We will, however, hear a poet's defence of his fraternity:—'Poets are vulgarly considered deficient in the reasoning faculty; whereas no man was ever a great poet without having it in excess, and after a century or two, men become convinced of it. They jump the middle terms of their syllogisms, it is true, and assume premises to which the world has not yet arrived; but time stamps their deductions as invincible.'*
Imagination is based on observation, and bears the same relation to the 'material world' that the magician bears to the appliances of his art. Imagination is the dexterous and astonishing use of realities. It is a species of mental experiment, whereby, without permission of the line-and-rule men, we join strange things together, and to the surprise of every body, the junction is a happy one. 'Angelo's greatness lay in searching for untried existence.'** But observation primarily suggests the combination. If, as in the case of Angelo, imagination essays the highest flights of genius, and goes in search of untried existence, it is not existence out of nature, but founded upon nature—its success is a revelation of some hidden reality.
* Lowell's Conversations on the Old Poets.
** J. T. Seymour; Oracle of Reason.
Some of the most praised conceptions of Shakspere have been traced by critics to the tritest observation. Instance Hamlet's remark:—
There's a divinity doth shape our ends,
Bough-hew them as we will.
Critics tell us, that Shakspere here fell into the conventional cant of a mechanic making skewers. But it is no detraction to cull the best phrases from the most common sources. Knight remarks:—'Philosophy, as profound as it is beautiful! says the uninitiated reader of Shakspere. But he that is endued with the wisdom of the commentators, will learn how easy it is to mistake for philosophy and poetry what really only proceeded from the very vulgar recollection of an ignorant mind. Dr. Farmer informs me, says Steevens, that these words are merely technical. A woodman, butcher, and dealer in skewers, lately observed to him, that his nephew (an idle lad), could only assist in making them; he could rough-hew them, but I was obliged to shape their ends. To shape the ends of wood skewers, i. e., to point them, requires a degree of skill: any one can rough-hew them. Whoever recollects the profession of Shakspere's father, will admit that his son might be no stranger to such terms. I have frequently seen packages of wool pinned up with skewers.'* To admit the likelihood of all this, notwithstanding Mr. Knight's jeer at the 'wisdom of the commentators,' is rather to exalt than degrade the genius of Shakspere, who could derive exalted figures from humble sources. The 'Athenæum,' far more wisely than Mr. Knight, in this instance, observes:—'This is the test of a truly great man; that his thoughts should be things, and become things in instantaneous act, and not for a moment mere speculations and abstractions.'
As the theories of the schoolmen subside, and men no longer ignore nature, it will become recognised as the source rather than the tool of intellect. We shall have less occasion to contend that all lofty and sublime ideas derive their value and beauty from their coherence with the instincts of sensation, 'Poetry, we grant, creates a world of its own; but it creates it out of existing materials.' 'Imagination' may be but 'thought on fire,' but the spark, which ignites it, is material. Is there any other distinction between the nights of the rhapsodist and those of genius, than that genius illumines reality and rhapsody obscures it? 'We know of no great generalisation that has ever been made by a man unacquainted with the details on which it rests.'
Experiment is invented observation. It is putting into operation certain supposed causes in order to observe their effects. An experiment may be defined as an observation, which we are at some trouble to make. Experiment is usually set down as being a process of discovering truth different from observation. It is evidently included under observation, and there is no practical advantage in separating it. Discursive, general, ordinary, or common observation is the observation of the phenomena we find. Experiment is observation of the phenomena we bring together. Experimental observation has been the great agent of modern discovery. Newton ranked it as the most valuable knowledge. Whatever is not founded on phenomena is hypothesis, and has no place in experimental philosophy. It is the principal source of accurate facts. When Jenner first communicated to John Hunter, what he thought respecting the prevention of small pox—'Don't think, but try; be patient, be accurate,' was Hunter's characteristic reply. Locke remarks—'While the philosophy of Aristotle prevailed in the schools, which dealt often in words without meaning, the knowledge of nature was at a stand; men argued concerning things of which they had no idea; in this enlightened age, we keep to trial and experiment, as the only certain foundation of philosophy.'
* Philosophy and Religion of Shakspere, pp. 173-4
** No 946. p. 1103.
*** Athenæum, No. 946, p. 1191.
Hypothesis may be noticed here as being a species of embryo experiment. Hypothesis is guessing at the truth. It is a conjecture or supposition relating to the cause of an effect. It imagines that where certain conditions exist, the desired result will ensue. But all these conjectures must be founded on observation. For, in the wildest conjecture, unless made by a madman, there is some reason. Hypothesis is incipient truth founded on a few facts which make it probable, but not on sufficient to make it certain. Hypothesis does not directly discover truth, but it is a guide to experiment, which does. The hypotheses of Columbus respecting an unknown continent, did not of itself discover America—but it directed the experiment of his voyage there, which did. To hypothesise alone is the error of the visionary and the dreamer. Practical wisdom, as far as possible, tests hypothesis by experiment. Sir C. Bell conjectured that the nervous fluid of the human body was analogous to galvanic fluid, and then, by experiments on various animals, he endeavoured to test his hypothesis. However, great thinkers arise who are best employed in contriving plans for others to execute—in telling others what they are to do. Great poets belong to this class. They are often incapable of the concentrated labour of furnishing proofs of their hypothesis. Gladly should we recognise the mission of such men. They work for humanity by thinking for humanity. 'All who think,' says Lytton, 'are co-operative with all who work.' Labour supplies our wants, thought teaches us dominion over nature. Labour is but the means of subsistence, it is thought that makes it the source of wealth by multiplying its powers.