_Office of this Faculty._--By the operation of this power, the former

perceptions and sensations are replaced in thought, and combined as

in mental reproduction, but not, as in mental reproduction, according

to the _original_ and _actual_, so that the past is simply repeated,

but rather according to the mind's own _ideal_, and at its own will

and fancy; so that while the groundwork of the representation is

something which has been, at some time, an object of perception, the

picture itself, as it stands before the mind in its completeness, is

not the copy of any thing actually perceived, but a creation of the

mind's own. This power the mind has, and it is a power distinct from

either of those already mentioned, and not less wonderful than either.

The details of the original perception are omitted; time, place,

circumstance fall out, or are varied to suit the fancy; the scene is

laid when and where we like; the incidents follow each other no longer

in their actual order; the original, in a word, is no longer faithfully

transcribed, but the picture is conformed to the taste and pleasure of

the artist. The conception becomes IDEAL. This is imagination in its

true and proper sphere--the creative power of the mind.

§ II.--RELATION OF THIS TO OTHER FACULTIES.

The true province of imagination may be more definitely distinguished

by comparing it with other powers of the mind.

_Imagination as related to Memory._--How, then, does imagination differ

from _memory_? In this, first and chiefly, that memory gives us the

actual, imagination, the ideal; in this also, that memory deals only

with the past, while imagination, not confined to such limits, sweeps

on bolder wing, and without bound, alike through the future and the

past. In one respect they agree. Both give the _absent_--that which is

not now and here present to sense. Both are representative rather than

presentative. Both also are forms of conception.

_To Perception._--In what respect does it differ from _perception_?

In perception the object is given, presented; in imagination it is

thought, conceived; in the former case it is given as _actual_, in the

latter, conceived not as actual but as ideal.

_To Judgment._--Imagination differs from _judgment_, in that the latter

deals, not like the former, with things in themselves considered, but

rather with the relations of things--is, in other words, a form not

of _simple_, but of _relative_ conception; and also in that it deals

with these relations as _actual_, not as ideal. It has always specific

reference to truth, and is concerned in the formation of opinion and

belief, as resting on the evidence of truth, and the perception of the

actual relations of things.

_To Reasoning._--In like manner it differs from _reasoning_, which also

has to do with truths, facts--has for its object to ascertain and state

those facts or principles; its sole and simple inquiry being, what is

_true_? Imagination concerns itself with no such inquiry, admits of

no such limitation. Its thought is not what _did_ actually occur, but

what in given circumstances _might_ occur. Its question is not what

really _was_, or _is_, or _will be_, but what _may_ be; what may be

_conceived_ as possible or probable under such or such contingencies.

Reasoning, moreover, reaches only such truths as are involved in its

premises, and may fairly be deduced as conclusions from those premises.

It furnishes no new material, but merely evolves and unfolds what lies

wrapped up in the admitted premises. Imagination lies under no such

restriction. There is no necessary connection between the wrath of

Achilles, and the consequences that are made to result from it in the

unfolding of the epic.

_To Taste._--Imagination and _taste_ are by no means identical. The

former may exist in a high degree where the latter is essentially

defective. In such a case the conceptions of the imagination are, it

may be, too bold, passing the limits of probability, or, it may be,

offensive to delicacy, wanting in refinement and beauty, or in some

way deficient in the qualities that please a cultivated mind. This

is not unfrequently the case with the productions of the poet, the

painter, the orator. There is no lack of imagination in their works,

while, at the same time, they strike us as deficient in taste. Taste

is the regulating principle, whose office is to guide and direct the

imagination, sustaining to it much the same relation that conscience

does to free moral action. It is a lawgiver and a judge.

_To Knowledge._--Still more widely does imagination differ from simple

knowledge. There may be great learning and no imagination, and the

reverse is equally true. We know that which is--the actual; we imagine

that which is not--the ideal. Learning enlarges and quickens the mind,

extends the field of its vision, augments its resources, expands its

sphere of thought and action; in this way its powers are strengthened,

its conceptions multiplied and vivified. There is furnished,

consequently, both more and better material for the creative faculty

to work upon. Further than this, the imagination is little indebted to

learning.

_Illustration of these Differences._--To illustrate the differences

already indicated: I stand at my window and look out on the landscape.

My eye rests on the form and dark outline of a mountain, pictured

against the sky. Perception, this. I go back to my desk, I shut my

eyes. That form and figure, pencilled darkly against the blue sky,

are still in my mind. I seem to see them still. That heavy mass, that

undulating outline, that bold rugged summit--the whole stands before

me as distinctly as when my eye rested upon it. Conception, this,

replacing the absent object. I not only in my thoughts seem to see the

mountain thus reproduced, but I _know_ it when seen; I recognize it

as the mountain which a moment before I saw from my window. Memory,

this, connecting the conception with something in my past experience.

The picture fades perhaps from my view, and I begin to estimate the

probable distance of the mountain, or its relative height, as compared

with other mountains. Judgment, this, or the conception of relations.

I proceed to calculate the number of square miles of surface on a

mountain of that height and extent. Reasoning, this. And now I sweep

away, in thought, the actual mountain, and replace it with one vastly

more imposing and grand. Eternal snows rest upon its summits; glaciers

hold their slow and stately march down its sides; the avalanche

thunders from its precipices. _Imagination_ now has the field to

herself.

§ III.--ACTIVE AND PASSIVE IMAGINATION.

_View of Dr. Wayland._--"If we regard the several act of this faculty,"

says Dr. Wayland, "we may, I think, observe a difference between them.

We have the power to originate images or pictures for ourselves, and

we have the power to form them as they are presented in language. The

former may be called active, and the latter passive imagination. The

active, I believe, always includes the passive power, but the passive

does not always include the active. Thus we frequently observe

persons who delight in poetry and romance, who are utterly incapable

of creating a scene or composing a stanza. They can form the pictures

dictated by language, but are destitute of the power of original

combination."

_Correctness of this View questioned._--That many who enjoy the

creations of the poet and the splendid fictions of the dramatist and

novelist, are themselves incapable of producing like creations, is

doubtless true. The same is true in other departments of the creative

art. Many persons enjoy a fine painting or statue, good music, or a

noble architectural design, who cannot themselves produce these works

of art. This does not prove them deficient, however, in imagination,

for the inability may be owing to other causes, as want of training;

nor, on the other hand, does the simple enjoyment of ideal creations

involve a different kind of imagination from that exercised in

creating. Imagination is, as it seems to me, always active, never

passive. Where it exists, and whenever it is called into exercise, it

acts, and its action is, in some sense, creative. It conceives the

ideal, that which, as conceived, does not exist, or at least is not

known to the senses as existing. It matters not in what way these ideal

conceptions are suggested, whether by the signs of language written or

spoken, or by those characters which the painter, the sculptor, or the

architect presents, each in his own way, and with his own material,

or by one's own previous conceptions. _Every_ ideal conception is

suggested by _something_ antecedent to itself. All active imagination

is, in other words, passive, in the sense here intended, and all

passive imagination, so called, is in reality active, so far as it

is, properly speaking, imagination at all. The difference between the

faculty that produces and that which merely enjoys, is a difference

of _degree_ rather than of kind. The one is an imagination peculiarly

active; the other slightly so; or, more properly, the one mind has

_much_, the other _little_ imagination.

_Philosophic Imagination._--The term _philosophic_ imagination, in

distinction from _poetic_, is employed by the same distinguished writer

to denote the faculty, possessed by some minds of a high order, of

discovering new truths in science; of so classifying and arranging

known facts as to bring to light the laws which govern them, or, by

a happy conjecture, assigning to phenomena hitherto unexplained, a

theory which will account for them. Whether the faculty now intended

is properly imagination, admits of question. Its field is that of

conjecture, supposition, theory, invention. It involves the exercise

of judgment and reason. It seeks after truth. It is a process of

discovering what is. Imagination deals with the ideal only--inquires

not for the true.

§ IV.--IMAGINATION A SIMPLE FACULTY.

_Common Theory._--The view which has been very generally entertained of

the faculty now under consideration, both in this country, and by the

Scotch philosophers, resolves it partially or wholly into other powers

of the mind, as abstraction, association, judgment, taste. In this

view, it is no longer a simple faculty, if indeed it can with propriety

be called a faculty at all, inasmuch as the effects ascribed to it can

be accounted for by the agency of the other powers now named.

_A different View._--It seems to me that imagination, while doubtless

it presupposes and involves the exercise of the suggestive and

associative principle, of the analytic or divisive principle by which

compounds are broken up into their distinct elements, and also, to

some extent, of judgment, or the principle which perceives relations,

is, nevertheless, itself a power distinct from each of these, and

from all of them in combination. Memory _presupposes_ perception, or

something to be reproduced and remembered. It is not, therefore, to be

regarded as a complex faculty, comprising the perceptive power as one

of its factors. The power to combine, in like manner, _presupposes_

the previous separation of elements capable of being reunited, but is

not to be resolved into that power which produces such separation. It

_involves_ some exercise of judgment along with its own proper and

distinctive activity, but is not to be confounded with, or resolved

into the power of perceiving relations.

The faculty of ideal conception is really a power of the mind, and

it is a simple power, a thing of itself, although it may involve

and presuppose the activity of other faculties along with its own.

Abstraction, association, judgment, taste--none of them singly, nor all

of them combined, are what we mean by it.

_Theory of Brown._--Dr. Brown resolves the faculty now in question into

simple suggestion, accompanied, in the case of _voluntary_ imagination,

with desire, and with judgment. There is nothing in the process

different from what occurs in any case of the suggestion of one thought

by another, he would say. We think of a mountain, we think of gold,

and some analogy, or common property of the two, serves to suggest the

complex conception, mountain of gold. Even where the process is not

purely spontaneous, but accompanied with desire on our part, it is

still essentially the same process. We think of something, and this

suggests other related conceptions, some of which we approve as fit

for our purpose, others we reject as unfit. Here is simple suggestion

accompanied with desire and judgment; and these are all the factors

that enter into the process. "We may term this state, or series of

states, imagination or fancy, and the term may be convenient for its

brevity. But in using it we must not forget that the term, however

brief and simple, is still the name of a state that is complex, or

of a succession of states, that the phenomena comprehended under it

being the same in nature, are not rendered, by the use of a mere word,

different from those to which we have already given peculiar names

expressive of them as they exist separately, and that it is to the

classes of these elementary phenomena, therefore, that we must refer

the whole process of imagination in our philosophic analysis."

_Strictures on this Theory._--This view, it will be perceived, in

reality sweeps the faculty of imagination entirely from the field. To

this I cannot yield my assent. Is not this state, or affection of the

mind, as Dr. Brown calls it, quite a distinct thing from other mental

states and affections? Has it not a character _sui generis_? Is not the

operation, the thing done, a _different_ thing from what is done in

other cases, and by other faculties; and has not the mind the _power_

of doing this new and different thing; and is not that power of doing

a given thing what we mean in any case by a _faculty_ of the mind? Is

there not an element in this process under consideration which is _not_

involved in other mental processes, viz.: the _ideal_ element; the

conception, not of the actual and the real, as in the case of the other

faculties, but of the purely ideal? And if the mind has the faculty of

forming a class of conceptions so entirely distinct from the others,

why not give that faculty a name, and its own proper name, and allow it

a place, its own proper place, among the mental powers?

§ V.--IMAGINATION NOT MERELY THE POWER OF COMBINATION.

_The prevalent View._--This question is closely connected with

that just discussed. The usual definitions make the faculty under

consideration a mere process of combining and arranging ideas

previously in the mind, so as to form new compounds. You have

certain conceptions. These you combine one with another, as a child

puts together blocks that lie before him, to suit himself, now this

uppermost, now that, and the result is a world of imagination. It is

the mere arrangement of previous conceptions, and not itself a power of

producing or connecting any thing. And even this arrangement of former

conceptions is itself a _spontaneous_ casual process, according to Dr.

Brown, not properly a _power_ of the mind.

_Makes Imagination little else than Invention._--According to this

view, imagination is hardly to be distinguished from mere _invention_

in the mechanic arts, which is the result of some new combination of

previously existing materials. The construction of a steam-pump with

a new kind of valve, is as really a work of imagination, as Paradise

Lost. The man who contrives a carding-machine, and the man who

conceives the Transfiguration, the Apollo Belvidere, or the Iliad, are

exercising both the same faculty--merely combining in new forms the

previous possessions of the mind.

_This View inadequate._--This is a very meagre and inadequate view, as

it seems to me, of the faculty of imagination. It fixes the attention

upon, and elevates into the importance of a definition, a circumstance

in itself unimportant, while it overlooks the essential characteristic

of the faculty to be defined. The _creative activity_ of the mind is

lost sight of in attending to the _materials_ on which it works.

_The Distinctive Element of Imagination overlooked._--Imagination

I take to be the power of conceiving the ideal. The elements which

enter into and compose that ideal conception, are, indeed, elements

previously existing, not themselves the mind's creations; but the

conception itself is the mind's own creation, and this creative

activity, this power of conceiving the purely ideal, is the very

essence of that which we are seeking to define. True, the separate

conceptions which enter into the composition of Paradise Lost--trees,

flowers, rivers, mountains, angels, deities--were already in the poet's

mind before he began to meditate the sublime epic. They were but the

material on which he wrought. Has he then created nothing, conceived

nothing? Have we truly and adequately described that immortal poem

when we say that it is a mere combination of trees, rivers, hills, and

angels, in certain proportions and relations not previously attempted?

_Illustration drawn from the Arts._--The artist makes use of colors

previously existing when he would produce a painting, and of marble

already in the block, when he would chisel a statue or a temple.

In reality he only combines. Yet it would be but a poor definition

of any one of these sublime arts to say that painting, sculpture,

architecture, is merely the putting together of previous materials to

form new wholes. We object to such a definition, not because it affirms

what is not true, but because it does not affirm the chief and most

important truth; not because of what it states, but because of what it

omits to state. These are creative arts. They give us indeed not new

substances, but new forms, new products, new ideas. So is imagination a

creative faculty. The individual elements may not be new, but the grand

product and result is new, a creation of the mind's own. And this is

of more consequence than the fact that the elementary conceptions were

already in the mind. The one is the essential characteristic, the other

a comparatively unimportant circumstance; the one describes the thing

itself, the other the mere _modus operandi_ of the thing.

_Illustration drawn from the Creation of the material World._--What

is _creation_ in its higher and more proper sense, as applied to the

formation, by divine power, of the world in which we dwell? There was

a moment, in the eternity of the past, when the omnipotent builder

divided the light from the darkness, and the evening and the morning

were the first day. The elements may have existed before--heat, air,

earth, water, the various material and diffused substance of the world

about to be--but latent, confused, chaotic those elements, not called

forth and appointed each to its own proper sphere. Light slumbers

amid the chaotic elements unseen. He speaks the word, and it comes

forth from its hiding-place, and stands revealed in its own beauty

and splendor. Has God made nothing, in so doing? Has he conceived

nothing, _created_ nothing? And when the work goes on, and is at length

complete, and the fair new world hangs poised and trembling on its

axis, perfect in every part, and rejoicing the heart of the builder, is

there no new power displayed in all this, no creation here? And do we

well and adequately express the sublime mystery when we say that the

deity has merely arranged and combined materials previously existing,

to form a new whole?

_Art essentially creative._--So when the poet, the painter, the

skillful architect, the mighty orator, call forth from the slumbering

elements new forms of beauty and power, are not they, too, in their

humble way, creators? True, they have in so doing combined conceptions

previously existing in the mind. The writer combines in new forms

the existing letters of the alphabet, the painter combines existing

colors, the architect puts together previously-existing stones. But is

this all he does? Is it the chief thing? Is this the soul and spirit

of his divine art? No; there is a new power, a new element, not thus

expressed--the power of conceiving, and calling into existence, in the

realm of thought, that which has no actual existence in the world of

sober reality. He who has this power is a _maker_--[Greek: poiêtês]. It

is a power conferred, in some degree, on all, in its highest degree, on

few. The poet, painter, orator, the gifted creative man, whoever he is,

belongs to this class.

§ VI.--IMAGINATION LIMITED TO SENSIBLE OBJECTS.

_Law of the Imagination._--It is a law of the imagination, that

whatever it represents, it realizes, clothes in sensible forms,

conceives as visible, audible, tangible, or in some way within the

sphere and cognizance of sense. Whatever it has to do with, whatever

object it seizes and presents, it brings within this sphere, invests

with sensible drapery. Now, strictly speaking, there are no objects,

save those of sense, which admit of this process, which can be, even

in conception, thus invested with sensible forms, pictured to the eye,

or represented to the other senses as objects of their cognizance.

If I conceive of objects strictly immaterial as thus presented, I

make them, by the very conception, to depart from their proper nature

and to become sensible. Imagination has nothing to do, then, strictly

speaking, with abstract truths and conceptions, with spiritual and

immaterial existences, with ideas and feelings as such, for none of

these can be represented under sensible forms, or brought within

the sphere and cognizance of the senses. Sensible objects are the

groundwork, therefore, of its operation--the materials of its art.

_But not to visible Objects._--It is not limited, however, to _visible_

objects merely--is not a mere picture-forming, image-making power. It

more frequently, indeed, fashions its creations after the conceptions

which sight affords than those of the other senses; but it deals also

with conceptions of sound, as in music, and the play of storm and

tempest, and with other objects of sense, as the taste, the touch,

pressure, etc. Thus the _gelidi fontes_ of Virgil is an appeal to

the sense of delicious coolness not less than to that of sparkling

beauty. A careful analysis of every act of the imagination will show,

I think, a _sensible basis_ as the groundwork of the fabric--something

seen, or heard, or felt--something said or done--some sensible

reality--something which, however ideal and transcendental in itself

and in reality, yet admits of expression in and through the senses;

otherwise it were a mere conception or _abstraction_--a mere idea--not

an imagination.

§ VII.--IMAGINATION LIMITED TO NEW RESULTS.

The simple reproduction of the _past_, whether an object or perception,

or sensation, or conception merely, the simple reproduction or bringing

back of that to the mind, we have assigned as the office of another

faculty. Imagination, we have said, departs from the reality, and gives

you not what you have had before, but something new, other, different.

It is not the simple image-making power, then, for mental reproduction

gives you an image or picture of any former object of perception, _as_

you have seen it--a portrait of the past, true and faithful to the

original.

Some writers would differ from the view now expressed. Some of the

Germans assign to imagination the double office of producing the new

and reproducing the old; the latter they call imaginative reproduction.

In what respect this latter differs from the faculty of mental

reproduction in general, it is difficult to perceive. When I remember a

word spoken, or a song, I have the conception of a _sound_, or a series

of sounds. When I remember an object in nature, as a mountain, a house,

etc., I have the conception of a material object, having some definite

form, and figure, outline, proportion, magnitude, etc. The conception

of the absent object presents itself in such a case, of course, as an

image or picture of the object to the mental eye. It is as really the

work of conception reproductive, however, to replace, in this case, the

absent object as once perceived, as it is to bring back to mind any

thing else that has once been before it; _e. g._, a spoken word or a

date in history. We may, if we please, term this faculty, as employed

on objects of sight, conception _imaginative_ and distinguish it from

the same faculty as employed in reproducing other objects; but it were

certainly better to appropriate the term imagination to the single and

far higher province of creation--the office of conceiving the ideal

under the form of the sensible.

§ VIII.--IMAGINATION A VOLUNTARY POWER, OR PROCESS.

Is it an act which the mind puts forth when it will, and withholds

when it will? Or is it a mere passive susceptibility of the mind to be

impressed in this particular way? As the harp lies passive to the wind,

which comes and goes we know not how or whither, so does the mind lie

open to such thoughts and fancies as flit over it and call forth its

hidden harmonies as they pass by? Those who, with Dr. Brown, resolve

imagination into mere suggestion, of course take the latter view.

_Often spontaneous._--Undoubtedly, the greater part of our ideal

conceptions are spontaneous--the thoughts that rise at the instant,

unpremeditated, uncalled, the suggestions of the passing moment or

event. This is true of our daily reveries, and all the little romances

we construct, when we give the reins to fancy, and a "varied scene

of thought"--to use the beautiful expression of Cudworth--passes

before us, peopled with forms unreal and illusive. There is no special

volition to call up these conceptions, or _such_ as these. They take

their rise and hue from the complexion of the mind at the time, and

the character of the preceding conceptions, in the ever moving, ever

varying series and procession of thought. They are like the shifting

figures on the curtain in a darkened room, shadows coming and going,

as the forms of those without move hither and thither. So far, all

is spontaneous. Nay, more: It is, doubtless, impossible, by direct

volition, to call up any conception, ideal or otherwise; since this,

as Dr. Brown has well argued, would be "either to will without knowing

what we will, which is absurd," or else to have already the conception

which we wished to have, which is not less absurd.

_If no intentional Activity, then Imagination not a Faculty._--Is there

then no intentional creation of new and ideal conceptions, of images,

similes, metaphors, and other like material of a lively and awakened

fancy, but merely a _casual_ suggestion of such and such thoughts,

quite beyond any control and volition or even purpose of ours? If so,

then, after all, is it proper to speak of a faculty of imagination,

since we have not, in this case, the _power_ of _doing_ the thing under

consideration? We merely sit still in the darkened room, and watch the

figures as they come and go, with some desire that the thing may go on,

some appreciation of it, some critical judgment of the different forms

and movements.

_The Mind not wholly passive in the Process._--I reply this is not

altogether so. The mind is not altogether _passive_ in this thing;

there is an _activity_ involved in the process, and that of the mind's

own. There is a power, either original or acquired, of conceiving

such thoughts as are now under consideration, a readiness for them,

a proneness to them, a bias, propensity, inclination, more powerful

in some than in others, by virtue of which this process occurs.

We may call this a faculty, though, more strictly, perhaps, _a

susceptibility_, but it is, in truth, one of the endowments of the

mind, part of its furniture, one form of its activity.

_A more direct voluntary Element._--But there is, further than this,

and more directly, a voluntary element in the process. It is in our

power to yield, or not, to this propensity, this inclination to the

ideal; to put forth the mental activity in this direction, or to

withhold it; to say whether or not the imagination shall have its free,

full play, and with liberated wing soar aloft through her native skies;

whether our speech shall be simple argument, unadorned stout logic, or

logic not less stout, clothed with the pleasing, rustling drapery which

a lively imagination is able to throw, like a splendid robe, over the

naked form of truth.

There is, then, really a mental activity, and an activity in some

degree under control of the will, in the process we are considering.

_Same Difficulty lies elsewhere._--The same difficulty which meets us

here, meets us elsewhere, and lies equally against other mental powers.

We cannot, by direct volition, remember a past event, for this implies,

as in the case of the volition to imagine a given scene, either that

the thing is already in view, or else that we will we know not what.

Yet, as every one knows, there is a way of recalling past events; a

faculty or power of doing this thing; a faculty which we exercise when

we please.

The same may be said of the power of thought in general. We cannot,

by direct volition, _think_ of any given thing, for to will to think

of it is already to have thought of it, yet there is mental activity

involved in every process of thought a mental power exercised, a

faculty of some sort exercised. Nor is it a power altogether beyond

our own control. We can direct our thoughts, can govern them, can turn

them, as we do a water course, that _will_ flow somewhere, but whose

channel we may lead this way or that.

§ IX.--USE AND ABUSE OF IMAGINATION.

_Influence upon the Mind._--As to the benefits arising from the due

use and exercise of this faculty, not much, perhaps, is requisite to

be said. It gives vividness to our conceptions, it raises the tone of

our entire mental activity, it adds force to our reasoning, casts the

light of fancy over the sombre plodding steps of judgment, gilds the

recollections of the past, and the anticipations of the future, with a

coloring not their own. It lights up the whole horizon of thought, as

the sunrise flashes along the mountain tops, and lights up the world.

It would be but a dreary world without that light.

_Influence on the Orator._--By its aid the orator presents his clear,

strong argument in its own simple strength and beauty, or commands

those skillful touches, that, by a magic spell, thrill all hearts in

unison. There floats before his mind, ever as he proceeds, the _beau

ideal_ of what his argument should be; toward this he aspires, and

those aspirations make him what he is. No man is eloquent who has not

the imagination requisite to form and keep vividly before him such an

ideal.

_On the Artist._--By its aid the artist breathes into the inanimate

marble the breath of life, and it becomes a living soul. By its

aid, deaf old Beethoven, at his stringless instrument, calls up the

richest harmony of sound, and blind old Milton, in his darkness and

desolateness, takes his magician's wand, and lo! there rises before

him the vision of that Paradise where man, in his primeval innocence,

walked with God.

_On other Minds._--Nor is it the poet, the orator, the artist, alone,

that derive benefit from the exercise of this faculty, or have occasion

to make use of it. It is of inestimable value to us all. It opens for

us new worlds, enlarges the sphere of our mental vision, releases us

from the bonds and bounds of the actual, and gives us, as a bird let

loose, the wide firmament of thought for our domain. It gilds the bald,

sullen actualities, and stern realities of life, as the morning reddens

the chill, snowy summits of the Alps, till they glow in resplendent

beauty.

_On the Spectator and Observer._--It is of service, not to him who

writes alone, but to him who reads; not to him who speaks alone, but

to him who hears; not to the artist alone, but to the _observer_ of

art; for neither poet, nor orator, nor artist, can convey the full

meaning, the _soul_, the inspiration of his work, to one who has not

the imagination to appreciate and feel the beauty, and the power,

that lie hidden there. There is just as much meaning in their works,

to us, as there is soul in us to receive that meaning. The man of no

imagination sees no meaning, no beauty, no power, in the Paradise Lost,

the symphonies of Beethoven and Mozart, the Transfiguration of Raphael,

the Aurora of Guido, or the master-pieces of Canova and Thorwalsden.

_Errors of Imagination._--Undoubtedly there are errors, mistakes,

prejudices, illusions of the imagination; mistakes in judgment, in

reasoning, in the affairs of practical life, the source of which is to

be found in some undue influence, some wrong use, of the imagination.

We mistake its conceptions for realities. We dwell upon its pleasing

visions till we forget the sober face of truth. We fancy pleasures,

benefits, results which will never be realized, or we look upon the

dark and dreary side of things till all nature wears the sombre hue of

our disordered fancy.

_Not, therefore, to set aside its due Culture._--All this we are

liable to do. All these abuses of the imagination are possible, likely

enough to occur. Against them we must guard. But to cry out against the

culture and due exercise of the imagination, because of these abuses to

which it is liable, is not the part of wisdom or highest benevolence.

To hinder its fair and full development, and to preclude its use, is to

cut ourselves off, and shut ourselves out, from the source of some of

the highest, purest, noblest, pleasures of this our mortal life.

_No Faculty perhaps of more Value._--It is not too much to say, that

there is, perhaps, no faculty of the mind which, under due cultivation,

and within proper bounds, is of more real service to man, or is more

worthy of his regard, than this. Especially, is it of value in forming

and holding before the mind an ideal of excellence in whatever we

pursue, a standard of attainment, practicable and desirable, but

loftier far than any thing we have yet reached. To present such an

ideal, is the work of the imagination, which looks not upon the actual,

but the possible, and conceives that which is more perfect than the

human eye hath seen, or the human hand wrought. No man ever yet

attained excellence, in any art or profession, who had not floating

before his mind, by day and by night, such an ideal and vision of what

he might and ought to be and to do. It hovers before him, and hangs

over him, like the bow of promise and of hope, advancing with his

progress, ever rising as he rises, and moving onward as he moves; he

will never reach it, but without it he would never be what he is.

§ X.--CULTURE OF THE IMAGINATION.

_Strengthened by Use._--In what way, it is sometimes asked, may the

faculty under consideration be improved and strengthened? To this it

may be replied, in general, that the ideal faculty, like every other,

is developed and strengthened by exercise, weakened and impaired by

neglect. There is no surer way to secure its growth than to call its

present powers, whatever they may be, into frequent exercise. The

mental faculties, like the thews and muscles of the physical frame,

develop by use. Imagination follows the same general law.

_Study of the Works of others._--I do not mean by this exclusively

the direct exercise of the imagination in ideal creations of our own,

although its frequent employment in this way, is of course necessary

to its full development. But the imagination is also exercised by the

study of the ideal creations of others, especially of those highly

gifted minds which have adorned and enriched their age with productions

of rarest value, which bear the stamp and seal of immortality. With

these, in whatever department of letters or art, in poetry, oratory,

music, painting, sculpture, architecture--whatever is grand, and

lofty, and full of inspiration, whatever is beautiful and pleasing,

whatever is of choicest worth and excellence in its own proper sphere;

with these let him become familiar who seeks to cultivate in himself

the faculty of the ideal. Every work of the imagination appeals to

the imagination of the observer, and thus develops the faculty which

it calls into exercise. No one can be familiar with the creations of

Shakspeare and Milton, of Mozart and Beethoven, of Raphael and Michael

Angelo, and not catch something of their inspiration.

_Study of Nature._--Even more indispensable is the study of nature; and

it has this advantage, that it is open to those who may not have access

to the sublime works of the highest masters of art. Nature, in all

her moods and phases--in her wonderful variety of elements--the grand

and the lowly, the sublime and the beautiful, the terrible and the

pleasing--nature in her mildest and most fearful displays of power, and

also in her softest and sweetest attractions, is open to every man's

observation, and he must be a close observer and a diligent student of

her who would cultivate in himself the ideal element. The most gifted

sons of genius, the minds most richly endowed with the power of ideal

creation, have been remarkable for their love and careful study of

nature.

_Mistake on this Point._--I must notice in this connection, however,

a mistake into which some have fallen in regard to this matter. The

simple description of a scene in nature, just as it is, is not properly

a work of the imagination. It is simply perception or memory that is

thus exercised, along with judgment and artistic power of expression.

Imagination gives not the actual, but the ideal. She never satisfies

herself with an exact copy. The mere portrait painter, however

skillful, is not in the highest sense an artist. The painter, mentioned

by Wayland, who copied the wing of the butterfly for the wing of the

Sylph, was not, in so doing, exercising his imagination, but only his

power of imitation. So, too, when Walter Scott gives us, in the cave

of Denzel, a precise description of some spot which he has seen, even

to the very plants and flowers that grow among the rocks, that scene,

however pleasing and life-like, is not properly a creation of his own

imagination; it is a description of the actual, and not a conception of

the ideal. Much that is included under the general title of works of

the imagination is not properly the production of that faculty.

Coleridge has made essentially the same remark, that in what is called

a work of imagination, much is simple narration, much the filling up of

the outline, and not to be attributed to that faculty.

_The Student of Nature not a mere Copyist._--The true study of nature,

is not to observe simply that we may copy what she presents, but rather

to gather materials on which our own conceptive power may work, and

which it may fashion after its own designs into new combinations and

results of beauty. Nature, too, is full of hints and suggestions which

a discerning mind, and an eye practised to the beautiful, will not fail

to catch and improve. It is only when we do this, when we begin, in

fact, to depart from, and go beyond the actual, that we exercise the

imagination.

_Difference illustrated by an Example._--The difference between simple

description, and the creations of the conceptive faculty, may be shown

by reference to a single example:

"The twilight hours, like birds, flew by,

As lightly and as free;

Ten thousand stars were in the sky,

Ten thousand in the sea;

For every wave, with dimpled cheek

That leaped upon the air,

Had caught a star in its embrace,

And held it trembling there."

The quiet stillness of the evening, the reflection of the stars in the

sea, are the two simple ideas which enter into this beautiful stanza.

They would have been faithfully and fully expressed, so far as regards

all the perfections of exact description, by the simple propositions

which follow: "The evening hours passed swiftly and silently; many

stars appeared in the sky, and each was reflected in the sea."

The poet is not content with this description. The swiftness and

silentness of those passing hours remind him of the flight of birds

along the sky. The resemblance strikes him as beautiful. He embodies it

in his description. It is an ideal conception. He goes further. He sees

in the water, not the reflection merely of the stars, but the stars

themselves, as many in the sea as in the sky. Here is a departure from

the truth, from the actual, an advance into the region of the ideal.

Imagination, thus set free, takes still further liberties: attributes

to the inanimate wave the _dimpled cheek_ of beauty, ascribes its

restlessness not to the laws of gravitation, but to the force of a

strictly human passion, under the influence of which it leaps into

the air toward the object of its affection, seizes it, and holds it,

trembling, in its embrace.

§ XI.--HISTORICAL SKETCH.

VARIOUS DEFINITIONS, AND THEORIES OF IMAGINATION BY DIFFERENT WRITERS.

_Definition of Dr. Reid._--_Reid_ makes it nearly synonymous with

simple apprehension. "I take imagination, in its most proper sense, to

signify a lively conception of _objects of sight_," the conception of

things as they appear to the eye. _Addison_ employs the term with the

same limitation, that is, as confined to objects of sight.

_Of Stewart._--_Stewart_ regards this as incorrect, holds that

imagination is not confined to _visible_ or even _sensible_ objects.

He regards it as a complex, not a simple power, including simple

apprehension, abstraction, judgment, or taste, and association of

ideas; its province being to select, from different objects, a variety

of qualities and circumstances, and combine and arrange them so as to

form a new creation of its own.

_Of Brown._--_Brown_ differs not essentially from the view of Stewart.

He also makes imagination a complex operation, involving conception,

abstraction, judgment, association. He distinguishes between the

_spontaneous_ and the _voluntary_ operation of the imaginative power;

in the former case, there is no voluntary effort of selection,

combination, etc., but images arise independently of any desire or

choice of ours, by the laws of suggestion; and this he holds to be

the most frequent operation of the faculty. In the case of voluntary

imagination, which is attended with desire, this desire is the

prominent thing, and serves to keep the conception of the subject

before the mind, in consequence of which, a variety of associated

conceptions follow, by the laws of suggestion, in regular train. Of

these suggested conceptions and images, some, we approve, others, we

do not; the former, by virtue of our approval, become more lively and

permanent, while the latter pass away. Thus, without any direct effort

or power of the will to combine and separate these various conceptions,

they shape themselves according to our approval and desire, in

obedience to the ordinary laws of suggestion.

_Of Smith._--_Sydney Smith_ regards imagination in much the same

light--a faculty in which association plays the principal part,

assisted by judgment, taste, etc., amounting, in fact, to much the same

thing that we call invention; the process by which a poet constructs a

drama, or a machinist a steam-engine, being essentially the same.

_Of Wayland and Upham._--_Wayland_, in common with most of the

authors already cited, makes imagination a complex faculty, involving

abstraction, and association; "the power by which, from simple

conceptions already existing in the mind, we form complex wholes or

images." Some form of abstraction necessarily precedes the exercise

of this power. The different elements of a conception must be first

mentally severed before we can reunite them in a new conception. "It is

this power of reuniting the several elements of a conception at will,

that is, properly, imagination. Imagination may then be designated the

power of combination." _Upham_ takes the same view. The same view,

essentially, is also given by _Amandè Jacques_, a French writer of

distinction.

_View of Tissot._--_Tissot_, as also many of the German philosophers,

gives imagination the double province of recalling sensible intuitions,

objects of sight, such as we have known them, and also of conceiving

objects altogether differently disposed from our original perceptions

of them, varied from the reality. The former they call imagination

_reproductive_, the latter, _creative_. That form of the imagination

which is purely spontaneous, in distinction from the voluntary, they

term fancy.

_Of Coleridge and Mahan._--_Coleridge_, followed by _Mahan_, regards

imagination as the power which recombines the several elements of

thought into conceptions, which conform not to _mere existences_,

but to _certain fundamental ideas in the mind itself_, ideas of the

beautiful, sublime, etc.

_These Definitions agree in what._--These definitions, it will be

perceived, with scarcely an exception make imagination to be a complex

faculty, and regard it as merely _the power of combining_, in new

forms, the various elements of thought already in the mind. The

correctness of each of these ideas has been already discussed.

INTELLECTUAL FACULTIES.

PART THIRD.

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.

_Office of this Power._--We have thus far treated of that power of the

mind by which it takes cognizance of objects as directly presented to

sense, and also of that by which it represents to itself former objects

of cognition in their absence. But a large portion of our knowledge and

of our mental activity does not fall under either of these divisions.

There is a class of mental operations which differs from the former, in

that they do not give us directly sensations or perceptions of things,

do not present objects themselves; and from the latter, in that they

do not represent to the thought absent objects of perception; which

differ from both, in that they deal not with the things themselves, but

with the properties and relations of things--not with the concrete, but

with the abstract and general. This class of operations, to distinguish

it from the preceding classes, we have named, in our analysis, the

_reflective power_ of the mind. It comprises a large part of our mental

activity.

_Specific Character._--The form of mental activity which is

characteristic of this faculty, is the perception of relations, that

which Dr. Brown calls _relative suggestion_, but which we should

prefer to term _relative conception_. The mind is so constituted

that when distinct objects of thought are presented, it conceives at

once the notion of certain relations existing between those objects.

One is larger, one smaller, one is here, the other there, one is

a part in relation to a whole, some are like, others unlike each

other. The several relations that may exist and fall under the notice

of this power of the mind are too many to be easily enumerated.

The more important are, position, resemblance, proportion, degree,

comprehension. All these may, perhaps, by a sufficiently minute

analysis, be resolved into one--that of comprehension, or the relation

of a whole to its parts.

_Comprehensive of several Processes._--The faculty now under

consideration will, on careful investigation, be found to underlie

and comprehend several mental processes usually ranked as distinct

operations and faculties of the mind, but which are at most only so

many forms of the general power of relative conception. Such are

the mental operations usually known as _judgment_, _abstraction_,

_generalization_, and _reasoning_. Of these, and their relation to the

general faculty comprehensive of all, we shall have occasion to speak

further as we proceed.

_Two Modes of Operation._--As the relations of object to object may all

be comprised under the general category of comprehension, or the whole

and its parts, there are manifestly two modes or processes in which

the reflective faculty may put forth its activity. It may combine the

several parts or elements to form a complex whole, or it may divide the

complex whole into its several parts and elements. In the one case, it

works from the parts, as already resolved, to the whole; in the other,

from the whole, as already combined, to the parts. The one is the

compositive or synthetic, the other, the analytic or divisive process.

Each will claim our attention.

CHAPTER I.

THE SYNTHETIC PROCESS--GENERALIZATION.

§ I.--NATURE OF THE SYNTHETIC PROCESS.

_Our Conceptions often Complex._--If we examine attentively the various

notions or conceptions of the mind, we find that a large part of them

are in a sense complex--comprising, in a word, a certain aggregate of

properties, which, taken together, constitute our conception of the

object. Thus, my notion of table, or chair, or desk, is made up of

several conceptions, of form, size, material, color, hardness, weight,

use, etc., etc., all which, taken together, constitute my notion of the

object thus designated.

_Originally given as discrete._--These several elements that enter into

the composition of our conceptions of objects, it is further to be

noticed, are, in the first instance, given us in perception, not as a

complex whole, but as discrete elements. Thus, sight gives us form and

color; touch gives us extension, hardness, smoothness, etc.; muscular

resistance gives us weight, and so, by the various senses, we gather

the several properties which make up our cognizance of the object, and

which, taken together, constitute our conception of it.

_Conceptions of Classes._--But a large part of our conceptions, if we

carefully observe the operations of our own minds, are not particular,

but general, not of individual objects, but of classes of objects. Of

this, any one may satisfy himself on a little reflection. How are these

conceptions formed?

_Such Conceptions, how formed._--The process of forming a general

conception, I take to be this: The several elements that compose our

conception of an individual object, being originally presented, as

we have already said, one by one, in the discrete, and not in the

concrete, it is of course in our power to conceive of any one of these

elements by itself. No new power or faculty is needed for this. By the

usual laws of suggestion any one of these elements may be presented

to the mind, distinct from those with which, in perception, it is

associated, and as such it may be the object of attention and thought.

I may thus conceive of the color, the form, the size, or the fragrance

of a flower.

_Extension of the Process to other Objects._--It is of the form, color,

etc., of some particular flower, as yet, however, and not of form and

color in general, that I conceive. Suppose, now, that other flowers

are presented to my notice, possessing the same form and color, for

example, red. Presently I observe other objects, besides flowers, that

are of the same color--horses, cows, tables, books, cloths. As the

field of observation enlarges, still other objects are added to the

list, until that which I first conceived of as the peculiar property

of a single flower, the rose, and of a single specimen, no longer

is appropriated in my thoughts to any individual object or class of

objects, but becomes a general conception. It is an abstraction and

also a generalization; an abstraction because it no longer denotes or

connotes any individual object, but stands before the mind as simple,

pure quality, red, or redness; a generalization inasmuch as it is a

quality pertaining equally to a great variety of objects.

_The Process carried still further._--Having thus obtained the general

conception of red, and, in like manner, of blue, violet, yellow,

indigo, orange, etc., etc., I may carry the process still further, and

form a conception more general than either, and which shall include

all these. These are all varieties denoting the certain peculiarity of

appearance which external objects present to the eye. Fixing my thought

upon this, their common characteristic, I no longer conceive of red, or

blue, or violet, as such, but of color in general.

In like manner, I observe the properties of different

triangles--right-angled, obtuse-angled, acute-angled, equilateral,

isosceles. I leave out of view whatever is peculiar to each of these

varieties, retaining only what is common to them all--the property of

three-sidedness; and my conception is now a general one--triangle.

It is in this manner that we form the conceptions expressed by such

terms as animal, man, virtue, form, beauty, and the like. A large

proportion of the words in ordinary use, are of this sort. They are the

names or expressions of abstract, general, conceptions: abstract, in

that they do not relate to any individual object; general, in that they

comprehend, and are equally applicable to a great variety of objects.

_Process of Classification._--The process of _classification_ is

essentially the same with that by which we form general abstract

conceptions. Observing different objects, I find that they resemble

each other in certain respects, while in others they differ. Objects

A, B, and C, differ, for instance, in form, and size, and weight, and

fragrance, but agree in some other respect, as in color. On the ground

of this resemblance, I class them together in my conceptions. In so

doing, I leave out of view all other peculiarities, the points in which

they differ, and take into account only the one circumstance in which

they agree. In the very act of forming a class, I have formed a general

conception, which lies at the basis of that classification.

_Tendency of the Mind._--The tendency of the mind to group individual

objects together on the ground of perceived resemblances, is very

strong, and must be regarded as one of the universal and instinctive

propensities of our nature, one of the laws of mental action. As

we have already remarked, respecting general abstract terms, a

large portion of the language of ordinary life is the language of

classification. The words which constitute by far the greater part of

the names of things, are common nouns, that is, names of classes.

The names of individual objects are comparatively few. Adjectives,

specifying the qualities of objects, denote groups or classes

possessing that common quality. Adverbs qualifying verbs or adjectives,

designate varieties or classes of action and of quality. Indeed, the

very existence of language as a medium of communication, and means of

expression, involves and depends upon this tendency of the mind to

class together, and then to designate by a common noun, objects diverse

in reality, but agreeing in some prominent points of resemblance. In no

other way would language be possible to man, since, to designate each

individual object by a name peculiar to itself, would be an undertaking

altogether impracticable.

_Rudeness of the earlier Attempts._--The first efforts of the mind

at the process of classification are, doubtless, rude and imperfect.

The infancy of the individual, and the infancy of nations and races,

are, in this respect, alike; objects are grouped roughly and in the

mass, specific differences are overlooked, and individuals differing

widely and essentially are thrown into the same class, on the ground

of some observed and striking resemblance. As observation becomes more

minute, and the mind advances in culture and power of discrimination,

these ruder generalizations are either abandoned or subdivided into

genera and species, and the process assumes a scientific form. What

was at first mere classification, becomes now, in the strictest sense,

_generalization_.

_Scientific Classification._--Classification, however scientific, is

still essentially the process already described. We observe a number of

individuals, for example, of our own species. Certain resemblances and

differences strike us. Some have straight hair, and copper complexion,

others, woolly hair, and black complexion, others, again, differ from

the preceding in both these respects. Neglecting minor and specific

differences, we fix our attention on the grand points of resemblance,

and thus form a general conception, which embraces whatever

characteristics belong, in common, to the several individuals which

thus resemble each other. To this general conception we appropriate the

name Indian, Negro, Caucasian, etc., which henceforth represent to us

so many classes or varieties of the human race. Bringing these classes

again into comparison with each other, we observe certain points of

resemblance between them, and form a conception still more general,

that of man.

_Further Illustration of the same Process._--In this way the genera

and species of science are formed. On grounds of observed resemblance,

we class together, for example, certain animals. They differ from

each other in color, size, and many other respects, but agree in

certain characteristics which we find invariable, as, for example, the

form of the skeleton, number of vertebræ, number and form of teeth,

arrangement of organs of digestion. We give a name to the class thus

formed--carnivora, rodentia, etc. The class thus formed and named,

we term the genus, while the minor differences mark the subordinate

varieties or species included under the genus. In the same way,

comparing other animals, we form other genera. Bringing the several

genera also into comparison, we find them likewise agreeing in certain

broad resemblances. These points of agreement, in turn, constitute

the elements of a conception and classification still wider and more

comprehensive than the former. Under this new conception I unite the

previous genera, and term them all mammalia. And so on to the highest

and widest generalizations of science.

Having formed our classification we refer any new specimen to some

one of the classes already formed, and the more complete our original

survey, the more correct is this process of individual arrangement.

It is remarked by Mr. Stewart, that the islanders of the Pacific, who

had never seen any species of quadruped, except the hog and the goat,

naturally inferred, when they saw a cow, that she must belong to one

or the other of these classes. The limitations of human knowledge may

lead the wisest philosopher into essentially the same error.

It is in the way now described that we form genera, and species, and

the various classes into which, for purposes of science, we divide

the multitude of objects which are presented in nature, and which,

but for this faculty, would appear to us but a confused and chaotic

assemblage without number, order, or arrangement. The individuals

exist in nature--not the classes, and orders, and species: these are

the creations of the human mind, conceptions of the brain, results of

that process of thought now described as the reflective faculty in its

synthetic form.

_Importance of this Process._--It is evident at a glance that this

process lies at the foundation of all science. Had we no power of

generalization--had we no power of separating, in our thoughts, the

quality from the substance to which it pertains, of going beyond the

concrete to the abstract, beyond the particular to the general--could

we deal only with individual existences, neither comparison nor

classification would be possible; each particular individual object

would be a study to us by itself, nor would any amount of diligence

ever carry us beyond the very alphabet of knowledge.

_Existence of general Conceptions questioned._--Important as this

faculty may seem when thus regarded, it has been questioned by some

whether, after all, we have, in fact, or can have, any general abstract

ideas; whether triangle, man, animal, etc., suggest in reality any

thing more to the mind than simply some particular man, or triangle,

or animal, which we take to represent the whole class to which the

individual belongs.

There can be no question, however, that we do distinguish in our minds

the thought of some particular man, as Mr. A, or some particular sort

of man, as black man, white man, from the thought suggested by the term

man; and the thought of an isosceles or right-angled triangle, from

the thought suggested by the unqualified term triangle. They do not

mean the same thing; they have not the same value to our minds. Now

there are a great multitude of such general terms in every language,

they have a definite meaning and value, and we know _what_ they mean.

It must be then that we have general abstract ideas, or general

conceptions.

_Argument of the Nominalist._--But the nominalist replies. The term

man, or triangle, awakens in your mind, in reality and directly, only

the idea of some particular individual or triangle, and this stands as

a sort of _type_ or _representation_ of other like individuals of whom

you do not definitely think as such and so many. I reply, this cannot

be shown; but even if it were so, the very language of the objection

implies the power of having general conceptions. If the individual man

or triangle thought of stands as a type or representation, as it is

said, of a great number of similar men and triangles, then is there

not already in my mind, prior to this act of representation, the _idea

of a class of objects_, arranged according to the law of resemblance,

in other words, a _general abstract idea_ or _conception_? If I had

not already formed such an idea, the particular object presented to my

thoughts could not stand as type or representation of any such thing,

or of any thing beyond itself, for the simple reason that there would

be nothing of the sort to represent.

_Further Reply._--Besides, there is a large class of general terms to

which this reasoning of the nominalist would not at all apply--such

terms as virtue, vice, knowledge, wisdom, truth, time, space--which

manifestly do not awaken in the mind the thought of any particular

virtue or vice, any particular truth, any definite time, any definite

space, but a general notion under which all particular instances may be

included. To this the nominalist will perhaps reply, that in such cases

we are really thinking, after all, of mere _names_ or _signs_, as when

we use the algebraic formula _x-y_, a mere term of convenience, having

indeed some value, we do not know precisely what, _itself_ the terminus

and object of our thought for the time being. In such cases the mind

stops, he would say, with the term itself, and does not go beyond it

to conjure up a general conception for it. So it is with the terms

virtue, vice; so with the general terms, class, species, genus, man,

animal, triangle; they are mere collective terms, _signs_, formulas of

convenience, to which you attach no more meaning than to the expression

_x-y_. If you would find their meaning and attach any definite idea

to them, you must resolve them into the _particular_ objects, the

particular vices, virtues, etc., which go to make up the class.

I reply to all this, you are still classifying, still forming a general

conception, the expression of which is your so called formula, _x-y_,

alias virtue, man, and the like.

§ II.--PROVINCE AND RELATION OF SEVERAL TERMS EMPLOYED TO DENOTE, IN

PART, OR AS A WHOLE, THIS POWER OF THE MIND.

We are now prepared to consider the proper province and relation of

several terms frequently employed, with considerable latitude and

diversity of meaning, to denote, in part, or as a whole, the process

now described. Such are the terms _abstraction_, _generalization_,

_classification_, and _judgment_.

I. ABSTRACTION.

_Term often used in a Wide Sense._--This term is frequently employed

to denote the entire synthetic process as now described--the power

of forming abstract general conceptions, and of classifying objects

according to those conceptions. It is thus employed by Stewart,

Wayland, Mahan, and others. There is, perhaps, no objection to this use

of the word, except that it is manifestly a departure from the strict

and proper sense of the term.

_More limited Sense._--There is another and more common use of the term

abstraction, which gives it a more limited sense. As thus employed,

it denotes that act of the mind by which we fix our attention on some

one of the several parts, properties, or qualities of an object, to

the exclusion of all the other parts or properties which go to make up

the complex whole. In consequence of this exclusive direction of the

thoughts to that one element, the other elements or properties are lost

sight of, drop out of the account, and there remains in our present

conception only that one item which we have singled out from the rest.

This is denominated, in common language, _abstraction_. Such is the

common idea and definition of that term. It is Mr. Upham's definition.

_This not really Abstraction._--Whether this, again, is the true idea

of abstraction, is, to say the least, questionable. When I think of

the cover of a book, the handle of a door, the spring of a watch,

in distinction from the other parts which make up a complex whole,

I am hardly exercising the power of abstract thought; certainly no

new, distinct faculty is requisite for this, but simply attention to

one among several items or objects of perception. Hardly ever can it

be called analysis, with Wayland. It is the simple direction of the

thought to some one out of several objects presented. A red rose is

before me. I may think of its color exclusively, in distinction from

its form and fragrance; that is, of the redness of this particular

rose, this given surface before me. The object of my thought is

purely a sensible object. I have not abstracted it from the sensible

individual object to which it belongs. It is in no sense an abstract

idea, a pure conception. There has been nothing done which is not

done in any case where one thing, rather than another of a group or

assemblage of objects, is made the object of attention.

_The true Nature of Abstraction._--But suppose now that instead of

thinking of the redness of this rose in particular, I think of the

color red in general, without reference to the rose or any other

substance; or, to carry the process further, of color in general,

without specifying in my thought any particular color, evidently I

am dealing now with abstractions. I have in my thought _drawn away_

(abstraho) the color from the substance to which it belongs, from

all substance, and it stands forth by itself a pure conception, an

_abstraction_, having, as such, no existence save in my mind, but

there it does exist a definite object of contemplation. The form of

mental activity now described, I should call _abstraction_. It is not

necessary, perhaps, to assign it a place as a distinct faculty of

the mind. It is, in reality, a part, and an important part, of the

synthetic process already described. But it is not the whole of that

process, and the term abstraction should not, therefore, in strict

propriety, at least as now defined, be applied as a general term to

designate that class of mental operations. The synthetic process

involves something more than mere abstraction; viz.:

II. CLASSIFICATION AS DISTINGUISHED FROM GENERALIZATION.

_Classification._--When the general idea or conception has been formed

in the mind, we proceed to bring together and arrange, on the basis of

that general conception, whatever individual objects seem to us to fall

under that general rule. This we call classification. Thus, forming

first the abstract, or general conception red, we bring together in our

thought a variety of objects to which this conception is applicable,

as red horses, red flowers, red books, red tables, etc., etc., thus

forming classes of objects on the ground of this common property. The

difference between _classification_ and _generalization_, in so far as

they are not synonymous, I take to be simply this, that in the former

we group and arrange objects according to no general law, but mere

appearance or resemblance, often, therefore, on fanciful or arbitrary

grounds while in the latter case, we proceed according to some general

and scientific principle or law of classification, making only those

distinctions the basis of our arrangement which are founded in nature,

and are at once invariable and essential.

III. JUDGMENT AS RELATED TO CLASSIFICATION.

_Judgment._--We have already spoken of that specific process by which,

having formed a given conception, or a given rule, we bring the

individual objects of perception and thought under that rule, or reject

them from it, according as they agree or disagree with the conception

we have formed. The process itself we have called classification. The

mental activity thus employed is technically termed _judgment_--the

power of subsuming, under a given notion or conception, the particular

objects which properly belong there. Thus, the botanist, as he meets

with new plants, and the ornithologist, as he discovers new varieties

of birds, refers them at once to the family, the genus, the species to

which they belong. His mind runs over the generic types of the several

classes and orders into which all plants and birds are divided, he

perceives that his new specimen answers to the characteristic features

of one of these families, or classes, and not to those of the others,

and he accordingly assigns it a place under one, and excludes it from

the rest. So doing, he exercises judgment. All classification involves

and depends upon this power; closely viewed, the action of the mind, in

the exercise of this power, amounts simply to this, the perception of

agreement or disagreement between two objects of thought. In the case

supposed, the genus or species, as described by those who have treated

of the particular science, is one of the objects contemplated; the next

specimen of plant or bird, as carefully observed and studied, is the

other. These two objects of thought are compared; the one is perceived

to agree or not to agree with the other; and on the ground of this

agreement or disagreement, the classification is made. This perception

of agreement in such a case is an act of judgment, so called.

_Not a distinct Faculty._--The form of mental activity now described,

is hardly to be ranked as a distinct faculty of the mind, although it

has been not unfrequently so treated by writers on mental science.

It enters more or less fully into all mental operations; like

consciousness and attention, it is, to some extent, involved in the

exercise of all the faculties, and cannot, therefore, be ranked,

with propriety, as coördinate with them. It is not confined to the

investigations of science, but is an activity constantly exercised

by all men. We have in our minds a multitude of general conceptions,

the result of previous observation and thought. Every moment some new

object presents itself. With the quickness of thought, we find its

place among the conceptions already in the mind: it agrees with this,

it is incompatible with that, it belongs with the one, it is excluded

from the other. This is the form of most of our thinking; indeed,

no small part of our mental activity consists in this perception of

agreements and disagreements, and in the referring of some particular

object of experience, some individual conception, to the class or

general conception under which it properly belongs. The expression of

such a judgment is a proposition. We think in propositions, which are

only judgments mentally expressed. We discourse in propositions, which

are judgments orally expressed. We cannot frame a proposition which

does not affirm, or deny, or call in question, something of something.

_Judgment in relation to Knowledge._--Are judgment and knowledge

identical? Is all knowledge only some form of judgment? So Kant,

Tissot, and other writers of that school, would affirm. "Judgment is

the principal operation of the mind, since it is concerned in all

knowledge properly so called." "All our knowledges are judgments. To

know, is to distinguish, and to distinguish, is at once to affirm,

and to deny." Such was also Dr. Reid's doctrine, in opposition to

Locke, who distinguished between knowledge and judgment. Reid, on the

contrary, regards knowledge as only one class of judgments, namely,

those about which we are most positive and certain. According to this

view, judgment seems to cover the whole field of mental activity.

Sir William Hamilton thus regards it. We cannot even experience a

sensation, he maintains, without the mental affirmation or judgment

that we are thus and thus affected.

_Common Speech distinguishes them._--It must be admitted, however, that

in common use there is a distinction between knowing and judging, the

one implying the comparative certainty of the thing known, the other

implying some room and ground for doubt, the existence of opinion and

belief, rather than of positive knowledge. The word itself, both in its

primitive signification, and its derivation, indicating, as it does,

the decision by legal tribunal of doubtful cases, favors this usage.

That an exercise of judgment is, strictly speaking, involved in all

knowledge, is, nevertheless true, since, to know that a thing is thus

and thus, and not otherwise, is to distinguish it from other things,

and that is to judge.

§ III.--HISTORICAL SKETCH.

_The Realist and Nominalist Controversy._

_The Question at Issue._--No question has been more earnestly and even

more bitterly discussed, in the whole history of philosophical inquiry,

than the point at issue between the Realist and Nominalist, as to what

is the precise object of thought when we form an abstract general

conception. When I use the term _man_, for example, is it a mere

_name_, and nothing more, or is there a _real existence_ corresponding

to that name, or is it neither a mere name on the one hand, nor, on

the other, a real existence, but a conception of my own mind, which

is the object of thought? These three answers can be made, these

three doctrines held, and essentially only these three. Each has been

actually maintained with great ability and acuteness. The names by

which the three doctrines are respectively designated are, Realism,

Nominalism, and Conceptualism.

_Early History of Realism._--Of these doctrines, the former, Realism,

was the first to develop itself. To say nothing of the ancients,

we find traces of it in modern philosophy, as early as the ninth

century. Indeed, it would seem to have been the prevalent doctrine,

though not clearly and sharply defined; a belief, as Tissot has well

expressed it, "spontaneous, blind, and without self-consciousness."

John Scotus Erigena, and St. Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, both

philosophers of note, together with many others of less distinction,

in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries, were prominent Realists.

The Platonic view may, in fact, be said to have prevailed down to that

period. The early fathers of the Christian Church were strongly tinged

with Platonism, and the Realistic theory accordingly very naturally

engrafted itself upon the philosophy of the middle ages. The logical

and the ontological, existence as mere thought of the mind, and

existence as reality, were not distinguished by the leading minds of

those centuries. The reality of the thought as thought, and the reality

of an actual existence, corresponding to that thought, were confounded

the one with the other. As the rose of which I conceive has existence

apart from my conception, so man, plant, tree, animal, are realities,

and not mere conceptions of the mind.

_Rise of Nominalism._--It was not till nearly the close of the

eleventh century, that the announcement of the opposite doctrine was

distinctly made, in opposition to the prevalent views. This was done

by Roscelinus, who maintained that universal and general ideas have no

objective reality; that the only reality is that of the individuals

comprised under these genera; that there are no such existences as

man, animal, beauty, virtue, etc.; that generality is only a pure form

given by the mind to the matter of its ideas, a pure abstraction, a

mere name.

In this we have the opposite extreme of Realism. If the Realist went

too far in affirming the objective reality of his conception, the

Nominalist erred on the other in overlooking its subjective reality as

a mode or state of the mind, and reducing it to a mere name.

_Dispute becomes theological._--The dispute now, unfortunately,

but almost inevitably, became theological. The Realist accused the

Nominalist of virtually denying the doctrine of the Trinity, inasmuch

as, according to him, the idea of Trinity is only an abstraction, and

there is no Being corresponding to that idea. To this, Roscelinus

replied, with at least equal force and truth, that on the same ground

the Realist denied the doctrine of divine unity, by holding a doctrine

utterly incompatible with it. Roscelinus, however was defeated, if not

in argument, at least by numbers and authority, and was condemned by

council at the close of the eleventh century.

_Rise of Conceptualism._--It was about this time, that Abelard, pupil

of Roscelinus, proposed a modified view of the matter, avoiding the

extreme position both of the Realist and the Nominalist party, and

allowing the _subjective_, but not the _objective_ reality, of general

ideas. This is substantially the doctrine of Conceptualism. The general

abstract idea of man, rose, mountain, etc., has indeed no existence or

reality as an external object, nor is there among external objects any

thing corresponding to this idea; but it has, nevertheless, a reality

and existence as a thought, a conception of my mind.

_Prevalence of Realism during the twelfth and thirteenth

Centuries._--The doctrine, as thus modified, gained some prevalence,

but was condemned by successive councils and by the Pope. Sustained by

such authority, as well as by the names of men greatly distinguished

for learning and philosophy, Realism prevailed over its antagonists

during the latter part of the twelfth and the whole of the thirteenth

century. The fourteenth witnessed again the rise and spread of the

Conceptualist theory, under the leadership of Occam. The dispute was

bitter, leading to strife and even blood.

_Later History of the Discussion._--In the seventeenth century we find

Hobbes, Hume, and Berkley advocating the doctrine of the Nominalists,

while Price maintains the side of Realism. Locke and Reid were

Conceptualists, Stewart a Nominalist.

CHAPTER II.

THE ANALYTIC PROCESS--REASONING.

_Relation to the Synthetic Process._--We have thus far considered that

form or process of the reflective faculty, by which we combine the

elements of individual complex conceptions, to form general conceptions

and classes, on the basis of perceived agreements and differences.

This we have termed the synthetic process. The divisive or analytic

process remains to be considered. This, as the name denotes, is, so

far as regards the method of procedure, the opposite of the former.

We no longer put together, but take apart, no longer combine the many

to form one, but from the general complex whole, as already formed

and announced, we evolve the particular which lies included in it.

This process comprehends what is generally called analysis, and also

reasoning.

In discussing this most important mental process, we shall have

occasion to treat more particularly of its _nature_, its _forms_, and

its _modes_.

§ I.--THE NATURE OF THE PROCESS.

_Conceptions often Complex._--It was remarked, in speaking of our

conceptions, that many of them are complex. My notion of a table, for

example, is that of an object possessing certain qualities, as form,

size, weight, color, hardness, each of which qualities is known to me

by a distinct act of perception, if not by a distinct sense, and each

of which is capable, accordingly, of being distinctly, and by itself,

an object of thought or conception. The understanding combines these

several conceptions, and thus forms the complex notion of a table. The

notion thus formed, is neither more nor less than the aggregate, or

combination of the several elementary conceptions already indicated.

When I am called on to define my complex conception, I can only specify

these several elementary notions which go to make up my idea of the

table. I can say it is an object round, or square, of such or such

magnitude, that it is of such or such material, of this or that color,

and designed for such and such uses.

_Virtual Analysis of complex Conceptions._--Now when I affirm that the

table is round, I state one of the several qualities of the object so

called, one of the several parts of the complex notion. It is a partial

analysis of that complex conception. I separate from the whole, one of

its component parts, and then affirm that it sustains the relation of a

part to the comprehensive whole. The separation is a virtual analysis.

The affirmation is an act of judgment expressed in the form of a

proposition. Every proposition is, in fact, a species of synthesis,

and implies the previous analysis of the conception, or comprehensive

whole, whose component parts are thus brought together. Thus, when I

say snow is white, man is mortal, the earth is round, I simply affirm

of the object designated, one of the qualities which go to make up my

conception of that object. Every such statement or proposition involves

an analysis of the complex conception which forms the subject of

the proposition, while the thing predicated or affirmed is, that the

quality designated--the result of such analysis--is one of the parts

constituting that complex whole.

_Reasoning, what._--Reasoning is simply a series of such propositions

following in consecutive order, in which this analysis is carried

out more or less minutely. Thus, when I affirm that man is mortal,

I resolve my complex notion of man into its component parts, among

which I find the attribute of mortality, and this attribute I then

proceed to affirm of the subject, man. I simply evolve, and distinctly

announce, what was involved in the term man. But this term expresses

not merely a complex, but a general notion. Resolving it as such into

its individual elements, I find it to comprehend among the rest, a

certain person, Socrates, _e. g._, and the result of this analysis I

state in the proposition, Socrates is a man. But on the principle that

what is true of a class must be true of the individuals composing it,

it follows that the mortality already predicated of the class, man, is

an attribute of the individual, Socrates. When I affirm, then, that

Socrates is mortal, I announce, in reality, only what was virtually

implied in the first proposition--man is mortal. I have analyzed

the complex general conception, man, have found involved in it the

particular conception, mortal, and the individual conception, Socrates,

and by a subsequent synthesis have brought together these results in

the proposition, Socrates is mortal, a proposition which sustains to

the affirmation, man is mortal, the simple relation of a part to the

whole.

_Reasoning and Analysis, how related._--This analytic process, as

applied to propositions, for the purpose of evolving from a complex

general statement, whatever is involved or virtually contained in it,

is called reasoning; as applied not to propositions, but to simple

conceptions merely, it is known as simple analysis. The psychological

process is, in either case, one and the same.

_Illustration by Dr. Brown._--Dr. Brown has well illustrated the nature

of the reasoning process in its relation to the general proposition

with which we set out, by reference to the germ enclosed in the bulb

of the plant. "The truths at which we arrive, by repeated intellectual

analysis, may be said to resemble the premature plant which is to

be found enclosed in that which is itself enclosed in the bulb, or

seed which we dissect. We must carry on our dissection more and more

minutely to arrive at each new germ; but we do arrive at one after

the other, and when our dissection is obliged to stop, we have reason

to suppose that still finer instruments, and still finer eyes, might

prosecute the discovery almost to infinity. It is the same in the

discovery of the truths of reasoning. The stage at which one inquirer

stops is not the limit of analysis in reference to the object, but the

limit of the analytic power of the individual. Inquirer after inquirer

discovers truths which were involved in truths formerly admitted by

us, without our being able to perceive what was comprehended in our

admission.... There may be races of beings, at least we can conceive

of races of beings, whose senses would enable them to perceive the

ultimate embryo plant enclosed in its innumerable series of preceding

germs; and there may, perhaps, be created powers of some higher order,

as we know that there is one Eternal Power, able to feel, in a single

comprehensive thought, all those truths, of which the generations of

mankind are able, by successive analyses, to discover only a few, that

are, perhaps, to the great truths which they contain, only as the

flower, which is blossoming before us, is to that infinity of future

blossoms enveloped in it, with which, in ever renovated beauty, it is

to adorn the summers of other ages."

_Inquiry suggested._--But here the inquiry may arise. How happens it

that, if the reasonings which conduct to the profoundest and most

important truths, are but successive and continued analyses of our

previous conceptions, we should have admitted those preceding truths

and conceptions without a suspicion of the results involved in them?

The reason is probably to be found, as Dr. Brown suggests, in the fact

that in the process of generalizing we form classes and orders before

distinguishing the minuter varieties; we are struck with some obvious

points of agreement which lead us to give a common place and a common

term to the objects of such resemblance, and this very circumstance

of agreement which we perceive, may involve other circumstances which

we do not at the time perceive, but which are disclosed on minute and

subsequent attention. "It is as if we knew the situations and bearings

of all the great cities in Europe, and could lay down, with most

accurate precision, their longitude and latitude. To know thus much,

is to know that a certain space must intervene between them, but it

is not to know what that space contains. The process of reasoning, in

the discoveries which it gives, is like that topographic inquiry which

fills up the intervals of our map, placing here a forest, there a long

extent of plains, and beyond them a still longer range of mountains,

till we see, at last, innumerable objects connected with each other in

that space which before presented to us only a few points of mutual

bearing."

_The Position further argued from the Nature of the Syllogism._--That

all deductive reasoning, at least, is essentially what has now been

described, an analytic process, is evident from the fact that the

syllogism to which all such argument may be reduced, is based upon

the admitted principle that whatever is true of the class, is true of

all the individuals comprehended under it. Something is affirmed of a

given class; an individual or individuals are then affirmed to belong

to that class; and on the strength of the principle just stated, it is

thereupon affirmed that what was predicated of the class is also true

of the individual. Nothing can be plainer than that in this process we

are working from the given whole to the comprehended parts, from the

complex conception stated at the outset, to the truths that lie hidden

and involved in it. In other words, it is a process of analysis which

we thus perform, and as all reasoning, when scientifically stated, is

brought under this form, it follows that all reasoning is essentially

analytic in its nature.

_Inductive Reasoning no Exception._--It may be supposed that the

inductive method of reasoning is an exception to this rule, inasmuch

as we proceed, in that case, not from the general to the particular,

but the reverse. Whatever may be true of deduction, is not induction

essentially a synthetic process? So it might, at first, appear. I have

observed, for example, that several animals of a particular species,

sheep, for instance, chew the cud. Having observed this in several

instances, I presently conclude that the same is true of the whole

class to which these several individuals belong, in other words, that

all sheep are ruminant. Extending my observation further, I find other

species of animals likewise chewing the cud. I observe, moreover,

that every animal, possessing this characteristic, is distinguished

by the circumstance of having horns and cloven hoofs; I find, so far

as my observation goes, the two things always associated, and hence

am led, on observing the one, immediately to infer the other. The

proposition that was at the outset particular, now becomes general,

viz., all animals that have horns and cloven hoofs are ruminant. Is

the conclusion at which I thus arrive, involved in the premiss with

which I start? Is the fact that all horned and cloven-footed animals

are ruminant, implied and contained in the fact that _some_ horned and

cloven-footed animals, that is, so many as I have observed, are so?

_Even here the Evidence of the Conclusion lies in the Premiss._--A

little reflection will convince us that these questions are to be

answered in the affirmative. If the conclusion be itself correct and

true, then it is a truth involved in the previous proposition; for

whatever evidence I have of the truth of my conclusion, that all

animals of this sort are ruminant, is manifestly derived from, and

therefore contained in, the fact that such as I have observed are

so. I have no other evidence in the case supposed. If this evidence

is insufficient, then the conclusion is not established. If it be

sufficient, then the conclusion which it establishes, is derived from

and involved in it.

The argument fully and scientifically stated, runs thus:

A, B, C, animals observed, are ruminant. But A, B, C, represent the

class Z to which they belong.

Therefore, class Z is ruminant.

Admitting now the correctness of my observation in respect to A, B, C,

that they are ruminant, the argument turns entirely upon the second

proposition that A, B, C, represent the class Z, so that what is true

of them in this respect, is true of the whole class. If A, B, C, _do_

represent the class Z, then to say that A, B, C, are ruminant, is to

say that Z is so. The one is contained in the other. If they do _not_,

then the conclusion is itself groundless, and there is no occasion to

inquire in what it is contained, or whether it is contained in any

thing. It is no longer a valid argument and therefore cannot be brought

in evidence that some reasoning is not analytic.

_What sort of Propositions constitute Reasoning._--It is hardly

necessary to state that not any and every series of propositions

constitute reasoning. The propositions must be consecutive, following

in a certain order, and not only so, but must be in such a manner

connected with and related to each other, that the truth of the final

proposition shall be manifest from the propositions which precede. To

affirm that snow is white, that gold is more valuable than silver, and

that virtue is the only sure road to happiness, is to state a series

of propositions, each one of which is true, but which have no such

relation to each other as to constitute an argument. The truth of the

last proposition does not follow from the truth of the preceding ones.

§ II.--RELATION OF JUDGMENT AND REASONING.

_Judgment Synthetic, Reasoning Analytic._--The relation of judgment and

reasoning to each other becomes evident from what has been said of the

nature of the reasoning process. Judgment is essentially synthetic.

Reasoning, essentially analytic. The former combines, affirms one thing

to be true of another; the latter divides, declares one truth to be

contained in another. All reasoning involves judgment, but all judgment

is not reasoning. The several propositions that constitute a chain of

reasoning, are so many distinct judgments. Reasoning is the evolution

or derivation of one of these judgments, viz., the conclusion, from

another, viz., the premiss. It is the process by which we arrive at

some of our judgments.

_Mr. Stewart's View._--Reasoning is frequently defined as a combination

of judgments, in order to reach a result not otherwise obvious. Mr.

Stewart compares our several judgments to the separate blocks of stone

which the builder has prepared, and which lie upon the ground, upon any

one of which a person may elevate himself a slight distance from the

ground; while these same judgments, combined in a process of reasoning,

he likens to those same blocks converted now, by the builder's art,

into a grand staircase leading to the summit of some lofty tower. It is

a simple combination of separate judgments, nor is there any thing in

the last step of the series differing at all in its nature, says Mr.

Stewart, from the first step. Each step is precisely like every other,

and the process of reaching the top is simply a repetition of the act

by which the first step is reached.

_This View called in Question._--It is evident that this position is

not in accordance with the general view which we have maintained of the

nature of the reasoning process. According to this view, reasoning is

not so much a combination as an analysis of judgments; nor is the last

of the several propositions in a chain of argument of the same nature

precisely as the first. It is, like the first, a judgment, but unlike

the first, it is a particular sort of judgment, viz., an inference or

conclusion, a judgment involved in and derived from the former.

In the series of propositions, A is B, B is C, therefore A is C, the

act of mind by which I perceive that A is B, or that B is C, is not

of the same nature with that by which I perceive the consequent truth

that A is C; no mere repetition of the former act would amount to the

latter. There is a new sort of judgment in the latter case, a deduction

from the former. In order to reach it, I must not merely perceive that

A is B, and that B is C, but must also perceive the connection of the

two propositions, and what is involved in them. It is only by bringing

together in the mind these two propositions, that I perceive the new

truth, not otherwise obvious, that A is C, and the state or act of mind

involved in this latter step seems to me a different one from that by

which I reach the former judgments.

§ III.--DIFFERENT KINDS OF REASONING.

_Two Kinds of Truth._--The most natural division is that according to

the subject-matter, or the materials of the work. The truths which

constitute the material of our reasoning process are of two kinds,

_necessary_, and _contingent_. That two straight lines cannot enclose

a space, that the whole is greater than any one of its parts, are

examples of the former. That the earth is an oblate spheroid, moves in

an elliptical orbit, and is attended by one satellite, are examples of

the latter.

_The Difference lies in what._--The difference is not that one is any

_less certain_ than the other, but of the one you cannot conceive the

opposite, of the other you can. That three times three are nine, is no

more true and certain, than that Cæsar invaded Britain, or that the

sun will rise to-morrow a few minutes earlier or later than to-day.

But the one admits of the contrary supposition without absurdity,

the other does not; the one is contingent, the other necessary. Now

these two classes of truths, differing as they do, in this important

particular, admit of, and require, very different methods of reasoning.

The one class is susceptible of _demonstration_, the other admits only

that species of reasoning called _probable_ or _moral_. It must be

remembered, however that when we thus speak we do not mean that this

latter class of truths is deficient in proof; the word probable is not,

as thus used, opposed to _certainty_, but only to _demonstration_. That

there is such a city as Rome, or London, is just as _certain_ as that

the several angles of a triangle are equal to two right-angles; but

the evidence which substantiates the one is of a very different nature

from that of the other. The one can be demonstrated, the other cannot.

The one is an eternal and necessary truth, subject to no contingence,

no possibility of the opposite. The other is of the nature of an event

taking place in time, and dependent on the will of man, and might,

without any absurdity, be supposed not to be as it is.

I. DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING.

_Field of Demonstrative Reasoning._--Its field, as we have seen, is

necessary truth. It is limited, therefore, in its range, takes in only

things abstract, conceptions rather than realities, the relations of

things rather than things themselves, as existences. It is confined

principally, if not entirely, to mathematical truths.

_No degrees of Evidence._--There are no _degrees_ of evidence or

certainty in truths of this nature. Every step follows irresistibly

from the preceding. Every conclusion is inevitable. One demonstration

is as good as another, so far as regards the certainty of the

conclusion, and one is as good as a thousand. It is quite otherwise in

probable reasoning.

_Two Modes of Procedure._--In demonstration, we may proceed directly,

or indirectly; as, _e. g._, in case of two triangles to be proved

equal. I may, by super-position, prove this directly; or I may suppose

them unequal, and proceed to show the absurdity of such a supposition;

or I may make a number of suppositions, one or the other of which

_must_ be true, and then show that all but the one which I wish to

establish are false.

_Force of Mathematical reasoning._--The question arises whence the

peculiar force of mathematical, in distinction from other reasoning?--a

fact observed by every one, but not easily explained: how happens

this, and on what does it depend, this irresistible cogency which

compels our assent? Is it owing to the pains taken to define the terms

employed, and the strict adherence to those definitions? I think not;

for other sciences approximate to mathematics in this, but not to the

cogency of its reasoning. The explanation given by Stewart is certainly

plausible. He ascribes the peculiar force of demonstrative reasoning

to the fact, that the first principles from which it sets out, _i.

e._, its definitions, are _purely hypothetical_, involving no basis or

admixture of facts, and that by simply reasoning strictly upon these

assumed hypotheses the conclusions follow irresistibly. The same thing

would happen in any other science, could we (as we cannot) construct

our definitions to suit ourselves, instead of proceeding upon _facts_

as our data. The same view is ably maintained by other writers.

If this be so, the superior certainty of mathematical, over all other

modes of reasoning, if it does not quite vanish, becomes of much less

consequence than is generally supposed. Its truths are necessary in

no other sense than that certain definitions being assumed, certain

_suppositions_ made, then the certain other things follow, which is no

more than may be said of any science.

_Confirmation of this View._--It may be argued, as a confirmation of

this view, that whenever mathematical reasoning comes to be applied

to sciences involving facts either as the data, or as objects of

investigation, where it is no longer possible to proceed entirely

upon hypothesis, as, _e. g._, when you apply it to mechanics,

physics, astronomy, practical geometry, etc., then it ceases to be

demonstrative, and becomes merely probable reasoning.

_Mathematical reasoning supposed by some to be identical._--It has been

much discussed whether all mathematical reasoning is merely identical,

asserting, in fact, nothing more than that _a=a_; that a given thing

is equivalent to itself, capable of being resolved at last into merely

this. This view has been maintained by Leibnitz, himself one of the

greatest mathematicians, and by many others. It was for a long time the

prevalent doctrine on the Continent. Condillac applies the same to all

reasoning, and Hobbes seems to have had a similar view, _i. e._, that

all reasoning is only so much addition or subtraction. Against this

view Stewart contends that even if the propositions themselves might be

represented by the formula _a=a_, it does not follow that the various

steps of reasoning leading to the conclusion amount merely to that.

A paper written in cipher may be said to be identical with the same

paper as interpreted; but the evidence on which the act of deciphering

proceeds, amounts to something more than the perception of identity.

And further, he denies that the propositions are identical, _e. g._,

even the simple proposition 2×2=4. 2×2 express one set of quantities,

and 4 expresses another, and the proposition that asserts their

equivalence is not identical; it is not saying that the same quantity

is equal to itself, but that two different quantities are equivalent.

II. PROBABLE REASONING.

_Not opposed to Certainty._--It must be borne in mind, as already

stated, that the probability now intended is not opposed to certainty.

That Cæsar invaded Britain is _certain_, but the reasoning which goes

to establish it, is only probable reasoning, because the thing to be

proved is an event in history, contingent therefore, and not capable

of demonstration.

_Sources of Evidence._--Evidence of this kind of truths is derived from

three sources: 1. Testimony; 2. Experience; 3. Analogy.

1. _Evidence of Testimony._

_In itself probable._--This is, à priori, _probable_. We are so

constituted as to be inclined to believe testimony, and it is only when

the incredibility of the witness has been ascertained by sufficient

evidence, that we refuse our assent. The child believes whatever is

told him. The man, long conversant with human affairs, becomes wary,

cautious, suspicious, incredulous. It is remarked by Reid that the

evidence of testimony does not depend altogether on the character of

the witness. If there be no _motive_ for deception, especially if there

be weighty reasons why he should speak truth, or if the narrative be

in itself probable and consistent, and tallies with circumstances, it

is in such cases to be received even from those not of unimpeachable

integrity.

_Limits of Belief._--What are the limits of belief in testimony?

Suppose the character of witnesses to be good, the narrative

self-consistent, the testimony concurrent of various witnesses,

explicit, positive, full, no motive for deception; are we to believe

in that case whatever may be testified? One thing is certain, we do in

fact believe in such cases; we are so constituted. Such is the law of

our nature. Nor can it be shown irrational to yield such assent. It has

been shown by an eminent mathematician that it is always possible to

assign a number of independent witnesses, so great that the falsity of

their concurrent testimony shall be mathematically more improbable, and

so more incredible, than the truth of their statement, _be it what it

may_.

_Case supposed._--Suppose a considerable number of men of undoubted

veracity, should, without concert, and agreeing in the main as to

particulars, all testify, one by one, that they witnessed, on a given

day and hour, some very strange occurrence, as, _e. g._, a ball of

fire, or a form of angelic brightness, hovering in the air, over this

building, or any like unwonted and inexplicable phenomenon. Are we to

withhold or yield our assent? I reply, if the number of witnesses is

large, and the testimony concurrent, and without concert, and no motive

exists for deception, and they are men of known integrity, especially

if they are sane and sober men, not easily imposed upon, I see not

how we can reasonably withhold assent. Their testimony is to be taken

as true testimony, _i. e._, they did really witness the phenomenon

described. The proof becomes stronger or weaker in proportion as the

circumstances now mentioned coexist to a greater or less extent, _i.

e.._, in proportion as there are more or fewer of these concurring and

corroborating circumstances. If there was but a single witness, or if

a number of the witnesses were not of the best character, or if there

were some possible motive for deception, or if they were not altogether

agreed as to important features of the case, so far the testimony would

of course be weakened. But we may always suppose a case so strong that

the falsity of the witnesses would be a greater miracle than the truth

of the story. This is the case with the testimony of the witnesses to

our Saviour's miracles.

_Distinction to be made._--An important distinction is here to be

noticed between the falsity, and the incorrectness, of the witness,

between his intention to deceive, and his being himself deceived.

He may have seen precisely what he describes; he may be mistaken in

thinking it to have been an angel, or a spirit, or a ball of fire.

Just as in the case of certain illusions of sense--an oar in the

water--the eye correctly reports what it sees, but the judgment is in

error, in thinking the oar to be crooked. So the witness may be true,

and the testimony true in the case of a supposed miracle or other

strange phenomenon; the _appearance_ may have been just as stated,

but the question may still be raised, were the witnesses correct, in

their inference, or judgment, as to what was the cause of the said

appearance, as to _what it was_ that they saw or heard?

This must be decided by the rules that govern the proceedings of

sensible men in common affairs of life.

2. _Reasoning from Experience._

_Induction as distinguished from Deduction._--This is called

_induction_, the peculiar characteristic of which, in distinction from

deductive reasoning, is that it begins with individual cases, and from

them infers a general conclusion, whereas, the deductive method starts

with a general proposition, and infers a particular one. From the

proposition all men are mortal, the syllogism infers that Socrates is

mortal. From the fact that Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pliny, Cæsar,

Cicero, and any number of other individuals, are mortal, induction

leads you to conclude that all men are so. The premises here are

facts occurring within the range of observation and experience, and

the reasoning proceeds on the principle of the general uniformity of

nature and her laws. Induction, then, is, in other words, the process

of inferring that what we know to be true in certain observed cases is

also true, and will be found to be true, in other like cases which have

not fallen under our observation.

_Basis of this Mode of reasoning._--The groundwork of induction, as

I have already said, is the axiom or universal proposition of the

uniformity of nature. Take this away, and all reasoning from induction

or experience fails at once. This is a truth which the human mind is,

by its nature and constitution, always disposed to proceed upon. It

may not be embodied in the shape of a definite proposition, but it is

tacitly assumed and acted upon by all men. How came we by this general

truth. Is it _intuitive_? So say the disciples of certain schools, so

says Cousin, and so say the Scotch metaphysicians, and the German.

Others, however, contend that it is itself an induction, as truly as

any other, a truth learned from experience and observation, and by no

means the first, but rather among the latest of our inductions. Without

stopping to discuss this question, it is sufficient for our purpose to

notice the fact, that this simple truth is universally admitted, and

constitutes the basis of all reasoning from experience.

_Incorrect Mode of Statement._--The proposition is sometimes

incorrectly stated, as, _e. g._, that the future will resemble the

past. This is not an adequate expression of the great truth to which we

refer. It is not that the future merely will resemble the past merely,

but that the unknown will resemble the known. The idea of time is not

properly connected with the subject. That which is unknown may lie in

the future, it may lie in the present or the past.

_Limits of this Belief._--An important question here arises. What are

the limits, if limits there are, to this belief of the uniformity of

nature, and to the reasoning based on that belief? Are we warranted,

in all cases, in inferring that the unknown will be, in similar

circumstances, like the known--that what we have found to be true in

five, ten, or fifty cases, and without exception, will be universally

true? We do reason thus very generally. Such is the tendency of the

mind, its nature. Is it correct procedure? Is it certain that our

experience, though it be uniform and unvaried, is the universal

experience? If not, if limits there are to this method of reasoning,

what are they?

_Erroneous Induction._--The inhabitants of Siam have never seen water

in any other than a liquid or gaseous form. They conclude that water

is never solid. The inhabitants of central Africa may be supposed

never to have seen or heard of a white man. They infer that all men

are black. Are these correct inductions? No; for they lead to false

conclusions. They are built on insufficient foundations. There was

not a sufficiently wide observation of facts to justify so wide a

conclusion. Evidently, we cannot infer from our own non-observation

of exceptions, that exceptions do not exist. We must first know that

if there were exceptions we should have known them. In both the cases

now supposed, this was overlooked. The African has only seen men who

were natives of Africa. There may be in other countries, races that he

has not seen, and has had no opportunity to see. The world may be full

of exceptions to this general rule, and yet he not know it. Correct

induction in his case would be this: I have seen many men, natives of

central Africa, and they have all been black men, without exception.

I conclude, therefore, that _all_ the natives of central Africa are

black. In a word, it is only _under like circumstances_ that we can

infer the uniformity of nature, and so reason inductively from the

known to the unknown.

_Superstitious Belief of the Ancients._--The tendency of men to

believe in the universal permanence of nature, and, on that ground, to

generalize from insufficient data, is illustrated in the superstitious

and widely prevalent idea among the ancients, and some of the moderns

also, of grand cycles of events extending both to the natural and the

_moral_ world. According to this idea, the changes of the atmosphere,

and all other natural phenomena, as observed at any time, would, after

a period, return again in the same order of succession as before;

storms, and seasons, and times, being subject to some regular law.

It was supposed, in fact, "that all the events"--to use the language

of one of these theorists--"within the immeasurable circuit of the

universe, are the successive evolutions of an extended series, which,

at the return of some vast period, repeats its eternal round during

the endless flux of time." This is a sufficiently grand induction,

startling in its sweep and range of thought, but requiring for its

data a somewhat wider observation of facts than can fall to the lot of

short-lived and short-sighted man, during the few years of his narrow

sojourn, and pilgrimage, in a world like this.

3. _Reasoning from Analogy._

_Meaning of the term Analogy._--This word, analogy, is used with great

variety of meaning, and with much vagueness, therefore. It properly

denotes any sort of resemblance, whether of relation or otherwise; and

the argument from analogy is an argument from resemblance, an argument

of an inductive nature, but not amounting to complete induction. A

resembles B in certain respects; therefore it probably resembles it,

also, in a certain other respect: such is the argument from _analogy_.

A resembles B in such and such properties, but these are always found

connected with a certain other property; therefore A resembles B also

in regard to that property: such is the argument from _induction_.

Every resemblance which can be pointed out between A and B creates a

further and increased probability that the resemblance holds also in

respect to the property which is the object of inquiry. If the two

resembled each other in all their properties, there would be no longer

any doubt as to this one, but a positive certainty, and the more

resemblances in other respects so much the nearer we come to certainty

respecting the one that happens to be in question.

_Illustration of this Principle._--It was observed by Newton, that

the diamond possessed a very high refractive power compared with its

density. The same thing he knew to be true of combustible substances.

Hence, he conjectured that the diamond was combustible. He conjectured

the same thing, and for the same reason, of water, _i. e._, that it

contains a combustible ingredient. In both instances, he guessed

right--reasoning from analogy.

_Further Illustration of Reasoning from Analogy._--Reasoning from

analogy, I might infer that the moon is inhabited, thus: The earth is

inhabited--land, sea, and air, are all occupied with life. But the

moon resembles the earth in figure, relation to the sun, movement,

opacity, etc.; moreover, it has volcanoes as the earth has; therefore,

it is _probably_ like the earth in this other respect, that of being

inhabited. To make this out by induction, I must show that the moon

not only resembles the earth in these several respects, but that these

circumstances are in other cases observed to be connected with the one

in question; thus, in other cases, bodies that are opaque, spherical,

and moving in elliptical orbits, are known to be inhabited. The same

thing is probably true then in all cases, and inasmuch as the moon has

these marks, it is therefore inhabited.

_Counter Probability._--On the other hand, the points of dissimilarity

create a counter probability, as, _e. g._, the moon has no atmosphere,

no clouds, and therefore no water; but air and water are, on our

planet, essential to life; the presumption is, then, looking at these

circumstances merely, that the moon is uninhabited. Nay, more: if

life exists, then it must be under very different conditions from

those under which it exists here. Evidently, then, the greater the

resemblance in other respects between the two planets, the less

probability that they differ in this respect (_i. e._, the mode of

sustaining life), so that the resemblances already proved, become,

themselves, presumptions _against_ the supposition that the moon is

inhabited.

_Amount of Probability._--The analogy and diversity, when they come

thus into competition and the arguments from the one conflict with

those of the other, must be weighed against each other. The extent of

the resemblance, compared with the extent of the difference, gives

the amount of probability on one side or the other, so _far as these

elements are known_. If any region lies unexplored, we can infer

nothing with certainty or probability as to that. Suppose then, that so

far as we have had the means of observing, the resemblances are to the

differences as four to one; we conclude with a probability of four to

one, that any given property of the one will be found to belong to the

other. The chances are four out of five.

_Value of Analogical Reasoning._--The chief value of analogy,

as regards science, however, is as a guide to conjecture and to

experiment; and even a faint degree of analogical evidence may be of

great service in this way, by directing further inquiries into that

channel, and so conducting to eventual probability, or even certainty.

It is well remarked by Stewart, that the tendency of our nature is so

to reason from analogy, that we naturally confide in it, as we do in

the evidence of testimony.

_Liable to mislead._--It must be confessed, however, that it is a

species of reasoning likely to mislead in many cases. Its chief value

lies not in proving a position, but in rebutting objections; it is

good, not for assault, but defence. As thus used it is a powerful

weapon in the hands of a skilful master. Such it was in Butler's hands.

§ IV.--USE OF HYPOTHESES AND THEORIES IN REASONING.

_Theory, what._--The terms hypothesis and theory are often used

interchangeably and loosely. Confusion is the result. It is difficult

to define them accurately.

_Theory_ (from the Greek, [Greek: Theôria]; Latin, theoria; French,

théorie; Italian, teoria; from [Greek: Theôreô], to perceive, see,

contemplate) denotes properly any philosophical explanation of

phenomena, any connected arrangement and statement of facts according

to their bearing on some real or imaginary law. The facts, the

phenomena, once known, proved, rest on independent evidence. Theory

takes survey of them as such, with special reference to the law which

governs and connects them, whether that law be also known or merely

conjectured.

_Hypothesis, what._--_Hypothesis_ ([Greek: hypo-tithêmi]) denotes a

gratuitous supposition or conjecture, in _the absence_ of all positive

knowledge as to what the law is that governs and connects the observed

phenomena, or as to the cause which will account for them.

_Theory may or may not be Hypothesis._--Hypothesis is, in its

nature, conjectural, and therefore uncertain; has its degrees of

probability--no certainty. The moment the thing supposed is proved

true, or verified, if it ever is, it ceases to be hypothesis. Theory,

however, is not necessarily a matter of uncertainty. After the law or

the cause is ascertained, fully known, and no longer a hypothesis at

all, there may be still a theory about it; a survey of the facts and

phenomena, as they stand affected by that law, or as accounted for

by that cause. The motion of the planets in elliptical orbits, was

originally matter of conjecture, of hypothesis. It is still matter of

theory.

_Probability of Hypothesis._--The probability of a hypothesis is in

proportion to the number of facts or phenomena, in the given case,

which it will satisfactorily explain, in other words, account for.

Of several hypotheses, that is the most probable which will account

for the greatest number of the given phenomena--those which, if the

hypothesis be true, ought to fall under it as their law. If it accounts

for all the phenomena in the case, it is generally regarded as having

established its claim to certainty. So Whewell maintains. This,

however, is not exactly the case. The hypothesis can be verified only

by showing that the facts or phenomena in the case cannot possibly be

accounted for on any _other_ supposition, or result from any _other_

cause; not simply that they can be accounted for, or can result from

this. This is well stated by Mill in his System of Philosophy. The

hypothesis of the undulating movement of a subtle and all-pervading

ether will account for many of the known phenomena of light; but it has

never been shown, and in the nature of the case never can be, probably,

that no _other_ hypothesis possible or supposable will also account for

them.

_Use of Hypotheses._--As to the _use_ of hypotheses in science,

Reid's remarks are altogether too sweeping, and quite incorrect. It

is not true that hypotheses lead to no valuable result in philosophy.

Almost all discoveries were at first hypotheses, suppositions, lucky

guesses, if you please to call them so. The Copernican theory that

the earth revolves on its axis was a mere hypothesis at the outset.

Kepler's theory of the elliptical orbits of the planets was such;

he made and abandoned nineteen false ones before he hit the right.

This discovery led to another--that planets describe equal areas in

equal times. Newton never framed hypotheses, if we may believe him.

But his own grand discovery of the law of gravity as the central

force of the system, depends for one of its steps of evidence on his

previous discovery that the force of attraction varies as the inverse

square of the distance, and this was suggested by him at first as a

mere hypothesis; he was able to verify it only by calling in the aid

of Kepler's discovery of equal areas in equal times, which latter,

as already stated, was itself the result of hypothesis. Had it not

been for one hypothesis of Newton, verified by the results of another

hypothesis of Kepler Newton could never have made his own discovery.

A hypothesis, it must be remembered, is any supposition, with or

without evidence, made in order to deduce from it conclusions agreeable

to known facts. If we succeed in doing this, we verify our hypothesis

(unless, indeed, it can be shown that some other hypothesis will

equally well suit these facts), and our hypothesis, when verified,

ceases to be longer a hypothesis, takes its place as known truth, and

in turn serves to explain those facts which would, on the supposition

of its truth, follow from it as a cause. It is simply a short-hand

process of arriving at conclusions in science. Suppose the problem to

be the one already named--to prove that the central force of the solar

system is one and the same with _gravity_. Now it may not be easy, or

even possible in some cases, to establish the first step or premiss

in such a chain of reasoning. The inductions leading to it may not

be forthcoming. Hypothesis steps in and supplies the deficiency, by

substituting in place of the induction a supposition. Assuming that

distant bodies attract each other with a power inversely as the square

of the distance, it proceeds on that supposition, and arrives at the

desired conclusion.

_In what Cases admissible._--Now this method is always allowable, and

strictly scientific, whenever it is possible to verify our hypothesis,

_i. e._, in every case in which it is possible to show that no law

but the one assumed can lead to these same results; that no _other_

hypothesis can accord with the facts.

In the case supposed, it would not be possible to prove that the same

movements might not follow from some other law than the one supposed.

It is not certain, therefore, that the moving force of the solar system

is identical with gravitation, _merely because_ the latter would, if

extended so far, produce the same results. In many other cases it

_is_ practicable; indeed, _in all cases where the inquiry is not to

ascertain the cause, but, the cause being already known, to ascertain

the law of its action_.

Even in cases where the inquiry is not of this nature, hypothesis is

of use in the suggestion of future investigations, and, as such, is

frequently indispensable.