Common Sense Applied to Religion; Or, The Bible and the People

by Catharine Esther Beecher

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS.

Under the general class of intellectual powers are arranged the following specific powers of mind:

Sensation, Perception, Conception, Memory, Imagination, Judgment, Abstraction, Attention, and Association.

Sensation is a state of mind produced by material objects acting on the senses.

Thus, when light, which is considered as one kind of matter, affects the eye, the sensation of sight is produced. When the perfume of a rose, which is another species of matter, affects the nostrils, the sensation of smell is produced. When a bell or some musical instrument causes the air to vibrate on the drum of the ear, it causes the sensation of sound. When any sapid body is applied to the tongue, the sensation of taste is caused. When the hand, or any part of the body, comes in contact with another body, the sensation of touch is produced.

Thus it appears that the five senses are the organs of sensation, and that through their instrumentality material things operate upon the mind.

Perception is a sensation attended by the belief of a cause, and it is this additional circumstance alone which distinguishes perception from sensation.

If a person were asleep, and should suffer from the prick of a pin, or be disturbed by an unpleasant sound, these would be mere sensations, because the mind would not ascribe them to any cause. But if the person should waken, these sensations would immediately become perceptions, because they would be attended by the belief of some cause.

Conception is a state of mind similar to perception, and differs from it in being less vivid, and in not being produced through the medium of the senses.

When we look at a tree, we have a perception of this object. But the mind can also have an idea of this tree when removed from the sight, though the idea is not so vivid and distinct, nor have the senses any agency in producing it. The perfume of a rose, also, occasions another sensation; but when the rose is removed, so as not to affect the senses, we can still have a conception of its perfume. The conception differs from the perception only in being less vivid, and in not being caused by a material object acting on the senses.

Memory is either a conception or a perception, which is attended with a feeling of its resemblance to a past state of mind. It is this feeling of resemblance that is the only circumstance which distinguishes memory from conception.

Thus we may conceive of a tree without recognizing it as the particular idea of any tree we may have seen before; but if this is accompanied by a feeling of the resemblance of this idea to the one we always have when we see the tree that shadows the paternal roof, this conception becomes memory. If we conceive the form of a man without recognizing the resemblance of this idea to the perceptions we have when we see any particular man, this is a simple act of conception; but if we recognize in this object of conception the features of a dear friend, this act then becomes memory. Again, if we conceive of certain events and circumstances attending them without recognizing this combination as ever having existed in past experience, they are mere conceptions; but if we recognize in them the events and circumstances of past experience, conception becomes memory.

Imagination is the power which the mind possesses of arranging our conceptions in new combinations. We can conceive objects as united together of which we never conceived before as thus united.

Thus, when we read the description of some picturesque scene in nature, the mind immediately groups together mountains, trees, brooks, cottages, and glens, forming a new combination of conceptions different from any scene we ever witnessed or conceived before. All the objects thus combined are conceptions; the act of arranging them is an act of the imagination.

Judgment is the power which the mind possesses of noticing relations. A relation is an idea obtained by observing one thing in connection with another. Thus, when we perceive one thing to be longer than another, one thing to be on another, or one thing to belong to another—in all these cases the mind notices relations, or exercises the faculty of judgment. Thus, also, when we compare any action with the rule of duty in order to decide whether it is right or wrong, we exercise the same faculty. This act always is necessarily preceded by the comparison of one thing with another, in order to notice the relations.

Abstraction is the power of noticing certain parts or qualities of any object, as distinct from other parts or qualities. Thus, when we notice the length of a bridge without attending to the breadth or color, or when we notice the height of a man without thinking of his character, we exercise the faculty of abstraction.

Attention is the direction of the mind to any particular object or quality, from the interest which is felt in it, or in something connected with it. The degree of attention is always proportioned to the degree of interest felt in the object.

Association is the power possessed by the mind of recalling ideas in the connections and relations in which they have existed in past experience. For example, when any two objects, such as a house and a tree, have often been observed together, the idea of one will ordinarily be attended by that of the other. If two events have often been united together in regard to the time of their occurrence, such, for example, as thunder and lightning, the idea of one will usually be attended by the other.

In this work, the aim is to introduce no more of mental analysis than is needed for its main object. What is here introduced is not claimed as a complete presentation of all the mental phenomena.

CHAPTER IX.
SENSATION AND PERCEPTION.

As there is no distinction between sensation and perception except in the fact that one is attended with the belief of a cause and the other is not, they will be treated of together.

The mind of man is an immaterial existence, confined in its operations by the body it inhabits, and depending upon the construction and modifications of this envelope for much of its happiness or suffering.

The exercise of the imagination, when the eyes are closed and the body at rest, will probably give us the best idea of what is the nature of spiritual existence when disconnected with matter. It is one of the offices of our bodily system to retain the spirit in its operations in one particular place, so that ordinarily it can have direct communion with no other mind which is not in the same place. Whether this is the case with mere spiritual existence is a question for conjecture, and not for any rational decision.

While the spirit of man is resident in its material frame, it is furnished with facilities of communication with other minds, and with organs which fit it to receive suffering or enjoyment from the material objects by which it is surrounded. These organs of communication are the several senses. They consist of expansions of the substance of which the brain is formed, which, descending to the body through the spinal bone of the back, are thence sent out in thousands of ramifications over the whole system. Those branches which enter the eyes, and are spread over the interior back part of this organ, are called the optic nerve. Whenever the particles of light enter the eye, they strike the optic nerve, and produce the sensation which is called sight. Those branches which are spread over the tongue are the organ of taste. Those that are extended through the cavities of the nostrils are called the olfactory nerves. When the small particles of matter that escape from odoriferous bodies come in contact with these nerves, they produce the sensation of smell.

The nerves that constitute the organ of hearing are extended over the cavity of the ear behind the tympanum, or ear-drum. This cavity is filled with a liquid, and when the drum of the ear is caused to vibrate by the air which is set in motion by sonorous bodies, it produces undulations of this liquid upon these nerves, and thus the sensation of sound is produced. By the expansion of other nerves, the sense of feeling is extended all over the body, excepting the nails and the hair. It is by the action of matter, in its different forms, on these several senses, that the mind obtains ideas, and that ideas are imparted from one mind to another.

Perception never takes place unless some material object makes an impression upon one of the senses. In the case of the eye, the ear, and the nostrils, the object which is regarded as the cause of the sensation does not come immediately in contact with the organs of sense. When we see a body, we consider it as the cause of that perception; but it is not the body that comes in contact with the organ of sight, but merely the particles of light reflected from that body. In the case of smell, the fragrant body is regarded as the cause of the sensation; but that which acts on the sense is the material particles of perfume which flow from that body.

Thus, also, with hearing. We consider the sonorous body as the cause; but the sensation is produced through the medium of the air, which affects the drum of the ear. But in the case of taste and touch, the body which is regarded by the mind as the cause must come in contact with the nerves of the tongue or the body to produce the sensation.

Smell.

The sense of smell is one which greatly conduces to the preservation, the comfort, and the happiness of man. It is a continual aid to him in detecting polluted atmosphere or unhealthy food. The direct enjoyment it affords is probably less in amount than that derived from any of the other senses; yet, were we deprived of all the enjoyment gained through this source, we should probably find the privation much greater than we at first might imagine. When we walk forth among the beauties of nature, the fresh perfumes that send forth their incense are sources both of immediate and succeeding gratification. The beautiful images of nature which rise to the mind in our imaginative hours, would lose many of their obscure but charming associations were the fields stripped of the fragrance of their greens and the flowers of their sweet perfumes. Nature would appear to have lost that moving spirit of life which now ever rides upon the evening zephyrs and the summer breeze. As it is, as we walk abroad, all nature seems to send forth its welcome, while to its Maker's praise

"Each odorous leaf,

Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad

Its gratitude, and thanks Him with its sweets."

Taste.

When a sapid body is applied to the organ of taste, two sensations are produced, one of touch and one of taste. We are conscious of the difference of these sensations when we apply a body to the tongue which has taste, and then immediately one which has not. It is probable, however, that the same set of nerves serve both purposes.

It is one of the numberless evidences of the benevolence of our Creator that the process which is necessary for the preservation of life, and which depends upon the voluntary activity of every human being, should be connected with a sense which affords such gratification that the duty is sought as a pleasure. Were mankind led to seek food merely in the exercise of reason for the purpose of preserving life, multitudes, through carelessness and forgetfulness, would be perpetually neglecting that regular supply without which the animal system would become deranged and enfeebled. By the present constitution of the body, the gratification of this sense is an object of desire, and thus we are continually reminded of our duty, and led to it as a source of enjoyment.

Nor is it the gratification of this sense which is the only source of enjoyment connected with it. The regular periods for repast bring around the social board those united to each other by the tenderest ties of kindred and affection. These become seasons of cheerful hilarity and relaxation, seasons of cessation from daily cares, seasons for the interchange of kind feelings and intellectual stores; and while the mere gratification of sense is one source of pleasure, to this is often added the "feast of reason and the flow of soul."

The effect on the best feelings in thus assembling to participate in common blessings is scarcely ever appreciated. Did every individual of our race retire to secrecy and solitude to satisfy the cravings of nature, how much would the sum of human happiness be diminished! But thus has our benevolent Creator contrived that one source of enjoyment should serve as an occasion for introducing many more.

Hearing.

The sense of hearing is one more connected with the intellectual and moral powers of man than either taste or smell, as it is through the medium of this organ that both music and speech operate on the human mind. We can form some imperfect estimate of the amount of happiness derived from this sense by imagining the condition of mankind were they at once and forever deprived of this source of improvement and enjoyment. The voice of sympathy, friendship, and love would be hushed. The eloquence of the forum, the debates of the Legislature, the instructions of the pulpit, would cease. The music of nature—its sighing winds and dashing waters—would be stilled, and the warbling of the groves would charm no more. The sound of pipe, and harp, and solemn harmonies of voice would never again waken the soul to thrilling and nameless emotions. Where now ten thousand sounds of active life, or cheerful hum of business, or music of language and song charm and animate the soul, man would walk forth in silence and solitude.

The operation of mere sound, disconnected with the ideas which are often conveyed by it, is a subject of curious speculation. Sounds differ from each other in quality, pitch, force, and in length. The difference in tone may be illustrated by the sounds of a clarionet compared with the sound of a bell or of the human voice. Every instrument and every human voice has each a peculiar tone by which it is distinguished from all others. The difference in pitch is shown by sounding a low and a high note in succession on an instrument. The difference in force is exhibited by singing or speaking loud or soft.

There are certain sounds that in themselves are either agreeable or disagreeable from their tone alone. Thus the sound of a flute is agreeable, and that of the filing of a saw is disagreeable. Sounds also are agreeable according as they succeed each other.

Melody is a succession of agreeable tones arranged in some regular order as it respects their duration and succession. Some melodies are much more agreeable to the ear than others. Some melodies produce a plaintive state of mind, others exhilarate, and this without regard to any thing except the nature of the sounds and their succession. Thus a very young infant, by a certain succession of musical tones, can be made either to weep in sorrow or smile with joy.

Harmony is a certain combination of sounds which are agreeable to the ear; and it is found that the mind can be much more powerfully affected by a combination of harmonious sounds than by any melody. The effect of music on certain minds is very powerful, often awakening strange and indescribable emotions. It has been, therefore, much employed both to heighten social, patriotic, and devotional feeling.

There is probably nothing which produces stronger and more abiding associations in the mind than musical sounds. As an example of this may be mentioned the national air which is sung by the Swiss in their native valleys. It is said that when they become wanderers in foreign lands, so strongly will this wild music recall the scenes of their childhood and youth, their native skies, their towering mountains and romantic glens, with all the strong local attachments that gather around such objects, that their heart sickens with longing desires to return. And so much was this the case with the Swiss of the French armies, that Bonaparte forbade this air being played among his troops. The Marseilles Hymn, which was chanted in the scenes of the French Revolution, was said to have been perfectly electrifying, and to have produced more effect than all the eloquence of orators or machinations of statesmen.

The mind seems to acquire by experience only the power of determining the place whence sounds originate. It is probable that, at first, sounds seem to originate within the ear of the person who hears; and, even after long experience, cases have been known, when a person suddenly waked from sleep imagined the throbbing of his own heart was a knocking at the door. But observation and experience soon teach us the direction and the distance of sounds. The art of the ventriloquist consists in nothing but the power which a nice and accurate ear gives him of distinguishing the difference between sounds when near or far off, and of imitating them.

Touch.

The sense of touch is not confined to one particular organ, but is extended over the whole system, both externally and internally. It is in the hands, however, especially at the ends of the fingers, that this sense is most acute and most employed. We acquire many more ideas by the aid of this sense than by either hearing, smell, or taste. By these last we become acquainted with only one particular quality in a body, either of taste, smell, or sound; but by means of the touch we learn such qualities as heat and cold, roughness and smoothness, hardness and softness, figure, solidity, and extension.

It is supposed that it is by this sense that we gain the idea of something external, or without ourselves. The sensation of smell would seem to be within, as an act or emotion of the soul itself. Thus also with hearing, which, being produced within the ear by the undulating air, would seem to originate within. Thus also with sensations within the eye. But when the limbs begin to move and to come in contact with outward objects, and also in contact with various parts of the body, the mind gains an idea of the existence of some outward object. This is probably the first sense by which any idea of existence is wakened in the mind. As one sense after another is called into action, the mind continually gains new ideas, and then begins its operations of comparing, abstracting, reasoning, and willing.

It is by the sense of touch that we gain our ideas of resistance and extension. In the class of ideas included under the head of ideas of resistance may be placed those of solidity, liquidity, hardness, softness, viscidity, roughness, and smoothness; these all being different names for different modes of resistance to the muscles of the hands, arms, or fingers, when applied to the bodies which have these qualities. These ideas are not gained by simple contact; their existence depends upon the contraction or expansion of the muscles, which are the organs of motion and resistance in the human body.

We may suppose the infant to gain these ideas by a process somewhat similar to this: He first moves his arms by instinct, without any knowledge of the effects to follow. By this movement he gains certain ideas of the simple contractions and extension of his muscles, and learns also that by his own will he can exercise his muscles in this manner. At length he attempts to move his arm in a manner to which he has become familiar, and some object intervenes, and motion is prevented, while all his wonted muscular efforts are vain. Thus arises in his mind a new idea, of resistance, in addition to the sensations of touch and of motion, which had before been experienced.

The ideas of different degrees of this resistance are gained by repeated experience, and when age furnishes the ability to understand language, the names of hardness, softness, roughness, and the like, are given to these ideas. In the use of his muscles, also, the infant must first acquire its ideas of extension and figure; for it must be where resistance to muscular effort ceases that he must feel that the cause ceases to exist. The little being extends his hand—an object intervenes which interrupts his muscular motions; he grasps this object, and wherever this feeling of resistance exists, there he feels that the cause of it exists, and that after he has passed certain limits it does not exist.

Figure is defined as the limits of extension, and, of course, it can be seen that ideas of figure can only be gained by thus finding the limits of extension. It has formerly been supposed that ideas of extension and figure were gained by the eye, but later experiments and discussions show that the sense of feeling, including muscular motion, is the medium by which these ideas are first gained, and that afterward the eye, by the principle of association, acquires the power of distinguishing figure and distance.

There is much enjoyment resulting from the sense of touch in many ways, a large portion of which is almost unnoticed. Much also included under the term comfort results from this sense. Much of that which is agreeable in clothing and in objects around us is of this nature. Besides this, there are many endearments of friendship and affection that gain expression only through this medium.

Vision.

The organ of vision is the eye, which is one of the most curious and wonderful parts of the human frame, and displays in astonishing variety the wisdom and skill of its Designer.

The eye consists of a round ball, formed externally of various coverings, and within of humors of different degrees of consistency. The front part of the eye, which is exposed to view, has a small opening in it, which admits the rays of light within this ball, while it is by the operation of light on the nerves, which are spread in fine net-work over the interior, that sight is produced.

In examining the mechanism of the eye, a great variety of contrivances appear, all aiding in accomplishing the object of vision. In the first place, we may observe its modes of protection and defense. The lid is a soft, moist wiper, which, with a motion quick as lightning, protects the eye from outward violence, cleanses it from dust, veils it from overpowering radiance, and in hours of repose entirely excludes the light. On its edge is the fringing lash, which intercepts floating matter that might otherwise intrude, while above is spread the eyebrow, which, like a thatch, obstructs the drops that heat or toil accumulate on the brow.

We next observe the organs of motion with which the eye is furnished, and which, with complicated strings and pulleys, can turn it every way at the will of the intelligent agent. The pupil or opening of the eye, also, is so constructed, with its minute and multiplied circular and crossing muscles, that it can contract or expand in size just in proportion as the light varies in intensity.

The ball of the eye is filled with three substances of different degrees of density. One is a watery humor, near the front of the eye; back of this, and suspended by two muscles, is the solid lens of the eye, or the crystalline humor; and the remainder of the eye, in which this lens is imbedded, consists of the vitreous humor, which is of the consistence of jelly. These all have different degrees of transparency, and are so nicely adjusted that the rays of light, which start from every point in all bodies in diverging lines, are by these humors made to converge and meet in points on the retina, or the nerve of the eye, forming there a small picture, exactly of the same proportions, though not the same size, as the scene which is spread before the eye.

When the outer covering of the back part of the eye is removed, the objects which are in front of the eye may be discerned, delicately portrayed in all their perfect colors and proportions, on the retina which lines the interior. It is this impression of light on the optic nerve which gives our ideas of light and colors.

The eye is also formed in such a way that it can alter its shape and become somewhat oblong, while at the same time its lens is projected forward or drawn back. The object of this contrivance is to obtain an equally perfect picture of distant and of near objects.

Our ideas of shape and size at first are not gained by the eye, but by the sense of touch. After considerable experience we learn to determine shape and size by the eye. Experiments made upon persons born blind and restored to sight furnish many curious facts to support this assertion.

When the eye first admits the light, all objects appear to touch the eye, and are all a confused mass of different colors. But by continual observation, and by the aid of the sense of touch, objects gradually are separated from each other, and are then regarded as separate and distinct existences.

The eye is so formed that the picture of any object on the retina varies in size according to its distance. Two objects of equal size will make a different picture on the back of the eye, according to the distance at which they are held. The ideas of size at first are regulated by the proportions of this picture in the eye, until by experience it is found that this is an incorrect mode, and that it is necessary to judge of the distance of a body before we can determine its size. This accounts for the fact that objects appear to us so different according as we conceive of their distance, and that we are often deceived in the size of bodies because we have no mode of determining their distance.

But it appears also that our ideas of distance are gained, not by the eye alone, but by the eye and the sense of feeling united. A child by the sense of feeling learns the size of his cup or his playthings. He sees them removed, and that their apparent size diminishes. They are returned to him, and he finds them unaltered in size. When attempting to recover them, he finds that when they look very small he is obliged to pass over a much greater distance to gain them than when they appear large, and that the distance is always in exact proportion to their apparent size. In this way, by oft-repeated experiments, the infant reasoner learns to judge both of the size and distance of objects. From this it appears that, in determining the size of an object, we previously form some judgment of its distance, and likewise that, in finding the distance, we first determine the size.

The shape of objects is learned altogether by the sense of feeling. It has before been stated that at the first exercise of vision every thing is a confused mass of different colors, and all appearing to touch the eye. By the aid of the hands the separate existence of different bodies is detected, and the feeling of touch, which once was the sole mode of determining shape, is now associated with a certain form or picture on the eye, so that, in process of time, the eye becomes the principal judge of shape.

But, in determining the shape of a thing, an act of judgment is necessary. This may be illustrated by the example of a hoop, which in one position will make a picture in the eye which is circular, in another position the picture of it will be oval, and in another only a straight line. If a person will observe a hoop in these different positions, and then attempt to draw a picture of it, he will be conscious of this varying picture in the eye. Of course, in order to decide the shape of a thing, we must decide its distance, its relative position, and various circumstances which would alter the form of the picture in the eye. It is only by long experience that the infant child gradually acquires the power of determining the shape, size, and distance of objects.

The painter's art consists in laying on to canvas an enlarged picture of the scene which is painted in the interior of his own eye. In this minute picture of the eye, the more distant an object the smaller its size, the more indistinct its outline, and the fainter its colors. These same are transferred to canvas in an enlarged form; the distant objects are made small in size, faint in colors, and indistinct in outline, just in proportion to their distance.

The organ of vision is the inlet of more enjoyment to the mind than any of the other senses. Through this small loop-hole the spirit looks forth on the rich landscape of nature, and the charms both of the natural and moral world. The fresh colors, the beauty of motion, the grace of figures, the fitness of proportion, and all the charms of taste, are discovered through this medium. By the eye, also, we learn to read the speaking face of man, we greet the smile of friendship and love, and all those varying charms that glance across the human face divine. By the aid of this little organ, too, we climb not only the summits of earth's domains, but wander forth to planets, stars, and suns, traverse the vast ethereal expanse, and gather faint images and flitting visions of the spirit's future home.

CHAPTER X.
CONCEPTION AND MEMORY.

There has been much speculation on the question as to whether the mind possesses any ideas entirely independent of the senses, which were gained without any aid or influence from them. Many have maintained the existence of some ideas, which they denominate innate ideas, which they suppose were originally implanted in the mind, and not at all dependent on sensation.

On this subject it may be sufficient to remark that there is no proof of the existence of any such ideas. All ideas, so far as we can trace them, seem to have been originally gained by the senses, though the mind has the power of making new arrangements and combinations of such materials as are thus furnished.

The intuitive truths seem to exist as a part of the original constitution of the mind, but there is no evidence that they would ever have been called into exercise except through the instrumentality of the senses.

There is nothing to prove that the positive exercise of thought, feeling, and volition is necessary to the existence of mind, and no proof that the mind might not have existed forever without thought or feeling of any kind, were it not for the aid of the senses. We know that there are periods of sleep and of swooning, when the mind is in existence, and yet when there is no evidence that either thoughts, feelings, or volitions are in exercise.

Speculations on this subject seem to be profitless, because there are no data for determining them. The facts in the case are not of a character to enable us to pronounce positively either that these operations are or are not essential to its existence. It may be that in sleep and in a swoon these phenomena exist, and no memory is retained of them, and it is equally probable that at such intervals all mental operations entirely cease.

But, now that the mind has been furnished by the senses with its splendid acquisitions, upon which its reflective powers can act, it is easy to believe that it might continue to exist and to be in active exercise if all its bodily senses, and even its material envelope, were destroyed. Should we never again behold the light of heaven, nor be charmed with the profusion of varied color and form, still the mind could busy itself with pleasing visions of brilliant dyes, of graceful outline, and fair proportion, as bright and as beautiful as any objects of sense could awaken. Should we never again inhale the freshness of morning or the perfumes of spring, the mind itself could furnish from its stores some treasured incense, never to be entirely exhaled. Should the palate never again be cooled by the freshening water of spring, or be refreshed by the viands of the luxuriant year, yet fancy could spread forth her golden fruits and sparkling juices in banquets as varied and profuse as ever greeted the most fastidious taste. Should the melodies of speech and of music be heard no more, and the sweet harmonies of nature and of art forever be hushed, yet the exulting spirit could warble its own songs, and melt in ecstasies with imagined harmonies. And should the grasp of friendship rejoice us no more, nor the embrace of affection send joy to the heart, yet still the spirit would not be desolate, for it could gather around it the beings most loved, and still feel the embraces of affection.

Conceptions are distinguished into two classes with reference to this one fact, that some of our conceptions are attended with a consciousness that they have existed before, and others are not. Those conceptions which are thus attended with the feeling of their resemblance to past perceptions or conceptions are called ideas of memory; those of our perceptions also which are attended with this recognition are called memory.

How important to our happiness and improvement is this recognition of past ideas, few are wont to imagine. If all our knowledge of external things were forever lost to us after sensation is past, our existence would be one of mere sensitive enjoyment, and all the honor and dignity of mind would be destroyed. No past experience could be of any avail, nor could any act of judgment or of reasoning be performed. Even the most common wants of animal nature could not be supplied; for, were the cooling water and sustaining food presented to the sight, no memory of the past comfort secured by them would lead the mind to seek it again. Or, had nature, by some implanted instinct, provided for these necessities, yet life in this case would have consisted of a mere succession of sensations, without even the amount of intellect of which the lower animals give proof.

It is the capacity of retrospection, too, which gives us the power of foreseeing the future, and thus of looking both before and behind for sources of enjoyment in delightful reminiscences and joyful anticipations. It is this power of remembrance and foresight which raises man to be the image of his Creator, the miniature of Him who sees the end from the beginning, who looks back on never commencing ages, and forward through eternal years.

It is true the mind of man can foresee only by the process of reasoning, by which it is inferred that the future will, in given circumstances, resemble the past. And how the Eternal Mind can foresee by intuition all the events which hang upon the volitions of the myriads of acting minds which he has formed is what no human intellect can grasp. The foresight of intuition has not been bestowed upon man, but is reserved as one distinctive prerogative of Deity.

CHAPTER XI.
ATTENTION AND ABSTRACTION.

To understand clearly the nature of the mental phenomena called attention and abstraction, two facts in our mental history need definitely to be understood—facts which have a decided bearing on the nature and character of almost all the operations of mind.

The first is, that the objects of our conceptions are seldom, if ever, isolated, disconnected objects. On the contrary, there is an extended and complex picture before the mind, including often a great variety of objects, with their several qualities, relations, and changes. In this mental picture some objects are clear and distinct, while others seem to float along in shadowy vagueness.

This fact must be evident to any mind that will closely examine its own mental operations. It is also equally evident when we consider the mode in which our ideas are gained by perception. We never acquire our ideas in single disconnected lineaments. We are continually viewing complex objects with numerous qualities and surrounded by a great variety of circumstances, which unitedly form a whole in one act of perception.

Indeed, there are few objects, either of perception or conception, which, however close the process of abstraction, do not remain complex in their nature. The simplest forms of matter are combined ideas of extension, figure, color, and relation. These different ideas we gain by the aid of the different senses. Of course, our conceptions are combinations of different qualities in an object which the mind considers as one, and as distinct from other objects.

Each item, then, in any mental picture is itself a complex object, and each mental picture is formed by a combination of such complex objects. It will be found very difficult, if not impossible, to mention a name which recalls any object of sense in which the conception recalled by the word is a single disconnected thing, without any idea of place or any attendant circumstances, and, as before remarked, almost all objects of sense are complex objects, combining several ideas, which were gained through the instrumentality of different senses. The idea of color is gained by one sense, of position, shape, and consistency by another, and other qualities and powers which the mind associates with it by other senses.

The other fact necessary to the correct understanding of the subject is the influence which the desires and emotions have upon the character both of the perceptions and conceptions with which they coexist.

It will be found that our sensations vary in vividness and distinctness according to the strength and permanency of certain feelings of desire which coexist with them. For example, we are continually hearing a multitude of sounds, but in respect to many of them, as we feel no desire to know the cause or nature of them, these sensations are so feeble and indistinct as scarcely ever to be recalled to the mind or recognized by any act of memory; but should we hear some strange wailing sound, immediately the desire would arise to ascertain its nature and cause. It would immediately become an object of distinct and vivid perception, and continue so as long as the desire lasted.

While one sensation becomes thus clear and prominent, it will be found that other sensations which were coexisting with it will become feebler and seem to die away. The same impressions may still be made upon the eye as before, the same sounds that had previously been regarded may still strike upon the ear, but while the desire continues to learn the cause of that strange wailing sound, the other sensations would all be faint and indistinct. When this desire is gratified, then other sensations would resume their former distinctness and prominency.

Our conceptions, in like manner, are affected by the coexistence of emotion or desire. If, for example, we are employing ourselves in study or mental speculations, the vividness of our conceptions will vary in exact proportion to the interest we feel in securing the object about which our conceptions are employed. If we feel but little interest in the subject of our speculations, every conception connected with them will be undefined and indistinct; but if the desire of approbation, or the admonitions of conscience, or the hope of securing some future good stimulate desire, immediately our conceptions grow more vivid and clear, and the object at which we aim is more readily and speedily secured. The great art, then, of quickening mental vigor and activity, and of gaining clear and quick conceptions, is to awaken interest and excite desire. When this is secured, conceptions will immediately become bright and clear, and all mental operations will be carried forward with facility and speed.

The distinction between attention and abstraction is not great, but, as it is recognized in language, it needs to be definitely understood. Attention has been defined as "the direction of the mind to some particular object, from the interest which is felt in that object." It consists simply in a feeling of desire coexisting with our sensations and conceptions, and thus rendering them vivid and distinct; while, in consequence of this fact, all other sensations and conceptions seem to fade and grow indistinct.

Attention seems to be the generic exercise, and abstraction one species of the same thing. Attention is used to express the interest which attends our perceptions or conceptions as whole objects, thus rendering them clear and distinct from other surrounding objects. Abstraction is that particular act of attention which makes one part or one quality of a complex object become vivid and distinct, while other parts and qualities grow faint and indistinct. Thus, in viewing a landscape, we should be said to exercise the power of attention if we noticed some object, such as a stream or a bridge, while other objects were more slightly regarded; and we should exercise the power of abstraction if we noticed the color of the bridge or the width of the stream, while their other qualities were not equally regarded.

It is the power of abstraction which is the foundation of language in its present use. Were it not for the power which the mind has of abstracting certain qualities and circumstances of things, and considering them as separate and distinct from all other parts and qualities, no words could be used except such as specify particular individuals. Every object that meets our eye would demand a separate and peculiar name, thus making the acquisition of language the labor of a life.

But now the mind possesses the power of abstracting a greater or fewer number of qualities, and to these qualities a name is given, and whenever these qualities are found combined in any object, this name can be applied. Thus the name animal is given to any thing which has the qualities of existence and animal life, and the name quadruped is given to any object which has the qualities of animal life and of four legs.

Every thing which is regarded by the mind as a separate existence must have some peculiar quality, or action, or circumstance of time or place, to distinguish it from every other existence. Were there not something, either in the qualities or circumstances, which made each object in some respects peculiar, there would be no way to distinguish one thing from another.

A proper name is one which is used to recall the properties and circumstances which distinguish one individual existence from every other. Such is the word Mount Blanc, which recalls certain qualities and circumstances that distinguish one particular thing from all others, and the name Julius Cæsar, which recalls the character, qualities, and circumstances which distinguish one being from every other.

Some words, then, are used to recall the peculiar qualities and circumstances of individual existences, and are called proper names; other words are used to recall a combination of certain qualities and circumstances, which unitedly are an object of conception, but are not considered by the mind as belonging to any real particular existence. These last words are called general terms or common names.

A great variety of names may be applied to the same object of conception or perception, according to the number of qualities and circumstances which are abstracted by the mind. Thus an object may be called a thing, and, in this case, the simple circumstance of existence is what is recalled by the word. The same object may be called an animal, and then the qualities of existence and animal life are made the objects of conception. It can also be called a man, and then, in addition to the qualities recalled by the word animal, are recalled those qualities which distinguish man from all other animals. It can also be called a father, and then to the qualities recalled by the term man is added the circumstance of his relation to some other being. The same object can be called La Fayette, and then, to all the preceding qualities, would be added in our conceptions all those peculiar qualities and circumstances which distinguish the hero of France from all other existences.

The following will probably illustrate the mode by which the human mind first acquires the proper use of these general terms. The infant child learns to distinguish one existence from another probably long before he acquires the use of any names by which to designate them. We may suppose that a little dog is an inmate of his nursery, and that with the sight of this animal has often been associated the sound of the word dog. This is so often repeated, that, by the principle of association, the sight of the object and the sound of the word invariably recur together. He observes that this sound is used by those around him in order to direct his attention to the animal, and he himself soon uses the word to direct the attention of others in the same way.

But soon it happens that another animal is introduced into his apartment, which in many respects resembles the object he has learned to call a dog. To this new object he would apply the same term, but he finds that others use the sound cat in connection with the sight of this new animal. He soon learns the difference between the two objects, the particulars in which they agree, and those in which they differ. He afterward notices other animals of these species, and observes that some have the qualities to which the term dog is applied, and others those to which the term cat is applied.

He continues to notice animals of other kinds, and, after long experience in this way, he learns to apply names to designate a particular combination of qualities, and, whenever these qualities are found combined, he has a term ready to apply to them. He learns that some words are used to point out the peculiar qualities which distinguish one thing from all others, and, at the same time, other words are used which simply recall qualities, but do not designate any particular existence to which they belong. Thus the term boy he uses for the purpose of designating qualities without conceiving of any particular existence in which they are found, while the term Mary is used to designate the qualities and circumstances of the particular existence he finds as the companion of his sports.

All objects of our perceptions are arranged into classes, according to the peculiar combination of qualities which are recalled by the names employed to designate them. For example, all objects that have the qualities of existence and of animal life are arranged in one class, and are called animals. All those which have the qualities recalled by the term animal, and the additional qualities of wings and feathers, are arranged in another class called birds. All those objects which have the qualities included in the term bird, together with several additional qualities, are arranged in another class, and called eagles.

To these various classes the terms genera and species are applied. These terms imply a relation, or the comparison of one class with another, in reference to the number of qualities to be recalled by the terms employed. Thus the class bird is called a species of the class animal, because it includes all the qualities that are combined in the conception recalled by the word animal, and others in addition; but the class bird is called a genus in relation to the class eagle, because it contains only a part of the qualities which are recalled by the term eagle.

A genus may be defined as a class of things the name of which recalls fewer particulars than the name of another class or species with which it is compared. Bird is a genus when compared with the class eagle.

A species is a class of things the name of which recalls more particulars than the name of another class or genus with which it is compared. Bird is a species when compared with the class animal.

In examining language, it will be found that the larger portion of words in common use are names of genera and species—that is, they are words employed to recall ideas as they are arranged in genera and species. It is only those words that are proper names which recall conceptions of the particular existences by which we are surrounded. Some of these surrounding existences are furnished with these particular names, and others can be designated and distinguished from each other only by a description. Thus we see some hills around our horizon, some of which have a peculiar name, and others can be designated only by describing the circumstances which distinguish them from all other hills.

A definition of a word is an enumeration of the several qualities or circumstances which distinguish certain things from all others, and which are recalled to the mind when the word is used. Thus, if the word animal is to be defined, we do it by mentioning the circumstances of its existence and animal life, as the ideas recalled by the word. Generally, a word is defined by mentioning the name of some genus of which the thing intended is a species, and then adding those particular qualities which the species has, in addition to those included under the genus. Thus, if we are to define the word man, we mention the genus animal, and then the qualities which man has in addition to those possessed by other animals. Thus: "Man is an animal, having the human form, and a spirit endowed with intellect, susceptibility, and will."

There are some words which recall only one quality or circumstance, and which, therefore, can not be defined like the words which recall various qualities and circumstances, as joy, sorrow, color, and the like. Such words as these are defined by mentioning the times or circumstances when the mind is conscious of the existence of the idea to be recalled by the word. Thus joy is "a state of mind which exists when any ardent desire is gratified." Color is "a quality of objects which is perceived when light enters the eye."

Those conceptions which can be defined by enumerating the several qualities and circumstances which compose them are called complex ideas, and the words used to designate them are called complex terms. Such words as landscape, wrestler, giant, and philosopher, are complex terms. The word landscape recalls a complex idea of various material things. The word wrestler recalls an idea of a material object and one of its actions. The word giant recalls an idea of a thing and its relation as to size. The word philosopher recalls the idea of a thing and one of its qualities.

Those conceptions which are not composed of several qualities and circumstances, but are themselves a single quality or circumstance, are called simple ideas, and the words used to recall them are called simple terms. Such words as sweetness, loudness, depth, pain, and joy, are simple terms. Some terms which express emotions of the mind are entirely simple, such as sorrow, joy, and happiness. Others are words which recall an idea of a simple emotion and of its cause, such, for example, as gratitude, which expresses the idea of an emotion of mind and also that it was caused by some benefit conferred. Words that express simple ideas can be defined only by some description of the circumstances in which these ideas exist, or by a reference to their causes or effects.

CHAPTER XII.
ASSOCIATION.

The causes of the particular succession of our ideas, and the control which the mind has in regulating this succession, is a subject no less interesting than important; for if by any act of choice the mind has the power of regulating its own thoughts and feelings, then man is a free agent and an accountable being; but if the conceptions and the emotions depend entirely upon the constitution of things, and thus, either directly or indirectly, on the will of the Creator, then man can not be accountable for that over which he can have no control.

In the preceding chapter has been illustrated the effect which the co-existence of desire has in regard both to our sensations and our conceptions, tending to make those which are fitted to accomplish the object desired very vivid and prominent, while others, to a greater or less extent, disappear.

The mind is continually under the influence of some desire. It constantly has some plan to accomplish, some cause to search out, or some gratification to secure. The present wish or desire of the mind imparts an interest to whatever conception seems calculated to forward this object. Thus, if the mathematician has a problem to solve, and this is the leading desire of the mind, among the various conceptions that arise, those are the most interesting which are fitted to his object, and such immediately become vivid and distinct. If the painter or the poet is laboring to effect some new creation of his art, and has this as the leading object of desire, whatever conceptions seem best fitted to his purpose are immediately invested with interest, and become distinct and clear. If the merchant, or the capitalist, or the statesman has some project which he is toiling to accomplish, whatever conceptions appear adapted to his purpose soon are glowing and defined, in consequence of the interest with which desire thus invests them.

From this it appears that the nature of the desire, or governing purpose of the mind, will in a great measure determine the nature and the succession of its conceptions. If a man has chosen to find his chief happiness in securing power and honor, then those conceptions will be the most interesting to his mind that best fall in with his object. If he has chosen to find happiness in securing the various gratifications of sense, then those conceptions that most coincide with this desire will become prominent. If a man has chosen to find his chief enjoyment in doing the will of God, then his conceptions will, to a great extent, be conformed to this object of desire. The current of a man's thoughts, therefore, becomes the surest mode of determining what is the governing purpose or leading desire of the mind.

But there are seasons in our mental history when the mind does not seem to be under the influence of any governing desire; when it seems to relax, and its thoughts appear to flow on without any regulating principle. At such times the vividness of leading conceptions, which otherwise is determined by desire, seems to depend upon our past experience. Those objects which, in past experience, have been associated with emotion, are those which the mind selects, and which thus begin to glow in the distinct lineaments with which emotion at first invested them.

In past experience, all conceptions which were attended with emotion were most distinct and clear, and therefore, when such conceptions return united with others, they are the ones which are most interesting, and thus most vivid and distinct. Thus, in our musing hours of idle reverie, as one picture after another glides before the mind, if some object occurs, such as the home of our youth, or the friend of our early days, the emotions which have so often been united with these objects in past experience cause them to appear in clear and glowing lineaments, and the stronger have been the past emotions connected with them, the more clearly will they be defined. It appears, then, that there are two circumstances that account for the apparent selection which the mind makes in its objects of conception. The first is the feeling that certain conceptions are fitted to accomplish the leading desire of the mind; and the second is, that certain objects in past experience have been attended with emotion.

But there is another phenomenon in our mental history which has a direct bearing on the nature and succession of our conceptions. When any conception, through the influence of desire or emotion, becomes the prominent object, immediately other objects with which this has been associated in past experience begin to return and gather around it in new combinations. Thus a new picture is presented before the mind, from which it again selects an object according as desire or emotion regulates, which, under this influence, grows vivid and distinct. Around this new object immediately begin to cluster its past associates, till still another scene is fresh arrayed before the mind.

In these new combinations, those objects which are least interesting continually disappear, while those most interesting are retained to form a part of the succeeding picture. Thus, in every mental picture, desire or emotion seems to call forth objects which start out, as it were, in bold relief from all others, and call from the shade of obscurity the companions of their former existence, which gather around them in new and varied combinations.

Almost every object of thought in past experience has been connected with a great number of other objects, and so great has been the variety of its former combinations, that it would be impossible to predict, with any degree of certainty, which of its past associates will be summoned to aid in forming the new mental scenes which are destined to arise. Yet experience has enabled us to detect some general laws, which appear to regulate these combinations.

The first is, that those objects are most likely to attend each other which in past experience were united, while some strong emotion was existing with them. If, for example, a retired lake had been the scene of death to a beloved friend, the conception of this object would be almost invariably associated with the image of the friend that had perished beneath its waters, and also with the scene of his death. In like manner, if some friend had expired at a certain hour of the day, or on a particular day of the year, the return of these seasons would probably be associated with the sorrowful scenes connected with them in past experience.

The second law of association is, that long continued or frequently repeated attention to objects that are connected at the time of this attention will secure the connected return of these objects. Attention, it may be recollected, is desire united with our conceptions, thus rendering them more vivid.

It seems to produce the same effect if this attention is long continued or if it is frequently repeated. Thus, if the mind has dwelt for a long time on a beautiful picture, has noticed all its proportions, its shading, its outline, and its colors with minute attention, one object in this picture can not recur to the mind without bringing with it the other objects that were associated at the time of this close attention. The frequent repetition of a sentence is a case where oft repeated though short attention to certain words has the effect of recalling them to the mind in the connection in which they were placed during this repeated attention.

The third law of association is, that objects which have recently been associated in experience are, on this account, more likely to recall each other than to recall those which were connected with them at a more remote period of time. The passage of time, as a general fact, seems to weaken the vividness of our conceptions, and to destroy the probability of their associate recurrence. Thus a line of poetry may be repeated, and the listener may be able, the moment after, to recall each word, but the next day the whole may be lost.

The fourth law of association is, that the recurrence of associated objects depends, in a great measure, upon the number of objects with which it may have been connected in past experience. If it has existed in combination with only one object, that object will return associated with it; but in proportion as the number of its associates increases, the power of determining which will be its next companion diminishes. As an example of this fact may be mentioned the first hearing of a beautiful air by some particular person. The next time it is heard, the idea of this performer will be associated with the sounds; but after it has been sung by a great variety of persons, other circumstances would determine what conceptions this air would recall. It is very probable, in this case, that its notes would recall from among the associated scenes the friend most beloved, or some interesting circumstance that awakened emotion at the time the air was performed.

The principal circumstances which operate in recalling associated ideas have now been pointed out. The next inquiry is, What are those objects and events which ordinarily are most frequently united in our perceptions, and therefore are most likely to return together in our conceptions?

The most common connection of our ideas of perception are made by contiguity in place. Objects are continually passing before the eye, and they are not in single distinct objects, but in connected groups. Of course, when we perceive any object, we must necessarily observe its several relations to the things by which it is surrounded. If it is a building which meets the eye, it is impossible to observe it without at the same time perceiving the trees around it, the sky above it, and any other objects which are parts of the picture of which this is the prominent object. Of course, objects that are united in one complex picture before the eye when we gain our knowledge of them by perception, will ordinarily return together in our conceptions.

Our ideas, also, are very much connected by contiguity as it respects time. When any two events occur at the same moment of time, or in such near connection that the conception of one remains until the other occurs, they ordinarily will recur together in our after conceptions of them. As an example of this may be mentioned the associations of a family who have been accustomed to close each Sabbath with music. As the still hour of this sacred evening drew on, wherever any wanderer might roam, it is probable that the notes of praise, so often connected with this season, would perpetually steal over the mind, bringing many another image of friends, and kindred, and home.

The mind of man is so constituted that no change can take place in any material object without awakening the idea of some cause. An effect is defined as "some change of state or mode of existence in matter or mind." A cause is defined as "that without which no change would take place in matter or mind, and with which it will take place." As the ideas of cause and effect are so constantly conjoined in all our acts of perception, these ideas will return together in our conceptions. Thus, if we see an instrument which has been the cause of pain, the idea of this effect will be recalled by a conception of the cause; or if the mind is dwelling on the memory of some beautiful painting or poetry, the author of these works will probably recur to the mind in connection with these conceptions.

We sometimes meet with persons of such peculiar habits and dispositions, that, whenever they are encountered, the feelings are wounded or the temper crossed by their ill-timed or ill-natured remarks. The conceptions of such persons will ordinarily be attended by the memory of some pains of which they have been the cause, and the mind will involuntarily shrink from contact with them, as from the points and thorns of a bramble-bush. Those events, therefore, or those objects which have the relation of cause and effect existing between them, will ordinarily be united as objects of conception.

The mind of man is continually noticing the relations which exist between the different objects of its conceptions. As no idea of relation can be gained without comparing two or more things together, those objects which are most frequently compared will naturally be most frequently associated together in our conceptions. It has been shown that language is founded on that principle of the mind which enables us to notice certain qualities in things abstracted from other qualities, and to apply names to objects according as we find certain qualities united in them. Of course, in the use of language, the mind is continually led to notice the particulars in which objects resemble each other, and also the particulars in which they differ; consequently the mind, in learning and in applying names, is continually comparing objects, both to discover the particulars in which they are alike and those in which they differ, so that two objects are thus brought together before the mind.

It is owing to this fact, therefore, that objects which resemble each other, or which are very much contrasted in their qualities, are very commonly united in our conceptions. If, for example, we see the countenance of a stranger, some feature will be recognized as familiar. Desire will be awakened to know where and in what other countenance we have seen such a feature or such an expression. This particular feature will thus become abstracted and vivid, and will soon recall that other combination of features for which we are seeking, and of which this has formed a part in our past experience. Thus two objects will be brought before the mind at once, the person who is the stranger, and a conception of another person whom this stranger resembles.

All our ideas of contrast are relative. One thing can not be conceived of as very high or very low, as very large or very small, without a previous comparison with some object to determine this relation. Our ideas of poverty and riches, or of happiness and misery, are also relative. A person is always considered poor or rich, happy or miserable, by comparing his lot with that of others by whom he is surrounded. As, therefore, all ideas of resemblance or of contrast are gained by comparing two objects together, our conceptions often unite objects that resemble each other or that are contrasted with each other.

CHAPTER XIII.
IMAGINATION.

All operations of mind which are not produced by material things acting upon the senses consist of a continual succession of conceptions. Some of these conceptions are exact pictures of past perceptions, and are attended by the consciousness that such things have existed before, and such are called ideas of memory. Others are conceptions which, by the process of association, are continually recurring, and arranging themselves in new combinations, according to certain laws or principles of association. Imagination has been defined as "that power which the mind possesses of arranging conceptions in new combinations," and it can readily be seen that this includes all the ordinary successions of thought except those of perception and memory. The term imagination has been used in rather a vague manner by writers on the subject. Sometimes it is used to signify all that succession of conceptions which recur according to the laws of association, and sometimes it is used in a more restricted sense. The more limited meaning is the one to which the term is most commonly applied, and it seems to be the one which precision and accuracy in the use of terms demand, and therefore it will now be pointed out.

The mind is susceptible of certain emotions, which are called emotions of taste. These, more specifically, are called emotions of beauty, sublimity, and novelty. Such emotions are awakened by certain objects in nature, by certain works of art, and by the use of language which recalls conceptions of these objects. Those objects which awaken such emotions are called objects of taste, and those arts which enable us to produce combinations that will awaken such emotions are called the fine arts.

Among the fine arts are ordinarily classed painting, music, sculpture, architecture, ornamental gardening, and poetry. The art of the painter consists in combining, according to certain rules of proportion and fitness of outline and color, certain objects, which, either from their peculiar character, or from the fitness of their combination in effecting a given design, awaken emotions of beauty or sublimity. The highest perfection of this art consists not so much in close imitation as in the nature of the combinations, and their unity and fitness in producing the effect designed by the artist.

The art of the sculptor is similar in its nature, and differs chiefly in the materials employed, and in being limited to a much more restricted number of objects for combination.

The art of the architect consists in planning and constructing edifices, intended either for use or ornament, and in so arranging the different parts as to awaken emotions of beauty or sublimity from the display of utility, fitness, grandeur of extent, or order of proportion.

The art of the musician consists in combining sounds so as to produce such melodies or harmonies as will awaken varied emotions in the mind. The power of this art over the human mind is much superior to that of the others enumerated, because it can call forth both a greater variety and more powerful emotions.

The art of the poet consists in such a use of language as will recall objects of beauty or sublimity in combinations that are pleasing to the mind, or as will, by the description and expression of varied emotion in other minds, awaken similar feelings in the breast of the reader.

The art of ornamental gardening consists in such an arrangement of the varied objects which compose a landscape as will awaken emotions of beauty from a display of unity of design, order, fitness, and utility.

The term imagination, then, in its most frequent use, signifies those new combinations of conceptions which will awaken the emotions of taste.

The painter or the poet, when he attempts the exercise of his art, has some leading desire of an object to be secured. Under the influence of this desire, all those conceptions, recurring by the principle of association, which appear fitted to accomplish this object, immediately become vivid and distinct, and are clearly retained in the mind. As other conceptions succeed, other objects are found which will forward the general design, and these also are retained, and thus the process continues till the object aimed at is accomplished, and by the pen or pencil retained in durable characters.

The action of mind to which the term imagination is thus restricted differs in no respect from other acts of conception when the mind is under the influence of desire, except in the nature of the objects of desire. If it is the desire of the mind to establish a proposition by mathematical reasoning, the mind is engaged in the same process of conception as when it is engrossed with the desire to form some combination of taste. In both cases some object of desire stimulates the mind, and whatever conceptions appear fitted to accomplish this object immediately become vivid and distinct.

CHAPTER XIV.
JUDGMENT.

The term judgment, as a mental faculty, signifies "that power of the mind by which it notices relations." It is often used to signify all the intellectual powers, among which it is the most important one. Thus we hear it said that, in certain cases, the feelings and the judgment are in opposition, or that the heart and the judgment are not in agreement.

It is also used often to signify any act of the mind when a comparison is made between two things, or between the truths asserted in any proposition and a truth already believed. The act called memory is a conception attended with one specific act of judgment, by which a present state of mind is compared with a past, and the relation of resemblance perceived.

The nature of our ideas of relation are very different, according to the object or purpose for which the comparison is made. If objects are compared in reference to time, we learn some one of the relations of past, present, or future. No idea of time can be gained except by comparing one period of time with another, and thus noticing their relations. All dates are gained by comparing one point of time with some specified event, such as the birth of the Savior, or some particular period in the revolution of the earth around the sun.

If objects are compared in reference to the succession of our conceptions or perceptions, we gain the ideas of such relations as are expressed by the terms firstly, secondly, and thirdly. If objects are compared in reference to the degree of any quality, we gain an idea of such relations as are expressed by the terms brighter, sweeter, harder, louder. If objects are compared in reference to proportion, we gain ideas of such relations as are expressed by the terms an eighth, a half. If objects are compared in reference to the relation of parts to a whole, we gain such ideas as are expressed by the terms part, whole, remainder.

The process of classifying objects and the use of language depend upon the power of judgment; for if we see an object possessing certain qualities, in order to apply the name we must compare and observe their resemblance to the qualities to which such a name has been applied in past experience, and this feeling of resemblance is an act of judgment. The application of a name, then, always implies the exercise of the power of judgment, by which a comparison is made between the present qualities observed in an object and the same qualities which affected the mind when the name has formerly been employed. It also implies the act of association, by which the perception of certain qualities recalls the idea of the sound or object with which they have been repeatedly conjoined.

The mental process called reasoning is nothing but a connected succession of acts of judgment. It is a comparison of what is asserted in a given proposition with some truth which is believed, or which has been established by evidence, and then observing the agreement or disagreement. Thus the truth that "things will be in agreement with past experience unless there is some reason for the contrary," is a truth which every mind believes. Whenever, therefore, any event has been repeatedly an object of past experience, it is compared with this truth already believed, and found to be included under it, and therefore entitled to the same credit.

Thus, also, the truth that "things which equal the same thing equal one another," is one which every mind believes. When any object by examination is found to be included under that class of objects which are thus equal to the same thing, it is an act of reasoning when we infer that they are equal to one another.

CHAPTER XV.
THE SUSCEPTIBILITIES.

Having examined the intellectual powers, we will now attend to the next general class, denominated the susceptibilities.

When the mind is in a state of emotion, this state is always either pleasurable or painful. Desire relates to the attainment of some object which will be the cause of pleasurable emotions, or else to the avoidance of something which will cause painful emotions. This desire for pleasure and for the avoidance of pain is the mainspring of all mental activity; for when it is not in existence, neither the powers of the mind or of the body are called into exercise.

There are various sources of enjoyment or causes of pleasurable emotion to the mind of man, the most important of which will now be pointed out.

The first cause of enjoyment at the commencement of existence is that of sensation.[2] This, at first, is small in amount compared with what it becomes when association lends its aid to heighten sensitive enjoyment. The light of day, the brilliancy of color, the sweetness of perfume, the gratification of taste and touch, the magic influence of sound, and the pleasure resulting from muscular activity, are probably the chief sources of enjoyment to the infant mind. As life advances, all these modes of sensitive gratification become connected with others of an intellectual and moral nature, so that at mature years it is difficult to determine how much of the enjoyment we derive from the senses is the result of association, and how much is simply that of sensation.

Another source of happiness to the human mind is the simple exercise of its intellectual powers. This includes all the pleasures derived from the exercise of taste and the imagination; all the more profitless exercises of reverie and castle-building; all the activity of mind employed in contriving, inventing, and bringing to pass the various projects for securing good to ourselves and others; and all those charming illusions which so often give transient delight, but burst like bubbles in the grasp.

Another source of enjoyment is the exercise of physical and moral power. This love of power is one of the earliest principles which is developed in the human mind. The exercise of the muscles in producing changes in its own material frame or in surrounding objects is a source of constant pleasure to the infant mind. There are few who have reared a child through the period of infancy but can recollect the times that this new species of delight was manifested, as, with his hand raised before his eyes, he watched its various motions, and learned his own power to control them.

This love of power continually displays itself in the sports and pursuits of childhood. To project the pebble through the air; to drive the hoop; to turn the windmill; to conduct some light stream from its channel; to roll the rock from the mountain cliff—these and many others are the varied modes by which childhood exhibits its love of physical power.

But when man begins to learn the influence which mind can exert over mind, a new desire is awakened of moral power. All the different modes are then sought by which one mind can bend the will of others to yield to its controlling influence. It is this desire which is gratified when the conqueror of nations beholds millions of minds yielding to the slightest word of his command. It is this which inspires the orator, as he pours forth that eloquence which charms the delighted throng, and bends them to his will. It is this desire, which often becomes the master passion, to which is sacrificed all that is just, lovely, and benevolent.

Another cause of enjoyment is that of sympathy in the happiness of others. This susceptibility is a source of constant enjoyment when those around us are contented and happy. None can be ignorant of the change produced in passing from the society of a sprightly, cheerful, and happy group to a circle soured by discontent or overwhelmed with melancholy. In early childhood, the effect of this principle is clearly developed. Even the infant child is affected and disturbed with flowing tears, and steals away from the chamber of sorrow, while the sight of smiling faces and the sound of cheerful voices sends through his heart the glow of delight.

Another source of enjoyment is a feeling of conscious rectitude. Man is so constituted that, when he knowingly violates the principles of rectitude, a painful feeling is the inevitable consequence, while a habit of constant conformity to them brings a peaceful and happy state of mind.

Another source of happiness is the consciousness of being the cause of happiness to others. This is an enjoyment entirely distinct from that of sympathy in the happiness of others; for we may see happiness conferred by another and rejoice in it, but the pleasure of being ourselves the cause of this enjoyment is one altogether peculiar. It can readily be seen that the more benevolent a mind is, the more happiness it will derive from this source; while in exact proportion as the mind is selfishly engrossed by its own exclusive interests will this stream of enjoyment cease to flow.

Another source of happiness is the consciousness of inspiring certain emotions in other minds, such as esteem, respect, confidence, love, gratitude, reverence, and the like. The desire for this is one of the strongest passions, and its gratification often secures the most exquisite enjoyment. This happiness, ordinarily, is proportioned to the nobleness of the person who renders this regard.

Another source of enjoyment is the discovery of certain qualities in intelligent minds. The perception of the qualities of matter through the medium of the senses is a very inferior source of gratification compared with the discovery of certain qualities of mind. This is the source of the highest enjoyment of which the mind is capable. The emotions thus awakened are called esteem, veneration, love, gratitude, and the like. Love, in its most general sense, is used for the pleasurable emotion which is felt in the discovery of any quality that is agreeable, either in matter or mind. Thus we are said to love the beauties of nature, to love delicious fruit, and to love the society of friends. But in relation to intelligent beings, it signifies pleasurable emotion in view of certain qualities and actions, attended with the desire of good to the object loved, and also a desire for reciprocated affection. There are certain qualities and attributes of mind which may be pointed out as the causes of affection.

The first is intellectual superiority. Our estimate of intellect is altogether relative. What in a child seems an astonishing display of it, would be considered puerility in a man. What excites admiration in a savage or in the unlettered, is regarded with little emotion in the man of education. There are various qualities of intellect which awaken admiration. Quick perceptions and ready invention are the peculiar attribute of some minds; others are endowed with great sagacity and wisdom in adapting the best means to accomplish the best ends; others possess an energy and force of purpose which enables them to encounter difficulties, sustain bodily fatigue, and even to face death without shrinking; others possess a power of forming new and varied combinations that gratify the taste; others seem to possess a readiness and versatility of mind which enables them to succeed in almost any object they undertake. The exhibition of any of these operations of intellect are causes of emotions of pleasure to other minds.

The next quality of mind which is a cause of affection is the power of sympathy. There is nothing which so powerfully draws the mind toward another being as the assurance that all our pleasures will be his, and that "in all our afflictions he will be afflicted." It is probable that a being entirely destitute of this susceptibility, however he might excite the mind by displays of intellectual power, never could be regarded with the warm and tender emotions of affection. If we encountered a mind that we felt looked upon our happiness without one glimmering of pleasure, and who could gaze upon our sufferings without one shade of sympathizing woe, it is probable the mind would turn away with feelings of dissatisfaction or disgust.

Another quality of mind which becomes a cause of love is the power of giving and appreciating affection. There is nothing which is an object of more constant and fervent desire than the admiration and affection of other minds. To be an object of attention and of admiration to others has been the aim that has stimulated the efforts and nerved the arm of all the heroes and conquerors of the world. To gain the esteem and affection of other minds is what regulates the actions, the plans, and the hopes of all mankind. If, therefore, a mind should be destitute of this susceptibility, that which gives the chief interest would be withdrawn. If we should find, also, that the gift of our affections was of no value to another mind, this would deprive it of much that awakens interest and pleasure. It is the excessive indulgence of this desire for admiration which leads to ambition and pride—those principles which have filled the world with contention and deluged it with blood.

Another quality of mind which secures affection is benevolence. This consists in such a love for the happiness as induces a willingness to make sacrifices of personal ease or enjoyment to secure a greater amount of good to others. Every mind is so made that, if its own wishes are not interfered with, it is more agreeable to see others happy around than to see them miserable. There have been cases of such perversion of our nature that some have seemed to find pleasure in the simple act of inflicting pain upon others; but this seldom occurs until after a long course of self-indulgence and crime. All persons, if it cost no sacrifice, would prefer to make others happy.

But there is a great difference in the character of minds in this particular. Some, when they find that certain modes of personal enjoyment interfere with the interests and happiness of others, can find a pleasure in sacrificing their own lesser enjoyment to secure greater good for others. But others are so engrossed by exclusive interest in their own happiness that they will not give up the smallest amount of their own good to secure any amount of benefit to others.

All minds, whatever their own character may be, detest selfishness in others, and never can bestow any great affection where this is a prevailing trait.

These are the leading characteristics of mind which are causes of admiration and affection. There are other more specific exercises, such as modesty, humility, meekness, and the like.

But all these traits of character, which, in themselves considered, are causes of pleasure, in certain circumstances may, to a selfish mind, become causes of unmingled pain. If the displays of intellect or the exhibition of the amiable susceptibilities in another being are viewed by a selfish mind as the cause of disparagement and disadvantageous contrast to itself, they will be regarded only with painful emotions. They will awaken "envy, anger, wrath, malice, and all uncharitableness." This fact is fully illustrated in the history of the world and in the daily observation of life.

The causes of pain to the human mind are in most cases owing to these very susceptibilities of enjoyment. The organization of the material frame and of the external world, while it is a source of multiplied and constant enjoyment, is often also the cause of the most intense and exquisite suffering. The strongest conception of suffering of which mind can form any conception is sensitive suffering. There are many minds whose constitution and circumstances are such that they can form but faint conceptions of any pain which results from the exercise of malignant passions, or from other sources of suffering. But every mind soon acquires a knowledge of what sensitive suffering must be, and can form the most vivid conceptions of it. Though few ever suffered the dislocation of joints, the laceration of the flesh, or the fracture of bones, still descriptions of such sufferings are readily apprehended and conceived of, and there is nothing from which the mind so involuntarily shrinks.

Another cause of suffering consists in the loss of present or expected enjoyment. There are many blessings which seem desirable to the mind that are never secured, and yet unhappiness is not caused by the want; but there is no happiness which is actually in possession of which the loss does not occasion pain. We may desire the esteem and affection of certain beings, and yet not become unhappy from the want of it; yet nothing sends such exquisite suffering through the mind as the conviction that some beloved object has ceased thus to respect and to love, or has been taken from us by death. Thus, also, if wealth, which is the means of purchasing a variety of blessings, be not secured, the heart can desire it without being made unhappy by the wish, yet the loss of wealth is attended with painful disappointment and regret. The possession of power, also, may be desired without uneasiness, but the loss of it seldom occurs without painful emotions.

Another cause of suffering is inactivity of body and mind. It has been shown that desire is the spring both of mental and of physical activity, and that this activity is one source of enjoyment. The loss of this species of enjoyment is followed by consequent inquietude and uneasiness.

Another cause of suffering is the existence of strong desire with the belief that it never can be gratified. Some desires exist in the mind without causing pain, but they may be excited to such a degree that the certainty that they never will be gratified may produce anguish almost intolerable.

Another source of pain is sympathy in the sufferings of others. These may be so realized as to affect the mind of the observer with even more pain than the sufferer experiences. It is probable that the tender mother, in witnessing the distresses of her child, experiences much more pain than the object of her sympathies.

Another cause of suffering is the violated sense of justice. In minds of high moral susceptibilities, suffering from this source may be most exquisite.

Another cause of suffering is the consciousness of guilt. The emotions that follow the commission of crime are denominated repentance and remorse; and it is probable that the human mind has never suffered greater agonies than have attended the existence of these emotions. There are cases on record when intense bodily suffering has been resorted to as a relief from such anguish by withdrawing the attention of the mind from those subjects that call forth such emotions.

Another cause of pain is the apprehension of future evil. This is often a source of long-continued and of distressing emotions, and the pain suffered in apprehension is often greater than would be experienced if the evils were realized.

Another source of suffering is the exercise of malignant passions, such as hatred, envy, and jealousy. These emotions never can exist in the mind without pain. The exhibition of wicked passions and actions in other minds may also be mentioned in connection with this. It is painful to behold a mind tossed with the furies of ungoverned passion, or yielding to the chain of selfishness and pride.

Another source of suffering is the consciousness of the existence of certain emotions in other minds toward ourselves. The belief that other intelligent beings look upon our character and conduct with displeasure, indignation, or contempt, inflicts the keenest suffering, and there is scarcely any thing mankind will not sacrifice to avoid these painful emotions.

Another source of painful emotions is the view of certain characteristics in other minds. While the discovery of certain traits in other minds afford a high enjoyment, the want of them, or the existence of their opposite, awaken disagreeable emotions, expressed by the terms pity, contempt, indignation, disgust, abhorrence, and the like.

There are other sources of pleasure and pain, which will be discussed more at large in succeeding chapters.

[2] Hereafter the terms sensation and perception will often be used synonymously in cases where it is not needful to recognize the distinction heretofore indicated.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE SUSCEPTIBILITIES. EMOTIONS OF TASTE.

Among the susceptibilities, the emotions of taste have always been distinguished, and treated of as a peculiarly distinct class. Why is it that certain objects of sight, and certain sounds or combinations of sound, awaken emotions more than other sights and sounds? Why do the perceptions of the eye and ear so much more powerfully affect the mind than those of the other senses? These certainly are objects for interesting inquiry. In attempting the discussion of this subject, the following particulars need to be considered.

All pleasurable emotions are caused either by perception or conception, for we have no other ideas but of these two kinds. That they are not occasioned by perception alone must be evident from the fact that infants and children, who have the same perceptions as matured persons, do not experience the emotions of taste in view of the most perfect specimens of the fine arts. A combination of gaudy colors or a string of glittering beads will delight a child more than the most finished productions of a Raphael or a Phidias. That it is not conception alone which awakens such emotions is manifest from the fact that it is the perception of objects which are either sublime or beautiful that awakens the most vivid emotions of this kind. Of course, it is inevitable that emotions of taste are caused by perception and conception through their connection with some past co-existing emotions.

Perceptions and conceptions can recall the emotions which have been connected with them, and emotions can also recall a conception of the objects with which they have been united. For example, if some dark wood had been the scene of terror and affright, either the perception or the conception of this wood would recall the emotions of fear which had coexisted with it. If, on some other occasion, a strong emotion of fear should be awakened, this would probably recall a conception of the wood with which it had formerly been united. It is no uncommon fact in our experience to have circumstances about us that recall unusually sad and mournful feelings, for which we are wholly unable to account. No doubt, at such times, some particular objects, or some particular combination of circumstances which were formerly united with painful emotions, again recur, and recall the emotions with which they were once connected, while the mind is wholly unable to remember the fact of their past coexistence. In like manner, pleasurable emotions may be awakened by certain objects of perception when the mind is equally unable to trace the cause.

Objects of perception recall the emotions connected with them much more vividly than objects of conception can do. Thus, if we revisit the scenes of our childhood, the places of the sorrows and the joys of early days, how much more vividly are the emotions recalled which were formerly connected with these scenes than any conception of these objects could awaken.

Certain perceptions will be found to produce emotions similar to those awakened by the intellectual operations of mind. Thus the entrance of light produces an emotion similar to the discovery of some truth, and the emotion felt while in a state of doubt and uncertainty resembles that experienced when shrouded in darkness. Great care and anxiety produce a state of mind similar to what is felt when the body is pressed down by a heavy weight. The upward spring of an elastic body awakens feelings resembling those that attend the hearing of good news, and thus with many other perceptions. From this fact originates much of the figurative language in common use; such as when knowledge is called light, and ignorance darkness, and care is called a load, and joy is said to make the heart leap.

It has previously been shown that the discovery of certain operations and emotions of mind affords much more pleasure than attends mere perceptions of material objects. Those who have experienced the exciting animation felt at developments of splendid genius, and the pure delight resulting from the interchange of affection, can well realize that no sensitive gratification could ever be exchanged for them. Whatever objects, therefore, most vividly recall those emotions which are awakened when such qualities are apprehended will be most interesting to the mind.

Now it will appear that there are no modes by which one mind can learn the character and feelings of another but by means of the eye and ear. A person both deaf and blind could never, except to an exceedingly limited extent, learn either the intellectual operations or the emotions of another mind. Of course, it is by means of certain forms, colors, motions, and sounds that we gain those ideas which are most interesting and animating to the soul. It is by the blush of modesty, the paleness of fear, the flush of indignation, that color aids in giving an idea of the emotions of the mind. The pallid hue of disease, the sallow complexion of age, the pure and bright colors of childhood, and the delicate blendings of the youthful complexion, have much influence in conveying ideas of the qualities of mind in certain particulars. The color and flashing expressions of the eye also have much to do with our apprehensions of the workings of mind.

As it regards motion as aiding in imparting such ideas, it is by the curl of the lip that contempt is expressed, by the arching brow that curiosity and surprise are exhibited, by the scowling front that anger and discontent are displayed, and by various muscular movements of the countenance that the passions and emotions of the mind are portrayed. It is by the motions of the body and limbs also that strong emotions are exhibited, as in the clasped hand of supplication, the extended arms of affection, and the violent contortions of anger.

Form and outline also have their influence. The sunken eye of grief, the hollow cheek of care and want, the bending form of sorrow, the erect position of dignity, the curvature of haughtiness and pride, are various modes of expressing the qualities and emotions of mind.

But it is by the varied sounds of voice chiefly that intellect glances abroad, and the soul is poured forth at the lips. The quick and animated sounds of cheerfulness, joy, and hope; the softer tones of meekness, gentleness, and love; the plaintive notes of sympathy, sorrow, and pain; the firm tone of magnanimity, fortitude, patience, and self-denial, all exhibit the pleasing and interesting emotions of the soul. Nor less expressive, though more painful, are the harsh sounds of anger, malice, envy, and discontent.

Not only are certain forms, colors, motions, and sounds the medium by which we gain a knowledge of the intellectual operations and emotions of other minds, but they are the means by which we discover and designate those material objects which are causes of comfort, utility, and enjoyment. Thus it is by the particular form and color that we distinguish the fruits and the food which minister to our support. By the same means we discriminate between noxious and useful plants and animals, and distinguish all those conveniences and contrivances which contribute to the comfort of man. Of course, certain forms and colors are connected in the mind with certain emotions of pleasure that have attended them as causes of comfort and enjoyment.

In what precedes, it appears that it is those emotions which are awakened by the apprehension of certain intellectual operations and emotions of intelligent minds which are most delightful; that all our ideas of such operations and emotions are gained by means of certain forms, colors, motions, and sounds; that we designate objects of convenience and enjoyment to ourselves by the same mode; that perceptions can recall the emotions which have been connected with them, even after the mind has forgotten the connection, and that perceptions recall associated emotions much more vividly than conceptions.

In consequence of these considerations, the inference seems justifiable that the emotions of beauty and sublimity are not owing either simply to the perceptions produced, nor to the conceptions recalled by the principle of association. But they are accounted for in a great degree by the fact that certain colors, forms, motions, and sounds have been so often connected with emotions awakened by the apprehension of qualities in other minds, or of emotions which arise in view of causes of enjoyment to ourselves, that the perception of these colors, sounds, forms, and motions recall such agreeable emotions, even when the mind can not trace the connection in past experience.

As an example of this, the emotion of pleasure has been so often connected with the clear blue of the sky and with the bright verdure of the foliage, that the sight of either of these colors recalls the emotions, though we may not be able to refer to any particular time when this previous connection existed. In like manner, the moaning sound of the wind in a storm, or the harsh growl which sometimes attends it, has so often been united with sorrowful or disagreeable emotions, that the sounds recall the emotions.

But there is another important fact in regard to the causes of the emotions of taste. It is found that the character of the combination of sounds, forms, colors, and motions has as much to do with the existence of such feelings as the nature of these objects of perception. The very same colors and forms, in certain combination, are very displeasing, when in others they are beautiful. Thus, also, certain motions in certain circumstances are very beautiful or sublime, and in others very displeasing. The very same sounds, also, may be made either very disagreeable or very delightful, according to their combination.

To account for this, it is necessary to understand that objects which tend to awaken emotions of a directly opposite nature can not both operate on the mind without causing disagreeable feelings. If we are surrounded by objects of awe and solemnity, it is painful to notice objects that are mean or ludicrous. If we are under the influence of sprightly and humorous feelings, it is painful to encounter solemn and pensive scenes, with which, perhaps, at other times, we should be pleased. In order, therefore, to awaken emotions of beauty and sublimity, there must exist a congruity in the arrangement and composition of parts which will prevent the operation of causes that would awaken incongruous emotions.

But there is another principle which has a still more powerful operation in regard to the effect of combination and composition. We are always accustomed to view objects with some reference to their nature and use. We always feel that every effect must have a cause, and that every contrivance has some design which it was made to accomplish.

There is no intellectual attribute of mind which is regarded with more admiration than wisdom, which is always shown in selecting the best means for accomplishing a given end; and the more interesting or important is the object to be secured, the more is the mind pleased with discovering the wisdom exhibited in adapting means to secure this end. Almost every construction of nature or of art is regarded by the mind as having some use and design. No mind, except one bereft of its powers, would ever employ itself in designing any thing which has no possible use, either in benefiting or pleasing the designer or others; and should any such object be found, it would cause only disgust, as exhibiting the fatuity of a mind which spent its powers in contriving so useless a thing.

There are many objects which meet the eye of man for which he in vain seeks the use and design; but such objects are never attended with the conviction that there is no possible use to which they can be applied; on the contrary, they more frequently provoke curiosity, and awaken desire to discover their nature and their use. There is a never-failing conviction attending all our discoveries of new objects in nature that there is some design or contrivance of which they form a link in the chain.

Whenever the object of any design is ascertained, immediately there commences an examination of the modes by which this object is to be effected. If every thing is found to harmonize—if a relation of fitness and propriety is discovered in every part, the mind is satisfied with the exhibition of wisdom which is thus discovered. But if some parts are found tending to counteract the general design of the contrivance, the object is displeasing. Every work of art, then, depends, for the pleasure it affords, not alone on the various forms, colors, sounds, and motions which are combined to affect the senses, but on the nature of the design intended, and on the skill which is shown in so composing and arranging the several parts that each shall duly aid in effecting this design. This is the particular in which the genius of the painter, the sculptor, the architect, the musician, and the poet is especially exhibited.

Another particular to be noticed in reference to this subject is the implanted principle of curiosity, or the desire which the mind feels to discover what is new. After we have discovered the object for which a thing is contrived, and the fit adjustment of every part to this object, one cause of interest in it ceases. And objects which have been the subjects of repeated observation and inspection never yield so much interest as those which afford to the mind some fresh opportunity to discover new indications of design, and of fitness in the means for accomplishing the design. The love of novelty, then, is a powerful principle in securing gratification to the mind. Of course, the genius of the artist is to be displayed, not only in arranging the several parts so as to accomplish a given design, but in the very effort to secure a design which is new, so that the mind will have a fresh object for exercising its powers in detecting the fitness of means for accomplishing a given end.

From the preceding, we recapitulate the following causes for the pleasurable emotions which are felt in view of certain objects of sight, and in certain combinations of sound: They recall emotions which, in past experience, have been connected with the conception of operations and emotions of other minds, or with material objects that were regarded as the causes of pleasurable emotions to ourselves; they recall emotions that are congruous in their nature; they cause emotions of pleasure from the discovery of fitness in design and composition; and, finally, they awaken emotions of novelty.

Emotions of taste that are painful are caused by the presence of objects that recall painful emotions with which they have formerly been connected; by objects that recall incongruous emotions; by objects that exhibit a want of fitness and design; and by objects that are common, when the mind has been led to expect novelty.