial Navigation. By J. R. M'CuLLOCn. New and thoroughly
revised Edition. Svo. price 63s. cloth, or 70s. half-bd. in russia.
The CABINET LAWYER ; a Popular Digest of the Laws of England,
Civil, Criminal, and Constitutional : intended for Practical Use and General
Information. Twenty-third Edition. Fcp. Svo. price 7*. Gd.
A PROFITABLE BOOK UPON DOMESTIC LAW ; Essays for English
Women and Law Students. By PERKINS, Junior, M.A. Barrister-at-Law. Post
Svo. 10s. Gd.
NEW WOEKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
BLACKSTONE ECONOMISED, a Compendium of the Laws of
England to the Present time, in Four Books, each embracing the Legal Principles
and Practical Information contained in their respective volumes of Blackstone,
supplemented by Subsequent Statutory Enactments, Important Legal Decisions,
&c. By D. M. AIIID, of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law. Second Edition,
with Emendations. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d.
A HISTORY and EXPLANATION of the STAMP DUTIES. By
STEPHEN DOWELL, M.A., Assistant-Solicitor of Inland Revenue. 8vo. 12s. 6d.
PEWTNER'S COMPREHENSIVE SPECIFIER; a Guide to the
Practical Specification of every kind of Building- Artificers' Work ; with Forms
of Building Conditions and Agreements, an Appendix, Foot-Notes, and a
copious Index. Edited by W. YOUNG, Architect. Crown 8vo. price 6s.
COAL at HOME and ABROAD in RELATION to COST, CON
SUMPTION, and QUANTITY, and other IMPORTANT QUESTIONS. By
J. R. LEIFCHILD, M.A. Post 8vo. price 4s. Gd.
COLLIERIES and COLLIERS ; a Handbook of the Law and Leading
Cases relating thereto. By J. C. FOWLER, of the Inner Temple, Barrister.
Third Edition. Fep. 8vo. 7s. Gd.
The MATERNAL MANAGEMENT of CHILDREN in HEALTH and
Disease. By THOMAS BULL, M.D. Fcp. 5s-
HINTS to MOTHERS on the MANAGEMENT of their HEALTH
during the Period of Pregnancy and in the Lying-in Room. By the late
THOMAS BULL, M.D. Fcp. 5s.
HOW to NURSE SICK CHILDREN; containing Directions which
may be found of service to all who have charge of the Young. By CHARLES
WEST, M.D. Second Edition. Fcp. 8vo. Is. 6d.
NOTES on LYING-IN INSTITUTIONS; with a Proposal for Orga
nising an Institution for Training Mid wive? and Midwifery Nurses. By
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. With 5 Plans. Square crown 8vo. 7s. Gd.
The THEORY of the MODERN SCIENTIFIC GAME of WHIST.
By WILLIAM POLE, F.R.S. Mus. Doc. Oxon. Fourth Edition, enlarged. Fcp.
8vo. price 2s. 6d.
CHESS OPENINGS. By F. W. LONGMAX, Balliol College, Oxford.
Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 6d.
A PRACTICAL TREATISE on BREWING ; with Formulae for Public
Brewers, and Instructions for Private Families. By W. BLACK. 8vo. 10s. Qd.
MODERN COOKERY for PRIVATE FAMILIES, reduced to a System
of Easy Practice in a Series of carefully-tested Receipts. By ELIZA ACTOX.
Newly revised and enlarged Edition ; with 8 Plates of Figures and 150 Wood
cuts. Fcp. 6s.
WILLICH'S POPULAR TABLES, for ascertaining, according to the
Carlisle Table of Mortality, the value of Lifehold, Leasehold, and Church Pro
perty, Renewal Fines, Reversions, &c. Seventh Edition, edited by MONTAGUE
MARRIOTT, Barrister-at-Law. Post 8vo. price 10s.
MAUNDER'S TREASURY of KNOWLEDGE and LIBRARY of
Reference : comprising an English Dictionary and Grammar, Universal Gazetteer,
Classical Dictionary, Chronology, Law Dictionary, a synopsis of the Peerage,
useful Tables, &c. Revised Edition. Fcp. 8vo. price 6s.
INDEX.
ACTON'S Modern Cookery ...........................
AIRD'S Blackstone Economised ..................
ALLIE s on Formation of Christendom ......
Alpine Guide (The) ....................................
AMOS'S Jurisprudence .
ARNOLD'S Manual of English Literature ... 7
Atherstone Priory ....................................... 25
Autumn Holidays of a Country Parson ...... 8
AYRE'S Treasury of Bible Knowledge ...... 22
BACON'S Essays, by WHATELY .................. 6
—— Life and Letters, by SPEDDING ...... 5
_ Works, edited by SPEDDING ......... 6
BAIN'S Logic, Deductive and Inductive ......
_ Mental and Moral Science ............
- on the Senses and Intellect ...............
BALL'S Alpine Guide .................................
BAYLDON'S Bents and Tillages ..................
BECKER'S Charicles and Gallus ..................
BENFEY'S Sanskrit Dictionary ..................
BLACK'S Treatise on Brewing .....................
BLACKLEY'S German-English Dictionary. . .
ELAINE'S Rural Sports .................................
BLOXAM'S Metals .......................................
BOULTBEE on 39 Articles ...........................
BOURNE'S Catechism of the Steam Engine .
- Handbook of Steam Engine ......
-- Improvements in the Steam
Engine ....................................
-- Treatise on the Steam Engine ...
BOWDLER'S Family SHAKSPEARE
BRADDON'S Life in India
BRAMLEY-MOORE'S Six Sisters of the
Valleys ......................................................
BRANDE'S Dictionary of Science, Litera
ture, and Art .............................................
BRAY'S Manual of Anthropology ............ ...
-- Philosophy of Necessity ..................
. on Force .....................
24
BRENCHLEY'S Cruise of H.M.S. Cura?oa
BROWNE'S Exposition of the 39 Articles
BTJRNEL'S Life of BRUNEL
BUCKLE'S History of Civilization
Miscellaneous Writings
BULL'S Hints to Mothers ........................... 28
-- Maternal Management of Children 28
BUNSEN'S God in History ........................... 3
-- Prayers ....................................... 21
Burgomaster's Family (The) ..................... 24
BuRKE'sRise of Great Families .................. 5
-- Vicissitudes of Families ............... 5
BURTON'S Christian Church ........................ 3
Cabinet Lawyer .......................................... 27
CAMPBELL'S Norway ................................. 23
CATES'S Biographical Dictionary ............... 5
- and WOODWARD'S Encyclopedia 4
CATS' and FARLIE'S Moral Emblems ......... 18
Changed Aspects of Unchanged Truths ...... 9
CHESNEY'S Indian Polity ........................... 3
CHESNEY'S Waterloo Campaign
Chorale Book for England
Christ the Consoler
CLOUGH'S Lives from Plutarch
CODRINGTON'S (Admiral) Memoirs
COLENSO (Bishop) on Pentateuch
on Moabite Stone, &c
on Speaker's Bible Commentary
COLLINS'S Perspective
COLOMB'S Slave Catching '.
Commonplace Philosopher, by A.K.H.B. ...
CONNINGTON'S Translation of the ^Eneid...
Miscellaneous Writings
CONTANSEAU'S French-English Diction
aries
CONYBEARE and HOWSON'S St. Paul
COTTON'S (Bishop) Life
COOKE'S Grotesque Animals '."".'.
COOPER'S Surgical Dictionary
COPLAND'S Dictionary of Practical Medicine
COTTON'S (Bishop) Memoir
Counsel and Comfort from a City Pulpit
Cox's Aryan Mythology
History of Greece
Tale of the Great Persian War
Tales of Ancient Greece
and JONES'S Popular Romances
Tales of Teutonic Lands
CREASY on British Constitutions
CRESY'S Encyclopedia of Civil Engineer
ing
Critical Essays of a Country Parson
CHOOKES on Beet-Root Sugar
's Chemical Analysis
CULLEY'S Handbook of Telegraphy
CUSACK'S History of Ireland
DAVIDSON'S Introduction to NewTestament 22
Dead Shot (The), by MARKSMAN 26
DECAISNE and LE MAOUT'S Botany 14
DE MORGAN'S Budget of Paradoxes 10
DISRAELI'S Lord George Bentinck 4
Novels and Tales 25
DOBSONonthe Ox 27
DONKIN on Diabetes 16
DOVE on Storms 11
DOWELL on Stamp Duties 28
DOYLE'S Fairyland 17
DREW'S Reasons of Faith 20
DUNSANY'S (Lord) Gaul or Teuton ?
EASTLAKE'S Hints on Household Taste 18
. Gothic Revival _... 18
EDEN'S Queensland 24
EDWARDS'S Travels in Tyrol 23
Elements of Botany 15
ELLICOTT'S Commentary on Ephesians 21
Galatians 21
Pastoral Epist. 21
Philippians,&c 21
30
NEW WOUKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
ELLIOOTT'S Commentary on Thessalonians 81
Lectures on the Life of Christ... 21
ERICHSEN'S Surgery
EVANS'S Ancient Stone Implements
EWALD'S History of Israel
FAIHBAIRN'S Applications of Iron
information for Engineers
. Mills and Mill work
FARADAY'S Life and Letters
FITZWYGRAM on Horses and Stables
FOWLER'S Collieries and Colliers
FRANCIS'S Fishing Book
FRBSIIFIELD'S Travels in the Caucasus 23
FROUDE'S English in Ireland
History of England
Short Studies on Great Subjects
GAMOEH on Horse-Shoeing
GAKOT'S Elementary Physics
Natural Philosophy.
GARROD'S Materia Medica
GILBERT'S Cadore. or Titian's Country
GILBERT and CHURCHILL'S Dolomites
GIRDLESTONE'S Bible Synonymes
GCETHE'S Faust, translated by Hayward ...
GOLDSMITH'S Poems, Illustrated
GOODBYE'S Mechanism
GRANT'S Ethics of Aristotle
Graver Thoughts of a Country Parson
GRAY'S Anatomy
GREENHOAVon Bronchitis
GRIFFIN'S Algebra and Trigonometry
GRIFFITH'S Fundamentals
GROVE on Correlation of Physical Forces ...
GURNEY'S Chapters of French History
GWILT'8 Encyclopaedia of Architecture
HARE on Election of Representatives
HARTWIG'S Harmonies of Nature
Polar World
Sea and its Living Wonders ...
Subterranean World
Tropical World
HATHERTON'S Memoir and Correspondence
IlAUGHTON's Animal Mechanics
HAYWARD'S Biographical and Critical
Essays ; Second Series
HELMHOTZ'S Popular Lectures
HEMSLEY'S Handbook of Trees and Plants
HERSCHEL'S Outlines of Astronomy
HEWITT on Diseases of Women
HODGSON'S Theory of Practice
Time and Space
HOLLAND'S Recollections
HOLMES'S System of Surgery
Surgical Diseases of Infancy
HOWARD'S Gymnasts and Gymnastics
HOWITT'S Australian Discovery
Rural Life of England
Visits to Remarkable Places
HUBNER'S Memoir of Sixtus V
HUGHES'S (W.) Manual of Geography
HUMBOLDT'S Centenary Biography 4
HUME'S Essays 10
Treatise on Human Nature 10
13
22
19
19
19
IHNE'S Roman History si
INGELOW'S Poems 26 1
JAMESON'S Saints and Martyrs 18 1
Legends of the Madonna 13 1
26
28
26
23
1
JAMESON and EASTLAKK'S Saviour is 1
JOHNSTON'S Geographical Dictionary u 1
KALISCH'S Commentary on the Bible 7 1
KEITH on Fulfilment of Prophecy 21 1
9
27
12
12
KKNYON, Life of the First Lord 4 1
KERL'S Metallurgy sol
KIRBY and SPENCE'S Entomology 14 1
LANG'S Ballads and Lyrics 251
LATHAM'S English Dictionary 7 1
23
LAUGHTON'S Nautical Surveying 11 1
20
LECKY'S History of European Morals 3
26
12
8
16
16
12
21
13
18
Leaders of Public Opinion 5
LEIFCHILD on Coal 28 1
Leisure Hours in Town, by A.K.H.B s
Lessons of Middle Age, by A.K.H.B 9
LEWES' History of Philosophy 3
LIDDELL and SCOTT'S Two Lexicons 8
Life of Man Symbolised 18
LINDLKY and MOORE'S Treasury of Botany 15
LLOYD'S Wave-Theory of Light 13
LONGMAN'S Edward the Third 2
Lectures on History nf En clai'l *
7
14
Old and New St. Paul's 17
Chess Openings 28
11
14
Gardening 20
Plnnts i-r>
. 14
. 14
. 13
1
. 4
Lyra Germanica 18, 23
LYTTON'S Odes of Horace ai
MACAULAY'S (Lord) Essays 3
Tri«t«ry «f E"(T'p"d , 1
12
s 11
. 10
. 15
. 10
. 10
5
. 1<>
. 16
. 26
. 24
24
Complete Works 1
MACLEOD'S Economical Philosophy fi
Theory and Practice of Banking 27
McCULLOCH'S Dictionary of Commerce ... 27
Mankind, their Origin and Destiny 14
MANNING'S England and Christendom 22
MARCET'S Natural Philosophy 12
MARSHALL'S Physiology 17
MARSHMAN'S Life of Havelock 5
History of India 3
. 2
. 12
MARTINEAU'S Christian Life 23
M ASSINGBERD'B History of the Reformation 4
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
MAUXDER'S Biographical Treasury S
_____ Geographical Treasury 12
Historical Treasury 4
Scientific and Literary Trea
sury 15
-. Treasury of Knowledge 28
Treasury of Natural History... 14
MAXWELL'S Theory of Heat 12
MAY'S Constitutional History of England... 1
MELVILLB'S Novels and Tales 25
MESDELSSOHN'S Letters 6
MERIVALE'S Fall of the Roman Republic... 2
Romans under the Empire ... 2
MEERIFIELD'S Arithmetic & Mensuration .
— — Magnetism -. 11
MlLBS on Horse's Feet and Horseshoeing ... 27
Horses' Teeth and Stables 27
MILL (J.) on the Mind 9
MILL (J. S.) on Liberty 6
— — — on Representative Government 6
on Utilitarianism 6
MILL'S (J. S.) Dissertations aud Discussions 6
Political Economy 6
System of Logic 7
Hamilton's Philosophy 6
• Subjection of Women 6
MILLER'S Elements of Chemistry 15
Inorganic Chemistry 12
MITCHELL'S Manual of Architecture 18
• Manual of Assaying 20
MOXSELL'S Spiritual Songs 23
MOORE'S Irish Melodies 25
LallaRookh 25
MORELL'S Elements of Psychology 9
Mental Philosophy 9
MOSSMAX'S Christian Church 3
MCLLER's (MAX) Chips from a German
Workshop 9
Lectures on Language 7
Science of Religion 20
MURCHISOX on Continued Fevers 17
on Liver Complaints 17
NASH'S Compendium of the Prayer Book ... 21
New Testament, Illustrated Edition 18
NIGHTINGALE on Lying-in Institutions 28
NlLSSOX's Scandinavia 13
NORTHCOTT'S Lathes and Turning 19
O'Coxon's Commentary on Hebrews 21
on Romans 21
ODLIXG'S Course of Practical Chemistry ... 15
OWEN'S Lectures on the Invertebrata '". 13
Comparative Anatomy and Physio
logy of Vertebrate Animals ... 13
PACKE'S Guide to the Pyrenees 24
PAGET'S Lectures on Surgical Pathology 16
PEREIHA'S Elements of Materia Medica 17
PERKINS'S Legal Essays '" 27
PEWTKER'S Comprehensive Specifier 28
POLK on Whist '" 28
PRENDERGAST'S Mastery of Language 8
PRESCOTT'S Scripture Difficulties .' 22
Present-Day Thoughts, by A. K. H. B.
PROCTOR'S Astronomical Essays
Moon
New Star Atlas
Orbs Around Us
- Plurality of Worlds
Saturn and its System
Star Depths
Scientific Essays (Two Series).
Sun
Public Schools Atlas (The)
QUAIX'B Anatomy IG
RANKKS on Strains in Trusses 19
RAWLIXSON'S Parthia 2
Recreations of a Country Parson, by
A.K.H.B 8
REEVE'S Royal and Republican France 1
REILLY'S Map of Mont Blanc 23
RICH'S Dictionary of Antiquities 7
RIVERS' Rose Amateur's Guide 15
ROGEHS'S Eclipse of Faith 9
Defence of ditto 9
ROGET'S English Words and Phrases 7
RONALD'S Fly-Fisher's Entomology 20
ROSE'S Ignatius Loyola 2
ROTHSCHILD'S Israelites 21
RUSSELL'S (Count) Pau and the Pyrenees... 23
(Lord) Essays on the Christian
Religion 20
SASDARS'S Justinian Institutes . 6
SAXFORD'S English Kings.,
SAVORY'S Geometric Turning
SCHELLEN'8 Spectrum Analysis 11
SCOTT'S Lectures on the Fine Arts
Albert Durer
Seaside Musings by A. K. H. B ................... 8
SKKBOHM'S Oxford Reformers of 1498 ......... 2
SEWELL'S Examination for Confirmation... 22
-- History of the Early Church ...... 4
-- Passing Thoughts on Religion ... 22
-- Preparations for Communion ...... 22
-- Principles of Education ............ 22
--- Readings for Confirmation ......... 22
-- Readings for Lent ..................... 22
-- Tales and Stories ........................ 25
-- Thoughts for the Age .................. 22
-- Thoughts for the Holy Week ...... 22
SHELLEY'S Workshop Appliances ............... 12
SHIPLEY on Ecclesiastical Reform ............ 20
SHORT'S Church History .............................. 3
SMITH'S (J.) Paul's Voyage and Shipwreck 21
-- (SYDNEY) Miscellaneous Works ... 9
---- Wit and Wisdom ......... 9
Life and Letters .........
(Dr. R. A.) Air and Rain 11
(Dr. Fly) Handbook for Midwives 15
SNEYD'S Cyllene 25
SOUTHEY'S Doctor 7
Poetical Works 25
STANLEY'S History of British Birds 14
STEPHEN'S Ecclesiastical Biography 5
STIRLING'S HAMILTON . 9
32
NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY LONGMANS AND CO.
TIRLING'S" HEGEL
Philosophy of Law
Protoplasm
STOCKMAR'S (Baron) Memoirs
STONEHENGE on the Dog
on the Greyhound
STRICKLAND'S Queens of England
STUART-GLEXNIE'S Morningland
Sunday Afternoons at the Parish Church of
a Scottish University City, by A. K. II. B.
TAYLOR'S History of India
(Jeremy) Works, edited by E DBX
Text-Books of Science
THIRL WALL'S History of Greece
THOMSON'S Laws of Thought
THUDICHUJI'S Chemical Physiology
TODD (A.) on Parliamentary Government...
TODD and BOWMAN'S Anatomy and Phy
siology of Man
TRENCH'S Realities of Irish Life
TROLLOPE'S Barchester Towers
Warden
TYNDALL on Diamagnetism
Electricity
.Heat
Sound
's American Lectures on Light .
Faraday as a Discoverer
Fragments of Science
Hours of Exercise in the Alps
Lectures on Light
Molecular Physics
UEBERWEG'S System of Logic 10
URE'S Arts, Manufactures, and Mines 19
VOGAN'S Doctrine of the Eucharist 20
WALCOTT'S Traditions of Cathedrals 23
WALKER'S Rambles
WATSON'S Geometry
Principles & Practice of Physic
WATT'S Dictionary of Chemistry
WEBB'S Objects for Common Telescopes ..
WELLINGTON'S Life, by GLEIG
WEST on Children's Diseases
Nursing Sick Children
's Lumleian Lectures
WHATELY'S English Synonymes
Logic
Rhetoric
WHATELY on a Future State
Truth of Christianity
WHITE'S Latin-English Dictionaries
WILCOCKS'S Sea Fisherman
WILLIAMS'S Aristotle's Ethics
WILLIAMS on Climate of South of France
Consumption
WILLICH'S Popular Tables
WILLIS'S Principles of Mechanism
WILLOUGHBY'S (Lady) Diary
WOOD'S Bible Animals
Homes without Hands —
Insects at Home
Abroad
Strange Dwellings
(T.) Chemical Notes
WORDSWORTH'S Christian Ministry
YONGE'S English-Greek Lexicons
Horace
History of England
English Literature
Modern History
YOUATT on the Dog
on the Horse'
ZELLER'S Socrates
Stoics, Epicureans, and Sceptics .
Spottisicoode £ Co., Printers, New-street Square, London.'
PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11