PSYCHOLOGY 
BY 
JOHN DEWEY, Ph.D. 
• M 
PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY 
£birb IRevteeD JEDition 
NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
1897 Copyright, 1886, by Harper & Brothers. 
Copyright, 1891, by Harper & Brothers. 
All rights reserved. PREFACE. 
Any book, written as this one is, expressly for use 
in class-room instruction, must meet one question with 
which text-books outside the realm of philosophy are 
not harassed. What shall be its attitude towards phil- 
osophic principles? This is a question which may be 
suppressed, but cannot be avoided. The older works, 
indeed, were not so much troubled by it, for it is only 
recently that psychology has attained any independent 
standing. As long as psychology was largely a com- 
pound of logic, ethics, and metaphysics, the only thing 
possible was to serve this compound, mingled with ex- 
tracts from the history of philosophy. And it must 
not be forgotten that such a course had one decided 
advantage: it made psychology a good introduction to 
the remaining studies of the philosophic curriculum. 
But at present, aside from the fact that there is already 
an abundance of text-books of this style, which it were 
idle to increase, psychology seems deserving of a treat- 
ment on its own account. 
On the other hand, there are books which attempt 
to leave behind all purely philosophic considerations, 
and confine themselves to the facts of scientific psy- 
chology. Such books certainly have the advantage of IV 
PREFACE. 
abandoning—or, at least, of the opportunity of aban- 
doning—a mass of material which has no part nor lot 
in psychology, and which should long ago have been 
relegated to the history of metaphysics. But one can 
hardly avoid raising the question whether such surren- 
der of philosophic principles be possible. No writer 
can create nor recreate his material, and it is quite like- 
ly that the philosophic implications embedded in the 
very heart of psychology are not got rid of when they 
are kept out of sight. Some opinion regarding the 
nature of the mind and its relations to reality will 
show itself on almost every page, and the fact that this 
opinion is introduced without the conscious intention 
of the writer may serve to confuse both the author and 
his reader. 
But to me one other consideration seems decisive 
against such a course. It does not have due reference 
to the historic conditions of our instruction. One es- 
sential element in the situation is that it is the custom 
of our colleges to make psychology the path by which 
to enter the fields of philosophy. 
How, then, shall we unite the advantages of each 
class of text-books? That is to say, how shall we 
make our psychology scientific and up to the times, 
free from metaphysics—which, however good in its 
place, is out of place in a psychology—and at the same 
time make it an introduction to philosophy in general? 
While I cannot hope to have succeeded in presenting 
a psychology which shall satisfactorily answer this 
question, it does appear to me an advantage to have PREFACE. 
V 
kept this question in mind, and to have written with 
reference to it. I have accordingly endeavored to 
avoid all material not strictly psychological, and to re- 
flect the investigations of scientific specialists in this 
branch ; but I have also endeavored to arrange the ma- 
terial in such a way as to lead naturally and easily to 
the problems which the student will meet in his fur- 
ther studies, to suggest the principles along which they 
will find their solutions, and, above all, to develop the 
philosophic spirit. I am sure that there is a way of 
raising questions, and of looking at them, which is 
philosophic; a way which the beginner can find more 
easily in psychology than elsewhere, and which, when 
found, is the best possible introduction to all specific 
philosophic questions. The following pages are the 
author’s attempt to help the student upon this way. NOTE TO THE TIIIPD EDITION. 
Many of the changes in this edition are in statement 
of particular facts where the science has advanced since 
the book was first written. In making them I have 
availed myself largely of the learning and aid of my 
friend and former colleague, Mr. J. H. Tufts, to whom 
are given my best thanks. Changes, tending to greater 
clearness or simplicity of statement, and amounting to 
a paragraph or more, will be found on pages 7-8, 27, 
33-36, 44-50, 55, 56-58, 66, 81-82, 89, 93-96, 152- 
158 (except the references), 205, 218, 276, 278, 311, 
312, 315. The only change involving an alteration 
of standpoint is in the general treatment of sensation. 
For the better theory, as it now seems to me, of the 
present edition I am indebted to the writings, on one 
side, of Mr. James Ward and Professor James, and, on 
the other, of Professor Watson. Finally, my hearty 
thanks are due to the teachers whose patience, energy, 
and learning have done so much to cover the deficien- 
cies of this book and to make acceptable whatever of 
merit it has. CONTENTS. 
INTRODUCTORY. 
Science and Method of Psychology 1-14 
§ 1. Subject-matter of Psychology 1 
§ 2. Method of Psychology 6 
1. Introspective 6 
2. Experimental 9 
3. Comparative 10 
4. Objective 11 
CHAPTER I. 
PAGE 
CHAPTER II. 
Mind and Modes of Activity 15-26 
1. Aspects of Consciousness 15 
2. Relations to Each Other 17 
3. Relations to the Whole Self 21 
PART I.—KNOWLEDGE. 
Elements of Knowledge . . 27-80 
§ 1. Sensation in General (introductory) 27 
I. Physical Stimulus 28 
II. Psychical Factor 33 
III. Relations of Psychical and Physiological 37 
IV. Functions of Sensation in Psychical Life . 44 
§ 2. Special Senses (introductory) 46 
Relations to Touch 47 
CHAPTER III. viii 
CONTENTS. 
PAGE 
§ 3. Touch 50 
Weber’s Law and Psycho-physical Methods . 52 
Muscular Sensation 56 
§ 4. Smell 59 
§ 5. Taste 61 
§ 6. Hearing 63 
§7. Sight 68 
§ 8. Temperature . . . . t 74 
§ 9. General Sensation 75 
Processes of Knowledge 81-155 
§ 1. Nature of Problem 81 
Sensations and Known Objects 81 
The Knowing Self 84 
§ 2. Apperception 85 
A. Problem of Apperception 85 
B. Kinds of Apperception 89 
§ 3. Association 90 
A. Conditions (positive and negative) ... 90 
B. Forms 92 
I. Simultaneous or Fusion 93 
II. Successive by Contiguity .... 98 
By Similarity 103 
C. Function of Association Ill 
Mechanical and Automatic Activities . 113 
§ 4. Dissociation 117 
I. Relation to Association 117 
II. Conditions 120 
III. Functions in Psychical Life 129 
§ 5. Attention 132 
Definition 133 
I. Attention as Selecting Activity .... 133 
II. Attention as Adjusting Activity .... 138 
III. Attention as Relating Activity .... 143 
§ 6. Retention 148 
Results 151 
CHAPTER IV. CONTENTS. 
IX 
CHAPTER V. 
Stages op Knowledge.—Perception 156-175 
§ 1. Knowledge as Self-Development .' 156 
§ 2. Perception 158 
I. Of Objects 161 
II. Of Space 162 
III. Of Externality in General 172 
PAGE 
CHAPTER VI. 
Memory 176-191 
1. Definition and Problem 176 
2. The Memory Image 181 
3. Memory of Time 183 
4. Self as Past and Present 189 
CHAPTER VII. 
Imagination 192-201 
1. Definition 192 
2. Ideals in Imagination 196 
3. Practical and Theoretical 200 
CHAPTER VIII. 
Thinking 202-234 
§ 1. Definition and Division 202 
§ 2. Conception 204 
Growth of Knowledge ........ 210 
§ 3. Judgment 213 
Belief 218 
§ 4. Reasoning 220 
A priori and a posteriori 223 
Inductive and Deductive 224 
§ 5. Systematization 231 
Intuition 235-245 
1. Intuition of the World 238 
2. Intuition of Self 242 
3. Intuition of God 244 
CHAPTER IX. X 
CONTENTS. 
PART II.—FEELING. 
Introduction to Feeling 246-249 
CHAPTER X. 
PAGE 
Sensuous Feeling 250-261 
CHAPTER XI. 
Formal Feeling 262-274 
1. Feelings of Present Adjustment 264 
2. Feelings Due to Past Experiences 267 
3. Feeling Directed Towards the Future 273 
CHAPTER XII. 
CHAPTER XIII. 
Development of Qualitative Feeling 275-295 
1. Development in Universality 278 
2. Development in Definiteness 285 
3. Abnormal Feelings 289 
4. Conflict of Feelings 290 
CHAPTER XIV. 
Intellectual Feelings 296-308 
1. General Nature 296 
2. Its Spring to Intellectual Action 303 
3. Its Objective Side 306 
CHAPTER XV. 
Feeling 309-325 
1. General Nature 309 
Connection with Idealization 310 
Universality of Beauty 313 
Factors of Feeling.—Harmony . . 315 
2. As a Spring to Action 317 
The Fine Arts 317 
3. The Judgment.—Taste . 322 CONTENTS. 
XI 
PAGB 
Personal Feeling 326-346 
1. General Nature 326 
Social Feelings 328 
Moral Feelings 335 
Religious Feelings 337 
2. As Spring to Action 340 
Social Institutions 341 
3. The Personal Judgment.—Conscience 344 
CHAPTER XVI. 
PAET III.—THE WILL. 
CHAPTER XVII. 
Sensuous Impulses 347-358 
Reflex Action 349 
Impulses of Perception 351 
Instinctive Impulses 353 
Instincts of Expression 354 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
Development oe Volition 359-373 
1. Desire 360 
2. Choice 365 
Motive 366 
3. Realization of Motive , . . 368 
CHAPTER XIX. 
Physical Control 374-386 
1. Localization of Motor Impulses 376 
2. Combination of Motor Impulses 380 
CHAPTER XX. 
Prudential Control 387-398 
1. Development of Desire 388 
2. Choice of End and Means 391 xii 
CONTENTS. 
nai 
3. Forms of Prudential Control 394 
Practical 394 
Intellectual 396 
Emotional 396 
Moral Control 399-416 
1. Development of Ethical Desires 405 
2. Ethical Choice 407 
3. Result of Moral Action 411 
Generic Volition 412 
Regulation of Desires 413 
Accurate and Intuitive Choice 413 
Effective Execution 414 
CHAPTER XXI. 
Will as the Source of Ideals and of their Real- 
ization 417-424 
Appendix A 425 
Appendix B . , 426 
CHAPTER XXII. PSYCHOLOGY. 
CHAPTEE I. 
THE SCIENCE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY. 
§ 1. The Subject-matter of Psychology. 
Definition of Psychology: Psychology is the Science 
of the Facts or Phenomena of Self.—This definition 
cannot be expected to give, at the outset, a clear and 
complete notion of what the science deals with, for the 
reason that it is the business of psychology to clear up 
and develop what is meant by facts of self. Other 
words, however, may be used to bring out the mean- 
ing somewhat. Ego is a term used to express the fact 
that self has the power of recognizing itself as I, or 
a separate existence or personality. Mind is also a 
term used, and suggests especially the fact that self is 
intelligent. Soul is a term which calls to mind the dis- 
tinction of the self from the body, and yet its connec- 
tion with it. Psychical is an adjective used to designate 
the facts of self, and suggests the contrast with physi- 
cal phenomena, namely, facts of nature. Subject is often 
used, and expresses the fact that the self lies under and 
holds together all feelings, purposes, and ideas; and 
serves to differentiate the self from the object—that 2 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
which lies over against self. Spirit is a term used, es- 
pecially in connection with the higher activities of self, 
and calls to mind its distinction from matter and me- 
chanical modes of action. 
Fundamental Characteristic of Self.— This is the 
fact of consciousness. The self not only exists, but may 
know that it exists; psychical phenomena are not only 
facts, but they are facts of consciousness. A stick, a 
stone, exists and undergoes changes; that is, has expe- 
riences. But it is aware neither of its existence nor 
of these changes. It does not, in short, exist for itself. 
It exists only for some consciousness. Consequently 
the stone has no self. But the soul not only is, and 
changes, but it knows that it is, and what these experi- 
ences are which it passes through. It exists for itself. 
That is to say, it is a self. What distinguishes the 
facts of psychology from the facts of every other sci- 
ence is, accordingly, that they are conscious facts. 
Consciousness.—Consciousness can neither be defined 
nor described. We can define or describe anything 
only by the employment of consciousness. It is pre- 
supposed, accordingly, in all definition; and all at- 
tempts to define it must move in a circle. It cannot 
be defined by discriminating it from the unconscious, 
for this either is not known at all, or else is known 
only as it exists for consciousness. Consciousness is 
necessary for the definition of what in itself is uncon- 
scious. Psycholog}7, accordingly, can study only the 
various forms of consciousness, showing the conditions 
under which they arise. 
The Self as Individual.—We have seen that the pe- 
culiar characteristic of the facts of self is that they are 
conscious, or exist for themselves. This implies further 3 
SCIENCE AND METHOD. 
that the self is individual, and all the facts of self refer 
to the individual. They are unique in this. A fact of 
physics, or of chemistry, for the very reason that it 
does not exist for itself, exists for anybody or every- 
body who wishes to observe it. It is a fact which can 
be known as directly and immediately by one as by 
another. It is universal, in short. Now, a fact of psy- 
chology does not thus lie open to the observation of all. 
It is directly and immediately known only to the self 
which experiences it. It is a fact of my or your con- 
sciousness, and only of mine or yours. 
Communication of an Individual State.—It may be 
communicated to others, but the first step in this com- 
munication is changing it from a psychical fact to a 
physical fact. It must be expressed through non-con- 
scious media—the appearance of the face, or the use of 
sounds. These are purely external. They are no long- 
er individual facts. The next step in the communica- 
tion is for some other individual to translate this ex- 
pression,or these sounds,into his own consciousness. lie 
must make them part of himself before he knows what 
they are. One individual never knows directly what 
is in the self of another; he knows it only so far as he 
is able to reproduce it in his own self. The fact of the 
existence of self or of consciousness is, accordingly, a 
unique individual fact. Psychology deals with the in- 
dividual, or self, while all other sciences, as mathemat- 
ics, chemistry, biology, etc., deal with facts which are 
universal, and are not facts of self, but facts presented 
to the selves or minds which know them. 
Relation of Psychology to Other Sciences.—Psychology 
holds, therefore, a twofold relation to all other sciences. 
On the one hand, it is co-ordinated with other sciences, PSYCHOLOGY. 
as simply having a different and higher subject-matter 
than they. The student may begin with bodies most 
remote from himself, in the science of astronomy. He 
may then study the globe upon which he lives, in ge- 
ography, geology, etc. He may then study the living 
beings upon it, botany, zoology, etc. Finally he may 
come to his own body, and study human physiology. 
Leaving his body, he may then study his own self. 
Such a study is psychology. Thus considered, psychol- 
ogy is evidently simply one science among others. 
Psychology a Central Science.— But this overlooks 
one aspect of the case. All the other sciences deal 
only with facts or events which are known ; but the 
fact of knowledge thus involved in all of them no one 
of them has said anything about. It has treated the 
facts simply as existent facts, while they are also known 
facts. But knowledge implies reference to the self or 
mind. Knowing is an intellectual process, involving 
psychical laws. It is an activity which the self experi- 
ences. A certain individual activity has been accord- 
ingly presupposed in all the universal facts of physical 
science. These facts are all facts known by some 
mind, and hence fall, in some way, within the sphere of 
psychology. This science is accordingly something 
more than one science by the side of others; it is a 
central science, for its subject-matter, knowledge, is in- 
volved in them all. 
The Universal Factor in Psychology.—It will be seen, 
therefore, that psychology involves a universal element 
within it, as well as the individual factor previously 
mentioned. Its subject-matter, or its content, is in- 
volved in all the sciences. Furthermore, it is open to 
all intelligences. This may be illustrated in case of SCIENCE AND METHOD. 
5 
both knowledge and volition. For example: I know 
that there exists a table before me. This is a fact of 
my knowledge, of my consciousness, and hence is indi- 
vidual. But it is also a possible fact for all intelli- 
gences whatever. The thing known is just as requisite 
for knowledge as the knowing; but the thing known is 
such for all mind whatever. It is, therefore, universal 
in its nature. While knowledge, therefore, as to its 
hiower is individual, as to the known it is universal. 
Knowledge may be defined as the process by which 
some universal element—that is, element which is in 
possible relation to all intelligences—is given individual 
form, or existence in a consciousness. Knowledge is 
not an individual possession. Any consciousness which 
in both form and content is individual, or peculiar to 
some one individual, is not knowledge. To obtain 
knowledge, the individual must get rid of the features 
which are peculiar to him, and conform to the condi- 
tions of universal intelligence. The realization of this 
process, however, must occur in an individual. 
Illustration in Action.—Volition, or action, also lias 
these two sides. The content of every act that I can 
perform already exists, i. e., is universal. But it has 
no existence for consciousness, does not come within 
the range of psychology, until 1, or some self, perform 
the act, and thus give it an individual existence. It 
makes no difference whether the act be to write a sen- 
tence or tell the truth. In one case the pen, the ink, 
the paper, the hand with its muscles, and the laws of 
physical action which control writing already exist, and 
all I can do is to give to these separate universal ex- 
istences an individual existence by reproducing them 
in my consciousness through an act of my own. In 6 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the other case the essence of the truth already exists, 
and all the self can do is to make it its own. It can 
give it individual form by reproducing this universal 
existence in consciousness or self. 
Further Definition of Psychology.—Our original defi- 
nition of psychology may now be expanded. Psychol- 
ogy is the science of the reproduction of some univer- 
sal content or existence, whether of knowledge or of 
action, in the form of individual, unsharable con- 
sciousness. This individual consciousness, considered 
by itself, without relation to its content, always exists 
in the form of feeling ; and hence it may be said that 
the reproduction always occurs in the medium of feel- 
ing. Our study of the self will, therefore, fall under 
the three heads of Knowledge, Will, and Feeling. 
Something more about the nature of each of these and 
their relations to each other will be given in the next 
chapter. 
§ 2. Method of Psychology. 
Need of Method.—The subject-matter of psychology 
is the facts of self, or the phenomena of consciousness. 
These facts, however, do not constitute science until 
they have been systematically collected and ordered 
with reference to principles, so that they may be com- 
prehended in their relations to each other, that is to say, 
explained. The proper way of getting at, classifying, 
and explaining the facts introduces us to the consider- 
ation of the proper method of psychology. 
Method of Introspection.—In the first place, it is evi- 
dent that, since the facts with which psychology has 
to do are those of consciousness, the study of conscious- 
ness itself must be the main source of knowledge of SCIENCE AND METHOD. 
the facts. Just as the facts with which the physical 
sciences begin are those phenomena which are present 
to the senses — falling bodies, lightning, rocks, acids, 
trees, etc. — so psychical science must begin with the 
facts made known in consciousness. The study of com 
scious facts with a view to ascertaining their character 
is called introspection. This must not be considered a 
special power of the mind. It is only the general 
power of knowing which the mind has, directed re- 
flectively and intentionally upon a certain set of facts. 
It is also called internal perception ; the observation 
of the nature and course of ideas as they come and 
go, corresponding to external perception, or the obser- 
vation of facts and events before the senses. This 
method of observation of facts of consciousness must 
ultimately be the sole source of the material of psy- 
chology. 
Difficulties of Introspection. — Some psychologists 
have gone still further and claimed that internal ob- 
servation has a great advantage over external. It is 
said that while in examination of objects the mind 
may always be mistaken, in its introspection of itself 
it must always be correct, since the observer and ob- 
served are one. A man may be mistaken, for example, 
in holding that some substance is gold, it may be iron 
pyrites; but if he feels angry there is no danger of his 
mistaking anger for love. In reply to this, it may be 
stated, first, that the fact is not as thus reported. 
However it may be in anger, there are certainly many 
mixed and subtle emotional states, states of half-fear 
and half-hope, for example, which it is as difficult to 
identify as it is to identify a rare species of bird-life. 
Even as to anger, persons are not unknown who, the 8 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
angrier they get, the more earnestly they assert them- 
selves to be perfectly calm. 
The experience is one thing; making that experience 
the object of reflection to find out what it is, is quite 
another. Psychological introspection is the latter act. 
A man unwonted to examining his experiences w'ould 
have as much difficulty in correctly describing his own 
states of mind as would a layman in the accurate de- 
scription of new chemical substances shown him. 
Introspection a Scientific Process. — Correctly to 
perceive a fact, in other words, is a work of analysis. 
To feel angry is one thing; to give a critical analysis 
of that feeling is quite another. They are so far from 
identity that, in this case, they are quite incompatible. 
When introspective analysis begins, the anger ceases. 
It is well understood that external observation is not a 
passive process—that it demands active attention and 
critical thought, and that its correctness will depend 
largely upon the ideas with which the object is ap- 
proached. Plenty of objects are perceived wrongly 
every day because they are approached in the light of 
a wrong theory. To perceive with no ideas in the 
mind to which to relate the object is an impossibility. 
It is not otherwise with psychological observation. It is 
only recently that the great variety in the distinctness 
of mental images has beeji observed, although it must 
have been experienced millions of times. But the the- 
ory had been formed that all images are definite, and 
the theory rode rough-shod over the fact. To observe 
truly a mental fact demands a true hypothesis in the 
mind and proper material with which to correlate it. 
It is an act at once of analysis and of classification. 
We shall see hereafter that there is no such thing SCIENCE AND METHOD. 
as pure observation in the sense of a fact being known 
without assimilation and interpretation through ideas 
already in the mind. This is as true of the observation 
of the facts of consciousness as of perceiving physical 
facts. 
Experimental.—Amid these difficulties we can have 
recourse, first, to the experimental method. We can- 
not experiment directly with facts of consciousness, for 
the conditions of experimentation—arbitrary variation 
for the sake of reaching some end, or eliminating some 
factor, or introducing some other to test its effects, 
together with the possibility of measuring the cause 
eliminated or introduced and the result occasioned— 
are not possible. But we can experiment, indirectly, 
through the connection of the soul with the bod}\ The 
physical connections of the soul—that is, its relation to 
sense-organs and to the muscular system—are under our 
control, and can be experimented with, and thus, indi- 
rectly, changes may be introduced into consciousness. 
The method has two branches. One, psycho-physics, 
deals with the quantitative relations between psychical 
states and their bodily stimuli, while the other,physio- 
logical psychology, uses physiological processes for the 
sake of investigating psychical states. 
Object of Physiological Psychology.—Its object, as 
stated by Wundt, is to enable us to get results con- 
cerning the origin, composition, and temporal succes- 
sion of psychical occurrences. Although this method 
has been employed but a short time, it has already 
yielded ample results in the spheres, especially, of the 
composition and relations of sensations, the nature 
of attention, and the time occupied by various mental 
processes. It will be noticed, therefore, that nerve and 10 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
cerebral physiology cannot of themselves aid psychol- 
ogy directly; the mere knowledge of all the functions 
of the brain and nerves does not help the science, ex- 
cept so far as it occasions a more penetrating psycho- 
logical analysis, and thus supplements the deficiencies 
of introspection. 
1 Comparative .Method.—Even such results, however, 
are not complete. In the first place, the range of the 
application of this method is limited to those psychical 
events which have such connection with physical pro- 
cesses that they can be changed by changing the latter. 
And, in the second place, it does not enable us to get be- 
yond the individual mind. There may be much in any 
one individual’s consciousness wdiich is more or less 
peculiar and eccentric. Psychology must concern it- 
self rather with the normal mind—with consciousness 
in its universal nature. Again, the methods already 
mentioned give us little knowledge concerning the 
laws of mental growth or development, the laws by 
wdiich the mind passes from imperfect stages to more 
complete. This important branch of the study, called 
genetic psychology, is, for the most part, untouched 
either by the introspective or experimental methods. 
Both of these deficiencies are supplemented by the 
comparative method. 
Forms of the Comparative Method.—Mind, as exist- 
ing in the average human adult, may be compared with 
the consciousness (1) of animals, (2) of children in vari- 
ous stages, (3) of defective and disordered minds, (4) of 
mind as it appears in the various conditions of race, 
nationality, etc. The study of animal psychology is 
of use, especially in showing us the nature of the me- 
chanical and automatic activities of intelligence, which 11 
SCIENCE AND METHOD. 
are, in the human consciousness, apt to be kept out 
of sight by the more voluntary states. The instinctive 
side of mind has been studied mostly in animal life. 
The psychology of infants is of especial importance to 
us in connection with the origin and genetic connection 
of psychical activities. The study of minds which are 
defective through lack of some organ, as sight or hear- 
ing, serves to show us what elements of psychical life 
are due to these organs, while disordered or insane 
minds we may almost regard as psychical experiments 
performed by nature. The study of such cases shows 
the conditions of normal action, and the effects pro- 
duced if some one of these conditions is altered or if 
the harmony of various elements is disturbed. The 
study of consciousness as it appears in various races, 
tribes, and nations extends that idea of mind to which 
we would be limited through the introspective study of 
our own minds, even if supplemented by observation 
of the manifestations of those about us. 
Objective Method.—The broadest and most funda- 
mental method of correcting and extending the results 
of introspection, and of interpreting these results, so 
as to refer them to their laws, is the study of the 
objective manifestations of mind. Mind has not re- 
mained a passive spectator of the universe, but has pro- 
duced and is producing certain results. These results 
are objective, can be studied as all objective historical 
facts may be, and are permanent. They are the most 
fixed, certain, and universal signs to us of the way in 
which mind works. Such objective manifestations of 
mind are, in the realm of intelligence, phenomena like 
language and science; in that of will, social and political 
institutions; in that of feeling, art; in that of the whole 12 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
self, religion. Philology, the logic of science, history, 
sociology, etc., study these various departments as ob- 
jective, and endeavor to trace the relations which con- 
nect their phenomena. But none of these sciences 
takes into account the fact that science, religion, art, 
etc., are all of them products of the mind or self, work- 
ing itself out according to its own laws, and that, there- 
fore, in studying them we are only studying the funda- 
mental nature of the conscious self. It is in these 
wide departments of human knowledge, activity, and 
creation that we learn most about the self, and it is 
through their investigation that we find most clearly 
revealed the laws of its activities. 
•Interpretation in Self-consciousness.—It must be 
borne in mind, however, that in studying psychological 
facts by any or all of these methods, the ultimate ap- 
peal is to self-consciousness. None of these facts mean 
anything until they are thus interpreted. As objec- 
tive facts, they are not material of psychology, they are 
still universal, and must be interpreted into individual 
terms. What, for example, would language mean to 
an individual who did not have the power of himself 
reproducing the language? It would be simply a com- 
bination of uncouth sounds, and would teach him 
nothing regarding mind. The scowl of anger or the 
bent knees of devotion have no significance to one who 
is not himself capable of anger or of prayer. The 
psychical phenomena of infancy or of the insane would 
teach us nothing, because they would be nothing to ns, 
if we did not have the power of putting ourselves into 
these states in imagination, and thus seeing what they 
are like. 
So the phenomena made known in physiological SCIENCE AND METHOD. 
13 
psychology, would have no value whatever for the 
science of psychology, if they were not interpretable 
into facts of consciousness. As physiological facts 
they are of no avail, for they tell us only about certain 
objective processes. These various methods, accord- 
ingly, are not so much a departure from self-conscious- 
ness, as a method of extending self-consciousness and 
making it wider and more general. They are methods, 
in short, of elevating us above what is purely contin- 
gent and accidental in self-consciousness, and revealing 
to us what in it is permanent and essential; what, there- 
fore, is the subject-matter of psychology. It is with 
the true and essential self that psychology deals in or- 
der to ascertain its facts and explain them by showing 
their connections with each other. 
One of the most disputed points is the relation of psychology to philoso- 
phy. Upon this point may be consulted, Erieyclnpcedia Britannica, 9th edi- 
tion, articles on “ Metaphysics,” by Caird; “ Philosophy,” by Seth ; “ Psy- 
chology,” by Ward. See also Mind, Jan., 1883, “ Psychology and Philosophy,” 
by Robertson; April, 1883, “Psychological Principles;” Jan. and April, 1886, 
“ The Psychological Standpoint, and Psychology as Philosophic Method,” by 
Dewey. See also psychological reviews in the same periodical, by Adam- 
son (1884 and 1886). 
Concerning the method of psychology, something may be found in almost 
every systematic treatise. See Lewes, “Study of Psychology;” Spencer, 
“ Principles of Psychology,” vol. i., pt. i., ch. vii.; Sully, “ Outlines of Psy- 
chology,” ch. i.; Murray, “Handbook of Psychology,” ch. i.; Hamilton, 
“ Metaphysics,” lectures viii. and ix.; Porter, “ Human Intellect,” Introduction 
i. and iv.; Volkmann, “ Lehrbuch der Psychologie,” vol. i., pp. 1-54. Com- 
pare also the introduction to Waitz, “Lehrbuch der Psychologie.” For an 
excellent account of the various methods, see Wundt, “Logik,” vol. ii., pp. 
478-502, with which compare “ Philosophische Studien,” vol. i., p. 1. 
Upon the special methods, psycho-physical, genetic, etc., see Appendix B. 
Accounts of some aspects of the more recent developments of psychology will 
be found, however, in articles upon “The New Psychology,” in the Andover 
Review for 1884 and 1885, by J. Dewey and by G. Stanley Hall. A discussion 
of the bearings of the theory of evolution upon psychology will be found in 
Sully, “ Sensation and Intuition,” ch. i. 14 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
There is no good history of psychology in either English or French. In 
German the student may consult Harm’s “ Geschichte der Psychologie,” and 
Siebeck’s more extensive work with the same title, as yet (1886) brought 
down only through mediaeval psychology. Much older, yet of value in some 
portions, is Carus’s “ Geschichte der Psychologie.” Volkmann (op. cit.) con- 
tains such complete historical accounts under each topic as to make it ex- 
tremely valuable. Ribot has published accounts of contemporary English 
and German psychology, neither of which, however, is so thorough or accu- 
rate that it may be consulted instead of the original authorities. Hoffding, 
Outlines of Psychology, pp. 1-28, has discussed the nature of psychology. 
See also James, Psychology, vol. i. 
See also Bowne, Introduction to Psychological Theory, pp. 1-7; Ladd, Ele- 
ments of Physiological Psychology, pp. 1-14; Outlines, pp. 1-10, for physio- 
logical psychology, and his Introduction to Philosophy, ch. iv., for relations 
of psychology to philosophy. CHAPTER II. 
THE MIND AND ITS MODES OF ACTIVITY. 
Introduction.—Psychology has to do with the facts 
of consciousness, and aims at a systematic investigation, 
classification, and explanation of these facts. We have 
to begin with a preliminary division of consciousness 
into cognitive, emotional, and volitional, although the 
justification of the definition, like that of psychology, 
cannot be seen until we have considered the whole 
subject. By consciousness as cognitive, we mean as 
giving knowledge or information, as appreciating or 
apprehending, whether it be appreciation of internal 
facts or of external things and events. By conscious- 
ness as emotional, we mean as existing in certain sub- 
jective states, characterized by either pleasurable or 
painful tone. Emotional consciousness does not,per se, 
give us information, but is a state of feeling. It is 
the affection of the mind. By consciousness as voli- 
tional, we mean as exerting itself for the attainment of 
some end. 
Cognitive Consciousness.—Every activity or idea of 
the mind may be regarded as telling us about some- 
thing. The mind is not what it was before this idea 
existed, but has added information about something to 
its store. The consciousness may be the perception of a 
tree, the conception of government, the idea of the law 
of gravitation, the news of the death of a friend, the 
idea of a house which one is planning to build ; it may, 16 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
in short, have reference to some object actually exist- 
ing, to some relation or law; it may be concerned 
with one’s deepest feelings, or with one’s activities; but 
in any case, so far as it tells about something that is, or 
has happened, or is planned, it is knowledge—in short, 
it is the state of being aware of something, and so far 
as any state of consciousness makes us aware of some- 
thing it constitutes knowledge. 
Feeling.—But the state of consciousness is not con- 
fined to giving us information about something. It 
may also express the value which this information has 
for the self. Every consciousness has reference, not 
only to the thing or event made known by it, but also 
to the mind knowing, and is, therefore, a state of feel- 
ing, an affection of self. And since every state of con- 
sciousness is a state of self, it has an emotional side. 
Our consciousness, in other words, is not indifferent 
or colorless, but it is regarded as having importance, 
having value, having interest. It is this peculiar fact 
of interest which constitutes the emotional side of 
consciousness, and it signifies that the idea which has 
this interest has some unique connection with the self, 
so that it is not only a fact, an item of knowledge, but 
also a way in which the self is affected. The fact of 
interest, or connection with the self, may express itself 
either as pleasurable or painful. No state of conscious- 
ness can be wholly indifferent or have no value what- 
ever for the self; though the perception of a tree, the 
hearing of a death of a friend, or the plan of building 
a house will have very different values. 
Will.—A state of consciousness is also an expression 
of activity. As we shall see hereafter, there is no con- 
sciousness which does not depend upon the associating, THE MIND AND ITS MODES OF ACTIVITY. 
17 
and especially the attentive, activities of inind; and 
looked at in this way, every consciousness involves 
will, since in the perception of a tree, in the hear- 
ing of the death of a friend, or in the plan to build a 
house, the mind is engaged in action. It is never 
wholly passive in any consciousness. Yet it is evident 
that in the perception of the tree that factor of the 
consciousness is especially regarded which gives us in- 
formation about something; in the death of a friend 
it is not with the fact of news nor with the mind’s ac- 
tivity that we are concerned, but with the way in which 
the mind, the self, is affected ; while in the plan and 
execution of the plan of building a house it is especial- 
ly with the activity of the mind as devoted to realizing 
or bringing about a certain intention, purpose, or end 
that we have to do. The first would, ordinarily, he 
called an act of knowledge, the second, a mode of emo- 
tion, and to the third would be restricted the term voli- 
tion or will. Any state of consciousness is really knowl- 
edge, since it makes us aware of something; feeling, 
since it has a certain peculiar reference to ourselves, 
and will, since it is dependent upon some activity of 
ours; but concretely each is named from the one aspect 
which predominates. 
Relations to Each Other.—Feeling, knowledge, and 
will are not to be regarded as three hinds of conscious- 
ness ; nor are they three separable parts of the same 
consciousness. They are the three aspects which every 
consciousness presents, according to the light in which 
it is considered ; whether as giving information, as af- 
fecting the self in a painful or pleasurable way, or as 
manifesting an activity of self. But there is still another 
connection. Just as in the organic body the process of 18 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
digestion cannot go on without that of circulation, and 
both require respiration and nerve action, which in turn 
are dependent upon the other processes, so in the or- 
ganic mind. Knowledge is not possible without feeling 
and will; and neither of these without the other two. 
Dependence of Knowledge.—Take, for example, the 
perception of a tree or the learning of a proposition in 
geometry. It may seem at first as if the perception of 
a tree were a purely spontaneous act, which we had 
only to open our eyes to perform, but we shall see that 
it is something which has been learned. Indeed, we 
have only to notice an infant to discover that the per- 
ception of an object is a psychical act which has to be 
learned as much as the truth of geometry. What, then, 
is necessary for the apprehension of either act? First, 
feeling is necessary, for unless the mind were affected 
in some way by the object or the truth, unless it had 
some interest in them, it would never direct itself to 
them, would not pay attention to them, and they would 
not come within its sphere of knowledge at all. 
They might exist, but they would have no existence 
for the mind, unless there were something in them 
which excited the mind. Knowledge depends on feel- 
ing. But, again, the feeling results in knowledge only 
because it calls forth the attention of the mind, and di- 
rects the mind to the thing or truth to be known ; and 
this direction of the attention is an act of will. In the 
case of first learning the proposition of geometry, it is 
easy to see that the directing, controlling, concentrat- 
ing activity of will is constantly required, and the ap- 
prehension of the tree differs only in that there atten- 
tion is automatically and spontaneously called forth, 
according to principles to be studied hereafter. TIIE MIND AND ITS MODES OF ACTIVITY. 
19 
Dependence of Volition.—An act of will involves 
knowledge. It may be a comparatively simple act, 
like writing, or a complex one, like directing some great 
business operation. In either case there is required a 
definite idea of the end to be reached, and of the vari- 
ous means which are requisite for reaching it; knowl- 
edge of the result aimed at and of the processes in- 
volved in bringing it about are necessary for the exe- 
cution of any volition. But there is also a dependence 
upon feeling. Only that will be made an object of vo- 
lition which is desired, and only that will be desired 
which stands in some relation to self. The purely un- 
interesting or colorless object, that which has not emo- 
tional connections, is never made an end of action. It 
is a mere truism to say that one never acts except for 
that which he believes to be of some importance, how- 
ever slight, and this element of importance, of value, is 
always constituted by reference to self, by feeling. 
Dependence of Feeling.—Feeling, on the other hand, 
presupposes volition. Where there is no excitation, 
no stimulation, no action, there is no feeling. When 
we study feeling in detail we shall find that pleasura- 
ble feeling is always an accompaniment of healthy or 
of customary action, and unpleasant feeling the reverse. 
It is enough to notice now that feeling is the reference 
of any content of consciousness to self, and that the 
self is only as it acts or reacts. Without action or re- 
action there is, therefore, no feeling. If we inquire 
into the pleasure which arises from the acquisition of 
money, or the pain which comes from the loss of a 
friend, we shall find that one furthers and assists cer- 
tain modes of activity which are in some way identified 
with the self, while the other hinders them, or wholly 20 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
destroys them. One, in short, develops the self; the 
other reduces it. The activity of the self, either in 
raising or lowering the level of its activity, expresses 
itself in feeling. 
All concrete, definite forms of feeling depend also 
upon the intellectual activities. We find our feelings 
clustering about objects and events; we find them as- 
sociated with the forms of knowledge, and just in the 
degree in which they are thus associated do they cease 
to be vague and undefinable. Even in the lowest 
forms of emotional consciousness, as the pleasure of 
eating, or the pain of a bruise, we find some reference 
to an object. The feeling is not left floating, as it were, 
but is connected with some object as its cause, or is lo- 
calized in some part of the organism. The higher and 
more developed the feeling, the more complete and 
definite is the connection with the intellectual sphere. 
The emotions connected with art, with morals, with 
scientific investigation, with religion, are incomprehen- 
sible without constant reference to the objects with 
which they are concerned. 
Necessary Connection with Each Other.—We have 
now seen that will, knowledge, and feeling are not 
three kinds of consciousness, but three aspects of the 
same consciousness. We have also seen that each of 
these aspects is the result of an artificial analysis, since, 
in any concrete case, eacli presupposes the other, and 
cannot exist without it. The necessity of this mutual 
connection may be realized by reverting to our defini- 
tion of psychology, where it was said that psychology 
is the science of the reproduction of some universal 
content in the form of individual consciousness. Every 
consciousness, in other words, is the relation of a uni- THE MIND AND ITS MODES OF ACTIVITY. 
21 
versal and an individual element, and cannot be under- 
stood without either. It wTill now be evident that the 
universal element is knowledge, the individual is feel- 
ing, while the relation which connects them into one 
concrete content is will. It will also be seen that 
knowledge and feeling are partial aspects of the self, 
and hence more or less abstract, while will is complete, 
comprehending both aspects. We will take up each 
of these points briefly. 
Knowledge as Universal. — We have already seen 
that the subject-matter of knowledge is universal; that 
is to say, it is common to all intelligences. What one 
knows every one else may know. In knowledge alone 
there is no ground for distinction between persons. 
Were individuals knowing individuals only, no one 
would recognize his unique distinctness as an individual. 
All know the same, and hence, merely as knowing, are 
the same. But feeling makes an inseparable barrier 
between one and other. 
Two individuals might conceivably have feelings 
produced by the same cause, and of just the same qual- 
ity and intensity, in short, exactly like each other, and 
yet they would not be the same feeling. They would 
be absolutely different feelings, for one would be re- 
ferred to one self, another to another. It is for this 
reason, also, that as matter of fact we connect knowl- 
edge with ourselves as individuals. In any actual case 
knowledge has some emotional coloring, and hence is 
conceived as being one’s own knowledge. Just in the 
degree in which this emotional coloring is absent, as in 
the perception of a tree or recognition of a truth of 
mathematics, the consciousness is separated from one’s 
individual self, and projected into a universe common 22 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
to all. Individuality of consciousness means feeling; 
universality of consciousness means knowledge. 
Will as the Complete Activity.—The concrete con* 
sciousness, on the other hand, including both the indi- 
vidual and the universal elements, is will. Will always 
manifests itself either by going out to some universal 
element and bringing it into relation to self, into indi- 
vidual form, or by taking some content which is indi- 
vidual and giving it existence recognizable by all in- 
telligences. The knowledge of a tree or recognition of 
the truth of geometry illustrate the first form. Here 
material which exists as common material for all con- 
sciousness is brought into relation with the unique, un- 
sharable consciousness of one. The activity of will 
starts from the interests of the self, goes out in the 
form of attention to the object, and translates it into 
the medium of my or your consciousness—into terms 
of self, or feeling. If we consider this activity in the 
value which it has as manifesting to us something of 
the nature of the universe, it is knowledge; if we con- 
sider it in the value which it has in the development 
of the self, it is feeling; if we consider it as an activity, 
including both the universal element which is its con- 
tent, and the individual from which it starts and to 
which it returns, it is will. This we may call in- 
coming will, for its principal phase is that in which it 
takes some portion of the universe and brings it into 
individual consciousness, or into the realm of feeling. 
Out-going Will. — The other form of will is that 
which starts from some individual consciousness and 
gives it existence in the universe. The first stage is a 
desire, a plan, or a purpose; and these exist only in my 
or your consciousness, they are feelings. But the ac- THE MIND AND ITS MODES OF ACTIVITY. 
23 
tivity of self takes hold of these, and projects them into 
external existence, and makes them a part of the world 
of objects and events. If the desire be to eat, that is 
something which belongs wholly to the individual; the 
act of eating is potentially present to all intelligences; 
it is one of the events that happen in the world. If the 
purpose be to obtain riches, that, again, is a purely in- 
dividual consciousness; but the activities which procure 
these riches are universal in nature, for they are as pres- 
ent to the intelligence of one as another. If the plan 
be to build a house, the plan formed is individual; the 
plan executed, the house built, is universal. This act 
of will resulting in rendering an individual content 
universal may be called out-going will, but its essence 
is the same as that of in-coming will. It connects the 
two elements which, taken in their separateness, we call 
feeling and knowledge. 
The Subjective and Objective.—Feeling is the sub- 
jective side of consciousness, knowledge its objective 
side. Will is the relation between the subjective and 
the objective. Every concrete consciousness is this 
connection between the individual as subjective, and 
the universe as objective. Suppose the consciousness 
to be that arising from a cut of a finger. The pain is 
purely subjective; it belongs to the self pained and 
can be shared by no other. The cut is an objective 
fact; something which may be present to the senses 
of all, and apprehended by their intelligences. It is 
one object amid the world of objects. Or, let the con- 
sciousness be that of the death of a friend. This has 
one side which connects it uniquely with the indi- 
vidual ; it has a certain value for him as a person, with- 
out any reference to its bearings as an event which has PSYCHOLOGY. 
happened objectively. It is subjective feeling. But 
it also is an event which has happened in the sphere 
of objects; something present in the same way to alh 
It is objective; material of information. Will always 
serves to connect the subjective and the objective sides, 
just as it connects the individual and the universal. 
The student must, at the outset, learn to avoid re- 
garding consciousness as something purely subjective 
or individual, which in some way deals with and re- 
ports a wrorld of objects outside of consciousness. Speak- 
ing from the standpoint of psychology, consciousness is 
always both subjective and objective, both individual 
and universal. We may artificially analyze, and call 
one side feeling and the other knowledge, but this is 
an analysis of consciousness; it is not a separation of 
consciousness from something which is not in conscious- 
ness. For psychology no such separation can possibly 
exist. 
Method of Treatment.—In treating the material of 
psychology it is necessary, for purposes of presenta- 
tion, to regard the separation of feeling from knowl- 
edge, and both from will, as more complete and rigid 
than it can be as matter of actual fact. Each will be 
considered separately, as if it were an independent, 
self-sufficient department of the mind. It might seem 
most logical to begin this treatment with feeling, as 
that is the most intimate, internal side of consciousness, 
but the dependence of the definite forms of feeling 
upon the definite forms of knowledge is so close that 
this is practically impossible. The dependence of 
knowledge upon feeling is, however, a general, not a 
specific one; so the subject of knowledge can be treated 
with only a general reference to feeling. Will, as pre 25 
THE MIND AND ITS MODES OF ACTIVITY. 
supposing both knowledge and feeling, will be treated 
last. 
Material and Processes.—In treating each of these 
heads we shall also, for purposes of clear presentation, 
subdivide the subject into three topics: (1) material, 
(2) processes, (3) results. That is to say, the object of 
the science of psychology is to take the concrete mani- 
festations of mind, to analyze them and to explain them 
by connecting them with each other. We shall regard 
the existing states as the result of the action of cer- 
tain processes upon a certain raw material. We shall 
consider, first, the raw material; second, the processes 
by which this raw material is worked up or elaborated; 
and third, the concrete forms of consciousness, the act- 
ual ideas, emotions, and volitions which result from this 
elaboration. The first two accordingly correspond to 
nothing which lias-separate independent existence, but 
are the result of scientific analysis. The actual exist- 
ence is, in all cases, the third element only, that of re- 
sult. Beginning, therefore, with knowledge, we shall 
define sensation as its raw material, consider the pro- 
cess of apperception, which elaborates this material into 
the successive stages of perception, memory, imagina- 
tion, thinking, and intuition, finally recognizing that 
the concrete intellectual act is always one of intuition. 
Upon the questions of the relations of the various psychical factors to each 
other, and of the so-called faculties of the soul (questions which can hardly 
be separated), the following authorities may be consulted: Hamilton (op. 
cit.), lects. x. and xi.; Porter (op. cit.), introd. iii.; Bain, “ Senses and Intel- 
lect,” ch. i., pp. 321-327; Spencer (op. cit.), pt. 2, chs. ii. and ix.; Sully, 
“Psychology,” ch. ii; Lewes, “Problems of Life and Mind,” First Series, 
p. 146; Third Series, p. 240; Striimpell, “ Grundriss der Plychologie,” pp. 1- 
14, 95-100; George, “Lehrbuch der Psychologie,” pp. 70-124; Ulrici, “Der 
Leib und die Seele,” vol. i., pt. 2, p. 161; Horwicz, “ Psychologische Analy- 
sen,” vol. i., pp. 155-175; Yolkmann (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 54-216; Ward, 26 
PSYCHOLOGY, 
Encyclopedia Britamica, article “Psychology.” More directly upon the 
faculties of the soul, see Wundt, “ Grundzttge der physiologischen Psycholo- 
gie,” vol. i., pp. 9-18; Herbart, “ Lehrbuch der Psychologie,” pt. ii., ch. i.; 
Lotze, “ Medicinische Psychologie,” § 136 (this work of Lotze’s is very rare, 
but a translation of the first part of it may be had in French, under the title, 
“Principes Gendraux de Psychologie Physiologique ”), and “Microscosmus” 
(Eng. transl.), vol. i., pp. 168-181; Drobisch, “Empirische Psychologie,” 
pp. 268-337; Steinthal, “ Einleitung in die Psychologie und Sprachwissen- 
schaft,” pp. 290-306; Volkmann (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 22-34. 
Upon the educational bearings of these topics, see Heine, “ Die padago* 
gische Seelenlehre,” and Jolv, “Notions ae Pedagogie,” pp. 32-61. PART I.—KNOWLEDGE. 
CHAPTER III. 
ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
§ 1. Sensation in General. 
Sensation Identified. — However great the difficul- 
ties connected with sensation, it is the easiest of all 
mental phenomena to identify. The feeling of 
warmth, of pressure, the hearing of a noise, the 
seeing of a color — such states as these are sensa- 
tions. In reference to its bodily conditions, also, a 
sensation is easily defined: it is any psychical con- 
dition whose sole characteristic antecedent is a stim- 
ulation of some peripheral nerve structure. Thus, we 
refer the getting of sensations of warmth and pressure 
to some organs in the skin; noise to the ear; color to 
the eye, etc.” 
Treatment of Subject.—A sensation is thus seen to 
involve two elements—a physical and a psychical. It 
is concerned, on the one hand, with the body; on the 
other witli the soul. The physical factor may be con- 
sidered with reference either to the stimulus which 
affects the nerve organ, or with relation to the nerve 
activity itself. We shall consider, accordingly, the fol- 
lowing topics under the head of sensation : I. The phys- 
ical stimulus in its broad sense, including subdivisions 
into the extra-organic stimulus and the physiological 28 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
II. The psychical element, or sensation proper. III. The 
relation between the physical and the psychical factors. 
IY. The function of sensation in intellectual life. 
I. The Physical Stimulus. 
1. Extra-organic Stimulus.—While a few of our 
sensations arise from operations going on within our 
own body, the larger number, and those most important 
in their cognitive aspect, originate in affections of the 
organism by something external to it. Things just 
about us affect the organs of touch; bodies still more 
remote impinge upon us through the sense of hearing, 
while in vision almost no limit is put to the distance 
from which bodies may affect us through light. But 
numerous as seem the various ways in which external 
bodies may affect us, it is found that these various 
modes are reducible to one—motion. Whether a body 
is near or far, the only way in which it affects the organ- 
ism so as to occasion sensation is through motion. The 
motion may be of the whole mass, as when something 
hits us; it may be in the inner particles of the thing, 
as when we taste or smell it; it may be a movement 
originated by the body and propagated to us through 
vibrations of a medium, as when we hear or see. But 
some form of motion there must be. An absolutely 
motionless body would not give rise to any affection 
of the body such as ultimately results in sensation. 
Characteristics of Motion.—Accordingly it is not the 
mere thing, but the thing with the characteristic of 
motion, that is the extra-organic stimulus of sensation. 
For psychological purposes, the world may be here re- 
garded, not as a world of things with an indefinite 
number of qualities, but as a world of motions alone. ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
The world of motion, however, possesses within itself 
various differences, to which the general properties of 
sensations correspond. Movements are not all of the 
same intensity, form, or rapidity. Put positively, mo- 
tion possesses amplitude, form, and velocity. Ampli- 
tude is the extent to and fro, up and down, of the 
movement. It is the length of its swing, or the dis- 
tance which the body moves from a point of rest. The 
body may move through this distance in the thousandth 
of a second, or in a second. This rate at which a body 
moves constitutes its velocity. Again, the motion may 
be regular or vibratory, or irregular. Amid the regu- 
lar movements there may be further differences of 
form. It may be circular, elliptic, or parabolic. It 
may be a movement like that of a pendulum, a piston, 
or a trip-hammer. 
Characteristics of Sensations.—The differences which 
exist in sensations correspond to these differences in 
stimuli. To the amplitude of the motion agrees, in a 
general way, the intensity of the sensation. The wider 
the swing of the body the greater the force with which 
it will impinge upon the sense organ, and the stronger 
the resulting sensation. To differences of form cor- 
respond differences in quality. Stimuli which are 
irregular seem to occasion the vaguer, confused sensa- 
tions, like those of taste and smell; the higher, of 
hearing and sight, being produced by regular vibra- 
tions. Within the sphere of sounds, the differences 
between noises and musical tones seem to correspond 
to this distinction of stimuli. Finally, vibrations of a 
low rate of velocity (below twenty per second) affect 
us through the sense of contact as a feeling of jar; 
from nineteen to about forty thousand per second we 30 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
have affections of sound; to the various rates of which 
correspond those specific differences of sensation known 
as pitch. Above this rate the vibrations are too nu- 
merous to be responded to by the auditory apparatus, 
and we have a sharp feeling of whizzing. When the 
vibrations reach the enormous number of three hun- 
dred and ninety-two billions per second we begin to 
have color sensations, at this rate, of red; and these 
continue up to seven hundred and eighty-five billions, 
when violet finishes. Between these velocities lies the 
scale of colors. Above their highest rate the eye does 
not distinguish light, and we have the motions which 
produce the so-called actinic effects most largely. 
Classes of Extra-organic Stimuli.—These may be 
divided into general and special. Certain forms of 
motion, as mechanical pressure, heat, and electricity, 
affect all sensory organs alike. Any one of them, if 
applied to the ear, occasions sound ; to the eye, light, 
etc. The motions which are termed special are pecul- 
iarly adapted to some one sense organ, which alone is 
fitted to respond to them. Waves of ether awaken no 
consciousness within us except as they impinge upon 
the retina of the eye. Waves of air find an especially 
responsive medium in the ear, while certain chemical 
actions, not understood, have special reference to the 
nerves of smell and taste. 
2. The Physiological Stimulus.—No sensation exists 
as yet. The external stimulus is but the first prereq- 
uisite. It is a condition which in many cases may be 
omitted, as when the stimulus arises within the body 
itself. Its function is exhausted when the nerve is 
aroused to activity. It must be transformed into a 
physiological motion before any sensation arises. The ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
31 
mode of transformation has given rise to a division 
of the senses into mechanical and chemical. In some 
cases the physiological stimulus appears as a continua- 
tion of the external. Thus the extra-organic stimuli 
occasioning pressure undergo no decided alteration 
upon affecting the organs of touch; it is highly prob- 
able that the auditory nerve continues the stimulus 
without chemical change. But in taste and smell there 
is evidently a chemical transformation. The sapid or 
odorous substance sets up some chemical process in 
the nerve endings, and the stimulus reaches the brain 
in a different form from that originally affecting the 
sensory organ. In vision both mechanical and chemi- 
cal activities seem to be combined. 
Stages of the Physiological Stimulus.—Here three 
stages may be distinguished; first, the excitation of the 
peripheral organ ; second, the conduction of the excite- 
ment thus produced along the nerve fibre to the brain ; 
and, third, the reception of and reaction upon the trans- 
mitted stimulus by the brain. There is change in the 
organ, change in the nerve, change in the brain. Subject 
to a qualification hereafter to be made, the integrity of 
each of these elements is necessary for a sensation. 
Specific Nerve Energy.—Regarding the method of 
the reaction of the nerve organs upon the extra-organic 
stimulus which tranforms it into a physiological one, 
it may be said that each nerve organ responds to all 
stimuli, of whatever kind, in the same way. The mind, 
for example, always answers sound to all calls made 
upon the ear, whether these calls be made by way of 
pressure, electricity, or the more ordinary one of vibra- 
tions of air. In the same way the mind always reacts 
with a sensation of light to every excitation of the eye, 32 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
whether made by etheric vibration or mechanical press- 
ure and irritation. This is the fact known as specific 
nerve energy; whether it is due to the original struc- 
ture of the nervous organism, or is the result of adapta- 
tion through constant use in one way, is disputed. Of 
the fact itself there is no doubt. 
Vicarious Brain Action.—It was mentioned that the 
statement regarding the necessity of integrity of brain, 
nerve, and sense organ for the production of a sensation 
would require qualification. It is found that when the 
connection between the sense organ and the brain has 
once been thoroughly formed the latter tends to have 
its structure altered in such a way that, in abnormal 
and unusual cases, nervous changes going on within it 
may take the place of that usually occurring in the organ 
and nerves. People wdio have become blind in adult 
life do not lose their power of imagining visual forms 
and color. Their appreciation of these is as real, though 
internal, as that of the person who has his eye affected 
by the physical stimulus of light. 
Persons who have lost an arm or a leg still seem to 
feel in the amputated part. They continue to refer 
sensations to the absent member. In certain abnormal 
states, as in fevers, etc., sensations arise within the 
brain itself of such force and vividness as to occasion 
utterly erroneous ideas about the external world. When 
no affection of the nerve organ exists sounds are heard, 
lights appear, wonderful and strange scenes, to which 
nothing objective corresponds, pass before the vision. 
It is hardly possible to account for the phenomena of 
dreams, except upon the theory that every excitation 
of the brain is not due to an immediately antecedent 
excitation of a sense organ, but may spontaneously be 33 
ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
called forth in the brain itself. These various facts 
lead to the supposition that the activity in the brain 
may be self-induced, under certain circumstances, hav- 
ing the same psychical result as would the more reg- 
ular excitation through peripheral organs and sensory 
nerves, and that, consequently, the ultimate element 
with which the mind has to deal is the change in the 
brain alone. 
Sensation as Consciousness.—We have as yet no 
sensation. A sensation is psychical; it is a conscious- 
ness; it not only exists, but it exists for the self. The 
changes in the nervous system, including the brain, 
are purely physical; they are objective only, and have 
no conscious existence for themselves. They exist in 
consciousness only as brought into the mind of some 
spectator. The relations between the two processes, 
the objective stimulus of motion and the subjective 
response of consciousness, we shall study hereafter. 
At present we are concerned with finding ont what are 
the essential traits of a sensation considered as.an ele- 
ment in consciousness. 
II. The Psychical Factor. 
Erroneous Theory.—When we first reflect upon our 
sensations, it is almost impossible to avoid the opinion 
that they are independent, separate mental states. A 
noise is wholly different from a color, a feeling of 
warmth from one of weight. More than this: every 
noise seems a unique event independent of every other 
noise. Thus we are easily led to a theory that sensa- 
tions are a series of discrete mental states, numerically 
and qualitatively separate from one another—atoms ont 
of which the mental life is built. But we are led astray PSYCHOLOGY. 
here by a difficulty already spoken of (page 10). These 
separate ideas of color and sound, of the sounds of a 
piano and of a rattling cart, are developed states of 
adult life. Instead of being original conditions out of 
which more complex products are built up, they are 
themselves complex results of a long period of growth. 
If we compare sensations, for example, with the bricks 
out of which a house is made, we must remember that 
bricks are manufactured articles, for which we must go 
back to some original homogeneous bed of clay. 
Sensation Continuum.—This illustration is meant to 
point to the fact that there is a certain original continuous 
substratum of sensation out of which the various appar- 
ently distinct sensations have been slowly differentiated. 
The reasons for holding the existence of such an original 
continuum are fourfold: historical, physiological, ex- 
perimental, and derived from psychological analysis. 
1. Historical.—If we accept the theory of evolution, 
we are inevitably committed to the doctrine of a single 
original continuous and homogeneous whole of sensation 
which is neither warmth nor taste nor sound, but 
from which these, and all other, sensory qualities have 
been gradually developed. As we go lower and lower 
in the animal scale, we find the distinctions of sense- 
organs slowly obliterated, until we get to a point where 
there are no differentiated organs for sight, sound, and 
touch at all. At this point, sensation must be one 
palpitating homogeneous mass of consciousness, with 
no breach of continuity of kind or number, but simply 
expanding and contracting in intensity. 
2. Physiological. — The brain is both anatomically 
and functionally a single (or, at most, dual) organ. 
There is, of course, a great degree of specialization and ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
35 
even of localization of function within it. Centres of 
sight, hearing, and touch are more or less spatially as 
well as functionally distinct. But there is reason to 
believe that this specialization, like the corresponding 
division of labor in society, is acquired, not original, 
resting on the principle of economy, or the richest re- 
sult with the greatest ease. Even with the most extreme 
localization, there is no separation of sensory centres. 
The centres for sight, for touch, for movement, etc., are 
all interwoven into one larger whole. With the move- 
ment of specialization, of differentiation, goes a move- 
ment of reunion, of interconnection. While, for ex- 
ample, the auditory centre may be constantly gaining 
in distinctness of localization, it is also gaining in mul- 
tifariousness of connections with the other sensory 
centres. Physiological considerations, in fine, instead 
of pointing to original atomic sensations, point to a 
massive homogeneous sensation, gradually differenti- 
ated indeed, but, at the same time, with these different 
sensations bound into a whole. 
3. Experimental. — A few years ago it was discov- 
ered that some persons whenever they hear a certain 
sound see a certain color (photism), or when they see 
a color hear a sound (phonism). This integration of 
sensations usually distinct is so thorough-going that 
such persons are surprised upon finding that every one 
does not have the same experience. It is also known 
that large numbers of persons at least associate in a 
regular way different qualities of sensation, and that 
there are various grades shading off from loose associa- 
tion to almost actual sensation. Still later it was dis- 
covered that all sensations, no matter how apparently 
separate in quality, are so closely connected as greatly 36 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
to influence one another. A tone from a tuning-fork, 
for example, may render visible a color not previously 
strong enough to be seen ; or, if occurring simultane- 
ously with a visible color, may perhaps render it invis- 
ible ; or one may produce oscillations, as it were, in the 
intensity of the other—the phenomena being different 
in kind with different colors, sounds, and with different 
people, and yet uniformly showing some influence of 
all kinds of sensation upon one another. 
4. Psychological. — The evidence here is both gen- 
eral (or inferential) and specific. Generally speaking, 
the difficulties which we fall into, upon the basis of 
the atomic theory of sensation, in explaining the appar- 
ent unity of mental action and of mental products is 
an argument against the theory. The moment we 
start from the supposition of atomic units we are 
obliged also to have recourse to some special process 
for re-connecting these units. Some call the process 
“indissoluble association,” others a special relating 
power of the mind. More particularly, examination 
shows that the discreteness and independence which 
we attribute to our sensations belong rather to the ob- 
jects to which we refer the sensory qualities. A color, 
taken in itself, is simply one differentiation of a sen- 
sory continuum, and a sound, taken in itself, is anoth- 
er. They are no more two separate psychical states 
than a brook now falling over a rock and now repos- 
ing in a pool is two brooks. But the sound is referred, 
say, to a bell; the color to a table-cloth. We then fal- 
laciously attribute the spatial independence and sep- 
arateness of the objects to the sensations themselves. 
Or, if the color and the sound are both referred to the 
same object, as the bell, they are different qualities of ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
37 
the object, and we confuse the difference of objective 
meaning with difference of psychical condition. 
III. The Relation of the Physical Factor to the 
Psychical. 
We are introduced at the outset to one of the most 
difficult problems of psychology. The general ques- 
tion is, What is the relation between the external world, 
including the organized body, and the mind or self? 
In this particular case the question takes the form, 
What is the connection between sensations or psychi- 
cal states and the physical and neural changes which 
excite them? 
Various Theories.—We shall first consider two op- 
posed and extreme theories, and then pass to what we 
conceive to be the true view of the matter. Of these 
two theories, one, which we may call the materialistic 
theory, regards sensations as facts of the same kind 
and order as the physical motions which occasion them, 
and reduces consciousness to one of the forms in which 
material motion appears. The other, or dualistic the- 
ory, denies any connection whatever between mind 
and matter, between the sensation and the neural 
change which appears to originate it. One theory, in 
short, absorbs mind in matter, while the other holds 
that there is a chasm between them over which no 
bridge can be built. Materialism identifies the sensa- 
tion with its mechanical occasion. Dualism holds to 
two opposed and unconnected sets of phenomena; one 
physical, the other psychical. 
1. Dualism.—This will be dealt with briefly, both 
because the most extreme upholders of the general in- 
dependence of mind and matter rarely go so far as to 38 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
deny the relative dependence of sensation on nervous 
change, and because the fact of the dependence is so 
evident upon examination. So far as we know, posi- 
tively, no sensation occurs without some accompanying 
change of nervous tissue. Negatively, the loss of an 
organ, conducting nerve, or brain centre is found to be 
accompanied by corresponding loss of sensation. Fur- 
thermore, whatever increases or diminishes the nervous 
activity is found to increase or diminish the intensity 
of the corresponding sensation. We thus have about 
all the evidence we could desire as to some connec- 
tion between the conscious sensation and the nervous 
change. 
2. Materialism.—This holds that all the facts of the 
universe, mind included, are to be reduced to changes 
of matter and motion. It holds that the law of the 
conservation and correlation of energy is the highest 
law of all phenomena, and that this is as true of psy- 
chical phenomena, and of their relation to physical, as 
it is of the facts of heat or of electricity. It holds, 
that is to say, that all phenomena are reducible to 
forms of motion which are convertible into each other 
without loss or increase of energy or power of doing 
work. Thus, we know that light is changeable into 
heat, heat into chemical energy, this into electricity, 
while electricity completes the circuit back into light. 
Materialism holds that this generalization must be 
applied to the production of sensations. It says that 
we must believe that when a wave of light reaches the 
retina the energy involved in it is converted into an 
equal amount of energy known as nervous action, which 
is conveyed along the nerves to the brain, where it sets 
up another equal amount of energy, which results in ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
39 
the state we know as a sensation It holds that along 
this line of changes there is no breach of continuity. 
Each process is the mechanical result of its antecedents. 
Sensations, as psychical states, are thus included among 
the material energies of the physical wrorld, and are 
governed by the mechanical laws of this world. They 
are only one special class of the forms which energy, 
as convertible from one mode into another, takes. 
Objections.—To this view there are certain very se- 
rious objections, (1) one of which may be urged from 
the physical side itself, while the other (2) is psycho- 
logical in its nature. 
(1.) Physical.—There is an unlikeness of kind which 
makes it impossible to apply the lawT of the transforma- 
tion of energy to the relation existing between sensa- 
tions and their stimuli. The law of the conservation 
of energy lias been established regarding the phenom- 
ena of motion alone, and has meaning only with refer- 
ence to motions. Sensations are not motions. The 
sensation of red may have a dependence upon a certain 
number of etheric vibrations, but as a sensation it is a 
unique psychical state, having no motion, no vibrations, 
no spatial length nor form. The motion is objective, 
existing in space, possessing relations of form, size, and 
number. The sensation is subjective, existing only in 
the mind, having no spatial nor numerical relations. 
The motion is an external fact which must be presented 
to the senses to be known. The sensation is internal, 
and is directly known to consciousness. Now these 
differences between the psychical and the physical con- 
stitute, it is said, a chasm which the law of the corre- 
lation of energy cannot bridge. The law holds only of 
motions; to apply it to sensations is to commit the 40 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
absurdity of supposing that a sound or color is a move- 
ment occurring in space. 
Materialism Does not Explain.—Or the objection 
may be stated as follows: The only object of applying 
the law is to explain psychical phenomena. To ex- 
plain consists, as logic tells us, in pointing out a relation 
of cause and effect existing between two phenomena. 
This relation can be found only where there is quanti- 
tative identity between the fact antecedent regarded 
as cause, and the consequent considered to be the effect. 
Where this identity is not found no causal relation 
exists. Now the attempt to make the mechanical and 
material phenomena of the world account for the 
psychical, through the law of the conservation of en- 
ergy, fails, when looked at in this way, doubly: (i.) it 
fails to explain sensation as a general fact; (ii.) it fails 
to explain any of the concrete details of sensation. 
(i.) There is no identity between the sensation as a 
state of consciousness and the mechanical motion which 
precedes it. The striking fact of the case is their dif- 
ference: one exists as an objective spatial fact of move- 
ment, the other as the unique psychical fact of con- 
sciousness. No quantitative transformation can be 
made out, for the simple reason that the consciousness 
is not a quantity. So Mr. Huxley says: “ How it is 
that anything so remarkable as a state of conscious- 
ness comes about by the result of irritating nervous 
tissue, is just as unaccountable as the appearance of the 
Djin when Aladdin rubbed his lamp.” Mr. Tyndall 
remarks to the same effect that “the passage from the 
physics of the brain to the corresponding facts of con- 
sciousness is unthinkable.” The German physiologist, 
Du Bois Keyrnond, says that “ if we possessed an ab- ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
41 
solutely perfect knowledge of the body, including the 
brain and all changes in it, the psychical state known 
as sensation would be as incomprehensible as now. For 
the very highest knowledge we could get would reveal 
to us only matter in motion, and the connection be- 
tween any motions of any atoms in my brain, and such 
unique, undeniable facts as that I feel pain, smell a rose, 
see red, is thoroughly incomprehensible.” It is evident 
that if the connection be, as affirmed, unaccountable, 
unthinkable, incomprehensible, it is impossible to ac- 
count for or comprehend the sensation by it. 
(ii.) Materialism Fails to Throw any Light upon the 
Specific Facts of Sensation.—Were it supposed that we 
even knew all about the forms of motion which affect 
us, and knew the exact difference between one form 
and another, it w’ould still remain incomprehensible 
why one mode of motion should give rise to that 
psychical fact which we know as color, and another to 
sound. So the knowledge of the difference of rates of 
rapidity in the musical scale does not enable us to 
explain why one rate should result in a low note 
and another, more rapid rate, in a higher. These are 
facts of consciousness only, and are as ultimate and 
unanalyzable in their differences from each other as 
they were when nothing whatever was known about 
the rates of motion. No identity between the conscious 
facts and the various forms of physical motion can be 
discovered which will enable us to explain one by the 
other. 
(2.) Psychological Objection.—This objection cannot 
be fully presented here, as it presupposes a knowledge 
of the results of psychological study not yet attained. 
In brief, it is this: the material motions which are sup- 42 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
posed to be the cause of psychical phenomena are 
never known in any independent existence. They are 
known to exist only through their relation to mind. 
Psychologically speaking, the fact of motion is a fact 
of knowledge which must be accounted for through a 
study of the elements and processes of the mind. It 
is not a fact which precedes knowledge and can be 
used to account for it, but it is a fact in knowledge 
which must be accounted for like all other facts of 
knowledge, by means of psychological laws. Motion 
cannot be used psychologically to account for mental 
phenomena, because it is itself a mental phenomenon, 
and, as such, depends upon psychological elements and 
processes. Materialism inverts the true order of facts 
by attempting to produce the subject from the object, 
knowledge from things, while the business of psychol- 
ogy is to deal with things as known things, and to show 
how the subject, as knowing, is involved in all those 
facts which the physical sciences treated merely as ex- 
isting facts, overlooking that they are in reality facts 
known to exist, as facts in relation to mind. Motion 
apart from mind is an abstraction and cannot be used 
to account for mind. We come now to what seems to 
be the correct theory in the matter. 
3. Nervous Changes Act as Stimuli to the Soul.—It is 
evident from what was said under the first head that 
there is some positive connection between the material 
process and the psychical. It is evident from what 
has just been said that this connection is not of such a 
nature that the conscious sensation can be regarded as 
transformed molecular motion. Nothing is gained, 
however, by adopting a too customary evasion, and re- 
garding the sensation as an impression made upon the ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
43 
soul by an external object, and consequently as a mere 
passive reception or copy of it. The sensation is a 
copy of neither the external nor the internal object 
and process. In the case of vision, for example, 
the external excitation is not color, and certainly the 
intra-organic one is not; the extra-organic process is 
simply certain undulations of ether which impinge 
upon the retina. The intra-organic process is the ex- 
citation and transference of molecular motion in and 
along the nerves and brain. What finally affects the 
mind, however it affects it, is only this brain molecular 
motion, and certainly color is not a mere passive re- 
ception of that. 
Nervous Change not Cause but Stimulus. —- This 
molecular motion, accordingly, is conceived of as simply 
the stimulus or excitation necessary to call the soul into 
activity. The soul, when thus incited to action, re- 
sponds to the stimulation with a characteristic produc- 
tion of its own, whose appearance, relatively to the 
physical phenomena, is a virtual creation ; that is, can- 
not be in any way got out of them. The nervous 
change is not, properly speaking, the cause of the sen- 
sation, nor is the sensation the passive result of an im- 
pression. A sensation is not the simple affection of 
the soul by some bodily change, although the affection 
is a necessary prerequisite to sensation. The sensation 
is the state developed out of and by the soul itself upon 
occasion of this affection. 
Distinction between Physical and Psychical Ac- 
tivity.—This constitutes the great difference between 
physical and psychical action. Physical energy is always 
external; it never acts upon itself, but is transferred be- 
yond .itself. Such changes as external bodies undergo 44 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
are never self-originated, but are initiated from an out- 
side source. But the mind has the power of acting 
upon itself and of producing from within itself a new, 
original, and unique activity which we know as sensa- 
tion. The appearance of physical causation which ac- 
companies it is due to the fact that the nervous change 
is always necessary as a stimulus to the soul, and, fur- 
thermore, when this stimulus is once present, it is not 
left to the soul voluntarily to determine whether and 
how it will act, but, by a mechanism of its own, it re- 
sponds to the stimulus in a definite and invariable way. 
IY. Functions or Sensation. 
Having considered the relation of the physical to 
the psychical factor in sensation, we have now to 
say something about the position of sensation in the 
psychical life, or its function considered with reference 
to the mind as a whole. 
1. Sensation is the meeting-place, the point of coin- 
cidence of self and nature. It is in sensation that nature 
touches the soul in such a way that it becomes itself psy- 
chical, and that the soul touches nature so as to become 
itself natural. A sensation is, indeed, the transition of 
the physical into the psychical. 
2. Sensation is the passive or receptive aspect of 
mind. This does not mean that the mind is purely pass- 
ive, or that it is like a wax tablet that merely receives 
impressions. On the contrary, sensation is the result 
of the activity of the psycho-physical organism, and 
is produced, not received. It is the passive aspect, not 
passive side, of mind. Sensation, compared with other 
psychical processes, indicates what is given to these 
processes. It is material which they must receive if ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
45 
they are to act. So far as perception, or memory, or 
thinking is concerned, sensation is given, or a datum. 
It represents the contact of the individual with a realm 
larger than himself, and upon which he is dependent 
for the material of his mental operations. 
3. Sensation expresses the excitation, the stimulation 
of mind. It arouses the mind to put forth effort, 
either in new fields or for the more adequate appre- 
hension of the familiar. As excitation it possesses in- 
tensity or degrees of vividness, and is allied to feeling. 
In fact, the widest definition of feeling is precisely 
psychical excitement. Sensation, as arousing the mind, 
leads it to act, and thus terminates in volition. As 
excitation, in short, it serves the function of inducing 
to knowledge and to volition, and is almost equivalent 
to feeling. 
4. Sensation indicates the'particular factor in mental 
products. That is, it always refers the content in con- 
nection with which it is experienced to a this and a 
now. We can recollect or imagine or think about light, 
and the subject-matter under consideration by the 
mind will not vary essentially from that of a sensation 
of light, but the latter contains an index-finger that 
points to the immediate experience of light, while 
the other acts of mind at most tell of the conditions 
under which light might be experienced. In commu- 
nicating with another in language we are obliged to 
make knowm the fact that we are talking about some 
definite object by saying “this” or “ that,” and point- 
ing towards it. This function, thus performed by gest- 
ure, is performed in our internal experience by the in- 
trinsic property of the sensation indicating a “this” 
and a “here.” 46 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
5. While sensation indicates existence, and this indi- 
cation is particular, it means or signifies quality, and this 
meaning is general. Sensation possesses quality as well 
as intensity. This quality, if distinguished, or abstract- 
ed, from the particular indication of the sensation, be- 
comes in itself general. A sensation of red indicates 
present particular existence, but the quality of redness 
has, in itself, no more connection with this existence 
than with any other. As redness, it is an abstract idea; 
that is, it is abstracted or drawn away from connection 
with this or that particular existence, and being freed 
from particular existence is itself universal. This 
quality constitutes meaning, as the indicating prop- 
erty of sensation constitutes existence. The twro fac- 
tors which in union constitute the object of knowledge 
are therefore the particular and the general, the “ this” 
and the “ quality.” The relating process which trans- 
forms sensations into knowledge consists in the ex- 
plicit development of these two factors. On the one 
hand, there is an analytic activity which separates the 
quality from its particular manifestation ; on the other, 
the synthetic, which unites it with other qualities, and 
refers it again to existence. 
§ 2. Development of Sensation. 
The Original Sensation. — Before proceeding to the 
details of our present sensations, let us consider the 
process by which the original sensation is differentiat- 
ed, beginning with this supposed homogeneous sensa- 
tion itself—a psychical existence related to our present 
sensory experiences much as the supposed original neb- 
ulous gas is related to existing solar systems and to the ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
47 
various bodies which make up these systems. We can- 
not, of course, accurately describe the nature of the 
homogeneous continuum which we suppose. But, by 
analogy, we can form some probable conception of its 
character. Imagine, for example, our organic or gen- 
eral sensation as it is now; the sensation of comfort or 
discomfort of the whole body, a feeling having no 
definite spatial outline nor any distinct quality which 
marks it off. 
Or, let us imagine our various sense organs losing all 
their powers of giving distinct sense qualities, and be- 
ing retracted into a sort of substratum of sensory stuff. 
Perhaps the nearest we get to such an experience is 
when we are falling asleep: our auditory sensations fall 
away ; then we lose our sensations of color and of form; 
finally, our very feelings of contact, pressure, and tem- 
perature fade away into a dim, vague sense of nothing 
in particular. Or, again, consider an infant before it 
has gained use of its eyes or ears, when the senses of 
smell and taste are still dull, and when all that seems 
to appeal to it are the organic need of food, its satisfac- 
tion, actual pain, and changes of temperature — even 
these, it is probable, being fused into a general sense of 
well-being or the reverse, rather than distinctly appre- 
hended. Consider these facts, remember that the sense 
organs are still present with their brain connections 
and with the inherited capacities and tendencies of gen- 
erations, and we can form some idea of what a shape- 
less, vague, diffused state a sensation is to, say, an oys- 
ter or a jelly-fish. 
1. The Development is from Emotional to Intellect- 
ual.—Considering the process of differentiation itself, 
it is easy to see that the original sensation has a raaxi- 48 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
mum of mere feeling or emotional quality, and a mini- 
mum of intellectual value. It is simply the condition, 
the inner affection of the organism itself; it tells or 
reports practically nothing. It gives us no qualities of 
objects. Going on from this point, we may classify 
our present sensations. Our feelings of hunger, thirst, 
fatigue; our feelings of uneasiness, w’ell-being, etc., so far 
as they are not defined by connection with specific ob- 
jects, are the residuum, as it were, of the original homo- 
geneous feeling. At the other end of the scale lie our 
visual sensations, having in themselves a minimum of 
emotional tone, and, with their variety and distinctness 
of quality, the maximum of intellectual function. 
2. The Development is from the Vague to the Defi- 
nite.— This is implied in what has already been said. 
The lack of intellectual value in the organic sensation 
is precisely its lack of defined character. It has no 
sharp, clear-cut limits in locality or in quality. Then 
we have contact and pressure sensations, which, while 
capable of great education and of reaching great acute- 
ness of discrimination in reference to objects, yet have 
but comparatively few differences within themselves 
except of intensity. Such differences as exist are 
mainly of an emotional kind, as tickling, thrilling, etc. 
Apart from intentional discrimination, indeed, our con- 
tact sensations may be said to form a perfect jungle. 
Then we have smell and taste, with some differences of 
quality indeed, but yet, upon the whole, vague. The 
difficulty of discriminating various kinds of pure odors 
or tastes from one another, the tendency of one to pass 
into another without a sharp boundary line, their poor 
spatial localization—all illustrate this. In great con- 
trast are the auditory and visual sensations, with their ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
49 
sharp and clear limits in quality, their quick and accu- 
rate localization in space and time. 
3. The Development Involves Increased Differentia- 
tion and Mobility of Sense Organs. — Organic sensa- 
tion has to wait passively, as it were, for the stimulus 
to come to it. But no special sense organ can be pure- 
ly passive, even physically speaking, in sensation. It 
must adjust itself to the stimulus. 
The mouth must secrete saliva and move the sapid 
substance about. We must sniff with the nostrils. 
The tympanum of the ear must be stretched ; the eye- 
lenses must be accommodated, and the two eyes con- 
verged, and each must have muscular connections. 
But the connection of contact sensations with muscu- 
lar sensations is still more intimate. Normally they 
are inextricably united. It is only in disease that we 
ever have one without the other. Thus the activities 
of our own body and those of external bodies are in- 
dissolubly associated from the first. The whole impor- 
tance of this we shall learn hereafter. While the con- 
nection of touch with movement is most intimate, that 
of sight is most acute and varied. The eyes are con- 
stantly on the lookout for sensation. Instead of a 
mirror waiting for impressions, like the lower senses, 
they are a dark lantern rapidly moving and focusing 
here and there. The more mobile the sense organ, the 
more controllable the qualities had from it, and the 
more they can be reproduced at will. 
Besides increase of mobility, we have increase of 
discriminating capacity. The lower organs receive the 
stimulus en masse. The higher ones are tools for 
breaking it up into different elements and receiving 
each separately. Consider, for example, the eye with 50 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
its subsidiary mechanism for excluding most stimuli 
and thus narrowing them down to a single class, and 
then all the nerve structures for adaptation to different 
rates and intensities of vibration. 
On account of the fundamental character of touch, 
we shall begin our special studies of sensation with it, 
and, following the order laid down under the general 
consideration of sensation, shall take up: 1. The phys- 
ical stimulus; 2. The physiological stimulus; 3. The 
conscious sensation. 
On account of the connection of contact sensations 
with muscular we shall consider this subject under the 
following heads : I. Passive touch, or touch proper, as 
separate from muscular activity; II. Muscular sensa- 
tions ; III. Active touch, the union of the two pre- 
vious. 
§ 3. Touch. 
I. Passive Touch. 
1. The Physical Stimulus. — This is mechanical 
pressure; consequently all bodies possessing weight, 
whether solids, liquids, or gases, are capable, under 
proper conditions, of exciting sensations of contact. 
Not all contact, however, with external bodies excites 
sensation. The pressure must reach a certain degree, 
known as its threshold value ; for over this threshold, 
as it were, any stimulus must pass to enter into con- 
sciousness. This value varies with different parts of 
the body; the smallest amount appreciable is .002 
grammes, by the cheek and back of hand. Upon the 
heel a pressure equal to one gram is required for feel- 
ing. Change of stimulus is also necessary, or at least 
contrast. If the hand be plunged into a liquid at rest 
no contact sensation is felt except at the margin; or ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
51 
if it be evenly compressed by a solid, as paraffine, only 
the boundary is felt. 
2. Physiological Stimulus, or Organ.—This is the 
skin of the whole body and the openings of the various 
membranes. Touch is classified as a special sense, be- 
cause in the true skin, beneath the cuticle, exist certain 
peculiar endings of the nerves in raised organs, called 
papillae, although their stimulation is not always neces- 
sary for the existence of any contact sensation. The 
tip of the tongue and the ends of the fingers, being 
especially well supplied with the papillae, may be re- 
garded as the specific organs of contact. 
3. Sensations of Touch. — These are (1) sensations 
of pressure, the objective cause being the weight of 
some body. A qualitative difference in pressure sen- 
sations constitutes what we may call (2) place sensations. 
(1.) Pressure Sensations.—These are excited when- 
ever any ponderable body is laid upon some portion of 
the skin at rest—a condition which is rarely perfectly 
fulfilled, as the muscles are generally brought into ac- 
tion to support and test the weight. It is a character- 
istic of pressure sensation that not every change of 
weight is felt. It is found that if a given weight 
affects the hand it must be increased by at least one 
thirteenth before the difference of pressure is felt, no 
matter how slight or strong be the intensity of the ex- 
isting sensation. That is to say, if the objective stim- 
ulus be 1 gram, TV of a gram must be added for any 
new sensation to result; if it be 30 pounds, 2-j pounds 
must be added, or no change of intensity in the feeling 
appears. This difference of stimulus, necessary to 
change of sensation, is called the difference threshold, 
and for pressure sensations is stated at 13:14. 52 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Weber’s Law.—Anticipating the study of the other 
senses, it may be well to state here that some ratio, 
although quantitatively different, is believed to exist 
for every sense. That is to say, it is true of every 
sense that not every change in objective stimulus oc- 
casions a change in subjective sensation, but that every 
change in stimulus must bear a certain definite ratio 
(varying in the different senses) to the already existing 
stimulus before the intensity of the sensation, as a con- 
scious state, changes. Differently stated, not absolute 
stimuli are felt, but only relative. This law is often 
called Weber’s law, after its discoverer, and is stated 
as follows: The intensity of one sensation changes from 
that of the preceding sensation, when the stimulus of 
the former changes in a fixed ratio to that of the latter. 
This ratio of change is XV in the case of passive touch, 
as just seen ; in active touch it is -jV; that is, the addi- 
tion of a weight as great as the existing weight will 
change the sensation. 
Methods of Research.—The determination of this law 
evidently falls under the head of experimental psy- 
chology, and, as illustrating the methods of this, it may 
be well briefly to mention the ways in which Weber’s 
law has been established. 
(i.) The Method of Right and Wrong Cases.—Here 
two weights are used, one slightly heavier than the 
other, and the person experimented upon is required 
to tell from touch alone which is the heavier, and the 
process is repeated a large number of times with the 
same weights. It is evident that if the difference be- 
tween the two weights is less than the real diffei'ence 
threshold, there will be no basis for judgment, and the 
number of right and wrong cases, or guesses, will bo ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
53 
about evenly divided. Just in the degree in which the 
difference approaches the true ratio will the percent- 
age of right cases increase, and when the ratio is made 
too large, about all the cases will be correctly judged. 
(ii.) Method of Just Perceptible Differences.—A cer- 
tain weight is laid on the hand. This is slightly in- 
creased. Probably no difference of sensation is felt. 
But more and more weight is added until the sensation 
does increase in intensity. This is repeated again and 
again, and the average difference taken as the basis for 
calculating the proper ratio. 
{Hi.) Method of Average Error.—A certain weight 
is put on the hand, and the person experimented upon 
is required to tell when another weight equals this. 
This is repeated a large number of times. Each time 
there will be a slight error, either positive or negative; 
that is, the weight supposed to be equal will, as mat- 
ter of fact, be greater or less. The exact amount of 
error is noticed each time, and their average being taken 
will approach the normal perceptible difference. 
Interpretations of the Law.—The law has been in- 
terpreted physiologically, psycho-pliysically, and psy- 
chologically. 
(a.) Physiological Interpretation.—This holds that 
the law is due to the nature of nerve-action. It holds 
that the sensation, as a conscious state, is directly pro- 
portional to the physiological stimulus, but that the 
physiological stimulus, owing to unknown causes, is not 
directly proportional to the physical stimulus, but in- 
creases more slowly than it. 
(b.) Psycho-physical.—This holds that the law ex- 
presses the relations which exist between the physical 
nervous stimulus, and the psychical reaction to it, or the 54 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
relations which exist between body and soul. Hence, 
Weber’s law is often called the psycho-physical law. 
Fechner, who has made very careful and complete ex- 
periments, has adopted this view, and states the law in 
mathematical form as follows: The intensity of the 
sensation varies with the logarithm of the stimulus. 
This statement is called Fechner’s law, but is not gen- 
erally accepted. 
(c.) Psychological. — This holds that the law ex- 
presses neither the relation which the physiological 
stimulus holds to the physical, nor that with which the 
psychical responds to the nervous stimulus, but a dis- 
tinction between the sensation itself and our apprecia- 
tion of it: that is, we appreciate any psychical state not 
by what it absolutely is, but what it is in reference to 
some other psychical state with which we compare it. 
We have no absolute measure for the intensity of a sen- 
sation, but measure it by comparing it with the sensation 
which immediately preceded it. The proper interpre- 
tation has not yet been finally decided upon, and a fur- 
ther discussion would lead ns beyond our proper limits. 
We return from this digression to a study of 
(2.) Place Sensatioris.—This expression must not be 
taken to mean that we have any sensations of place as 
such. The reference of a sensation to a given object 
or position is a further act of mind, to be studied under 
the head of perception. The phrase means simply that 
there exists a difference in the quality of the sensations 
corresponding to differences in the parts of the body 
whence they originate. What the exact nature of this 
difference is we do not know; we know, however, that 
it must exist, or there would be no basis for the mind 
to act upon in referring a sensation to one position ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
55 
rather than to another This difference is called the local 
sign. The local sign, in other words, is that peculiarity 
of the sensation which differentiates a sensation com- 
ing, say, from the extreme tip of the thumb of the left 
hand, from one of the same intensity and otherwise of 
the same quality coming from a similar part of the 
right hand. This peculiarity the mind uses as a sign 
of the part affected, and thus learns to localize impres- 
sions. 
Discriminating Power. — The sensation of pressure 
arises when certain definite portions, called “pressure 
spots,” are stimulated. If the skin is touched by twTo 
objects, as blunted points of a compass, several pressure 
spots are stimulated by each point. Each group of spots 
so excited arouses a sensation with its own peculiar qual- 
ity—its “ local sign.” If the two sensations thus called 
forth are sufficiently differentiated in quality, they are 
located as two distinct points. Otherwise only one point 
is reported. The distance by which the two compass 
points must be separated in order to be located as two de- 
pends partly on the anatomy of the portion (the distri- 
bution of spots) and partly on exercise in discrimination. 
The tongue and finger tip far exceed in discriminating 
power the back or upper leg with the greatest amount of 
practice; but practice and careful selection of pressure 
spots greatly increase the original fineness. Practice 
on one hand increases the power to define separate 
points on the other hand. 
Mobility and Local Discrimination.—It is found, as a 
general thing, that discriminative sensibility is a function 
of the mobility of the part. The finest differences are felt 
by those portions of the body most often in motion, while 
those parts which are relatively non-sensitive, like the 56 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
middle of the back, are just those parts of the body which 
are most fixed. This introduces us to the subject of 
Meaning of Muscular Sensation. — The nature of 
muscular sensation is one of the most disputed points 
in the psychology of sensation. As here used, it 
means all sensations that come from, or have to do 
with, the voluntary movements of the body. It does 
not necessarily mean sensations arising from the mus- 
cles in the same sense that visual sensations come from 
the retina, or touch sensations from pressure spots. Sen- 
sory nerves have been discovered ending in the muscles, 
and it is probable that we do have specific muscular sen- 
sations; but of their nature or importance very little is 
known. It is possible that under usual circumstances 
we are conscious of them only as fused into our organic 
sensations. It is certain that sensations of strain and 
effort such as we get when we have to lift a load are 
not wholly muscular sensations in the narrow sense. 
The Innervation Theory.—No voluntary movement 
can take place, of course, unless there is a current of 
nerve energy going out from the brain to the muscles in 
question. It is supposed by some that we have a feeling 
(called innervation feeling) of this outgoing current. A 
piano-player, for example, has constantly, just before he 
strikes the keys, a feeling of the amount of energy he is 
putting forth ; of the amount of muscular effort to be 
used in a given movement of the piece as a whole, and 
of the delicate shadings required from passage to pas- 
sage and note to note. The innervationists claim that 
this feeling of the activity required is a feeling of the 
output of cerebral energy through the motor nerves. 
The Afferent Theory. — The rival hypothesis holds 
that muscular sensations are, like all other sensations, ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
57 
passive. They are not feelings of action, but of the 
changes produced by action. They arise, not centrally 
from the putting forth of energy, but, like those of press- 
ure and temperature, in the periphery, and are then re- 
ported by afferent nerves to the brain. They are not so 
much muscular sensations as sensations produced by the 
movement and tension of the muscles, joint surfaces, lig- 
aments, etc., upon the ordinary organs of contact. 
Illustration.—This theory may be illustrated by a quo- 
tation from Ferrier, who, with James, is its chief uphold- 
er : “ If the reader will extend his right arm and hold his 
forefinger in the position actually required for pulling the 
triggerof a pistol, he may, without actually moving his lin- 
ger,but by simply making believe,experience a conscious- 
ness of energy put forth. If the reader will again perform 
the experiment and pay careful attention to the condi- 
tion of his respiration, he will observe that his conscious- 
ness of effort coincides with a fixation of the muscles of 
his chest, and that in proportion to the amount of energy 
he feels he is putting forth he is keeping his glottis closed 
and actively contracting his respiratory muscles. Let 
him place his finger as before, and continue breathing all 
the time, and he will find that, however much he may di- 
rect his attention to his finger, he will experience not the 
slightest trace of consciousness of effort until he has actu- 
ally moved the finger itself, and then it is referred local- 
ly to the muscles themselves.” In other words, the con- 
sciousness of effort is really a consciousness of the pull 
and push of the muscles—either of the muscles of the 
chest connected with breathing or of the part actually 
moved. James lays great emphasis also upon the sensa- 
tions produced at the joints by the rubbing of one surface 
against the other. As there is no direct introspective 58 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
evidence for the innervation theory, as the afferent the- 
ory puts muscular sensation under the same principles as 
the rest of our sensations, and as it seems to account for 
all the facts of the case, we give it the preference. 
Importance of Muscular Sensation.—Remembering, 
then, that we mean by muscular sensations not wholly 
the sensations of the muscles, but also sensations pro- 
duced by the movements of muscles, we may go on to 
note their importance. In the first place, they inform 
us of our own movements, and thus give us an ex- 
tremely important information. Persons suffering in 
such a way that they lose these sensations cannot tell 
what they are doing excepting as they keep their eyes 
on their limbs as they move them. Consciousness of 
movement is also extremely important in differentiat- 
ing our own body from other objects. It makes, also, 
the direct basis of volitional action. We are not con- 
scious of our muscular structure, but we are conscious 
of how it feels to move a certain muscle, and this feel is 
our guide in performing the act. By this control of our 
movements we are enabled to control indirectly our other 
sensations. We can get the eye or the ear in position to 
receive sensations, instead of passively waiting for them. 
In normal life sensations of contact proper are al- 
ways accompanied by muscular sensations. It is only 
in disordered or abnormal conditions that they can be 
separated. This union has the following advantages: 
1. It greatly multiplies the number of impressions 
which can be had in a given time, thus abbreviating 
all touch processes. 2. It renders it possible to bring 
the object to be touched into contact with the most 
III. Active Touch. ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
59 
sensitive part of the organ, thus sharpening the sensa- 
tion. 3. It occasions a rapid succession of impressions, 
thus heightening the contrast of those which are un- 
like, and rendering them more distinct. Active touch 
can thus discriminate differences of -Jg-, while passive 
touch is limited to -Jg- 
Ideas Got through Active Touch.—The union of con- 
tact and muscular sensations, when interpreted by the 
mental processes, constitutes the basis of the following 
ideas. (1.) The hardness or softness of a body. This 
is not given by mere weight sensations. It is discov- 
ered only by running the hand over the body, com- 
pressing, moulding it, etc. (2.) The elasticity or inertia 
of the body. (3.) The roughness, smoothness, etc., of 
the body. When the hand is moving and touches suc- 
cessive points, the body is judged coarse or rough. 
When the muscular sensations are united with con- 
tinuous contact sensations it is judged to be fine or 
smooth. All these qualities as referred to bodies are not 
sensations proper, but judgments made on the basis of 
sensations. 
The student will observe that a large number of sen- 
sations originating in the skin are not to be properly 
classed with touch feelings. Such are heat and cold, 
tingling, itching, numbness, etc. 
§ 4. The Sense of Smell. 
I. Physical Sthnulus.—Heat, so far as known, does 
not occasion this sensation. Whether electricity and 
mechanical pressure do so is disputed. The specific 
stimulus is what we call physical odor. Just what 
properties in a body make it odorous are not known. 
The substance, however, must be capable of assuming a 60 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
gaseous form. Neither solids nor liquids, unless vola- 
tizable, excite sensation. Of some substances an ex- 
ceedingly small amount suffices. Of musk, wTrl-rinr of 
a milligramme is enough. 
II. Organ. — This is the ending of the olfactory 
nerve found in the mucous membrane of the upper 
and back parts of the nostrils. Touching the mode of 
excitation, nothing is known except that it is some 
mode of chemical action, and that no sensation results 
if the particles remain stationary. 
III. The Sensation Itself.—The difference threshold, 
or the ratio of the discriminative sensibility of the 
sense, has never been satisfactorily determined. There 
is no satisfactory classification of odors. The same 
substance occasions various odors to different persons 
and to the same person at different times. Certain 
sensations, ordinarily called those of smell, may, how- 
ever, be excluded; such are sharp, pungent sensations, 
originating from snuff, etc. These are properly feel- 
ings of mechanical irritation. So-called fresh and 
close smells are due rather to sensations excited in the 
lungs than to stimulation of the nostrils, and hence are 
organic in character. Disgust is an alimentary rather 
than olfactory sensation. 
Connection with Organic Feelings.—Odor sensations 
have a close connection with organic, and are related 
rather to the emotional side of our nature than to our 
cognitive. Psychologically, the best classification of 
odors is, therefore, into agreeable and disagreeable, as 
this frankly recognizes their subjective character. By 
reason of its organic connection, smell is of great im- 
portance in regulating animal life. As Bidder says, 
it is placed at the entrance of the respiratory organs, ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
61 
like a watchman. What is disagreeable in odor is re- 
jected from the system; with the sense of taste it 
serves as a guardian over the digestive organs, prevent- 
ing the entrance of whatever might be harmful. 
Connection with Appetite.—By reason of its connec- 
tion with feeling the sense of smell awakens desire and 
repulsion for and against the substances which are 
odorous. Smells occasion all sorts of impulses and 
longings; some thirst, others hunger, others sexual. 
This fact appears more plainly in animals than in us; 
as in them smell is most closely connected with in- 
stinct. To them it serves as a means of preserving 
life by teaching to find friend, avoid foe, and discover 
food, and by directing to their mates. Hence in ani- 
mals the centre in the brain for the sense of smell is 
often its predominating part, while in man it is re- 
duced to insignificant proportions. In man this sense 
is overlaid by the intellectual processes; if a man 
wishes to find another man he uses none of his senses, 
but reflects upon the place where he is most likely to 
be found. The dog simply uses his sense of smell, 
and follows scent. 
§ 5. Taste. 
1. Physical Stimulus. — Both electricity and me- 
chanical pressure occasion gustatory sensation. If the 
tongue be electrically stimulated a sour taste is felt at 
the anode and an alkaline at the cathode. If pressure 
be brought to bear upon the back of the tongue a bit- 
ter taste arises; if it be rapidly tapped, a sour. The 
specific stimulus, however, is that quality known as sa- 
pidity. Only bodies in a liquid condition are sapid. 
Solids can be tasted only in a crystallized, and hence 62 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
soluble, form. The threshold value for taste varies 
with different substances. One part of sulphuric acid 
in a million parts of water can be tasted, while one 
eightieth of sugar is required. 
II. Organ.—Taste has been ascribed to all portions 
of the mouth from the lips to the stomach, but is proper- 
ly confined to those portions of the tongue and soft pal- 
ate furnished with taste-buds. Experiments have been 
directed towards ascertaining whether certain tastes 
are confined or not to certain portions of the organ. 
The result is somewhat in doubt, but it is generally 
believed that bitter is best tasted on the soft palate 
and back of the tongue, and sweet and sour on the tip. 
III. The Sensation Itself. — The classification of 
tastes is rendered difficult by the same causes operative 
in the case of smell—they can be reduced to four, how- 
ever : sweet, sour, bitter, and salt. Pungent tastes 
must be excluded; as must also alkaline, astringent, 
and metallic tastes, which seem to be combinations of 
touch, taste, and smell. Many so-called tastes, like 
that of onions, are properly odors. Nausea is an or- 
ganic sensation. The specific taste that distinguishes 
one body from another, as an apple from an orange, is 
not taste proper, but a combination of various sensory 
properties. 
Organic Connection.—Taste is rather an outpost of 
the whole system, for enabling it to assimilate the ben- 
eficial and reject the harmful, than a source of special 
cognitions. Psychologically, it hardly ranks as high 
as smell, for the associative power of the latter — as 
the odor of new-mown hay, or of a sniff of salt wa- 
ter—is very considerable. Odors in general seem to 
be associated with higher moods and states, of which ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
63 
fact the poets have availed themselves. Smell also can 
discriminate successive odors much better than taste. 
Taste, however, is capable of quite high specific cul- 
tivation, as is seen in epicures and professional wine 
and tea tasters, etc. 
§ 6. Sense of Hearing. 
I. Physical Stimulus.—Electricity and mechanical 
pressure both act as stimuli: an example of the latter is 
found in the sensations of roaring, etc., due probably to 
unusual pressure of the blood-vessels. The specific stim- 
uli are the vibrations of some elastic ponderable medium, 
generally air, known as physical sound. These vibra- 
tions must be within the limits of from, say, twenty to 
forty thousand per second. As to the lower limit of in- 
tensity, or threshold value, this sense seems to be most 
sensitive of all: a vibration of the amplitude of .00004 
millimetre has sufficient energy to excite sensation. A 
difference of one third of a vibration will make a percep- 
tible change in the sensation of a highly cultivated ear. 
II. Organ. — The organ is the ear, consisting of ex- 
ternal, middle, and internal portions. The former two 
serve only as an apparatus for condensing and trans- 
mitting vibrations. The internal ear possesses the 
nerve-endings, exceedingly complex, for transforming 
the physical into the physiological stimulus. The ap- 
paratus especially fitted for this is generally said to 
be the basilar layer of the organs of Corti. This is 
thought to be a complicated series of minute stretched 
cords, like those of a harp; each of which possesses, 
like every vibrating medium, a certain definite rate of 
vibration, depending on its length and tension. Each 
of these is, accordingly, attuned to some mode of ex- PSYCHOLOGY. 
ternal vibration to which it responds. It thus forms 
an organ for all possible degrees of pitch. Whenever 
any external medium propagates vibrations of a cer- 
tain rate that cord of this layer which has the same 
rate selects it, and responds to it. These vibrations 
are then conveyed to the brain by means of the audi- 
tory nerve. 
III. The Sensation Itself.—There are certain distinc- 
tions in the sounds which psychically result from these 
transmitted vibrations, which render possible a classi- 
fied treatment of them. Sounds vary (1) in intensity; 
(2) in pitch; (3) in tone-color, or quality. Sounds, 
that is to say, are either loud or soft, high or low, 
noises or tones. 
1. Intensity.—The difference threshold for hearing 
is placed at one third—that is, it is found that an exist- 
ing sound must be increased one third before difference 
of intensity is perceptible. The intensity of a sensa- 
tion corresponds to the amplitude of the vibration 
which occasions it. A vibration is a periodic motion, 
or one which returns after equal intervals of time to 
the same phase or state of motion. It possesses, ac- 
cordingly, breadth or amplitude; the moving particle 
swings a certain distance to and fro from its place of 
rest. The wider swing shows the greater energy of 
the vibrating particle, and, consequently, affects the 
nerve with greater force, and results in a more intense 
or louder sound. Hence the decrease of the loudness 
of sound with increase of distance from the sounding 
body. On the one hand, the waves extend in all di- 
rections in space, so that fewer of them reach the ear, 
and, on the other, these few are lessened in amplitude 
by the friction of resisting mediums. ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
65 
2. Pitch. —Vibrations, or periodic motions, possess 
rate as well as amplitude. That is, the period of vibra- 
tion lasts a certain time; the vibrating particle will 
return from one phase of motion to the same again a 
certain number of times per second. The greater the 
rate, i. e., the more rapid the swing, the higher is the 
pitch of the resulting sensation. The lowest tone 
which one can hear is that due to eighteen vibrations 
per second, like the deepest tones of the organ. The 
highest comes from forty thousand per second, and 
then passes into a whizzing feeling. This limitation 
is, so far as we know, due merely to the structure of 
the nerve organ. 
The Scale of Pitch.—There is also a specific connec- 
tion between certain ratios in the rates of vibration 
and certain peculiar sensations of tone, which occasions 
what we call the octave. Certain tones make the same 
emotional effect upon us; they feel alike, or harmo- 
nize, although differing in pitch. These tones, thus har- 
monizing with each other, are found to repeat them- 
selves at various intervals through the series of pitch. 
This repetition of tones within the octave leads to class- 
ifying every octave as a scale of tones, and this scale is 
made the basis of musical composition, oral and instru- 
mental. The tones within the scale may be variously 
divided—as by the Greeks, Arabians, and ourselves— 
but the existence of the scale is a unique psychological 
fact in no way conventional. The range of the mind 
in discriminating pitch seems to be about eleven oc- 
taves, though only seven are commonly employed in 
music. 
Relation of the Octave to Physical Vibrations.— 
Long after the peculiar psychological fact of the regrn 66 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
lar repetition of emotional quality of tones at certain 
intervals had been used in music, it was discovered 
that this repetition, or octave, bears a definite relation 
to certain properties of the rates of vibration. It was 
found that the recurrent interval constituting the oc- 
tave corresponds to certain ratios in the ph}Tsical vibra- 
tions, so that the tone at the upper end of the scale is 
produced by just twice as rapid a rate as the one at the 
lower end, and that the intermediate tones bear certain 
definite numerical relations to each other, expressed by 
such terms as thirds, fifths, etc. 
3. Timbre, or Tone-color.—Vibrations possess form, 
as well as rate and width. To this property of the 
stimulus corresponds that difference in the sensation 
which serves as the basis of the discrimination of the 
sound of one body from that of another, aside from its 
intensity or pitch—the difference of an organ from a 
violin, and both from the human voice. Such sensa- 
tions are not simple, but composite, and are made up of 
a so-called fundamental tone, and other partial tones, 
which combine with it and give it its peculiar quality. 
The tone given by a tuning-fork is simple; all others 
are complex, and may be analyzed into one tone, cor- 
responding to that of a tuning-fork, and others which 
bear certain relations to it—harmonious if it is music, 
unharmonious if it is noise. The subordinate tones 
are called partial, or under and over tones. 
Musical Tones. — When various simple tones com- 
bine in such a way that the various phases of their re- 
spective vibrations strengthen and weaken one another 
regularly, we have what is termed (from the German) 
a clang. What are ordinarily called musical notes are 
in reality such composite tones. Several ‘clangs’ may ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
67 
now sound together, and the process of compound- 
ing of partials with a fundamental will be repeated, 
only in this case the several fundamentals will have 
to be adjusted to one another, as well as the partials 
to the fundamentals and to one another. If the ad- 
justment succeeds, if there are regular coincidences 
and contrasts, we have a chord; a discord when the 
vibrations cut and chop one another up. Works on 
physics will give the principles of these combinations. 
Noise and Musical Sound.—Musical sound has al- 
ready been spoken of as corresponding to an harmonious 
relation of partial tones to the fundamental, while noise 
corresponds to a non-harmonious. According to an- 
other theory, however, noise and musical sound are 
two different sorts of sensation, each being unique 
and occasioned through a different set of nerves. Evi- 
dence of this theory is thought to be found in the fact 
that capacity for appreciating musical discriminations 
and those of noises bear no relation to each other. It 
is probable that there is an element of truth in each 
theory, and that, in a general way, noise corresponds 
to irregularity, however produced, and musical tone to 
regularity. 
Harmony. — Certain tones, when heard together, 
give a pleasing result, forming a chord or consonance; 
others are displeasing, and are called dissonant. Psy- 
chologically this is a state of emotion, whose consider- 
tion falls under the head of aesthetic feeling. Yet 
there are found to exist certain physical and physio- 
logical processes constituting its basis. (.1.) Physical: 
Such vibrations as are in simple multiple ratios to each 
other occasion harmony of sound. Here the tones reg- 
ularly strengthen and weaken each other; others come 68 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
in conflict irregularly and interfere with each other. 
(2.) Physiological: All irregular and interrupted nerv- 
ous activity seems to occasion pain. For the best 
nervous action, it is believed that there must be regu- 
lar alternations of rest and activity. Regular vibra- 
tions fulfil these conditions; irregular prevent them. 
The unpleasantness of discords would then correspond 
to the painful impression due to the affection of the 
visual organs by a flickering light. 
I. Physical Stimulus.—Electrical stimulus and me- 
chanical pressure occasion sensations of light. The lat- 
ter fact may be verified by simply pressing upon the eye- 
ball. To this principle are due the facts that we “ see 
stars” when we hit the head a severe blow, and that 
the patient whose optic nerve is severed sees a flash 
of light. The specific stimuli, however, are the vibra- 
tions of a hypothetical, imponderable, absolutely elastic 
medium, ether. Its vibrations occur within the limits 
of three hundred and ninety-two billions per second, 
resulting in sensations of red, and seven hundred and 
eighty-five billions, in sensations of violet. Below 
they are felt as heat only; above, they are known only 
indirectly. 
§ 7. Sense of Sight. 
II. Organ.—The organ is the eye. This is an ap- 
paratus similar to a camera obscura. The essential 
portion is found where the optic nerve, entering, spreads 
itself as a fine network, called the retina, over the back 
of the organ. The retina is composed of a series of 
nervous layers, of which the most important is that 
known as the layer of rods and cones. The remainder 
of the eye consists of a set of subsidiary mechanisms, ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
69 
some of which serve to protect the eye, while others 
act as a system of lenses and refracting media to form 
an inverted image upon the retina. There is also a 
mechanism of accommodation which enables the eye 
to adjust itself to varying distances of objects in such a 
way that their image shall fall upon the retina, and 
neither behind nor before it. 
Blind Spot.—The optic nerve is not itself sensitive 
to etheric stimulation, consequently the point where 
it enters the eye leaves a blank in the field of vision, 
known as the blind spot. Ordinarily this blank is 
filled in by the restless movement of the eye, and by 
the fact that the blank of one eye does not correspond 
to that of the other. It may be rendered apparent, 
however, by the simple expedient of closing one eye 
and holding the other fixed upon some object. The 
optic nerve enters at one side of the retina, and the 
centre of the retina, known from its color as the yellow 
spot, is the point of most acute vision. 
The Muscular Mechanism.—The eyes are supplied 
with a set of very fine and powerful muscles. These 
serve to turn the eye, so that the stimulus shall fall 
upon the most sensitive point, the yellow spot. They 
also serve to make the two eyes act as one organ, to 
move the eyes up and down, right and left, and to 
close them entirely. The result is that the eye is the 
most mobile organ of the body and is never at rest. 
The law of the movements of the muscles is that any 
given movement is always affected in the same way by 
the contraction of the same muscles to the same extent. 
It is this constancy of muscular movements which en- 
ables the muscular sensations, resulting therefrom, to 
be such an accurate and perfect basis for judgment of 70 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
distance and direction. The connection, accordingly, 
between the visual sensations proper and the muscular 
ocular sensations is so important that we shall consider 
them together. 
III. The Sensations Themselves. — We recognize 
two classes of optical sensations, the visual and the 
muscular. 
1. Visual. — There is no sense in which it is so 
necessary to discriminate between the simple sensuous 
element and the factor supplied by the activities of 
mind as in sight. Without consideration, it -would 
seem as if the visual sensation were whatever we saw 
when we opened our eyes—the visible world of ob- 
jects, of various kinds, at various distances. But, in 
reality, this is a complex psychical product, formed by 
judgments which are the interpretations of the sensu- 
ous material and not the material itself. Nor is the 
material of sensation the image found upon the retina. 
Physiology teaches us that this image is exceedingly 
small, is inverted, concave, and that the retinal elements 
stimulated are a mosaic-work. But, furthermore, psy- 
chology teaches us that this image is itself an external 
object, the knowledge of which is the result of the same 
processes that inform us of the existence and nature of 
any external object. In sensation there is no immedi- 
ate knowledge of it whatever. We are aware of its 
existence only as the result of scientific investigation. 
Light the Only Element of Sensation.—It follows, 
accordingly, that the only element which can he recog- 
nized as that of sensation proper, is light with its vari- 
ous distinctions. These distinctions are of three kinds : 
(1) of intensity, corresponding to the objective energy 
involved; (2) of hue, corresponding to the rate of ob- ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
71 
jective vibration; (3) of tint, corresponding to the 
purity, that is, the simple or compound character of 
the vibrations. 
(1.) Intensity of Light. — This does not refer to 
qualitative differences, as shades of color, but simply to 
the force with which any color or shade impinges upon 
us. It is the difference between the pitch darkness of 
midnight, the obscurity of twilight, and the blaze of 
noonday. It depends simply upon the amount of en- 
ergy of the vibrations of ether which affect the retina. 
The minimum amount of objective energy necessary to 
occasion sensation (threshold value) is stated at xr<r 
of the light of the full moon reflected from white 
paper. The difference threshold varies with differ- 
ent colors. For white light, it is about xrs-> for red ft, 
and the ratio necessary decreases until it reaches the 
violet end of the spectrum, where it is only -rf-g. The 
reason, accordingly, that in the daytime we do not see 
the light of the stars in addition to that of the sun is 
that they do not give xrit of the light of the sun. 
(2.) Idue. — The hues are the various colors of 
the spectrum, and these correspond to the various 
pitches of the musical scale. These colors are such as 
white light decomposes into when refracted through a 
prism—namely, violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, or- 
ange, red—given in the order of decreasing rapidity of 
vibration and amount of refraction; of these, red, 
green, and violet are called the primary colors, because 
from their proper mixture white light and the other 
spectral colors may be formed. The physical basis of 
colors is, therefore, various rates of vibration of the 
ether. 
(3.) Tints or Shades.—We recognize more than the 72 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
above seven colors—at least forty thousand have been 
distinguished. This is due to the fact that, not only is 
the spectrum itself a perfect continuum of colors, but 
each of these spectral colors is, in turn, a continuum of 
shades. These are due to the degree of purity, or, as it 
is technically called, saturation of light. When rays 
corresponding to one prismatic color fall upon the ret- 
ina unaccompanied by any other kind of stimulation, 
the resulting sensation is pure, or saturated, color. 
Just in the degree it is mixed with sensations of other 
kinds it is non-saturated, and shades of the color are 
produced. 
Color-curve. — In general two kinds of shades are 
recognized, whitish and purplish. This is due to the 
following fact: Certain sets of colors, as red and blue- 
green, yellow and indigo-blue, unite to form white light. 
Such sets are called complementary colors. Now if we 
arrange the spectral colors on a line, and select from 
this line such as are nearer together than the comple- 
mentary colors, and mix them, the result is a whitish 
tint of the intermediate color. If, however, we take 
those that are farther apart, it results in a purplish 
tinge. The spectral line thus takes the form of a 
curve, with green at the apex, red and violet at the 
bases, while purple connects these two, and the sur- 
face included by these lines represents all possible 
tints, perfect white being found at one point, whitish 
shades above it, and purplish tints below. 
2. Muscular Sensations. — These serve two pur- 
poses: (1) they aid the visual sensations; (2) they add 
a new and different element to them. 
(1.) They increase wonderfully the fineness and ac- 
curacy of color distinctions. As already said, the yel* ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
73 
low spot is the most finely discriminating portion of 
the retina. Two points can here be discriminated as 
two when they are separated by only .005 millimeter. 
Sight thus makes two hundred times finer spatial dis- 
crimination than the tip of the tongue, the most sensi- 
tive of the organs of touch. This fineness decreases 
very rapidly as we go towards the periphery of the 
retina—at forty degrees difference it is not more than 
as great as at the centre, and it decreases at a still 
more rapid rate nearer the limits. Were it not for 
the power of moving the eyes rapidly, only that com- 
paratively small part of the field of vision which falls 
upon the centre would be distinctly seen; all else would 
be vague and blurred. The muscular connections of 
the eye also allow us to multiply and contrast color 
sensations almost indefinitely. Vision, in fact, is even 
more dependent upon motor activity than touch, for 
with a slight muscular contraction the eyes close 
and vision ceases, or the eyes are turned and the sensa- 
tion changes in quality and intensity. 
(2.) The motor activity complements the visual by 
adding new sensations. Each movement of the eye is 
accompanied by a distinct muscular sensation. It re- 
quires less muscular contraction of the eye muscles to 
occasion change of sensation than any other portion of 
the system—a change of produces a new sensation. 
There is always a tendency to move the eyes so that 
they shall fixate the object whose image falls on the 
point of most acute vision. Thus there comes to be a 
fixed connection between the visual sensation of any 
part of the eye distant from the centre and the muscu- 
lar sensation which accompanies the change of the 
position of the eye, so as to bring the image upon the 74 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
yellow spot. Thus, by a process to be studied under 
the head of perception, each muscular sensation gets to 
be a permanent and accurate sign of a certain spatial 
distance and direction. 
§ 8. Temperature /Sense, 
By the diffusion of the organs of this sense over the 
skin, and by the emotional and vague character of its 
sensations, this sense is specially well fitted to make the 
transition from specific to organic sensation. It will 
be found practically impossible to separate what is to 
be said about this sense under the three heads which 
we have formerly used. 
Organ.—Recent investigations have shown that not 
the whole skin is sensitive to differences of heat and 
cold. The skin, in fact, may be divided into points 
of three kinds: neutral, which are barely sensitive of 
temperature distinctions; heat spots; and cold spots. 
The two latter respond only to stimuli of one kind. 
That is to say, if a cold body be put upon a heat spot, 
no sensation of cold results; but if it be mechanically 
stimulated by a body of any temperature whatever, 
heat results. 
Nature of the Organ.—Just what the nerve ending 
is which functions for the temperature sense is not 
known. It is believed, however, to exist only in the 
true skin, and some of the mucous membranes of the 
body, as the mouth, oesophagus, and probably the 
stomach. It is destroyed by wounds, burns, scalds, 
etc., but is regenerated with the healing of the wound. 
It is distinct from the organ which mediates contact 
sensations, for the parts which are most sensitive to 
pressure are not those most responsive to temperature ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
75 
differences, which are the cheek and the back of the 
hand. Again the heat and cold spots do not coincide 
with the tactile corpuscles. In clinical cases it has 
been noticed that one sense may be in abeyance while 
the other is vigorous. The organ is also distinct from 
that of pain. By the use of cocoaine it is possible 
to produce local insensibility to pain, or anaesthesia, 
while the part remains as sensitive to differences of 
heat and cold as ever. 
The Sensations.—Temperature sensations are specifi- 
cally different from others, therefore, and have organs 
of their own. Feelings of heat and cold are not two 
degrees of the same sensation, but are specifically dif- 
ferent, having separate organs. The threshold differ- 
ence is stated at one third. There are some points 
connected with sensations of this class which remain 
unsettled. Why, for example, do we generally per- 
ceive only differences of temperature, and not temper- 
ature itself ? The body seems to have the power of 
adjusting itself, within certain limits, to the degree of 
temperature which surrounds it, and this normal tem- 
perature we do not feel, but only departures from it. 
This has its analogue in other senses, and may be due 
partly to an actual change in the sensory organ, and 
partly to the fact that we do not pay attention to 
whatever is customary. Another fact is that a body 
of lukewarm temperature will appear hot to a cold 
hand, while it seems cold to a hot hand, showing the 
influence of contrast upon our perceptions. 
§ 9. General Sensation. 
General, or organic, sensations have been already de- 
fined. They are such as arise incidentally in the nerve 76 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
organ whose main function is the regulation of some 
animal process. They are differentiated from specific 
sensations as much by their own character as by the 
way in which they originate. They are extremely 
vague and changeable ; they pass into each other by 
imperceptible gradations. It is almost impossible to 
localize them. They do not have that connection with 
muscular sensation which characterizes specific sensa- 
tions. It follows that they serve as the basis of knowl- 
edge only to a very slight degree, whether knowledge 
of extra-organic bodies or of the organism itself. They 
are more closely allied with feeling. 
Classification.—They may be divided into (1) those 
arising from the state of a body as a whole, or serving 
to regulate it; (2) those connected with some one set 
of bodily organs ; (3) those arising indifferently in any 
part of the body. 
1. Sensations of the Organism, as a Whole.—These 
may be subdivided into (1) coensesthesia, and (2) sys- 
temic feelings. 
(1.) Coenmthesia, or, as it is otherwise called, com- 
mon feeling, which seems to arise from the summation 
and cumulation of all the sensations of all the sensitive 
parts of the body. Any one, taken by itself, is very 
minute, and might be imperceptible. Taken together 
they constitute the sense of life, of vitality, and of gen- 
eral Men aise, or malaise. They seem also to make up 
the underlying emotional temperament of the individ- 
ual as distinct from his varying moods and dispositions. 
They also serve as the sensuous basis, which, when in- 
terpreted, goes to determine the feeling which each 
has of his own individuality. Any sudden or abnor- 
mal alteration of it is quite likely to result in some ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
77 
disorder of individuality, as seen in insane persons, who 
imagine themselves to be Job, Queen Victoria, Julius 
Chesar, etc. These feelings, constituting the report in 
consciousness of one’s body, as a whole, are certainly 
intimately connected with self. They are constant, 
continuous, and relatively permanent. They form the 
background on which all other feelings display them- 
selves. It is not strange that their disorder should be 
accompanied with results otherwise startling. 
(2.) Systemic Feelings.—These are such as regulate 
the animal activities of the organism. They are espe- 
cially the feelings of hunger, thirst, and sex, and get 
their name from their connection with the system as 
a whole. Some have attempted to localize these sen- 
sations ; to refer hunger, for example, to the stomach, 
as its organ ; but there is no doubt that they are prop- 
erly feelings of the whole organism. Not the stomach, 
but the system, wants food ; and so of thirst and sexual 
feeling. 
2. Sensations of Organs.—The nerve endings of the 
stomach, for example, have as their proper business 
the regulation of the processes of digestion. Usually 
such feelings as accompany this process are lost in the 
coensesthetic feeling, adding to our sense of vitality 
and well-being. They may appear, however, as espe- 
cial feelings of relish and disgust, nausea. In case of 
disease, they obtrude themselves very distinctly. Sen- 
sations accompanying indigestion are characterized 
equally by their painful feeling, and by the influence 
which they exert upon the emotional mood. Besides 
the sensation of digestion may be mentioned those ac- 
companying respiration, the pulmonary sensations; and, 
in abnormal cases, those accompanying the action of 78 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the heart. Each organ of the body, however, has its 
special report in feeling, and the hypochondriac often 
gains great skill in recognizing them. 
3. Sensations which may Arise in any Organ.—These 
are pain and fatigue. Disease or overwork of any 
portion of the body, or of the body as a whole, makes 
itself known in peculiar sensations. These sensations 
are evidently wholly emotional in their natures, and 
hence take ns beyond our present subject. 
(§ 1.) Upon the general nature of sensation the following references will 
give an idea of the various opinions held. Hartley, “ Conjecture quasdam de 
Sensu, Motu et Ideorum Generatione;” Spencer (op. cit.), pt. ii., chs. i. and 
ii.; Morell, “Elements of Psychology,” pp. 85-118; Sully, “Sensation and 
Intuition,” and “ Psychology,” ch. v.; Lewes, “Problems of Life and Mind,” 
Third Series, pt. 2, pp. 36-50; Bain, “ Senses and Intellect,” p. 117; Brown, 
“Philosophy of Mind,” vol. i., pp. 417-499; Murray (op. cit.), pp. 18-31; Car- 
penter, “Mental Physiology,” ch. iv.; Maudsley, “Physiology of Mind,” ch. 
iv.; Gillaume, “Nouveau Traite des Sensations;” Lotze, “Elements of Psy- 
chology ” (transl.), pp. 5 - 28, and “ Metaphysic ” (transl.), pp. 445 - 456; 
Wundt (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 271-320; Volkmann (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 216-249; 
Waitz, “Grundlegung der Psychologie,” p. 42; Ilorwicz ( op. cit.), vol. i., 
pp. 175-185; George (op, cit.), pp. 55-69, and “ Die Fiinf Sinne;” Rosenkranz, 
“ Psychologie,” pp. 75-93; Michelet, “ Anthropologie und Psychologie,” pp. 
240-267; Schneider, “ Die Unterscheidung,” pp. 1-23 ; Bergmann, “ Grund- 
linien einer Theorie des Bewusstseins,” pp. 31-53; Helmholtz, “ Philosophische 
Abhandlungen,” vol. ii., pp. 591-609; Strieker, “ Studien iiber das Bewusst- 
sein,” pp. 15-29. 
For the educational aspect of the question, see Perez, “L’Education des le 
Berceau,” pp. 1-34, Pape-Carpantier, “L’Education des Sens;” Delon, “Me- 
thode Intuitive;” Jahn, “ Psychologie,” pp. 5-13; Delhez, “Gymnastik der 
Sinne;” Beneke, “Erziehungs- und Unterrichtslehre,” pp. 71-86. 
(§ 3.) Foster, “ Text-book of Physiology,” pp. 589-598 ; Bain (op. cit.), pp. 
175-205 ; Bernstein (op. cit.), pp. 10-43; Taine (op. cit.), bk. iii., ch. ii., § 4; 
Murray (op. cit.), pp. 40-46; Hermann (op. cit,.), vol. ii., pp. 289-358 ; Wundt 
(op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 365-381; Preyer (op. cit.), pp. 70-84, and especially Weber, 
Tastsinn, und GemeingefUhl, in Wagner’s “Handworterbuch der Physiologie.” 
Upon local signs in particular, see Ribot, “Contemporary German Psy- 
chology,” ch. iv.; “Revue Philosophique,” vol. iv., by Lotze; ibid. vol. vi., by 
Wundt; Lotze, “Metaphysic,” pp. 485-505 ; Stumpf, “Psychologische Ur- 
sprung der Raumvorstellung,” pp. 86-101. Additional upon muscular sensa- ELEMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 
79 
tion are Mach, “Die Lehre von den Bewegungsempfindungen;” Bastian, 
“Brain as Organ of Mind,” in Appendix; Ferrier, “Functions of Brain,” 
pp. 266-271; Lewes (op. cit.), Third Series, pt. 2, pp. 312-329; Bain (op. cit.), 
pp. 87-106, and (especially) James, “Feeling of Effort;” Jcanmaire, “La 
Personnalite,” pp. 247-340; Bertrand, “ L’Apperception du Corps Humain 
par le Conscience;” Hermann (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 359-374; Donaldson and 
Hall, “ Mind,” vol. x., p.557. For optical muscular sensations in particu- 
lar, see Bernstein (op. cit.), pp. 123-136, and Helmholtz, “Optique Physio- 
logique” (French transl.), pp. 595-680. 
(§ 4.) Murray (op. cit.), pp. 36-40; Bain (op. cit.), pp. 163-175; Bernstein 
(op. cit.), pp. 285-294; Preyer (op. cit.), pp. 95-102 ; Hermann (op. cit.), vol. 
ii., pp. 270-288. For an odd collection of facts and fancies regarding the 
sense of smell, see Jager, “ Die Entdeckung der Seele.” 
(§ 5.) Murray (op. cit.), pp. 32-36; Bain (op. cit.), pp. 152-163; Wundt 
(op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 382-385; Preyer, “Die Seele des Kindes,” pp. 85-94; 
Ulrici (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 332-335; Taine, “ Intelligence,” bk. iii., ch. ii., § 3,. 
and especially Bernstein, “Five Senses of Man,” pp. 295-301, and Hermann’s 
“ Handbuch der Physiologie der Sinnesorganen,” vol. ii., pp. 192-225. 
(§ 6.) Upon this sense Helmholtz’s “Theory of Tone Sensations” is the 
principal authority, along with articles in his “ Wissenschaftliche Abhand- 
lungen,” vol. i., pp. 233-428; vol. ii., pp. 503-590, and his “Popular Scien- 
tific Lectures,” pp. 61 -106. Next in importance come, perhaps, Stumpf, 
“ Tonpsychologie,” and Hermann (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 1-126. See, also, Bern- 
stein (bp. cit.), pp. 164-284; Sully, “ Sensation and Intuition,” pp. 163-185; 
Wundt (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 386-409; vol. ii., pp. 34-60; “ Philosophische 
Studien,” vol. i., pp. 453 and 495; Riemann, “ Ueber das musikalische Ho- 
ren;” Hostinsky, “Die Lehre von den musikalischen KHingen;” Czermak, 
“ Ueber das Ohr und das Horen.” 
(§ 7.) There is considerable literature upon the historical development of 
this sense. See, besides discussions in periodical literature by Gladstone and 
Max Muller, Allen, “Color Sense,” and Magnus, Marty, and Hochegger upon 
“Die geschichtliche Entwickelung des Farbensinnes.” Compare also Gra- 
ber, “Der Helligskeits- und Farbensinn der Thiere.” The chief authority 
upon the sense is Helmholtz, “ Physiologique Optique” (French edition), pp. 
204-444, and “ Popular Scientific Lectures,” pp. 229-270; see also Yolkmann, 
article “ Sehen,” in Wagner’s “Hwb. der Physiologie.” For various theo- 
ries upon color, see Goethe, “ Theory of Colors,” and Schopenhauer, “Ueber 
das Sehen und die Farben,” which, though antiquated, are still interesting. 
For the sense in general, see Jeffries, “ Color Blindness” (contains a valuable 
bibliography) ; Bernstein (op. cit.), pp. 48-122; Hermann (op. cit.), vol. i., 
pp. 139-234; Wundt (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 410-464; Foster (op. cit.), pp. 510- 
551; Bain (op. cit.), p. 222-250; Preyer (op. cit.), p. 451. For remarkable 
associations of color and tone sensations, see Bleuler and Lehmann, “ Zwangs- 
massige Lichtempfindungen.” 80 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
(§ 8.) Hermann (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 415-439, and Donaldson, “Mind,” vol. 
x., p. 399, with the bibliography there given. 
(§ 9.) References upon organic sensations will be found included, for the 
most part, in the foregoing. In addition may be consulted, Preyer (op. tit.), 
pp. 103-128; Horwicz (op. tit.), vol. i., pp. 185-191, 337-340; Murray (op. 
tit.), pp. 60-71. 
On the Senses, see Ladd, “Elements of Physiological Psychology," Part 
ii., chs. iii.-v. Experiments throwing light on the interconnection of the 
various sense qualities and going to show that photisms and phonisms may 
be only extreme exaggerations of normal processes may be found in Pfliiger’s 
“Archiv,” Bd. xlii., p. 154. For an extremely useful compendium of experi- 
ments, etc., regarding the senses, see Sanford, in “American Journal of Psy- 
chology,” April, 1891. CHAPTER IV. 
PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
§ 1. The Nature of the Problem. 
Sensations are not Knowledge.—But these elements 
which we have been studying do not constitute knowl- 
edge or knowing. Knowing does not consist in having 
feelings of heat, of contact, of color, and of sound. 
The world which is known is not a disorderly, passing 
assemblage of these feelings. We have now to dis- 
cover the processes by which these sensations are elab- 
orated, on the one hand, into the objects known, and 
on the other into the subject knowing. The best way 
of approaching this study will be to ascertain what 
some of the general characteristics of the known world 
and knowing self are, and by comparing these charac- 
teristics with those of sensations, find out what gap it 
is which the processes are to bridge over. We shall 
begin, in short, by pointing out the necessity of these 
processes, and the function which they fulfil in the 
psychical life. 
I. The Nature of the Known World 
1. Actual Knowledge is Concerned with a World of 
Belated Objects—that is to say, with a universe of things 
and events arranged in space and time. By an object 
we mean (1) something having a certain permanence, 
(2) existing, therefore, aside from the mere occurrence 
of a sensation, and (3) capable of being presented to 82 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
any normal mind. What we need to explain, then, is 
how we become conscious of a sensation, instead of 
merely feeling it; how the quality of a sensation be- 
comes consciously distinguished from the mere event 
or occurrence of the sensation. As an event, sensa- 
tion is limited to some one mind, and to some one 
moment. It lasts only as long as it is felt. But the 
world of objects is not a series of unconnected, un- 
related objects. Each is joined to every other in 
space and in time. We never experience any breach 
of continuity. We pass naturally, by some connect- 
ing link, from one to another. We live, in short, 
in an ordered, harmonious world, or cosmos; not in 
a chaos. All objects and events are considered as 
members of one system; they constitute a uni-verse, 
one world, in which order, connection, is the universal 
rule. 
2. Actual Knowledge is Concerned with Relations. 
—We are not limited to particular objects or events 
alone. Science opens to us the realm of relations, or 
laws—uniformities which connect phenomena with 
each other, and are hence universal. Science deals 
only incidentally with this apple, or that rose ; this 
particular cat or jelly-fish. It deals with them only to 
discover exemplified in them certain common features 
which it expects to find in all members of the class; that 
is, certain relations universally present. Thew; relations, 
accordingly, are not mere objects or events. They are 
permanent connections which hold objects and events 
together, and make a unity of them. As just pointed 
out, the objects and events which we know are con- 
nected with each other, but in ordinary perception we 
pay no particular attention to these relations. We are PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
83 
absorbed with the individual existence. Science takes 
a step in advance and discovers what these relations 
are which connect things and occurrences together so 
that they all constitute a harmonious whole. 
Nature of Science.—Scientific knowledge, in other 
words, differs from ordinary knowledge in being uni- 
fied, systematic, connected knowledge. Science is not 
content with knowing that objects are connected in 
time and space ; it endeavors to find out just what the 
relations of succession and co-existence are which do 
thus connect them. It reduces many separate facts to 
their unity in one law. It finds one form, or a uni- 
formity, in many facts apparently unconnected. The 
ultimate aim of science is to unify all facts and events 
whatever, so that it may not only feel that they are 
members of one system, but may actually realize their 
systematic unity. It is evident that the original, fleet- 
ing, subjective affections, known as sensations, will have 
to be still further transformed, in order to account for 
that form of knowledge which we call science. 
3. Actual Knowledge is Concerned with Ideal Ele- 
ments.—The epic of Ilomer, the tragedy of Sophocles, 
the statue of Phidias, the symphony of Beethoven are 
creations. Although having a correspondence with 
actual existences, they do not reproduce them. They 
are virtual additions to the world’s riches; they are 
ideal. Such creations are not confined to art, nor are 
they remote from our daily existence. When shall 
we see justice? Who has touched righteousness? 
What sense or combination of senses gives us the idea 
of the state or church; of history, as the development 
of man ; of God, or the source and end of all our striv- 
ings? What a meagre life were left us, were the ideal 84 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
elements removed! It would be, as has been well said, 
a world in which the home "would be four walls and a 
roof to keep out cold and wet; the table a mess for 
animals, and the grave a hole in the ground. 
A world in which everything is regarded simply as 
a fact presented to the senses would hardly be a world 
in which we should care to live. The processes we are 
about to study must, therefore, be capable of transmut- 
ing sensations into these ideals which make life rich, 
worthy, and dignified. 
II. The Natuke of the Knowing Self. 
Along with the transformation of sensations into 
this world of objects, relations, and ideals, goes their 
transformation into the self which knows and idealizes. 
The man not only knows more than the child, but he 
is a than instead of a child. He not only knows more, 
but he is more. This difference is not a physical one 
of bulk, or stature, or age; any more than it is differ- 
ence of color of hair, or texture of the skin. These 
are of any importance only because they are connected 
with a psychical difference, the difference in the degree 
of development of the knowing self. The processes 
which we are to study must therefore be such as to 
enable us to account for this growth of self. 
The Processes.—These processes are ultimately re- 
ducible to two, one of which is principally concerned 
with the formation of the world of known objects and 
relations out of the elementary sensations, while the 
other is concerned with the formation of the knowing 
self. To these two processes the names of appercep- 
tion and retention may be given. Apperception may 
be defined, at the outset, as the reaction of mind i>y PEOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
85 
means of its organized structure upon the sensuous 
material presented to it. Retention is the reaction of 
the apperceived content upon the organized structure 
of the mind. Apperception organizes the world of 
knowledge by bringing the self to bear upon it; reten- 
tion organizes the self by bringing the things known 
to bear upon it. Each process, accordingly, involves 
the other. We begin with the subject of 
§ 2. Apperception. 
A. The Problem of Apperception. 
In general, this is the fact that there is such a thing 
as knowledge; that we not only have sensations, but 
have an intelligent life and intelligible experiences. 
Whatever appeals to the investigation of intelligence, 
offers it material upon which to exert its activities, 
whatever responds to the inquiry by producing some 
fruit for intelligence, we call significant, or possessing 
meaning. It is the characteristic, then, of the subject- 
matter of our psychical life that it has meaning. What- 
ever is meaningless has no point of contact with intel- 
ligence or the apperceiving activity of mind. The 
main-spring of our cognitive experiences is the more 
or less conscious feeling that things have meaning. 
Significance and Relations. — If we inquire under 
what circumstances any object or event enters into our 
intellectual life as significant, we find that it is when it 
is connected in an orderly way with the rest of our 
experience. The meaningless is that which is out of 
harmony, which has no connection with other elements. 
To have meaning, the fact or event must be related 
to some other fact or event. The isolated, the sepa- 
rate, is never the object of knowledge. Were not sen- 86 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
sations capable of being connected so that the mind 
could go from one to another naturally, they never 
could become even materials of knowledge. To be 
significant is to be a sign; that is, to point to some- 
thing beyond its own existence to which it is related. 
Whatever has its meaning exhausted in itself, and con- 
sequently has no connection with anything beyond it- 
self, has no meaning. Relationship is the essence of 
meaning. 
Two Kinds of Relations.—Looking at the matter in 
a very general way, we find that psychical life has 
meaning because its elements are connected in two 
ways: (1) They are combined ; (2) They are continuous. 
That is to say, all the cognitive elements occurring at 
any one time are combined into a whole, and all these 
combinations, made at various times, are connected into 
an orderly, continuous whole. Our ideas are significant 
because they are related in two ways: any given idea 
is related to all ideas existing at the same time, and 
is related to all ideas which occur at different times. 
These two kinds of relation evidently cover the whole 
of our psychical life. Such relations are, however, ex- 
ternal, and we shall find certain internal relations, those 
of identity and difference, more essential. Yet by re- 
lations our mental life has meaning. 
Illustration.—This may be shown in a simple way 
by asking what is involved in the apperception of, say, 
an orange. The sensations of sight, touch, taste, and 
smell are its constituent elements. They give the ma- 
terial which enters into the cognition. As sensations 
alone, these are unrelated and unconnected. Each is 
transitory, complete in itself, therefore isolated and 
pointing to nothing beyond itself. Hence they are PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
87 
meaningless. They are not the idea of an orange; they 
are half a dozen separate elements of weight, color, 
flavor, etc. These elements must, accordingly, be com- 
bined. They must be brought into connection with 
each other, and made members of a whole—only then 
do they get meaning, and appeal to intelligence. But 
this combination does not give us knowledge of an 
orange. This means more than that we do not know’ 
that its name is “orange.” We do not yet know the 
thing. When we know a thing we recognize it, but 
we cannot recognize anything unless we can connect it 
with our previous experience, and recognize it as like 
some of our past ideas, and unlike others. In short, it 
must be given a place in the connected series of ideas 
which make up our experience before it is known. 
First Objection.—An examination of the objections 
which might be brought against this assertion will tend 
to make the matter clearer. In the first place, it may 
be objected, that we do know things which we have 
never experienced before, and that if we did not, there 
would be no such thing as learning or new knowledge. 
For example, we may be given a strange fruit, perhaps 
a guava, and by “trying” it, we find out almost every- 
thing about it. But, if we inquire what we mean by 
finding out about it, we see that the objection confirms 
rather than refutes the original assertion. In the first 
place, we shall find out that it is a fruit, and this we 
can do only as we recognize its identity with some 
of our previous experiences, and thus connect them 
together. Then we may discover that it is edible, but 
this is only because its odor, flavor, etc., have been for- 
merly associated with objects that are edible. So far, 
in short, as the guava is known, it is known by discov- 88 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ering points of likeness between it and what has been 
previously known. Knowledge is extensive and accu- 
rate just in the degree in which we have had experi- 
ences in the past, similar to the present one, with which 
we can connect it. Were it absolutely unfamiliar it 
would be absolutely non-significant. This condition, 
however, can never be fulfilled, for we shall at least be 
able to recognize it as a thing or object, as having ex- 
istence, etc. 
Second Objection.—But it may be said that there was 
a time when we experienced something absolutely un- 
familiar, that intelligent life had a beginning, so that 
there was in infancy a time when the thing was first 
known, and could not be known by connecting it with 
other knowledge. But this objection overlooks the 
fact that the baby’s knowledge is not a thing which 
occurs all at once, but is a matter of gradual growth. 
The first years of childhood are spent, not so much in 
knowing things, as in getting experiences which may 
be brought to bear in the future, and thus enable him to 
know. The infant has all the sensations that we have, 
yet no one would say that he has the knowledge. The 
reason for this fact is that he does not have the past 
store of experience with which he may connect the 
present, and thus render it significant. The child 
spends his early years in learning to know. Knowl- 
edge is an acquired product, due to the possibility of 
connecting present experiences with past. 
Summary.—The characteristic of onr intelligent life, 
both as a whole, and in its parts, is that it is significant. 
Significant means ordered, connected; and connected 
in two ways, simultaneously and successively. Accord- 
ingly, in studying apperception, or the activity of mind PKOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
89 
which renders psychical life intelligent, we are study- 
ing the means by which the sensuous elements of our 
knowledge gain significance through the union of all 
elements occurring together, and by the mutual refer- 
ence to each other of those occurring at different times. 
We now turn to a study of the definite ways in which 
this is accomplished. 
Apperception is that activity of mind in which the 
significance of mental events is brought out, though be- 
coming explicitly conscious of the relations involved in 
them. It is the appropriation of the intellectual, or 
qualitative, value of an experience merely momentarily 
felt. In our study of it we shall recognize three stages: 
1. Association ; 2. Dissociation ; 3. Attention. 
B. Kinds of Apperception. 
Three Stages.—These are not to be understood as 
three kinds of apperception, but only as three degrees 
in the development of the apperceiving activity. The 
basis of the division is the relative simplicity of the 
processes, and the relative activity of the mind in per- 
forming them. Association is comparatively simple, 
dealing with the original sensuous forms, and combin- 
ing them into comparatively non-complex wholes. At- 
tention begins with these wholes, already prepared for 
it. Its results are the highest and most complex crea- 
tions of our intellectual life. 
Relative Activity.—The mind is, of course, active in 
all processes, but in association the activity appears to 
be externally occasioned and directed. The mind is 
active in combining sensations, but the combining ac- 
tivity follows mechanically upon the presence of the 
sensations, and the direction which it tabes is depend- 90 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ent upon them. In attention, the activity is not pro- 
duced by the mere presence of the ideas, but is due to 
the interests and aims of the mind itself. The mind 
associates whatever is given to it; it attends only to 
that which it selects. So the special direction which 
the attention takes is determined not by the character 
of the sensations themselves, but by the end which the 
mind wishes to reach for purposes of its own. The 
activity, in one case, is externally determined; in the 
other case, it is self-determined. Dissociation occupies 
an intermediate place. It frees the mind from the 
mechanical pressure which association exerts upon it, 
and disengages the various ends towards which atten- 
tion may direct itself. Each of these later stages grows 
naturally out of the previous one; and we shall find 
that the emotional side of the mind, or its interests, 
is the active factor in occasioning the growth of the 
mind in intellectual freedom. 
§ 3. Association. 
A. The law of association, stated most generally, is 
that the activity of mind never leaves sensuous elements 
isolated, but connects them into larger wholes. We be- 
gin with a study of its conditions, positive and neg- 
ative. 
I. Positive Conditions.—These are : (1) The presence 
of sensuous elements; (2) That state of mind which we 
call being awake. It is evident, on the one hand, that 
if there be no sensuous elements present, there will be 
nothing for the apperceiving activity to combine, and 
also nothing to stimulate it into activity. The mind, 
in spite of its tendency to act, would remain an unde- 
veloped blank, were it not for the presence of sensa- PEOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
91 
tions to call forth its processes. In the case of a per- 
son who had lost all senses excepting hearing, it was 
only found necessary to close his ears to induce sleep. 
On the other hand, no matter how strong and numer- 
ous are the sensations presented, if the mind is not in 
that state of readiness which we call being awake, no 
association results. Mere sensations are not enough to 
keep the mind awake, although it will not be awake 
without them. Constant stimulation seems to fatigue 
the mind, and, finally, bring it to a state where it is no 
longer able to respond. In just the degree in which 
this awakeness ceases, fails also the combining activity 
of self. It must be remembered, however, that in the 
state of dreaming the mind is still partially awake. 
II. Negative Conditions.—The conditions just men- 
tioned are equally conditions of any activity of mind. 
To differentiate association from the higher activities, 
it is necessary to mention some negative conditions. 
These, as already suggested (page 89), are relative pas- 
sivity of the mind, and relative simplicity of the sen- 
sory elements. By passivity is not meant that the 
mind is wholly passive, and that the sensory elements 
impress themselves upon it, but that its activity is de- 
termined rather by the stimuli themselves than by a 
conscious end or interest of the mind. The process is 
much like that already studied in sensation (page 44). 
In the latter the nervous change in the brain serves 
as'a stimulus to the sensitive activity of the mind, and 
the latter responds mechanically with the sensation. 
In association this sensation acts as a stimulus to the 
apperceiving activity of self, and it responds mechani- 
cally by combining it with others. 
Simplicity. — The stimuli which affect the mind 92 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
must be of like character. This does not require that 
they should be of the same sense; it only requires that 
there should be no striking incongruity or incompatibil- 
ity between them. There must be no such conflict be- 
tween them as would compete for the apperceiving ac- 
tivity, so that the latter must make a distinction be- 
tween them. All ideas of any degree of complexity 
do have, however, factors that appear non-harmonious, 
so that the only elements which can fulfil this condition 
are extremely simple ones—either original sensations, 
or ideas where the quality of likeness predominates over 
that of difference. 
Transition to Higher Forms.—In its higher forms, 
however, the associating activity passes insensibly into 
dissociation, for it is impossible to emphasize the pre- 
dominating quality of likeness without, partially at 
least, discriminating the unlike. If, for example, we 
associate in our minds a whale with a bear because of 
some fundamental identity between them, as that both 
are mammals, it is because we can sift out all un- 
like qualities and disregard them. The difference be- 
tween association and dissociation is not so much in 
the modes of activit}' as in the elements upon which 
stress is laid. Association emphasizes the like element; 
dissociation accentuates, rather, the unlike, and while 
one results in combination, the other results, rather, in 
separation. They might almost be treated, therefore, 
as two sides of the same activity. We shall draw the 
line simply when the selective activity of intelligence 
grows more apparent. 
B. Forms of Associating Activity.—We now inquire 
what are the various forms or modes in which this ac- 
tivity manifests itself. The mind binds together all PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
93 
actual sensory elements into a total experience: this 
is Presentative Association. It also binds together 
former experiences with new ones which suggest the 
former: this is Representative Association. The two 
together constitute the ordinary train of ideas. 
Law of Presentative.—The mind connects all sensa- 
tions as far as possible into one total maximum expe- 
rience. If, for example, the eye sees a rod striking a 
surface at certain intervals, and, at the same periods, 
the ear hears a noise, the two will go together into one 
idea, whether or not they have a common source. Just 
so two events occurring at about the same time, say a 
rain storm and a certain phase of the moon, will tend 
to be united. The tendency to shun isolated elements 
and to force connections wherever possible is perhaps 
the fundamental law of mental action. 
Importance of Law. — This law economizes mental 
force. Ten elements united into one idea are grasped 
and carried almost as easily as any one of the ten sep- 
arately. Moreover, through this tendency to connect 
the mind realizes for itself the maximum of signifi- 
cance ; it gets the fullest possible experience ; or, if we 
use the word sensation in its broadest sense, gets the 
completest and richest sensation. The mind’s instinct 
for a full unity often leads it astray, but it is the secret 
also of all its successes. The discovery of laws, the 
classification of facts, the formation of a unified mental 
world, are all outgrowths of the mind’s hunger for the 
fullest experience possible at the least cost. 
Law Illustrated.—Watch a young child at play with 
a ball. First, perhaps, he spies it with his eyes, get- 
ting a sensation of color. This sensation, while isolated, 
irritates him. He must get the ball into In’s hands. 94 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
This done, he pokes and punches it; he squeezes and 
throws it. He does everything to get the maximum of 
sensation out of it. Before this, probably, he has put 
it to his mouth to get, if possible, sensations of taste. 
In throwing it, he has heard noises as it struck. He 
keeps up this process until he has exhausted the sen- 
sations coming from this object. If we do not go 
through this same process in adult life, it is partly 
from acquired self-restraint, and partly because one 
sensation now symbolizes the others to us. But the 
sign in art galleries that canes and umbrellas must 
be left outside testifies that this same instinct still 
endures. The continuous union of the varied 
sensations into one whole constitutes presentative — 
or, as it is sometimes called, simultaneous — associa- 
tion. 
Fusion or Integration.—If we represent the isolated 
sensations of sight by A, of touch by B, of muscular 
sensation by C, of taste by D, and so on, the outcome 
is not to be designated by A + B + C-fD + E, etc. 
Presentation is not a mechanical mosaic of indepen- 
dent sensations. By the touch sensation the color is 
modified into a B; muscular sensation changes this 
into abC'; taste sensations modify this to a'/3cDr; 
sound sensations transform this to a" f3'ydE', and so 
on. We have, that is to say, a continuous whole of 
sensation constantly undergoing modification and con- 
stantly expanding, but never parting with its unity. 
This process may be termed fusion or integration, 
to indicate the fact that the various elements are 
continually entering into a whole in which they lose 
their independent existence. Professor James illus- 
trates this intimate union by the taste of lemonade. PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
95 
This does not retain unchanged the tastes of sugar 
and of lemon, but is itself a new sensation into which 
the old ones have passed as elements. What associa- 
tion gives us, in other words, is not loosely con- 
nected aggregate of separable parts, but a new total 
experience. 
Transition to Representation. — This process alone 
would give us a series of presentations. As the same 
elements would often be stimulated, there would often 
be a repetition of some former experience. The child, 
for example, who plajed with a ball yesterday might 
play with another to-day. This repeated activity of 
the same elements undoubtedly gives a sense of famil- 
iarity to the presentation. Some new sensations may 
be had and thus the presentation further expanded. 
But there would be as yet no re-presentation. The ob- 
ject known is still actually present. Suppose, however, 
that while the ball played with yesterday was black and 
hard, the ball handled to-day is soft and red. We have 
a certain core of identity in both experiences. Now, 
this identity will strive to complete itself by the addi- 
tion of all connected factors. This core of identity, 
the “ball,” is only a fragment, and the other frag- 
ments, the blackness and the hardness, must be sup- 
plied in order that the maximum of meaning, the 
whole idea, may be experienced. Thus the idea of 
the hard black ball will be formed. But there is 
also going on an integration of sensations of red and 
soft with the “ ball.” These elements, moreover, be- 
ing occasioned by an actual peripheral stimulus of the 
sense organs, will surpass in intensity the centrally ex- 
cited images of black and hard. The presentation of 
the red soft ball, in other words, will displace the idea 96 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of the black hard ball. The latter, however, is not 
destroyed. It is simply degraded from the position 
of an actual presentation. It becomes a representa- 
tion. Or, as we term the primary process of associa- 
tion by which actual sensory elements are fused inte- 
gration, we may term this extension of present sen- 
sory elements by distinct revival of past elements 
redintegration. 
The Train of Experiences.—Representative associa- 
tion is thus only a further development of our original 
principle—the tendency of the mind to work towards 
a unified totality. The totality of presentation is that 
of elements actually experienced at the time. In rep- 
resentation the mind enlarges its grasp. It enriches 
its present experience by supplying the results of pre- 
vious experiences. Were there no incongruity or oppo- 
sition between the present and the past, the former 
would undoubtedly simply be absorbed in the present, 
adding to its meaning. But the opposition of ele- 
ments, as of red to black and of soft to hard, prevents 
this direct absorption. The unlike elements are forced 
into independent consciousness, and, being weaker, 
take the form of representation. By this extension of 
our experience to the reproduction of former pres- 
entations the train of ideas is formed. This is the 
succession of our experiences with the relative pro- 
portion of presentations and representations ever 
waxing and waning. This train does not differ in 
principle from dissociation and attention, to be studied 
later, but only in the degree in which it is controlled 
by some idea or end. 
Forms of Redintegration.—All redintegration rests 
on identity of present activity with some past activity. PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
97 
This identity, however, may be a comparatively external 
one, of place or time of occurrence, or it may be an in- 
ternal one, of likeness of quality or content. The 
former is generally called association by contiguity; 
the latter, association by similarity. An example will 
illustrate their difference. At some time, I have seen 
in the post-office a certain person; these two elements, 
being involved in the same act of apperception, thus 
became members of one whole idea. To-day I go into 
the post-office again, and although the individual is not 
sensuously present, the idea of him immediately occurs 
to my mind. This is evidently redintegration by 
spatial contiguity. The idea which occurs to me upon 
entering the post-office may, however, not be that of 
any one ever seen there. It may be the image of a 
post-office in some other town. This is redintegration 
by similarity. 
External and Internal Association.—It is evident the 
former is external and the latter internal. There is no 
reason internally involved in the idea either of the 
man or the post-office, why one should suggest the 
other. It merely happened to be so. It was an affair 
of circumstance. In the other case the connection is 
intrinsic. It is the internal identity of the significance 
of the two ideas which connects them. The same idea 
is conveyed by both to the mind. It is the principle 
of identity which is working in both associations, but 
in that by contiguity it is mere identity of place or 
time of happening. There is no need that they should 
be identical. In the other case the identity is neces- 
sary ; it is involved in the very existence of the idea. 
In all cases of association by similarity, some partial 
identity of internal significance may be detected. 98 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
The subject of connective association will be treated 
under the following heads : 1. Redintegration by con- 
tiguity ; 2. By similarity, together with their laws and 
sub-varieties. 
1. Association by Contiguity.—Its law is as follows: 
If 'carious sensory elements, or even ideas, contiguous 
in place or time, are associated simultaneously in one 
activity, they become integral portions of it and recur 
with it. Three points are to be taken up in connection 
with it; (1.) The original union of elements in one ac- 
tivity; (2.) The re-presentation of an element not sen- 
suously present; (3.) Two kinds of contiguous associa- 
tion, spatial and temporal. 
(1.) The student must carefully avoid identifying an 
idea with some one of the factors into which it may 
be analyzed. The neglect of this caution has led to 
needless discussion as to the number of ideas which 
may be present in the mind at once, some holding that 
only one idea can exist at a time ; others, that a much 
larger number may be present. The truth is that there 
can be but one idea present in the mind at a time, but 
this one idea may have an indefinite number of sub- 
ordinate ideas co-existing within it. There can be but 
one idea, for the associating activity necessarily com- 
bines into one all that is presented to it at once. 
Illustration.—When I open ray eyes upon a room 
full of people, it is not to be supposed that I have as 
many ideas as there are people and things in the room, 
and then make these into one idea by a process of 
patchwork. The very apperception consists simply in 
uniting these various elements in one whole; it does 
not exist until they have been united. The separation 
of this whole into its constituent elements is a later PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
99 
act. The same holds true of successive elements. 
When I listen to a spoken sentence I do not apperceive 
separately each sound, and then piece them together. 
I take in the idea of the whole sentence. The ana- 
lytic recognition of separate elements is a later process. 
Psychologically, the synthesis precedes analysis. 
(2.) Representation.—The understanding of this fact 
is necessary to any comprehension of redintegration by 
contiguity. Were the ideas which are recalled orig- 
inally separated and isolated atoms, nothing less than a 
miracle could explain the possibility of their recur- 
rence. We should have to suppose that, in someway, 
these ideas were preserved in a storehouse of the mind, 
and that when some other idea occurred which dwelt 
next to some one of them, it had the power of com- 
pelling its neighbor to appear in consciousness also. 
Rut there is no ground for supposing the existence of 
any such limbo of ideas, or of any process of resurrec- 
tion. Nor is the supposition to account for 
the representation of an experience. 
Explanation of lie-presentation.—Recognizing that 
ideas were once organic members of the same activity 
of mind, it is not difficult to see how they recur. The 
activity will recur whenever the mind acts in the same 
way again. The elements occur because they are por- 
tions, members, of this one activity. If we draw one 
end of a stick towards us, it is not surprising that the 
other end comes too; or if we spur one flank of a horse, 
it requires no miracle to explain why the other flank 
moves too. There is but one rod, and one horse. So 
there is but one idea. Getting hold of any part of 
it, it is necessary that the other parts should follow. 
If the perception of a flower recalls the spot where I 100 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
picked it, it is because the flower and the place are 
members of the same whole; they are organically united 
in the same activity of apperception; one has no men- 
tal existence without the other. The difficulty, accord- 
ingly, is not in explaining why redintegration some- 
times takes place, but in explaining why it does not 
always occur. This will be explained under the head 
of dissociation. 
(3.) Forms of Contiguous Association.—Elements are 
thus redintegrated which have been contiguous with 
the presented element either in space or in time. 
(a.) Spatial Association.—It is through this kind of 
suggestion that upon seeing a building we form a men- 
tal image of the street in which it is, or of the whole 
town. Through it we form such connections as the 
suggestion of a lecture, or of the man who delivered 
it, upon seeing the lecture-hall. It covers all 
where one element recalls some other which has been 
coexistent with it in space. It is an important mode 
of connection, both because of the ease with which it 
is cultivated, and because of the results which it has in 
psychical life. Its ease of cultivation is due to the 
fact that we get the larger number of our ideas through 
sight, and sight is pre-eminently the spatial sense. To 
see a thing is synonymous with clear knowledge of it. 
That principle of modern pedagogy that wholes shall 
be presented to the child before parts, and the other 
one, that the child shall see the objects about which he 
learns, are based, in their usefulness, upon this law of 
association. 
Spatial Association in Language.—The fact that 
words denoting spiritual and ideal processes were orig- 
inally words which signified material tilings existing in PEOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
101 
space, serves still further to illustrate the importance 
of this kind of association. In the early history of 
the race the occurrence of a psychical process was so 
closely connected with its physical accompaniment or 
embodiment that the two were confounded. The soul 
was breath, to comprehend was to grasp together, etc. 
The process is still more clearly illustrated in the 
names given to material objects. These were almost 
always some quality of them which appealed to sight, 
and hence was capable of spatial association. So the 
moon was the measurer; the earth was the ploughed; 
wheat was the white, etc. The race, as the individual, 
begins its life in captivity to external associations, and 
it is only by slow processes that the mind is freed from 
them and learns to grasp the ideal, the internal signifi- 
cance. The naturalness of the association of spiritual 
states and the ideal with spatial things is illustrated 
by the poet, who reverses the process just mentioned, 
and embodies these in, or finds them illustrated by, nat- 
ural objects. The personification of objects, and the 
attributing of aspirations, sympathies, and moods to 
nature, are due largely to spatial association. 
(b.) Temporal Contiguity.—A simple illustration of 
this kind of association is seen in illustrating the alpha- 
bet, where the sound of a calls up b, b suggests c, etc. 
It is important to notice that temporal association af- 
fects, as a rule, only the order of the connection ; a 
will call up b, but b fails to redintegrate a. The rea- 
son for this seems, however, to be rather in the fre- 
quency with which the same act has been repeated 
than in the nature of the association. Had a been as- 
sociated with b but once, b would probably suggest a 
as easily as it now calls up c. Repetition in the same 102 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
order has made this order a part of the activity, and 
hence one of the elements recalled. The fact that the 
words of a sentence, if repeated but once, suggest each 
other in a certain order, and not in the reverse, is due 
to the aiding of one association by the sense of the 
passage. In fact, it is in forming the proper order 
that the cultivation of temporal association consists. 
lllustrations.—It will be noticed that hearing is the 
sense of temporal associations as sight is of spatial. 
Speech, music, etc., are dependent for their existence 
upon the formation of regular associations in time. 
The “ learning to speak ” by a child consists, for one 
thing, in forming a consecutive series of associations, 
so that one sound calls up another. The association 
of the name with the object is, however, a case of spa- 
tial association. Sight, by virtue of its muscular con- 
nections, plays a large role in forming temporal associ- 
ations, as, for example, in reading. 
Composite Associations.—The majority of associa- 
tions are complex, involving spatial and temporal asso- 
ciations together with simultaneous fusion. This may 
be illustrated in such well-defined associations as walk- 
ing, speaking, playing a musical instrument, etc. Learn- 
ing to walk consists first in the formation of a tempo- 
ral association, so that each muscular grouping does not 
have to be thought of and willed separately, but the 
appearance of one of the series serves to redintegrate 
each of the others. There is also involved spatial as- 
sociation, for no movement can be performed by one 
muscle alone. The commencement of contraction by 
some one muscle must immediately call forth the ac- 
tivities of other muscles, some of which reinforce this, 
while others counteract it and preserve the equilib- PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
103 
rium of the body. Fusion also comes in inseparably to 
weld these associations together. 
Speech.—Language involves a threefold association 
at least. The sound must be associated with the pre- 
sented object, through a tactual or visual sensation gen- 
erally ; it must be associated with the idea of the ob- 
ject, so that it shall convey meaning even when the 
object is not present; and it must be associated with 
the muscular sensation which corresponds to the ten- 
sion, etc., necessary to produce the sound. If any one 
of the elements is lacking, a corresponding defect of 
speech occurs. In educated persons, two further asso- 
ciations are added. There is an association with the 
visual sensation of the printed or written appearance 
of the word so that it may be read; and there is asso- 
ciation with the muscular sensation which is required 
to write it. Tim student may develop for himself the 
associations involved in playing a musical instrument 
by note. 
2. Redintegration by Similarity.—The law of asso- 
ciation by similarity is as follows: If any activity has 
frequently recurred, any element often occurring gains 
in redintegrating power at the expense of those occur- 
ring less often, and will finally gain the power of act- 
ing independently, so as itself to redintegrate ideas by 
the law of contiguity. An example will serve to bring 
out the meaning of this law. Let us take again the 
association of the man with the post-office. Were we 
always to see the same man in the same post-office, 
and only him, association by contiguity would never 
pass into association by similarity. But this is not the 
case. We see other men and things in the post-office. 
We see this man in other places. Thus there arise as- 104 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
sociations with the post-office which are unlike each 
other in most elements. The only'thoroughly constant 
element is that of the post-office itself. It is evident 
that the less necessary, the more accidental, are the ele- 
ments involved, the more they will vary, and hence 
tend to crowd each other out, while the internal ele- 
ment, in this case, the very idea of the post-office, will 
remain constant. Thus it is that external redintegra- 
tion, or that of contiguity, passes into internal, that of 
similarity. We take up: (1) conditions of association 
by similarity ; (2) its forms. 
(1.) Conditions.—These are : (a.) Varying concomi- 
tants; (b.) Analogy of feeling. 
(a.) Varying Concomitants. — This corresponds to 
the process just spoken of as constituting the transition 
from contiguous to similar association, and its law may 
be stated as follows : If one given element has been 
associated at various times with various elements un- 
like each other, the tendency towards the redintegra- 
tion of any one of these will be checked by an equal 
tendency towards the redintegration of each of the 
others, so that the one permanent element will be set 
free from its varying accompaniments. Thus, if abed 
have been at one time associated in the activity x ; at 
another time, acfg in the activity y; and, again, ahij 
in the activity of 2, and now a recurs again, the ten- 
dency towards the redintegration of any given element 
will be equally assisted and equally checked in every 
instance; while a itself will stand out with triple em- 
phasis. 
Illustration.—The varying concomitants being thus 
eliminated, the permanent element of similar charac- 
ter will redintegrate other elements by the subordinate PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
105 
action of the law of contiguity. For example, I see a 
portrait and there immediately comes before me the 
idea of its original in a position where I saw him at 
some given time. By the action of the pure law of 
contiguity the portrait might Ijave called up something 
entirely different; but the various tendencies in differ- 
ent directions check each other, while the likeness of 
each of the parts of the face, eye, ear, mouth, etc., with 
the face of the original strengthen each other, and 
tend towards that definite form of redintegration. 
Further Illustration.—Or, again, I see a St. Bernard 
dog from my window. This perception may call up 
the place where first I saw him, or the idea of the man 
whom he generally accompanies. This is evidently by 
the law of contiguity purely. Or it may redintegrate 
the idea of another St. Bernard dog which I once saw 
somewhere else. The first step is the exclusion of all 
associations depending upon the varying circumstances, 
times, and places of previous perceptions of St. Ber- 
nard dogs, and the emphasizing of the identical ele- 
ment—the idea of a St. Bernard dog itself. Then this 
element operates by the law of contiguity and calls up 
the surroundings of place and time with which the 
idea of a St. Bernard dog, although not this one, was 
once associated. 
(b.) Analogy of Feeling.—Its law may be stated as 
follows: At any given time only those ideas will be 
redintegrated which are of like emotional tone with 
the mood then present. Ideas quite dissimilar in in- 
tellectual content may thus serve to call up each other. 
The train of ideas in a cheerful mood differs from that 
which goes on in a melancholy state. A mood may 
indeed become so dominant as to entirely govern the 106 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
course of images and ideas. A present sorrow may so 
darken the mind that it can find no joyous experiences 
in the past. A present happiness may effectually ex- 
clude all recollection of past sorrows. In all cases wre 
are able to call up experiences of past events most ef- 
fectually when we can assume a mood congruous to 
that in which the events occurred. 
Iimportance of Feeling in Association.—Feeling, in 
all cases, seems to serve as a matrix in which ideas are 
embedded, and by which they are held together. There 
is no more permanent tie between ideas than this iden- 
tity of emotion. The power of a flag to awaken patri- 
otic ideas and resolves, of a cross to arouse religious 
meditation or devout action, is due to the tie of feeling 
rather than to that of intellectual process. The same 
fact governs the higher flights of oratory and the proc- 
esses of poetic production. In oratory, indignation, 
enthusiasm, some passion, brings the whole resource of 
the mind to bear upon the point at issue. The inten- 
sity of feeling shuts out from the discourse all inhar- 
monious images and irrelevant ideas far more effectu- 
ally than any direct purpose of attention could bring 
about. The contingent and accidental detail that usu- 
ally accompany the course of our ideas vanishes, and 
they follow each other in an original and vital unity, 
a unity which reflective thought may imitate, but only 
overmastering emotion produce. 
In Poetry.—The poet not only detects subtler anal- 
ogies than other men, and perceives the subtle link of 
identity where others see confusion and difference, 
but the form of his expression, his language, images, 
etc., are controlled also by deeper unities. These uni- 
ties are unities of feeling. The objects, the ideas, con- PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
107 
nected are perhaps remote from each other to intel- 
lect, but feeling fuses them. Unity of feeling gives 
artistic unity, wholeness of effect, to the composition. 
When unity is wanting there is no poetry; where the 
unity is one of reflection, purpose, or argument, we in- 
stinctively feel that the composition approaches prose. 
It is the analogy of feeling, the identity of noble or 
impassioned emotion, which creates unity of substance 
and unity of form, insuring apt transition, appropri- 
ate images and metaphors, harmonious setting in style 
of metre, rhyme, etc. 
Analogies of Sensation.—There are various associa- 
tions among sensations which would be inexplicable 
were it not for this associating effect of feeling. We 
regard tones as high and low, although they have no 
spatial quality; colors are soft, although they offer no 
pressure to touch ; and contact may be sweet, although 
it cannot be tasted. We express our likes and dislikes 
by the terms delicious and disgusting. “ Taste ” is the 
arbiter of aesthetic productions. Men are upright and 
base; hearts are hollow and firm ; characters are white 
and black. In some cases the association extends so 
far that persons, on seeing certain colors, hear certain 
sounds (phonisms), or, more often, on hearing sounds, 
see colors (photisms). 
(2.) Forms.—Three forms of redintegration by simi- 
larity may be noticed : (a) by resemblance; (b) by con- 
trast; (c) by assimilation. 
(a.) Association by Resemblance. — It has been al- 
ready noticed that association by similarity is a higher 
kind than that by contiguity. It depends upon like- 
ness of meaning or internal content, not upon accident 
of time or place. The intellectual power of mind is 108 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
accordingly largely determined by the relative predom- 
inance of either kind over the other. One individual 
never gets beyond outer connection ; he is taken up 
with accidental circumstances and contingent events. 
Another mind pierces through this external husk, and 
connects objects by some fundamental relation of like- 
ness. The former remembers an historical event by 
placing it on a chart, or associating it with some position 
on the page of a book which relates it; the latter remem- 
bers it by its causal connection with other events. To 
the peasant the falling apple redintegrates only spatial 
associations of its pleasant taste; to Sir Isaac Newton 
its' resemblance to all falling bodies suggested the law 
of gravitation. 
Place in Mental Life. — The connection of each 
with the very structure of psychical life is no less im- 
portant. Facts or events connected by local associa- 
tion burden the mind, for they have no necessary or 
intrinsic connection with each other. They are so 
much material which the mind must carry by main 
force. If the accidental association of place or time is 
let go, all is gone. The connection by similarity is in- 
ternal, and involved in the very nature of the ideas. 
They would not be what they are except for this prop- 
erty of likeness to some other ideas. The tie between 
them is natural, and it broadens the mind therefore, 
and does not burden it. Such a connection, instead of 
requiring to be carried by the mind, forms part of its 
carrying power. It is one of the links forming the 
chain of memory which holds ideas together. The 
difference between the two kinds of association, in their 
effect upon mental life, has been aptly illustrated by 
comparing one to food carried in a bundle strapped PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
109 
upon the back, and the other to food eaten, digested, 
and wrought over into the bones and muscles which 
hold the body firm and solid. One uses up the power 
of the mind, the other adds to it. 
Two Classes of Minds. — Even those minds which 
use especially association by resemblance may be di- 
vided into two classes. There are those which simply 
use the bond of resemblance in passing from one idea 
to another, and there are those which notice the tie. 
The former are the persons of artistic temperament, 
those of quick and keen intuitive power. The latter 
are those of a scientific turn of mind, of reflective and 
deliberative power. The former pass over the path of 
resemblance, but are so taken up with the goal that 
they pay no attention to the road that takes them 
thither. They proceed by analogy, the striking simile, 
and the quick metaphor. They express in a single sen- 
tence what years of reflective study may not exhaust, 
the subtle and hidden connections, the points of iden- 
tity with the whole framework of truth are so many 
and deep. Such minds are the world’s artists and 
teachers. The others wish to know every step of the 
road, the way in which each part of it is connected 
with every other, and how all conduct to the goal. 
They are the world’s investigators and formulators. 
(b.) Association by Contrast.—It is a striking exten- 
sion of the law of similarity that opposites tend to re- 
call each other as well as those which resemble each 
other. A mouse may suggest an elephant; sorrow call 
up joy; a dwarf, a giant; vice, virtue, etc. When 
connected with contiguous association its operation is 
still more marked. The sight of a mountain in juxta- 
position to a valley, the occurrence of an act of great 110 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
generosity after one of striking meanness of nature, 
constitute associations of great force and tenacity. But 
it introduces us to no new principle. Contrast in- 
volves similarity. We contrast the extremes of some- 
thing fundamentally like in nature. The dwarf and 
giant are connected by the common element of size; 
generosity and meanness by their relation to moral ac- 
tion. Black and white are but the extremes of the 
common quality, color. Such cases only emphasize 
the common feature at bottom by manifesting it in di- 
verse forms. 
(c.) Assimilation. — This is, in reality, a complex 
form of association, uniting the two principles of con- 
tiguity and similarity, and in its results like that of 
simultaneous association or fusion. In association by 
fusion some one element always stands out more prom- 
inently than others. It serves to represent the others, 
or acts as their bearer or carrier. They are more or 
less absorbed in it. In sound, for example, the partial 
tones are lost in the fundamental. They have a very 
important part in determining the character of the fused 
product, yet they have lost independent existence. So 
in flavors, the touch and odor sensations are lost in the 
taste. In all perceptions where visual sensations are 
involved the latter stand out most prominently. The 
result is that this more prominent element gains great- 
ly in associative power, and, when occurring at any 
time, redintegrates all these elements formerly fused 
with it, which are immediately assimilated to it. 
Illustration.—This may be illustrated by the visual 
perception of an orange. Here the only presented sen- 
sation is that of color. This color, however, by virtue 
of its predominance in all former perceptions, has just PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
the same independent redintegrating power as the 
identical element in association by similarity, and pro- 
ceeds to call up the elements of taste, size, weight, 
odor, etc., which had been formerly fused with it. 
These, however, do not get a separate existence as in 
the other forms of successive association which we 
have studied, but are assimilated to the color sensation, 
so that there results but one complex idea. All per- 
ceptions of things illustrate the same process. In re- 
sult, therefore, it does not differ from simultaneous as- 
sociation. As a process, it approaches association by 
similarity. 
C. The Function of Association in Psychical Life. 
—Having studied the nature and kinds of association, 
we turn to a consideration of the part which it plays 
in building up psychical life. What end does it serve; 
what are its effects and its purpose? In general the 
function of association in the psychical life is the for- 
mation of a mechanism. It serves to connect the vari- 
ous elements of our mental life together by such firm 
bands that they may be used as a foundation upon 
which to erect more complex mental structures. It 
takes isolated sensations and consolidates them. It 
takes chaotic material and it gives it definite form, 
consisting of a number of specialized modes of activity. 
The state of the mind without associations may be 
compared to a fluid ; that on which the associative 
powers have been at work to this fluid crystallized, 
thus made into solid forms of positive shape and defi- 
nite relation to each other. 
Habit.—More specifically, all that we call routine or 
habit, all that is mechanical in the life of the soul, is 
the result of associative activities. The way in which 112 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
habits are formed will throw considerable light upon 
the matter. By habit, whether intellectual or voli- 
tional, we mean nothing else than such a connection of 
ideas or acts that, if one be presented, the rest of the 
series follow without the intervention of consciousness 
or the will. It is, in short, a form of successive asso- 
ciation where one element redintegrates the next, and 
so on. It differs from ordinary association in the fact 
that in the latter the number of varying elements is 
large, and consequently the precise channel which the 
suggestion of ideas will follow cannot be told, while in 
habit the activity has been so repeatedly performed in 
one way that a definite groove of succession has been 
occasioned. 
Illustration.—The law of the formation of habit is 
that all successive associations constantly recurring in 
the same form tend to become simultaneous. It may 
be illustrated in the case of walking. This is a true 
habit, because given the initial act, all the other acts 
necessary to locomotion follow naturally, without the 
intervention of consciousness, and even while con- 
sciousness is occupied with something entirely differ- 
ent. The formation of the habit consisted, in the first 
place, in the formation of a series of successive associa- 
tions. In this series the presence of any act was a 
sign to consciousness that the next act ought to be 
performed; each redintegrated the next. The child 
cannot walk at first, not for the reason that his muscles 
will not contract, but because no association has been 
formed such that any one contraction leads to the next 
of the series. This is only serial association however; 
not yet habit. This arises when the association has 
been so often performed that one act not only serves PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
113 
as a sign to consciousness that the next must be per- 
formed, but when the sign has become fused with the 
act signified. It is like the rapid rotation of a point 
of light. Each becomes fused with the next, and the 
successive series appears as a coexistent circle. So in 
the formation of the habit of walking, the various acts 
necessary for its performance no longer form separate 
successive members of a series, but the end of one is 
the beginning of another. 
Habit as Automatic and Mechanical— The habitual 
act thus occurs automatically and mechanically. When 
we say that it occurs automatically, we mean that it 
takes place, as it were, of itself, spontaneously, with- 
out the intervention of will. By saying that it is me- 
chanical we mean that there exists no consciousness of 
the process involved, nor of the relation of the means, 
the various muscular adjustments, to the end, locomo- 
tion. The various steps of the process follow each other 
as unconsciously as the motions of a loom in weaving. 
The tendency of habit is thus to the formation of a 
mechanism which the mind may employ and direct, 
but which, once started,goes of itself. This constitutes 
the special function of habit, or of association. 
The Twofold End of Habit.—Habit (1) thus forms 
a self-executing mechanism whereby the mind appre- 
hends readily and expeditiously those elements in its 
cognitive life which are regularly recurring, and adjusts 
itself in its actions to the permanent demands of its 
surroundings; and thereby (2) enables conscious intel- 
ligence to devote itself to the apprehension of variable 
elements, and the will to apply itself to the mastery of 
novel and changing acts. The object of habit is thus, 
on the one hand, to create a mechanism which shall 114 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
attend to the familiar and permanent elements of ex- 
perience, and, on the other, to leave the conscious ac- 
tivity of mind free to control new and variable fac- 
tors. 
1. There are certain elements in our surroundings 
and in our wants which are comparatively permanent. 
Both in relation to ordinary psychical life, and as the 
basis of higher activities, these constant factors are all- 
important. Such elements are to the child, his parents, 
his nurse, the room in which he lives, his playthings, 
etc. If there were no power of forming habits, if the 
sight of the child’s food, of his nurse, etc., appealed to 
him in no different way the second and third time than 
the first; if associations did not cluster about his play- 
things with every time that they are employed ; if 
the muscular adjustments which he makes in dressing 
himself did not grow fused into a series by repetition 
—it is evident that the child would remain ignorant 
in mind, empty of feeling, and helpless in action. 
Extension of Range.—As years advance the range 
of tilings and events with which the mind comes in con- 
tact increases, but there remains a certain set of objects 
which appeals to it, and constitutes its familiar and 
important environment, as others do not. About this 
permanent environment cluster the interests of the 
individual, and group the activities of psychical life. 
It is the centre of gravity of the spiritual world. It is 
constituted, on the one hand, by the simple facts of 
family, business, church, and social life; on the other, 
by the objects which present themselves most regular- 
ly, varying with the man of affairs, the artist, and the 
man of science. But, in all cases, it is of the highest 
importance that the individual’s response to these per- PROCESSES 01' KNOWLEDGE. 
115 
manent surroundings should not be dependent upon 
conscious reflection nor careful deliberation. It is 
necessary that his response should be automatic and 
mechanical, that it may be prompt, speedy, effectual, 
and invariable. The person must be instinctively 
linked to the world about him, both the social world 
and the physical world. The individual is thus con- 
stituted an organic, integral part of the world of nature 
and of society, and the latter becomes a whole, capable 
of combined deliberation and action, possessing one 
will and a common conscience. 
2. But the other side is no less important. If exist- 
ence depends upon adjustment to permanent elements, 
growth depends no less upon right relation to chang- 
ing factors. A life of complete routine, a condition of 
fossilized habit, though it be one in which every act 
corresponds quickly and accurately to some familiar 
feature of the environment, is not one that we desire. 
We want change, variety, growth. Only as we famil- 
iarize ourselves with things and acts once strange, only 
as we build upon the foundation of habits the super- 
structure of varying activities, is psychical life rich 
and manifold and progressive. The point which we 
are to notice here is, that this power of adaptation to 
new circumstance, the ability to grow, requires the 
conscious effort of intelligence and the active direction 
of will, and that this can be given only upon condition 
that the automatic mechanism of the soul attends to 
all other demands made. There would be no chance 
of learning a new fact or mastering a new action, were 
it not that the automatic action of habit takes care of 
all old and familiar experiences, and thus leaves con- 
cious and purposive action free. 116 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
The Unconscious in Psychical Life.—It has been 
noticed that the formation of habit, when once it has 
become automatic and mechanical, results in the rele- 
gation of ideas which once were conscious to the sphere 
of unconscious action. They become absorbed or lost. 
The extent to which this may go is disputed. Hone, 
however, deny that it may cover such actions as walk- 
ing, talking, writing, playing a musical instrument, etc. 
Such acts are called secondarily automatic, because 
they imitate so closely automatic actions, like the beat- 
ing of the heart, with which consciousness has no con- 
cern. It will be noticed that this relegation to uncon- 
scious action means that the act is performed by the 
body, consciousness intervening only to start the proc- 
ess, not to direct each of its stages. 
Other Examples.—Other examples of action becom- 
ing so habitual that it is performed for the mind by 
the brain or body are probably found in re-presenta- 
tion. It is thought that every re-presentation is ac- 
companied by an action of those parts of the brain 
which were originally active at the time of presenta- 
tion, and that a sensation, similar to that produced by 
the original excitation of the nerve organ, but weaker, 
results. (See page 32.) This brain excitation may, 
however, in certain cases, be so intense that it is as 
vivid as the original external stimulus, and the indi- 
vidual will consequently confound the internally-ex- 
cited image with some objective reality. This is the 
state known as hallucination. 
Unconscious Cerebration.—Others claim that the vi- 
carious action of the nervous system for the mind, 
due to activities so often repeated that they have be- 
come psychically unconscious, extends to higher proc- PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
117 
esses, like thinking out complicated problems, laying 
plans, producing artistic creations, etc. To these phe- 
nomena they give the name of unconscious cerebra- 
tions. The extent to which such facts actually exist 
is a matter of some question, but it can hardly be 
doubted that phenomena of this kind occur which it 
would be impossible to account for without the principle 
laid down, that all associations, often repeated, tend to 
become simultaneous, and hence unconscious. It is no 
more impossible that such associations should result in 
forming automatic connections of one part of the brain 
with another, than that they should result in connec- 
tions of one part of the muscular system with anoth- 
er, such as we certainly find in acts like locomotion, the 
playing of a musical instrument, etc. 
§ 4. Dissociation. 
Dissociation will be considered under the following 
heads: I. Relation to association; II. Conditions; 
III. Function in psychical life. 
I. The law of dissociation, stated in its most general 
form, is as follows: In associating sensuous elements, the 
mind never gives all the elements equal value, hut em- 
phasizes some, and neglects others. The statement of 
this law shows that dissociation always presupposes 
association, and is rather one aspect of it, hitherto over- 
looked, than something fundamentally different. We 
shall take up, accordingly, (1) the points of connection 
between association and dissociation ; and, (2) the points 
of difference, the phase hitherto passed over. 
1. Connection of Likeness.—Regarding this, in a gen- 
eral way, not much need be said. Only those elements 
can be dissociated or disconnected which were origi- 118 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
nally associated or connected. Analysis presupposes 
synthesis (page 99). Only that can be disintegrated 
which was once a whole. We dissociate the idea of a 
man from that of a post-office only when they have 
been at some time combined. We separate the taste of 
an apple from that of its color, because once they were 
parts of the same fused product. Dissociation, in short, 
is not absolute separation, but, as defined, is giving 
some element in an association predominance over oth- 
ers. This prominence causes it to stand forth with 
relative independence, while the unemphasized ele- 
ments fall into the background. The result is that 
they appear in consciousness as freed from their combi- 
nation into one and the same whole. 
Illustration in Special Forms of Association.—Dis- 
sociation is, then, not a process which follows after 
association in time, but one which accompanies it. 
While association is at work in combining elements 
into a whole, dissociation is active in emphasizing some 
one of these combined elements, and thus giving it a 
certain independence in consciousness of the other 
elements. In order to bring out this factor, which 
was overlooked in the discussion of association, we 
shall hastily run over the two forms of simultaneous 
and successive association. 
(1.) Simultaneous Association. — In fusion there is 
something more than a mere conglomeration or consol- 
idation of sensuous elements. In the integrated total- 
ity (page 91), some one element stands out so as to serve 
as a bearer or representative of the others. They are 
subordinated to it. Generally it is the visual sensation 
which is most prominent, while the muscular sensations 
are so much absorbed that we rarely notice them urn PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
119 
less they are the result of great fatigue. Now this 
prominence of one element of the sensation over an- 
other in fusion makes this prominent element stand 
forth more distinctly in consciousness, while the others 
are thrust into the background. It thus partially dis- 
severs them from each other and gives them relatively 
independent existences. Just in the degree to which 
this process of relative stress and neglect is carried, 
will the absolute fixity of association be broken up, 
till finally some element may appear in consciousness 
alone. 
(2.) Successive Association.—Dissociation is involved 
here to a greater extent than in simultaneous. In con- 
tiguous association, for example, not every element 
which was originally contiguous to the one now pre- 
sented is re-presented with equal force and vividness, or 
even re-presented at all. There is in every occurrence 
almost an infinity of detail, and it is out of the question 
that it should be all redintegrated. Were it, the re- 
sult would be utter confusion of mind, for each of 
these elements is, in turn, connected with an immense 
number of other elements, each of which would be re- 
dintegrated, and so on indefinitely. The mind would 
be thus kept in what has well been termed the tread- 
mill of concrete reminiscence. It would be in bondage 
to its past experiences; still more it would be as much 
enslaved by one element of experience as by another. 
The minutest detail would exercise the same overmas- 
tering force as the most momentous factor, or, rath- 
er, there would be no distinction between minute and 
important. There would be no perspective, no back- 
ground nor foreground, in psychical life. But, as mat- 
ter of fact, not all elements do thus have equal value. 120 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
In associating some are slurred and others accentuated. 
This is still more clearly seen in association by simi- 
larity, where the entire emphasis is thrown upon the 
emphasized identical element. In fact, association by 
similarity forms the natural transition to dissociation, 
for it requires the disconnection of the like element 
from the unlike. 
2. The Points of Opposition between Association 
and Dissociation.—These are ultimately reducible to 
two. (1) Dissociation requires a number of factors in 
the elements presented so dissimilar as to compete with 
each other, and requires, therefore, (2) a selecting activi- 
ty of the mind which shall neglect some and emphasize 
others at their expense. Hence the process of disso- 
ciation is more complex and less passive than that of 
association. Instead of combining the elements pre- 
sented at their face value, it weighs them with each 
other, and stamps one as worth more than another. It 
distinguishes, or makes a difference. Its energy is 
varied; it is directed in at least two directions. It 
looks beyond the immediate presence of the elements, 
and unconsciously tests them by some standard, the 
value which they have for mental life, and selects ac- 
cordingly. In dissociation the mind, therefore, is ac- 
tively related to the elements concerned. Instead of 
having the direction of its activities determined me- 
chanically, it directs them according to its own ends 
and interests. This brings us to a study of 
II. The Conditions of Dissociation.—These, in a gen- 
eral way, we have just seen to be competing or incon- 
gruous elements in the presentations, together with se- 
lecting activity of the mind. We have now to discover 
what features render the presentations incongruous, and PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
121 
what it is that gives one such value that the mind se- 
lects it to the exclusion of others. We have to recog- 
nize that the meaning of psychical life is determined 
largely by the differences of value that its elements 
possess. This difference of value is not due to their 
existence as data, for as existences each is worth as much 
as every other; it is due to their relation to the mind, 
that is, to the interest which the self takes in them. The 
interests of the self are the factor which is influential 
in breaking up the hard rigidity of a psychical life 
governed wholly by the principle of association, and 
introducing flexibility and perspective into it. In 
studying the conditions of dissociation, we have to dis- 
cover what features render one datum more interest- 
ing than another: the features which attract the mind. 
For convenience of classification these attractive feat- 
ures will be considered under two heads: 1. Natural 
value, or the attraction which the presentation has for 
the mind spontaneously, independent of its associa- 
tion with other members of consciousness; 2. Acquired 
value, or the attraction which it has by virtue of its 
connection with other factors of experience. 
1. Natural Value.— Those features of the presen- 
tation which interest the mind through their intrin- 
sic characteristics are two in number, quantity and 
tone. 
(1.) Quantity.—Other things being equal, stimuli at- 
tract the mind in proportion to their quantity. If, for 
example, there are presented in succession or simulta- 
neously, two sounds, one feeble, the other loud, or two 
colors, one obscure, the other bright, the mind, if not 
otherwise led by some acquired interest, will direct its 
activity to the stronger and neglect the weaker, thus 122 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
partially at least dissociating them. Quantity includes 
intensity, duration, and multiplication of stimuli. A 
low noise, if constantly repeated, may possess more 
quantity and hence more attractive power than a loud 
noise coming at less frequent intervals. As motion 
multiplies greatly the intensity of a sensation, the well- 
known fact that moving objects attract the mind more 
than those at rest comes under this head. 
(2.) Tone.—Every sensation, by virtue of its quality, 
possesses an agreeable or disagreeable property, called 
tone, which serves to interest the mind naturally in it, 
either by way of attraction or repulsion. At first, the 
child’s life is almost wholly one of organic sensations, 
hunger, thirst, satisfaction, fatigue. These have the 
largest natural emotional accompaniment. At first, 
they absorb about all psychical activity. Gradually 
taste with accompanying smell attracts consciousness to 
the sapid qualities of objects. Meantime there is go- 
ing on a constant overflow of muscular activity in vari- 
ous directions, and the pleasure taken in this free, un- 
restrained movement results in calling the mind to 
those features of objects which are connected with 
grasping and touching. Then the peculiar charm of 
sweet sounds and beautiful colors will make itself 
felt, and the audible and visible properties of bodies 
begin to stand forth; when this point is reached qual- 
ity exercises more attractive force than mere quan- 
tity. 
Transition to Acquired Interest.—Advance in psy- 
chical life depends largely upon the power of advancing 
from natural values to acquired. The tendency of those 
elements which spontaneously attract the mind is to 
keep it absorbed in them, and hence prevent it going PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
123 
out beyond them to connect them with others and ren- 
der them significant. Acquired interest, on the other 
hand, necessarily leads the mind beyond what is actu- 
ally present to other elements in our experience which 
give what is present its attractive power. The men- 
tal life of an animal always remains upon a low plane, 
because it is taken up with the interesting features of 
the sensations as such, and, therefore, is never led be- 
yond them to relate them to each other in a meaning 
way. 
Criterion of Sensations.—The criterion of the in- 
tellectual value of any sensation is the readiness with 
which it lends itself to the acquirement of interest. 
Those which prominently assert their own value as 
mere sensations can never have any great worth for 
knowledge. It is the superior capacity of the visual 
and auditory sensations in clustering interests about 
themselves through associations with the rest of our 
experience that gives them their supreme importance 
in the cognitive life, as it is the inability of thirst and 
hunger sensations to do aught but thrust their own 
sensational quality into consciousness, which debars 
them from any high place. Whatever tends to ab- 
sorb the mind with purely sensuous interest detracts 
just so much from the possibility of intelligent inter- 
est. Refusal to let appetites and passions run riot is 
as much the requirement of a sound intellect as of a 
right conscience. 
2. Acquired Value.—The interest which any pres- 
entation has, not merely on account of the fact that it 
is a sensation, but in virtue of what it brings with it 
from out past experience, is acquired value. But since 
it is order which connects our past and our present ex- 124 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
perience, acquired value is evidently dependent upon 
certain relations of order existing between ideas. To 
say that a present experience is connected with a past, 
is to say that it is related to the self in a definite way, 
and this relation to self is what we mean by interest, 
and since the form it takes depends upon the experi- 
ence of the self, it is acquired interest. The connec- 
tion of order among our ideas thus necessarily insures 
acquired interest to every idea as it arises. The new 
experience will harmonize with some past experiences, 
and be incongruous with others. There will be on one 
hand a feeling of fitness, of satisfaction, which will lead 
the mind to be content with the connection, and on the 
other hand a feeling of unrest which will lead the mind 
to investigate the relations of the two. In either case, 
this feeling will serve to emphasize those elements which 
are especially like, and especially unlike, previous expe- 
riences, and thus dissociate them. The two sources of 
acquired interest in inducing the activity of dissocia- 
tion are, consequently, familiarity or likeness of con- 
nection, and novelty, or unlikeness of connection. 
(1.) Interest of Familiarity.—These may be analyzed 
into two factors: (i.) Repetition, or frequency ; (ii.) Re- 
centness. 
(?'.) Repetition. — Our interest clusters about those 
elements in our experience which are constantly re- 
peated. The multiplication of any occurrence marks 
it off from those occurring rarely, and invests it with 
attractive force. This principle is of especial impor- 
tance in the early life of children. Originally all ex- 
periences, aside from the emphasis of quantity and 
quality already mentioned, are on the same level. The 
child’s experience has no perspective, no recognition PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
125 
of varying importance. The equal value of all is the 
same as lack of value in each. But finally, from the 
mere force of repetition,this background and foreground 
of psychical life is created. Some objects—the sight of 
the cradle, of the nurse, of utensils of food preparation, 
etc.—are constantly recurring. This breaks up the 
monotony of intellectual life. Distinctions arise; these 
familiar objects are dissociated from their surround- 
ings, and stand forth prominently. Distinctness of im- 
pression is thus seen to be due to the relative accentu- 
ating by the mind, from its own interest, of some ele- 
ments above others. 
Further Importance of Repetition.—The action of 
the principle of frequency is not confined to childhood. 
In learning anything we voluntarily set ourselves to 
repeating an act so many times that this act gradually 
separates itself from the background of ever-varying 
acts, and thus obtains a superior hold upon conscious- 
ness. The familiar in all cases arouses the mind and 
absorbs consciousness. Every man has established, 
through his experience, certain lines or grooves in 
which consciousness tends to run whenever stimuli de- 
manding immediate action or thought are not present. 
This plexus of consciousness determines largely one’s 
intellectual character. In a certain way each of us has 
the whole universe open to himself for investigation, 
yet few of us ever get beyond a certain limited range 
of interests, because the constant repetition of certain 
elements has given these great prominence. Yet it 
must not be forgotten that a certain amount of such 
limitation to definite lines is necessary to the creation 
of any perspective in mental life. 
Apperceptive Organs.—Familiarity not only deter- 126 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
mines what the dominant conceptions of mental life 
are, but it also determines what the attitude of the ap- 
perceiving activity will be towards new conceptions. 
This is illustrated by the fact that a man in a foreign 
country may pay no attention to the words that he 
hears as long as they are uttered in a strange language, 
but if he hears a few words of his own language he is 
immediately all interest. Our past experiences decide 
along what lines the present activities of intelligence 
shall be directed. Occupations and special pursuits es- 
tablish apperceptive organs or ways in which wTe tend 
to interpret presentations. We see with what we have 
seen. The artist interprets his new experiences in 
harmony with his aesthetic tastes; in the same object, 
the scientific man finds illustration of some law; while 
the moralist finds that with which to teach a lesson. 
General education consists in so familiarizing ourselves 
through repetition with certain objects, events, and 
processes that wTe form apperceptive organs, for the 
ready and quick apprehension of whatever presents 
points of connection with these, while technical ed- 
ucation forms more particular organs of appercep- 
tion. 
(ii.) Recentness.—Any element which has been re- 
cently in consciousness possesses an emphasis which 
dissociates it from more remote experiences, by virtue 
of* its superior vividness and distinctness. Remote- 
ness dulls the intensity of an impression, and causes it 
to sink back into a dull and unbroken level, from which 
recentness of occurrence lifts it. Recent impressions 
are thus more likely to be recalled than others ; are 
more dwelt upon, and serve to force the mind from the 
bondage of too frequent repetition. The principle of PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
127 
recentness, while acting in the same way with that of 
familiarity in laying special stress on certain elements, 
yet partially counteracts it, by freeing the mind from 
the tendency to dwell in certain oft-repeated realms of 
experience. 
(2.) Novelty.—The principle of novelty, however, is 
that which especially counteracts this tendency. Fa- 
miliarity may be carried to a point where the familiar 
element no longer attracts the mind. It is matter of 
common observation that the continued ticking of a 
clock ceases to come in consciousness, while change, 
such as its stopping, is immediately noticed. Those 
who live near the roar of a cataract, or in a mill amid 
the clash of machinery, have similar experiences. In 
such cases it is the new, the unfamiliar, that attracts no- 
tice, and that is especially emphasized in consciousness. 
The presence of a few foreign words in our own lan- 
guage will arrest the mind almost as soon as the occur- 
rence of known words in a strange tongue. A shock 
of surprise is one of the most effectual methods of 
arousing attention. The unexpected in the midst of 
routine is the accentuated. The very contrast between 
the two rivets attention, and more effectually dissoci- 
ates each from the other. Thus variety and mobility 
of psychical life are secured. 
Mutual Relations of the Two Principles.—The way 
in which the two principles of familiarity and novelty 
limit each other must be noticed. Strictly speaking, 
they are two phases of the same activity. Neither the 
absolutely customary, nor the entirely novel, attracts 
the mind; it is the old amid the new, the novel in the 
wonted that appeal. Only to the extent in which the 
old and permanent element is found in the new and 128 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
varying can the mind deal with the latter. Points of 
identity between the present experience and the past 
are necessary for any comprehension of the former. 
On the other hand, without the new element there 
would be no change, no expansion, no growth. The 
novel is the source of development. Without the in- 
terest of novelty there would be complete stagnation, 
as without the element of familiarity there would be 
complete meaninglessness. The psychical life of an 
infant begins when his tendency to go from one stim- 
ulus to another is checked by action of the interest 
of familiarity emphasizing some one at the expense of 
others; but it is developed only when the interest of 
novelty leads the child to consider some old and famil- 
iar fact in a new light, and thus expand it. 
Relations of Identity and Difference.—The interest 
of familiarity is thus what leads us to identify the 
present experience with some past one; while that of 
novelty leads us to differentiate the past, by intro- 
ducing something new into it. And these relations of 
identity and difference always go together. We should 
never think of hunting after likeness between two peas 
or two cents. It is the likeness of the pea-blossom to 
the bean-blossom, despite their differences, which is the 
interesting fact. So, too, we do not search for differ- 
ences between an elephant and the conception of right- 
eousness. It is the difference between a whale and a 
porpoise, in spite of their apparent likeness, that at- 
tracts the mind. In short, the activity of intelligence 
consists in identifying the apparently unlike, and in 
discriminating the apparently like; and it is through 
the relation of identity that the present experience is 
comprehended, and through the element of differ- PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
129 
ence that past experience grows into richer forms. 
Each relation is, therefore, indispensable to intelli- 
gence. 
lllustration.—Both relations are involved in any act 
of knowledge, but we may illustrate by the appercep- 
tion of an unknown species of plant by a botanist. 
The botanist will apprehend it only so far as he is at- 
tracted to it by certain familiar elements in it, which 
stand out above others; and through the relations of 
identity involved in this familiarity he will recognize 
it, and refer it to its proper sub-kingdom, class, order, 
etc. On the other hand, the presence of novel features 
in this plant will necessitate a certain revision of old 
knowledge. He may be compelled to acknowledge a 
new genus of plants in his classification, or he may be 
obliged to make over his old classification, so that some 
order may include the properties of the new member. 
In either case the relation of difference serves to devel- 
op the old knowledge. 
III. Function of Dissociation in Psychical Life.— 
We have already anticipated this in what has just been 
said. But, looked at from a somewhat different stand- 
point, it may be said that the emphasizing of some ele- 
ments and their consequent prominence over others 
serves two purposes, one negative, the other positive. 
The negative function consists in breaking up the 
mechanism which the activity of association, if left to 
itself, would result in, and the disintegration of those 
bonds which would tie the mind down to objective 
data, without allowing it free play according to its own 
interests. The perfection of the principle of associa- 
tion would be reached when the mind was governed 
by purely mechanical principles, and its activity con- 130 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
trolled by external considerations. The negative func- 
tion of dissociation is to break up this control. 
Positive Function.—This consists, accordingly, in 
setting the mind or self free from its subjection to 
purely objective influences, and causing it to act for 
ends of its own, that is,for ideal or internal ends. In 
short, dissociation paves the way for attention, which 
is simply this mental activity for self-regulated ends. 
The essential influence in freeing the mind is the fact 
of interest. The existence of interest as a factor in 
psychical life means that not all data are on the same 
level to the mind, but that they have more or less in- 
timate connection with the self, expressed by some 
pleasurable or disagreeable quality in them. It is this 
emotional, subjective motive to which the existence 
of perspective or difference in value in psychical life 
is due. Its result is to bring into consciousness the 
ends towards which attention, as the internally initi- 
ated activity of mind, may direct itself. These ends 
are of two kinds, general and special. 
(1.) General.—This consists in the fact that self, as 
a whole, is set free to act for its own ends. In associ- 
ation the activities of the self are governed by external 
considerations; in attention, they are directed towards 
the ends of the self; dissociation is the intermediate 
process which renders the self independent of the ex- 
ternal influences, so that it may act for its own ends. 
The infant, for example, is originally at the mercy of 
the external world in his cognitive life. One fact is of 
as much value for it as another. Quantity and quality 
of sensations are the first differentiating factors. But 
soon the child learns that not the loudest sound is of 
most importance for it. The voice of the mother or FKOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
131 
nurse is the most interesting to it, for this has the 
most connection with its pleasures and pains, with the 
satisfaction of hunger, and the rest after fatigue, etc. 
Here the child begins to discriminate with reference to 
self j reference to self becomes the motive of discrimi- 
nating activity. From this time on, action for self is 
the essential feature even of its intellectual life. 
(2.) Special.—Bat dissociation does more than free 
the self so that it may act with reference to itself. It 
also sets free or analyzes out the various special ends 
which are included in the general welfare of the self. 
The emphasis which the fact of interest puts upon cer- 
tain elements in cognition makes them ends for know- 
ing, as other elements are not. These ends will be al- 
most inlinite in number, varying with the stage of de- 
velopment of the person, with his prevailing pursuits 
and occupations, etc.; but, as to their form, they may 
be reduced to two — the relations of difference and 
of identity; and so it may be said that the special 
ends of the mind in knowing are to discover these re- 
lations or to identify and to discriminate. This activ- 
ity, to which we are now introduced, and which unites 
and separates with conscious reference to the value 
which such uniting and separating have for knowledge, 
is attention. In association the sequence of our ideas 
is unconsciously governed by these relations; in disso- 
ciation these relations are set free from all their ac- 
companying contingent associations; in attention the 
train of ideas is directed with conscious reference to 
them. 132 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
§ 5. Attention. 
Consciousness and Attention. — In a broad sense 
every act of knowledge may be regarded as due to at- 
tention, for every consciousness involves the activity 
of the mind. Nothing can be in consciousness which 
consciousness does not put there. Consciousness is an 
active process. The mind, as originally defined (page 
21), presupposes some relation between the universal 
content and the individual. Attention, in a general 
sense, is precisely this connection which exists in every 
act of knowledge, between that which knows and that 
which is known. It is the active connection of the 
individual and the universal. As there is no con- 
sciousness without this relation, consciousness and at- 
tention, as so defined, are identical. But this active 
connection may be called forth either from without or 
from within, and it is found better to limit the term 
attention so that it shall not apply to every activity of 
the mind, but only to that which starts from within. 
Attention and Association.—Attention might, ac- 
cordingly, be defined as active association, while asso- 
ciation could be regarded as passive attention. In the 
latter the motives to activity are external, due to the 
sensations, or the way in which they present them- 
selves; in the former the motives are internal, due to 
some interest which the mind takes in reaching an end 
of its own. In dissociation, also, the activity is still in 
some sense mechanical, for the mind does not con- 
sciously recognize that itself and its interests are the 
basis of the process. Dissociation results, however, in 
making the self stand clearly forth separated from the 
multiplicity of its associations, and holds before it the PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
133 
distinct ends in which it is interested; and attention 
begins just here, where dissociation leaves off. Hence 
association, dissociation, and attention are only stages in 
the same active process. 
Definition of Attention.—Attention may be defined 
as follows: Attention is that activity of the self which 
connects all elements 'presented to it into one whole, 
with reference to their ideal significance ; that is, with 
reference to the relation which they hear to some intel- 
lectual end. The essential characteristic of attention 
is, therefore, activity directed towards some end. Ul- 
timately this end is the self. The various activities 
of attention are based in the interests of the self, and 
directed towards ends which will satisfy the self, by 
fulfilling these interests. Its process is such a direc- 
tion of its own contents that these ends will be reached. 
Starting-point, goal, and way are all found in the self, 
therefore. Attention is thus a process of self-develop- 
ment. In studying attention we are studying the ac- 
tivities by which the mind develops or realizes itself. 
Various aspects in this process may be noted, and hence 
we may distinguish attention as an activity—I. Select- 
ing; II. Adjusting; III. Relating. 
I. Attention as a Selecting Activity.—The mind ac- 
tively attends to and thus directs the sequence of ideas, 
instead of surrendering itself passively to them. It 
manipulates its presentations; some it selects, while it 
neglects others. Thus considered, it is merely a higher 
form of dissociation, with its relative emphasis and 
slurring of elements. The difference is that in disso- 
ciation the stress is laid because of the immediate in- 
terest which the element possesses, while in attention 
it is due to the active interest which the mind takes. 134 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
One is interest of the presentation for the mind; the 
other is interest of the mind in the presentation. 
Distinction from Dissociation.—In dissociation the 
selection takes place with reference to past experiences. 
Novelty and familiarity determine the accent. In 
attention the selection occurs with reference to the 
future. The interests previously studied would allow 
the mind to see things only in the light of the past; 
the interests which determine the direction of attention 
have reference to coming experiences, which the mind 
is endeavoring to gain. Attention has always an end 
in view, with express consideration of which it selects. 
The mind at-tends; it is stretched out towards some- 
thing. Attention has been called “asking questions of 
the future,” and it selects only such material as seems 
fitted to furnish the answrer. 
Nature of Attention.—The activity of attention has 
been compared to that of the eye. When we wish to 
see anything distinctly wTe turn the eyes upon it, so as 
to bring its image directly upon the yellow spot, the 
point of most acute vision, while all peripheral images 
become blurred. So in attending, we fixate the mental 
content in the centre of the mind’s activity, and allow 
all else to become dim and indistinct. In attention 
we focus the mind, as the lens takes all the light com- 
ing to it, and instead of allowing it to distribute itself 
evenly concentrates it in a point of great light and 
heat. So the mind, instead of diffusing consciousness 
over all the elements presented to it, brings it all to 
bear upon some one selected point, which stands out 
with unusual brilliancy and distinctness. 
Kinds of Selection.—The point to be borne in mind 
is that attention always selects with reference to some PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
135 
end which the mind has in view, some difficulty to 
be cleared up, some problem to be solved, some idea 
to be gained, or plan to be formed. There will be as 
many kinds of selection, therefore, as there are ends 
before the mind. The sensuous elements presented to 
a farmer, a botanist, and an artist, in a flower, are the 
same, but the first will direct his mind only to those 
elements which are serviceable to him, which will en- 
able him to decide whether the plant is a weed or an 
article of food. The botanist will select whatever en- 
ables him properly to classify the plant, while both 
useful and scientific considerations will be neglected 
by the artist, who will select aesthetic factors. In 
a certain sense no two of the three apperceive the 
same flower. One sees, that is selects, one thing, while 
this is invisible to another; that is, is neglected by 
him. 
Permanent Ends of Selection.—Besides these varia- 
ble interests, which lead to differing kinds of selection, 
there are, however, certain permanent ends, which are 
the same to all minds. Such a permanent and univer- 
sal element is the self. If there is anything necessarily 
involved in every activity of self this will be an end 
to all individuals, and to the same individual at all 
times. Now, one factor which is necessary to the very 
being of the mind is knowledge. The mind is not, 
except as it knows. Interest in knowledge must, there- 
fore, be universal in all minds, and must, in some way, 
control every action of the same mind; that is, be a 
permanent end. A brief study of this universal inter- 
est in knowledge will serve to show both the impor- 
tance of the selecting activity of intelligence and the 
w<\y {n -which it works. 136 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Law of Selection.—The mind neglects the sensuous 
'presentation of everything which cannot be regarded as 
a sign of something, and selects only those elements 
which can be interpreted as pointing to something be- 
yond themselves. Otherwise stated, sensations, as such, 
never enter into our knowledge. Knowledge always 
consists of interpreted sensations: elements which have 
gained meaning by their connections with other ele- 
ments, of which they serve as signs. Experience, 
accordingly, or the world of known objects, is not a col- 
orless copy of what actually exists, stereotyped or im- 
pressed upon us, but is an experience produced by the 
mind acting according to the interests of self in inter- 
preting sensuous data. 
Illustration by Muscular Sensations.—These, as al- 
ready seen, are of the greatest importance in our psy- 
chical life, yet ordinarily we are not conscious of their 
existence. We neglect them because of their place in 
the intellectual life. They are signs to us of various 
qualities in objects, and when they are thus objectively 
interpreted they entirely lose their sensuous existence. 
They are symbols of objective things and properties; 
they are no longer subjective states. We are not con- 
scious, for example, of the muscular sensations involved 
in the sweep of the arm through the air, because they 
are immediately interpreted as so much space passed 
through. We neglect their sensuous existence, and 
select their ideal significance. Meaning always takes 
us beyond the bare presentation, to its connections and 
relations to the rest of experience. We select not what 
a thing is, but what it points to. 
Illustration by “ Subjective Sensations”—We have 
already seen that sensations may arise when there is no PEOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
137 
extra-organic stimulus present, by affection of the 
nerve organ, or nerve centre itself. Sensations thus 
produced are termed “subjective,” although, strictly 
speaking, all sensations are subjective. Ordinarily 
such sensations are not observed, because they are not 
regarded as signs of objects. Such are the so-called 
entoptic phenomena, the constant play of internally- 
initiated colors, the existence of after-images, such as 
continue after looking at a bright object and with- 
drawing the head, etc. Just as soon, however, as these 
sensations are attended to they are objectified and pro- 
jected into space. Our interest in significance is so 
great that we perforce regard sensations as signs of 
objects, whether the objects be actually present or not. 
This constitutes the psychological basis of hallucina- 
tions, dreams, etc. 
Further Illustrations.—We do not ordinarily per- 
ceive over-tones. We interpret them as signs of the 
musical instrument—piano, violin, human voice, etc.— 
whence they proceed, and thus entirely neglect their 
sensuous existence. When we do pay attention to 
them it is because of their intellectual value ; it is be- 
cause they will add to our knowledge of the theory of 
tones. In vision, also, we habitually neglect the fact 
of double vision. We have two visual sensations of all 
objects, owing to the doubleness of the organ, yet we 
perceive but one object. This is because the existence 
of the sensations, whether one, two, or fifty, is of no 
benefit to us, except as signs of objects. We neglect 
the sensation, therefore, for what it points to—the sin- 
gle object. Such illustrations might be increased, but 
enough have been given to exemplify the principle. 
Knowledge as Idealization.—This study of the ne- 138 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
cessity of the selecting activity of intelligence for 
knowledge leads us to recognize that all knowledge is 
a process of idealization. Sensations, per se, never en- 
ter into knowledge. Knowledge is constituted by in- 
terpretation of sensations, that is, by their idealization. 
The sensations furnish the data, but these data must 
be neglected, selected, and manipulated by the self be- 
fore they become knowledge. The process is properly 
called one of idealization because it goes beyond the 
sensuous existence, which is actually present, and gives 
this present datum meaning by connecting it with the 
self, and thus putting into it significance, which as bare 
existence it does not have. Meaning, in short, is con- 
nection, is relation, is going beyond the mere presenta- 
tion to something beyond. This element must be sup- 
plied by the self or mind, and hence is ideal. Just 
the process by which this ideal element is supplied we 
have yet to study. 
II. Attention as Adjusting Activity.—It lias already 
been pointed out that attention is always directed tow- 
ards the future, since it is concerned with reaching 
some end, or realizing some interest of the self. We 
have just studied the selection of the proper material 
for attaining the end ; we have now to study the way 
in which this selected material is utilized, or brought 
to bear so as to reach the desired end. In short, we 
have seen that material is always selected with refer- 
ence to its ideal or intellectual significance. We have 
now to see how it gets this ideal meaning. It is by 
the process of adjustment, or that activity of intelli- 
gence whereby the whole organized self is brought to 
bear upon the presented and selected elements, so as to 
read itself into them and give them meaning. PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
139 
Adjustment Requires Ability to Anticipate.—Ad just- 
ment is, accordingly, the active application of the mind 
with all its contents upon presentations, so as to shape 
these presentations towards the intellectual end sought. 
Now this process of adjustment will be able to occur 
only in the degree in which the mind is conscious of 
the end, and of the steps necessary to reach it. If the 
idea of the end is definite the self will know just how 
to bring itself to bear; how to direct itself. If it is 
vague the process must largely be a tentative one, the 
mind feeling around, as it were, adopting now this ex- 
pedient and now that. The process of adjustment, in 
short, will be performed imperfectly and with diffi- 
culty. If, however, there is a clear anticipation of the 
end, that is, of the approaching psychical experience, 
the mind will not only be ready for it, in a general 
way, but will be able to employ just those activities 
and apperceptive organs which are most fitted to ren- 
der the act of apprehension speedy and complete. The 
perfection of an intellectual act depends, therefore, 
upon the definiteness and completeness with which an 
act of adjustment can be performed, and this depends 
upon the extent that the mind can anticipate what is 
coming. 
Illustration.—The nature of the mental life may be 
illustrated as follows: Suppose an individual in a dark 
room, with which he is wholly unacquainted, and which 
is lighted up at brief intervals by an electric spark; at 
the first spark the individual will perceive next to 
nothing, and that little indistinctly. At the next 
spark he has, however, this vague basis of expectation 
upon which to work, and the result is that he apper- 
ceives somewhat more. This apperception now en- 140 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ables him to form a more perfect anticipation of what 
is coming, and thus enables him to adjust his mind 
more perfectly. This process of apperception through 
anticipation, and reaction of the apperceived content 
upon the completeness of the anticipation, continues, 
until, during some flash, he has a pretty definite and 
perfect idea of the scene before him, although the 
spark lasts no longer than the first, and there is no 
more material sensuously present. The sole difference 
is in the adjusting power of the mind, due to its ability 
to anticipate. 
Necessity of Past Experience.—This illustration 
brings out the additional point that ability to perform 
adjustment depends upon past experiences. Our ca- 
pacity of anticipation will be decided by what we have 
got out of previous experiences. These, the sparks of 
light of the illustration, have formed some idea of the 
world, the dark room in which the mind is placed, 
and through these the new experiences are appre- 
hended. In all knowing we are thus forming organs 
for future knowing; we are deciding our future ad- 
justments. In the presence of the world to be known, 
the man differs from the child; not only in sensations, 
but in the fact that the latter has not had enough ex- 
perience in the past to bring to bear upon the interpre- 
tation of these presented sensations, while the man 
comes to them with definite organs of adjustment due 
to his past life. 
Experimental Evidence.—The truth that ready and 
distinct apperception depends upon the degree to 
which the mind can prepare itself for the coming ex- 
perience, and adjust itself to it, is shown by certain 
experiments. By methods not necessary to detail here PEOCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
141 
it has been found that the average time for the apper- 
ception of a simple sense stimulus is from i to of a 
second. That is to say, it takes that length of time 
for an individual to apprehend a flash of light, for ex- 
ample; to interpret the stimulus, discriminate it from 
others, and recognize it as light. But if a signal is 
given beforehand, so that the mind can prepare itself, 
the time is reduced as low as of a second. If the 
stimuli follow each other at perfectly regular intervals, 
so that the mind can perform a constant series of simi- 
lar adjustments, the time may be reduced to nothing. 
The mind, because of its ability to accurately antici- 
pate what is coming, is perfectly adjusted, and requires 
no time. 
Evidence Continued.—On the other hand, it is found 
that everything that tends to make the process of ad- 
justment less easy or complete retards apperception. 
If the mind is unaware of the time or of the intensity 
of the awaited stimulus the time is greatly lengthened. 
If the mind is expecting a loud sound, and a soft one 
occurs, the time is almost doubled. If in a series, 
which have been occurring at regular intervals, one is 
put in at a shorter interval, or the time is delayed, 
either the time is greatly increased or the apperception 
does not occur at all. If the mind cannot anticipate 
the quality of the stimulus, that is, tell whether it is 
to be light or sound, the time is also lengthened. If 
various stimuli occur together the time of the apper- 
ception of any one is retarded, because the mind has to 
choose to which it shall adjust itself. Hence we can 
lay down the rule that just in the degree in which the 
mind has a definite idea of the end towards which 
attention is directed, and is thereby enabled to adjust 142 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
itself to this end, is apperception speedy, distinct, and 
complete. 
The Process of Idealization.—We saw under the 
head of “ selection ” that idealization of sensations 
is necessary for knowledge. We now see how this 
idealization comes about. We apperceive the sensa- 
tion, or interpret it, by adjusting the mind to it; and 
this adjustment is bringing past experiences to bear 
upon the present. We know with what we> have 
known. In adjustment the mind reads out of itself 
and into the sensation ideal elements which transform 
the sensation and make it a part of knowledge. For- 
mer acquirements serve as the means of giving signifi- 
cance to the new. The same object may awaken only a 
look of stolid surprise in the savage, or the comprehen- 
sion of a new law of the action of bodies. The hog 
reads into the apple simply that it is good to eat; Sir 
Isaac Newton that it exemplifies the law of all falling 
bodies. Each puts self into the same sensation, and the 
result is a world-wide difference. All knowledge consists 
in thus putting self into presented data of sensation. 
Meaning is Reference to Self.—The sensation gets 
significance, accordingly, just in the degree in which the 
mind puts itself into it. As it puts itself into the sen- 
sation it makes it a sign of its past experiences. Ad- 
justment is the process by which the self so connects 
itself with the presented datum that this becomes a 
sign, or symbolic—points to something beyond its own 
new existence, and hence has meaning. The fact 
known is not a bare fact, that is, an existence implying 
no constructive activity of intelligence, but is idealized 
fact, existence upon which the constructive intelligence 
lias been at work. That which is not thus idealized PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
143 
by the mind has no existence for intelligence. All 
knowledge is thus, in a certain sense, self-knowledge, 
Knowing is not the process by which ready-made oK 
jects impress themselves upon the mind, but is the 
process by which self renders sensations significant by 
reading itself into them. 
III. Attention as Relating Activity.—We have seen 
that in order to reach the end which the mind in at- 
tention always has before it, it is necessary to neglect 
much of the sensuous data and select certain portions 
of it with reference to this end ; and, also, that this 
selected material gets significance by the adjusting ac- 
tivity of intelligence, which brings past experiences to 
bear upon it. Just what this adjusting consists in, or 
how past experiences are brought to bear upon the in- 
terpretation of present data, we have not studied. This 
occurs through the process of relating. This may be 
termed the act of comparison. 
Two Kinds of Relations.—The relations which con- 
nect mental contents are those of identity and of differ- 
ence. Comparison is an act of mind which considers 
various cognitions in their relations to each other, so as 
to discover in what points they are alike, and hence 
may be unified, and in what they are unlike, and hence 
must be distinguished. The function of attention as a 
relating activity is therefore to introduce unity and 
distinctness into psychical life. In attention, mental 
contents are held before the mind simultaneously, and 
yet are held apart, so that they do not fuse. In asso- 
ciation, if two elements are presented simultaneously, 
they are fused ; or if elements are not fused, they can 
come before the mind only successively. But atten- 
tion can hold contents together and apart at the same 144 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
time. It necessarily unifies and discriminates in one 
and the same act. There are not two acts, therefore, 
but two phases of the same act of attention; and as such 
they must be studied. 
1. Identity, or Unification.—The unity which is the 
result of attention must be distinguished from the 
unity which is the result of fusion. In the latter the 
various associated elements lose their distinct existence, 
and are absorbed in the result. The unifying activity 
of attention is always accompanied by the discriminat- 
ing, and hence this actual fusion does not occur. The 
unity is an ideal one; that is, it is of a relation which 
connects them, not of an actual thing. It is identity of 
meaning, not of existence. Thus when the botanist 
compares a rose with an apple-blossom, and unifies the 
two perceptions in a common class, he does not cease to 
have two things before him. The unification is an in- 
tellectual one, consisting in the recognition of an ideal 
element of meaning in both. They both signify or 
point to the same law or relation. The process of uni- 
fying always consists in the discovery of an identity of 
meaning in objects apparently unlike. 
Importance in Knowledge.—Without this discovery 
of identity of meaning between presentations, which, 
as existences, are separate from each other, there could 
be no knowledge. Knowledge always consists in going 
out beyond the present sensation, and connecting it with 
others by finding that both mean the same; that is, that 
both point to the same psychical experience. Without 
this ideal identification of one sensation with anoth- 
er, knowledge would be impossible, and psychical life 
would consist of a series of transitory and shifting 
sensations, no one of which would be recognized nor PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
145 
referred to an object. Growth in knowledge consists 
in discovering more and more fundamental unities, 
and thus in reducing to ideal unity facts, events, and 
relations before separate. Knowledge can reach its 
goal only in a perfectly harmonious system of all 
truths. Its aim is everywhere to see every fact as de- 
pendent upon every other fact, or all as members of 
one organic unity. 
Growth of Attention.—It is the constant tendency 
towards unification of ideas which allows the mind to 
take in larger and larger wholes in the same act, and 
thus economize mental power. The unifying of at- 
tention is simply the unity of end or likeness of 
meaning found amid various facts, and it requires no 
more energy of mind to grasp a thousand facts in their 
unity than it does ten. Some have announced as a 
principle of attention, Pluribus intentus, minor est ad 
singula sens us / holding that the wider the grasp of at- 
tention, the less perfect will it be in its details. But 
this overlooks the fact that the movement of attention 
is always towards the discovery of identity, and the 
grasping of all objects possessing this identity of sig- 
nificance in one act of thought. The effect of atten- 
tion is necessarily as much to render it possible for 
the mind to apprehend more and more at the same 
time, as it is to make details more definite and precise. 
2. Difference or Discrimination.—But identification 
is only one side of the process of comparison. We 
never compare things exactly alike; we compare only 
where there is some element of difference. The ap- 
perception of distinction must go hand in hand with 
that of unity. We can discover identity of meaning 
amid diversity of fact only as we can exclude all that 146 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
is unlike. Mental contents are held apart when they 
are related to each other; they are not indistinguisha- 
bly fused into one. This is because of the relations of 
difference. Without this differentiating act of atten- 
tion mental life would be a chaos. There would be 
no meaning in it, because there would be no distinction 
of one object or event from another. We are able to 
refer one object to another, to connect one element of 
experience with another, because we can distinguish 
them from each other. 
Distinction and Consciousness.—What we do not 
distinguish or differentiate has no existence in con- 
sciousness. It remains absorbed in some other ele- 
ment, or is neglected. The act of bringing anything 
into consciousness consists in separating it out from 
other elements through this distinguishing activity of 
attention. The soldier excited in battle does not know 
of his wound. The orator afflicted with a disease ordi- 
narily most painful, is unconscious of suffering during 
the delivery of his speech. The same fact is illus- 
trated without leaving the most usual consciousness. 
There are constantly flowing in upon us stimuli from 
all our organs—ear, eye, and skin especially—yet we are 
ordinarily conscious of but few of these. The pressure 
of clothing, of our position, of most objects about us, 
soundsin which we are not interested—these do not come 
into consciousness at all, for they are not discriminated, 
and thus lifted into relief. On the other hand, paying 
constant attention to any element of experience gives 
that element great distinctness. This is illustrated in 
persons of special attainments, as well as in all mono- 
maniacs, hypochondriacs, etc. 
Distinctness and Intensity. — The distinctness of PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
147 
mental content must be separated from its intensity. 
Intensity is the amount of consciousness which it occu- 
pies, or thq force with which it thrusts itself into con- 
sciousness. Distinctness is always relative, and implies 
the points of difference which separate two compared 
contents from each other, or one part of a content 
from another. The perception of the sun is exceed- 
ingly intense, but very indistinct. So the flavor of a 
fruit may be exceedingly strong, but if it has never 
been experienced before it will not be distinct, for its 
relations to other flavors will not be recognized. Dis- 
tinctness, in short, always implies the distinguishing 
activity of intelligence. When I say that my memory 
of a certain event is indistinct, what I mean is not nec- 
essarily that my image of it is very dim, but that I 
cannot discriminate it clearly from other events occur- 
ring at about the same time, or from similar events oc- 
curring at different times. It is not differenced, and 
thus made definite. Definition is always the recogni- 
tion of this relation of difference. 
The Nature of Attention.—We saw that a sensuous 
presentation gets meaning by its connection with past 
experiences given by the mind reading itself into the 
sensation. We now see that this connection is two- 
fold. The process of adjustment consists in bringing 
the past experiences to bear upon the present so as to 
unify it with those ideal elements which resemble it, 
and separate it from those which are unlike. These 
two processes necessarily accompany each other, so 
that, while the goal of knowledge is complete unity, or 
a perfectly harmonious relation of all facts and events 
to each other, this unity shall be one which shall con- 
tain the greatest possible amount of specification, or 148 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
distinction within itself. A relation necessarily unifies 
and separates at the same time. It unifies because it 
enables us to see the facts related in a common light, as 
possessed of a common significance; it separates be- 
cause the two facts are not fused into one existence, but 
are rendered mure definite than they were before by the 
possession of a distinct property. The final fact which 
we learn about attention, therefore, is that it is a re- 
lating activity, and that, since there is no knowledge 
without relation, there is none without attention. At- 
tention cannot cease until all relations have been per- 
fectly developed; that is, until all objects, events, and 
minor relations stand out clearly defined in a final 
unity, and are recognized as members of one wdiole— 
the self. The self constitutes the ultimate unity of all. 
We end, therefore, as we began, with the statement 
that attention is a self-developing activity. 
§ 6. Retention. 
Retention is thoroughly bound up with the apper- 
ceptive activities, and, as the latter have been treated 
at length, may be passed over with briefer notice. As 
apperception is the reaction of the self with the char- 
acter given it by past experiences upon sensory presen- 
tations, so retention is the reaction of the content thus 
apperceived upon the self. Apperception gives char- 
acter to the material apprehended. Retention gives 
character to the self. The apperceived content is not 
mechanically held in the mind, but reacts upon it so 
as to alter its nature. It becomes organically one with 
self. We shall consider retention under three heads: 
I. Implied in apperception ; II. Apperception as in- 
volved in it; III. The function of retention. PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
149 
I. The Implication of Retention in Apperception.— 
No apperception, whether of association, dissociation, 
or attention, occurs except upon the basis of past ex- 
periences. The mind is an activity which connects 
every fact, event, and relation with others. None re- 
mains isolated. The significance or meaning which is 
supplied by the apperceptive activity is this connection 
between various factors of experience, so that one be- 
comes symbolic of another, or both point to the same 
idea. Such a connection evidently presupposes that 
past experiences still have an ideal existence; they are 
not utterly lost, but still exist preserved in some way 
in the self. Were they not thus retained, all relation 
between parts of experience would be impossible, and 
apperception would not exist; i. e., nothing would have 
meaning for us. This has been presupposed in all our 
previous exposition, which renders needless present 
dwelling upon it. Idealization we found to be the 
process by which the self, acting upon the basis of its 
past experiences, interprets sensations. 
II. Apperception as Necessary to Retention.—The 
mind becomes organized, gets definite character, only 
through its apperceptive activities. Without organized 
mind there is, indeed, no apperception ; but without 
apperception, no organization. The mind can retain 
or preserve as an organic part of itself only what it 
has experienced. Without these experiences it would 
remain a mere capacity. The infant comes into the 
world with no definite tendencies and abilities except 
some inherited ones, which are instinctive. These he 
uses to gain experiences with, but these experiences 
once got, immediately react upon the mind and develop 
it. They organize it in some particular direction. The 150 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
mind of the child which has apperceived his nurse is 
not the same that it was before ; he has formed an or- 
gan in his mind for the performing of like appercep- 
tions in the future. 
Illustration in Association and Attention.—That re- 
tention requires apperception may be seen from both 
association and attention. We found that the result of 
association was the formation of a psychical mechanism, 
the existence of certain habits, or automatic ways of 
acting and apperceiving. This mechanism is evidently 
what we mean by the organization of self; it is what 
the self has retained from its experiences and made or- 
ganic members of self. In attention, as soon as the 
mind is brought to bear upon the sensation so as to 
read itself into it and give it meaning, the apperceived 
content becomes a condition which determines how the 
mind shall act in the future. Every element thus ap- 
prehended and absorbed into the mind gets an ideal 
existence, and becomes the means by which future 
idealizations, that is, acts of attention, are executed. 
Attention forms apperceptive organs, in short. 
III. Nature of Retention.—The student must avoid 
regarding retention as a mechanical process. Reten- 
tion does not mean that the mind retains as so many par- 
ticular existences in itself all past experiences, as grains 
of wheat, for example, are held in a basket. Our past 
experiences have no more actual existence. They are 
gone with the time in which they occurred. They 
have, however, ideal existence, existence as wrought 
into the character of the self, and as fixing its definite 
nature, and this is what we mean by retention. The 
mind is not a storehouse, nor does it have compart- 
ments furnished with past experiences. It is not a PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
151 
chest, in the drawers and pigeon-holes of which the 
factors of its life are packed away, classified and la- 
belled. 
Metaphors from Organic Processes.—The only illus- 
trations of its nature can be drawn from vital phe- 
nomena. It corresponds to the reception, digestion, and 
elaboration of food by the living organism. As the 
tree is not merely passively affected by the elements 
of its environment—the substances of the earth, the sur- 
rounding moisture and gases—as it does not receive and 
keep them unaltered in itself, but reacts upon them 
and works them over into its living tissue—its wood, 
leaves, etc.—and thus grows, so the mind deals with its 
experiences. And as the substances thus organized 
into the living structure of the tree then act in the re- 
ception and elaboration of new material, thus insuring 
constant growth, so the factors taken into the mind 
constitute the ways by which the mind grows in ap- 
perceiving power. But even this analogy is defective 
as concerns the higher activities of the mind. To make 
it complete we should have to suppose that the tree 
knew what it was thus assimilating, and why it did so, 
and that it selected and manipulated its nutriment 
with special reference to its own development along 
certain lines. The mind in retention not only forms 
its own structure, but is conscious of, and can direct, 
the processes by which it does so. 
Organization.—The metaphor explains why the term 
organization has been so often employed. Retention 
organizes the mind in certain directions; that is, it gives 
it organs for certain kinds of activity. If we suppose 
that the mind at first is merely indefinite capacities, 
every experience realizes these capacities in some di- 152 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
rection and makes them definite, or really efficient. 
The final result is the formation of organs which ap- 
perceive rapidly, distinctly, and adequately whatever is 
presented to them. Retention must, therefore, be dis- 
tinguished from memory. Memory, or the power of 
referring experiences to the past, and of connecting 
them with others in the train of ideas, is one of the 
forms in which psychical factors are related to each 
other; it is one mode of apperception. Retention, on 
the other hand, is the growth or development of the 
mind itself, and is necessary to memory and to every 
other form of apperception. 
Retention is not of Copies of Ideas.—It is not, there- 
fore, the ideas as wholes that are retained. There is 
another theory which, admitting that ideas cease to 
exist as ideas when they pass out of consciousness, 
holds that “traces” or “residua” of these ideas per- 
sist, and that this persistence constitutes retention. 
But there is no more evidence of the retention of ideas 
in faint, partial, or mutilated form than there is of 
them in their totality. Such a conception rests upon 
a mechanical and spatial analogy which has no place. 
In the first place, the idea is never a thing having an 
independent, separate existence; it is only a function 
of mind; that is, the mind considered in a certain mode 
of activity. When the mind passes on into a new 
mode of action, the idea, as such, ceases to exist. In 
the second place, since it is not an independent thing, 
the idea can leave no separate “trace” behind it, if by 
trace be meant a remnant or enfeebled copy of the 
original idea. If, however, the word is used to denote 
the fact that the idea does not pass away without leav- PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
153 
ing behind it some witness to its existence, there is no 
objection to its use. 
Various Synonyms for Retention.—What is retained 
is the effect which the idea produces upon the mind. 
The idea is not written in water, but gives the soul a 
certain set or bent in some direction. Various terms 
have been used to denote the nature of this effect. It 
has been called a “ disposition,” that is, a tendency, 
towards the production of a similar content in the fut- 
ure. The term functional arrangement has also been 
employed as suggesting that the retention consists in 
an alteration in the structure of the mind which affects 
the way in which it functions. Some psychologists 
use the expression “dynamical association” for the 
same fact, implying that the result of any idea is not a 
mere statical existence in mind, but an active tendency 
of mind to operate along certain lines. But all terms 
signify the same fact, namely, that the mind grows, 
not by keeping unchanged within itself faint or uncon- 
scious copies of its original experiences, but by assimi- 
lating something from each experience, so that the 
next time it acts it has a more definite mode of activity 
to bring to bear, one which supplies a greater content 
to whatever is acted upon. This is the psychological 
side, just as wre must suppose the physiological side to 
be, not preservation of copies of the original molecular 
motions, but such a change in the structure of the ner- 
vous system that, in responding to future stimuli, it 
acts in a more complex way, containing elements due 
to the former motions. 
The literature of the association of ideas is exceedingly voluminous, the 
theory having been the foundation of one school of British Psychology since 
the time of Hume, of Hartley, and, in another and different form, of German 154 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Psychology following Herbart. The following references will serve as a clew 
to the treatment of the subject: Brown, “ Philosophy of Mind,” vol. ii., pp. 
211-325; Hamilton, “ Metaphysics,” lects. xxxi. and xxxii.; Porter, “ Human 
Intellect,” pp. 269-299; Bain, “ Sense and Intellect,"passim, but especially pp. 
355-369; 463-498; 559-623; Sully, “ Psychology,” pp. 233-275; Spencer (op. 
cit.), vol. i., pp. 228-271; Robertson, Encyclopedia Britannica, 9th edition ; 
Bradley, “ Principles of Logic,” pp. 273-321 (critical and constructive, very val- 
uable) ; Murray “ Handbook of Psychology,” pp. 75-104; Hodgson, “ Philoso- 
phy of Reflection,” vol. i., pp. 273-287, and upon redintegration in particular, 
his “ Time and Space,” pp. 256-295; compare also the valuable articles by 
James, Popular Science Monthly, on “Association of Ideas,” and in Journal 
of Speculative Philosophy, on “ Human and Brute Intellect.” For a general 
account of the theory, see Ferri, “ La Psychologie de J’Association.” For the 
Herbartian theory, see Herbart, “ Lehrbuch der Psychologie,” pt. i., chap. 3, 
Volkmann (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 338-371; Drobisch, “ Mathematische Psycho- 
logie,” and (op. cit.), pp. 82-133; Schilling, “ Psychologie,” § 22 ff.; Steinthal 
(op. cit.), pp. 115-163. For other German views, see Lotze, “ Microcosm us ” 
(transl.), pp. 193-219; “ Elements of Psychology ” (transl.), pp. 28-40; “ Meta- 
physic” (transl.), pp. 456-470 ; Ulrici (op. cit.), pt. 2, pp. 232-269 ; Horwicz 
(op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 315-331; Glogau, “ Grundriss der Psychologie,” pt. 3. 
For experimental researches and conclusions therefrom, see Galton, “ Human 
Faculty;” Wundt (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 291-317; “ Logik,” vol. i., pp. 11-23; 
“ Philosophische Studien,” vol. i., p. 213 ff.; Strieker, “ Studien iiber die As- 
sociation der Vorstellungen.” Something about habit will be found in many 
of the foregoing references; additional are Murphy, “ Habit and Intelli- 
gence ;” Radestock, “ Habit in Education,” together with Horwicz (op. cit.), 
vol. i., pp. 357-368, and Rosenkranz (op. cit.), pp. 157-163. 
Upon attention and the relating activity consult Hamilton, “ Metaphysics,” 
lect. xiv.; Sully, “ Psychology,” chap. iv.; Sully on “ Comparison,” Mind, vol. 
x., p. 489; Murray (op. cit.), pp. 105-108; Carpenter, “ Mental Physiology,” 
chap. iii.; Ferrier, “Functions of Brain,” pp. 284-288 (for probable physio- 
logical basis); Maudsley, “Physiology of Mind,” pp. 312-321; Wundt (op. 
cit.), vol. ii., pp. 205-212; Lotze, “ Medicinische Psychologie,” p. 506 ff.; “ Ele- 
ments of Psj'chology,” pp. 40-47; “ Metaphysic,” pp. 470-480; Schneider, a 
monograph on “ Die Unterscheidung,” for the distinguishing activity of at- 
tention ; Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 226-234; Ulrici (op. cit.), pt. 2, pp. 15- 
42; see also Bradley, Mind, July, 1886. 
For the nature of apperception as a whole, see in particular, Staude, “ Der 
Begriff der Apperception in der neueren Psychologie,” in “ Philosophische 
Studien,” vol. i., p. 149; Volkmann (op. cit.'), vol. ii., pp. 175-211; Wundt (op. 
cit.), vol. ii., pp. 219-290; “ Logik,” vol. i., pp. 30-65; Lazarus, “ Das Leben 
der Seele,” vol. ii., pp. 41-58, 251-275, and passim; and Steinthal (op. cit.'), 
pp. 166-262. Special studies upon apperception in its temporal relations will 
be found by Fredrich, Tchisch, Cattell, and others, in Wundt’s “ Philoso- 
phische Studien.” PROCESSES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
155 
Concerning the pedagogical aspects of these questions, consult Lange, 
“Ueber Apperception;” Walsemann, “Das Interesse;” Ziller, “ Allgemeinc 
Padagogik ” (simple apperception, pp. 212-243 ; complex, pp. 243-266; in- 
voluntary attention, pp. 266 - 289; voluntary, pp. 290 - 314); De Guimps, 
“L’Education,” pp. 101-118; Thring, “Theory and Practice of Education,” 
pp. 165-176; Perez, “First Three Years of Childhood” (attention, pp. 110- 
120; association, pp. 131 - 146); Froblich, “ Wissenschaftliche Padagogik,” 
pp. 87-128; Beneke, “ Erziehungslehre,” pp. 86-118; Radestock, “ Habit ir 
Education,” and Lederer’s “ Methodik der Gewohnung.” CHAPTER V. 
STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.—PERCEPTION. 
§ 1. Knowledge as Self-development. 
We have finished our study of the material and of 
the process of knowledge, and we come now to the 
concrete facts — the result of the processes upon the 
material. These facts may be arranged by either of 
two methods, the psychological or the chronological. 
The latter begins with the earliest psychical manifes- 
tations of the infant, and follows the order of upward 
growth. The former rests upon an investigation of 
the principles involved, and arranges the facts accord- 
ing to the relative simplicity or complexity of princi- 
ples involved. These methods by no means exclude 
each other. The order in which intelligence actually 
grows corresponds, in the main, to the complexity of 
the underlying principles involved. To follow, how- 
ever, exactly the temporal order introduces needless 
confusion and repetition. We follow, therefore, the 
internal, psychological order. 
The Psychological Order. — This may be stated in 
various ways. We may say that intelligence begins 
with the external and least representative state, and 
advances to the internal and most symbolic. That is 
to say, there is a stage in which sensations are but little 
transformed, in which they stand for comparatively 
little besides their own existence. At the other end 
of the scale there is a stage in which the actual exist- 
ence of sensations is of small value compared with what STAGES OIT KNOWLEDGE.—PEKCEPTION. 
157 
they stand for or represent. This additional symbol- 
ism always gives additional meaning; it is introduced 
by a process of idealization. We may say, therefore, 
that the development of knowledge is a process of in- 
creasing idealization from the less to the more signifi- 
cant. Since significance consists in relations, we may 
say that the growth of knowledge is measured by the 
extent of relations concerned. Each advancing stage 
is characterized by the development of a new and 
wider-reaching sphere of relations. These three modes 
of statement may be summed up by saying that intelli- 
gence is a process of realization of itself, and that it 
occurs as new relations are developed and new meaning 
given to its products. 
Knowledge a Progressive Process. — There will be, 
therefore, various stages in the process. The indi- 
vidual is not born a realized self, but his psychical ex- 
istence is the process of realization. Various forms 
of knowledge will, therefore, be recognized according 
to the stage of universality or realization of intelli- 
gence reached. These are the so-called faculties of 
knowledge, which, therefore, are not various powers of 
the mind, but mark various stadia of its development. 
These “faculties” are Perception, Memory, Imagina- 
tion, Thinking, Intuition or self-consciousness. 
Relation of Perception to Other Stages.—There lias 
been a theory in psychology that individual objects 
are impressed upon the mind as wholes without any 
constructive activity of the mind, and that this process, 
perception, gives us knowledge of reality. The activity 
of mind from this point on was supposed to consist in 
combining and separating these wholes, so that the re- 
sults are more or less artificial in nature, and consti- 158 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
tute a departure from the simple realities made known 
to us in perception. But this theory falls into a double 
error. In the first place, perception or knowledge of 
particular things is not a passive operation of impres- 
sion, but involves the active integration of various ex- 
periences. It is a process of reaching out after the 
fullest and richest experience possible. In illustration, 
consider the process of scientific observation. The 
mind does not wait for sensations to be forced upon it, 
but goes out in search of them, supplying by experb 
ment all possible conditions in order to get new sen- 
sations and to modify the old by them. Secondly, 
such processes as imagination and thinking are not 
mechanically working upon percepts, but are their 
transformation and enrichment in accordance with 
the same law of a demand for the unified maximum 
of meaning. Thinking transforms perception by 
bringing out elements latent in it, thereby complet- 
ing it. 
§ 2. Perception. 
Definition.—The original and least developed, that 
is, most particular, form of knowledge is perception. 
Perception may be defined as knowledge of actually 
present particular things or events. The object of the 
perceiving activity of mind is, in ordinary phrase,“the 
world of the senses.” It is the stage of knowledge 
least advanced in the interpretation of sensations, the 
world of things seen, heard, tonched, tasted, etc. Be- 
fore explaining the process we shall analyze out the 
main characteristics of this perceived world, in order 
to see more definitely what the problem is which we 
have to explain. STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.—PERCEPTION. 
159 
I. Problem, of Perception.—The world of perceived 
objects has the following characteristics: (1) it is not 
ourselves; (2) it is made up of particular separate 
things and events; (3) which, when perceived, are ex- 
isting in space. 
1. The world of perception, with all the things that 
constitute it, is set over against the self. The world ap- 
pears to be there independent of the intelligence; the 
latter has only to open its sensory organs and let the 
world report itself in consciousness. It is an external 
world, while the mind appears to be wholly internal. 
The train of ideas which seems to constitute the mind 
comes and goes, but this effects no change in the ob- 
jects. All existences and all changes in this world 
are due to physical laws, independent of the mind. 
To perceive is opposed to thinking. The latter is sub- 
jective, depending upon intelligence for its existence. 
The former is objective, and is there whether intelli- 
gence exists or not. Such is the apparent relation which 
the perceived world bears to the perceiving self. In 
perception not-self is entirely discriminated from self. 
2. The world thus set over against self is constituted 
by particular concrete things. As I open my eyes I 
perceive a room ; in this room are chairs, tables, books, 
pictures, etc. These are all distinct things. Extend 
this perception and we have the whole world before 
us. Each object appears to be just itself, separated 
from every other object, and without any necessary 
relation to it. One may be in another, as the table is 
in the room ; or by another, as the chair is near the ta- 
ble; but this is purely accidental. The table would be 
just as much a table if it were in the open air and near 
a tree. 160 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
3. The perceived world is a present world; that is, 
one existing in space. This distinguishes it from the 
remembered world, which is equally set over against 
the self, and equally composed of particular elements, 
but which is a past world, or one existing in time. 
Every perceived object has spatial relations, both as a 
whole to other objects, and of its various constituent 
parts to each other. 
II. Solution of the Problem. — Psychology, accord- 
ingly, has to explain how the sensations, the elementa- 
ry, raw constituents of knowledge, are transformed 
into this spatial world of definite things through the 
processes of apperception and retention. Before com- 
ing to the positive solution, we shall discuss certain 
ways in which the problem cannot be solved. 
Incorrect Solutions.—It cannot be solved from the 
mere existence of the external world. The world ex- 
ists undoubtedly absolutely without any dependence 
upon the individual minds which know it, but which 
are merely born into it. But the perceived world is 
more than an existent world; it is a world existent for 
the consciousness of the individual, a known world; 
and knowledge is a process of intelligence, not of ex- 
isting things. The fact to be explained is that of 
knowledge, and the mere existence of objects does not 
suffice for this. But it may be supposed that the af- 
fections which these objects occasion in the mind, the 
sensations, will suffice to explain the knowledge. This 
is also an error. The sensations are mere subjective 
states of consciousness, and do not go beyond them- 
selves. They tell us nothing of self or not-self, ob- 
jects or space. The sensations, in short, must be con- 
strued, must be interpreted, by intelligence. STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. PERCEPTION. 
161 
Positive Solution.—The presence to the mind of the 
world as perceived must be explained from the process 
of knowing. It is due to the activity of the mind, 
which not only has sensations, but which takes them 
and projects them. It relates itself actively to them 
by associating and attending to them. We have now 
to study the means by which the apperceiving activity 
of mind transforms the data of sensation into (1) con- 
crete definite objects (2) existing in space and (3) ex- 
ternal to ourselves. 
1. This may be passed over rapidly, as it has often 
been treated. Take, for example, the visual percep- 
tion of a tree. The actual presented data are sensa- 
tions of light, and muscular sensations due to the mov- 
ing of the eye from one point to another. These 
sensations must first be joined together, or fused, by 
simultaneous association, so that they may become ca- 
pable of reference to one object. These sensations must 
also redintegrate all previous elements involved in the 
perception of a tree, whether visual, tactual, or got 
through whatever sense, and these must be assimilated 
to those actually present. But it is not yet the per- 
ception of a tree ‘ it is only various consolidated sen- 
sations. The interpreting, discriminating, unifying 
activity of attention must come in and translate these 
sensations into the definite meaning of a tree. 
The Perceived Object. — The characteristics of the 
perceived object, viz., that it is & particular and a defi- 
nite object, are due to the unifying and discriminating 
activities of intelligence. Perception may be defined 
as the act in which the presented sensuous data are 
made symbols or signs of all other sensations which 
might be experienced from the same object, and thus 162 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
are given meaning, while they are unified by being 
connected in one wholeness of meaning, and made defi- 
nite by being discriminated from all mental contents 
possessing different meaning. The unity of a per- 
ceived object expresses the fact that it has been grasped 
together in one act of mind; its particular character 
expresses the fact that this same act has separated it 
from all other acts of mind. An object, in short, is 
the objectified interpreting activity of intelligence. 
2. Spatial Relations.—All objects, as perceived, are 
projected in space, and given definite position. This 
is seen most clearly in the case of sensations of touch 
and sight, which form the especial data of space per- 
ception. There are two reasons for this: they are the 
two sensitive organs which have their endings extended, 
and hence can receive simultaneous impressions; and 
they are also the organs which have the most intimate 
connection with muscular associations. The mere pres- 
ence of simultaneous sensations, however, is not iden- 
tical with perception of spatial coexistence. The mind 
must recognize their distinction, and construe them 
spatially. The “local signs” (page 55) serve to pre- 
vent their fusion, and intelligence then interprets these 
local signs, through their association with muscular 
sensations, into spatial order. 
Importance of Muscular Sensations. — The sensory 
organs which are not mobile furnish no perceptions, 
but only feelings. Just in the degree in which the or- 
gan is mobile, perception is ready and accurate. Hence 
it is that the general sensations, smell and hearing, 
give us comparatively little knowledge of space rela- 
tions, while sight and touch are all-important. So, too, 
the finest discriminative organs of touch are the tip of STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.—PERCEPTION. 
163 
finger and tongue, which are the most mobile. It may 
be said, therefore, that the perception of space relations 
is due to the association of muscular sensations with 
others, interpreted by the apperceptive activity of 
mind. In the explanation of this association there are 
two points to be considered : first, the process by which 
the muscular sensations which accompany movement 
give definiteness to the sensations of touch and sight; 
second, the process by which these latter sensations be- 
come symbolic of the former, so that finally the defi- 
nite perception takes place, although no movement 
occurs. 
Tactual Perception.—If an adult lays his hand upon 
something he has a vague perception of space relations, 
while it requires movement to explore the outlines and 
make it definite. Infants, however, have not even 
such a vague perception. It is, therefore, the result 
of a process by which tactual sensations have become 
symbolic of motor. Originally the child will have 
muscular sensations as he moves his hands, and also 
sensations of contact proper. It is the element of “lo- 
cal sign,” the element which differentiates every sen- 
sation of touch from every other, with which we are 
especially concerned; and the problem is to see how, 
from the union of motor and local sensations, the per- 
ceptions of size, form, direction, and distance arise. 
Association of Motor and Local Elements.—The in- 
fant, as his hand is at rest upon some object, receives 
simultaneously a large number of sensations, each of 
which is kept from fusion with others by its charac- 
teristic local sign. Tims there is constituted a series of 
sensations qualitatively different from one another, not a 
perception of related points. It is not even a perception 164 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of isolated points, for a point can be perceived only by 
locating it with reference to other points, giving it re- 
lation. With the movement of the hand there arise 
certain fixed associations. It requires a certain amount 
of movement, and thus occasions a certain amount of 
muscular sensation to pass, say, from the local sign of 
the thumb to that of the little finger. This muscular 
sensation will evidently vary with the distance between 
any two local signs, and also with the direction which 
they are from each other. It will not give the same 
kind of sensation to go from the little finger to the 
thumb as from the latter to the wrist. Thus the mus- 
cular sensations begin to connect the isolated local signs 
with each other, and to serve as signs of distance and 
direction. All the points of the hand, and, indeed, of 
the body, come to be definitely placed or ordered with 
reference to each other through the medium of the 
amount of muscular sensation necessary to change any 
one local sign into another. 
Perception without Movement. — The associations 
thus formed between the motor sensations and the lo- 
cal signs are so fixed and strong that, as in all associa- 
tions, one element of it becomes capable of symbolizing 
the other. The actual presence of one redintegrates the 
ideal presence of the other. Finally, the hand may be 
entirely at rest, and only tactual sensations be actu- 
ally given to the mind. Each of these will suggest, 
however, the muscular sensation which has in previous 
experiences been associated with it, and hence symbol- 
ize to the mind its distance and direction from all other 
points. 
Visual Perception.—Here we have to consider two 
points: the process by which tactual sensations are sym- STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. PEKCEPTION. 
165 
bolized through visual; and the process by which vis- 
ual sensations become simultaneously symbolic of each 
other, and thus become the signs of spatial relations. 
Ultimately visual perception rests on tactual. The 
visual perception of space, in its definite forms at 
least, is representative, and embodies for the mind the 
results of tactual perceptions. To say that an object 
is seen to be at such a distance, means that so much 
muscular sensation must be had before it can be 
touched; to say that it is of-such an outline, is to say 
that certain muscular and local sensations would be 
had if the hand were passed about it, etc. According 
to this theory, originally propounded by Bishop Berke- 
ley, spatial relations are not originally perceived by the 
eye, but are the result of the association of visual sen- 
sations with previous muscular and tactual experi- 
ences. These latter having become, through the proc- 
ess already described, the signs of space relations, are 
transferred to the ocular sensations constantly associ- 
ated with them, so that the latter redintegrate them 
when they are not actually present. Thus the adult 
comes to see all that he could touch if he tried. The 
visual sensations immediately and instantaneously call 
up all the tactual perceptions which have been associated 
with them, so that the individual has all the benefit of 
his previous experiences without being obliged to repeat 
them, or in this case actually to touch the objects. 
Evidence of the Theory.—The proofs of this theory 
of the acquired nature of sight perception of space are 
found in the observations made upon infants, and upon 
the congenital blind, when given sight. The child 
grasping for the moon, and crying because he cannot 
get it, illustrates the defective nature of visual space 166 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
perception, when not associated with muscular sensa- 
tions. The blind, when first made to see, have no idea 
of the distance, form, and size of objects, unless they 
can walk to them and touch them. Some describe all 
things seen as touching their eyes, as touched things 
do their skin. Pictures are not regarded as copies of 
actual spatial relations, but as planes painted various 
colors. When the patients finally do realize the per- 
spective significance of paintings, they expect, upon 
touching one, to find the foreground actually project- 
ing. On the other hand, after they learn that seen 
objects do not actually touch the eyes, they consider 
them all on a level, and are surprised, for example, to 
find when they touch the face that the eyes are sunken, 
and the nose projected. They cannot tell a cube from 
a globe, a dog from a cat, by sight alone. Hence it is 
concluded that the perception of spatial distinctions, 
by means of sight alone, is the result of the connec- 
tions brought about by means of past experiences be- 
tween visual and tactual sensations, so that the former 
finally symbolize all that the latter convey. However, 
it is hardly to be denied that sight by itself gives a 
vague rudimentary perception of space as a whole, 
though this is rendered definite only by association. 
Visual Perception Proper.—This association with 
tactual perception we will now suppose to be accom- 
plished, and proceed to inquire how the various optical 
sensations are connected so as to symbolize spatial dis- 
tinctions. Here we shall take up: (1) Direction ; (2) 
Distance ; (3) Size and form. 
(1.) Direction.—For a time it was thought that di- 
rection was an element involved in the sensation itself, 
and that the retina unconsciously projected, as it were, STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.—PERCEPTION. 
167 
every excitation along the line of the ray of light which 
occasioned it. It is better, however, to regard the ele- 
ment of direction as the result of the activity of the 
mind in interpreting the sensations. The latter are, first, 
the sensations which inform us of the position of the 
head, and of the eye in the head. Everything is placed 
relatively to the position of the body thus fixed. Then, 
secondly, we have the sensations of the movements of 
the head and eye, which are necessary to bring the 
image of the object upon the point of most acute 
vision. The muscular sensations which accompany 
the turning of the eye up or down, right or left, be- 
come signs of the variation of the direction of the ob- 
ject looked at, from a direction perpendicular to the 
plane of the body. 
Law of Perception of Direction.—This association 
between muscular sensation and direction being once 
firmly fixed, it is no longer necessary to move the eyes in 
order to know the direction of objects. A sensation of 
any part of the retina symbolizes, through past associa- 
tions, the amount of movement necessary to bring the 
sensation upon the yellow spot, and thus symbolizes, 
without movement, the direction. The law is, there- 
fore, that all bodies are seen according to the direction 
in which it is customary to receive sensations of light— 
not always in the direction in which it actually comes. 
Thus if by some artificial means light stimulates the 
retina from one side instead of through the pupil, 
as ordinarily, the sensation is still projected as if the 
object were in front, and the stimulus had entered in 
its usual way. This is evidently because through past 
experience there has been an association formed be- 
tween this direction and a sensation on this part of the 168 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
retina. The same law accounts for the fact that ob- 
jects are seen erect, and not inverted, like the retinal 
image. The position of the sensation has nothing to 
do with the perception, except through the associations 
that have been formed ; and in this case a sensation on 
the upper part of the retina is associated with an ob- 
ject in the lower part of the field of vision, as made 
known through touch. 
(2.) Distance.—This includes both distance of the 
object, as a whole, from the eye, and relative distance 
of one part of the object from another—depth or geo- 
metrical solidity. We begin with a study of the ob- 
ject as made known to a single eye at rest. Such per- 
ceptions of distance are limited and inaccurate. Such 
signs as we do have, apart from movement, are five 
in number. First, the dimness or distinctness of the 
retinal image serves as a sign of nearness or remote- 
ness. The farther away the object the less the light 
that reaches the eye, and the more vague the image. 
Anything that tends to increase the intensity of the 
sensation, such as clear air, etc., decreases the appar- 
ent distance. The strain of the accommodation mus- 
cle of the eye is another sign of distance. The less 
distant the object the more tense will be the muscle, 
and the stronger the resulting sensation. The fact 
that objects which are nearer than others cover them, 
is a third means of estimating distance. The so- 
called parallax of motion constitutes a fourth; when 
we are moving, near objects seem to move by more 
remote ones; the nearer the object the more rapid the 
apparent movement. If the absolute size of an object 
is known, its apparent size aids in deciding upon dis- 
tance. If we see a speck which we know none the less STAGES OP KNOWLEDGE. PERCEPTION. 
169 
to be a man, we know it to be remote. Thus the tele- 
scope, by enlarging the image, seems to lessen distance. 
The Eyes in Motion.—All these means together give 
only an inadequate perception. The movement of the 
eyes is necessary for a complete and adequate percep- 
tion of distance. It is particularly the combined move- 
ments of the two eyes that are serviceable here. The 
difficulty of judging with one eye may be realized by 
attempting to thread a needle with one eye closed. 
Monocular vision is also open to deceit in the judg- 
ment of solidity, as in the perception of reliefs, and 
even of paintings. Hor is perception of distance in- 
stantaneous with one eye. Movements have to be ex- 
ecuted to and fro, right and left, and put together 
piecemeal into a final perception. But with binocular 
vision the perception of the third dimension of space 
is accurate, minute, and instantaneous, as is witnessed 
by the fact that solidity may be perceived during a 
flash of lightning. 
Cause of Superiority.—The superiority of binocular 
vision is primarily due to the fact that the muscular 
sensations which result from the convergence of the 
two eyes upon any object is a sign of its distance. 
The greater the distance the less will be the converg- 
ence and the intensity of the sensations, while at a 
great distance the eyes become parallel. The varying 
degrees of convergence thus become signs of the vary- 
ing distances of objects. We judge an object to have 
three dimensions when we have to converge the eyes 
more and less upon looking at different points of it, 
while we consider it plane when, upon the fixation of 
various points within it, the muscular sensations of con- 
vergence remain the same. 170 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Instantaneous Perception.—But this does not ac- 
count for the fact that we can perceive differences of 
distance or geometrical solidity without converging 
the eyes at different points, or in one and the same act. 
This is due to previous associations between these mus- 
cular sensations and the purely visual sensations, where- 
by the latter become capable of taking the place of 
the former. If an object fixated by the two eyes has 
three dimensions, the images in the two eyes are un- 
like ; more of the right side of the object is seen by the 
right eye, more of its left side by the left eye. But if 
the object is a plane surface, the images upon the two 
eyes will not differ. It is this differential element 
which enables us to judge solidity without testing by 
various degrees of convergence. This is shown by the 
fact that if a body, as the moon, be so far away that it 
produces the same image in both eyes, it appears flat, 
while a near object, spherical on a much smaller scale, 
as the lamp globe, is perceived to be a curved surface. 
Direct Proof.—The dependence of the perception 
of depth upon difference in retinal sensations is more 
directly proved by the stereoscope. In stereoscopic 
vision we have two pictures which are not exactly 
alike, but which are taken from two cameras, and hence 
represent the object from somewhat unlike points of 
view. If by an arrangement of lenses, or otherwise, 
one of these pictures is seen only by one eye, and the 
other by the other, the two eyes being converged upon 
the same point, we have all the conditions of the ordi- 
nary perception of solidity fulfilled, and the result is a 
marvellous confirmation of our theory. The objects 
in the picture appear no longer on a flat surface, but 
projected into space. No more sufficient proof that STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. PERCEPTION. 
171 
the perception of depth is due to variation in the two 
retinal images could be desired. 
The Field of Vision.—In the perception of the spa- 
tial field as a whole, all distances are fixed primarily 
with reference to the position of the body, and, sec- 
ondarily, with reference to each other. It is, in fact, 
the mutual reference of objects to each other that 
makes perception accurate and complete. The ele- 
ments of size, direction, and distribution of light and 
shade come into this mutual reference as deciding 
factors. An object can be placed in the field of vision 
without these factors very imperfectly, even if all the 
signs previously mentioned are present. This is seen, 
for example, by observing the approach of the head- 
light of a locomotive in the midst of surrounding dark- 
ness. It will be found almost impossible to judge of 
its distance, or its place with reference to other objects. 
But if surrounding objects be lighted up in some way, 
the locomotive will be immediately placed properly 
and accurately. All spatial perception is relative. We 
place one object only when we connect it with others. 
(3.) Size.—The principal datum for determining size 
is the amount of sensation. The larger an object, the 
greater will be the portion of the retina stimulated. 
This holds good, however, only when objects are at the 
same distance. A pin-head near by will stimulate more 
of the retina than a tree farther away. The amount 
of sensation is useful as a sign of size only when the 
distance of the object is already known. Hence what- 
ever atfects our judgments of distance affects the per- 
ception of magnitude. A man seen in a fog may ap 
pear of great size because the fog occasions indistinct- 
ness of image, and consequent perception of apparent 172 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
greater distance, and this, since the amount of retinal 
stimulation remains the same, the judgment of in- 
creased size. Many other illusions of size are to be ac- 
counted for in the same way. All judgments of size 
are inaccurate where there is no opportunity of com- 
parison. Perception of form goes with that of size; it 
is outline of magnitude. 
3. Objects as not Ourselves.—Having explained the 
perception of particular concrete objects in their space 
relations, we have now to explain the fact that they are 
contrasted with and set over against self. Virtually 
this is included in what has already been said. The 
sensations in being unified and objectified by their 
projection in space are by these very acts made not- 
self. Space is externality, and all that exists in space 
is hence recognized as external to self. Why it is, 
however, that we perceive objects external to our- 
selves, that is, as in space, has not been explained. We 
have just shown upon the basis of what sensations the 
perception of spatial relations is formed, but this does 
not touch the question why perception should take 
upon itself the form of space as externality. This is 
equivalent to the question why intelligence should dis- 
tinguish between self and not-self. 
Perception as Distinction.—In answer to this ques- 
tion, it may be said that the separation of objects in 
space from self is the fundamental form in which the 
universal activity of mind, as a distinguishing activity, 
manifests itself. In perception this discriminating 
factor predominates over the unifying. The action of 
the unifying function of mind is witnessed in the fact 
that particular objects are identified as such and such, 
and that all objects are regarded as constituting one STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.—PERCEPTION. 
173 
world, while all ideas about them are referred to one 
self. The predominance, however, of the distinguish- 
ing function is witnessed by the fact that each of these 
objects is distinct from every other, and all from the 
self. This is manifested in the existence of space. 
Every part of space is regarded as outside of every 
other point, wrhile space, as a whole, is regarded as 
wholly external to and independent of mind. It is 
the extreme form of the differentiating activity of in- 
telligence, which in perception thus results in com- 
plete self-externalization. This opposition of self to 
not-self in perception is, therefore, one of the stages in 
which relation, constituting the essence of all knowl- 
edge, appears. 
The Will as Distinguishing Power.—The principal 
agent in bringing about this separation of objects from 
self is the will. It has already been pointed out that 
perception of spatial relations occurs only in conjunc- 
tion with muscular sensations; but muscular sensations 
are ultimately occasioned by the activity of the will in 
bringing about movements. Involuntary muscles have 
no connection with any perception of space. Fur- 
thermore, it is to be noticed that it is the connection 
of muscular sensations with those of sight and touch 
which we employ to decide whether any sensation is 
subjective, or is to be referred to an object. When- 
ever the muscular sensation cannot be dissociated from 
the other, we do not refer the sensation to a thing, 
that is, do not objectify it; otherwise we do. If, for 
example, I wish to decide whether a spot of red which 
I seem to see on the wall is really there, or is only an 
organic affection, I move my head and eyes. If the 
“spot” then changes with change of muscular sensa- 174 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
tion, we say that it is “ in one’s eyes.” If it remains 
permanent, and is dissociated from the muscular sen- 
sation, it is referred to the object. Were there no will 
to originate these movements, there is no reason to be- 
lieve that we should ever come to distinguish sensations 
as objective or referred to things, or as subjective, re- 
ferred to the organism. It is by an active process of 
experimentation, directed by the will, that the infant 
comes to distinguish between self and not-self. 
Nature of Perception.—Perception, as a whole, is 
that stage or phase of knowledge in which the func- 
tion of discrimination or differentiation predominates 
over that of identification or unification. Since the 
end of knowledge is the complete unity of perfectly 
discriminated or definite elements, it follows that per- 
ception is not a final stage of knowledge. There are 
relations of identity which connect objects with each 
other, and with the self, which are enveloped or ab- 
sorbed in perception, and wdiich must be developed or 
brought into consciousness. The next stage, in which 
this is partially done, is memory, wdiere the relations 
which connect objects with each other in a series, and 
with the self as permanent, are given explicit existence 
in consciousness. The relations of time, that is to say, 
which connect events with each other, and with the 
self, are developed. 
We begin with some references to the general subject of perception, and 
then pass on to the special discussion of space perception, where the litera- 
ture, from a psychological point of view at least, is much more abundant and 
valuable. Ward, Encyclopaedia, Britannica, article “ PsychologyHamil- 
ton, “ Metaphysics,” lects. xxi.-xxvi.; Porter (op. dt.), pp. 119-247 ; Morell, 
“ Elements of Psychology,” pp. 124-166; Sully, “ Psychology,” chap. vi.; Bain 
(op. cit.), pp. 369-402 ; Jardine (op. cit.), pp. 17-148 ; Spencer (op. cit.'), vol. 
ii., pp. 131-177; Helmholtz, “Die Thatsachen in der WahrnehmungVon 
Stein, “ Ueber WahrnehmungSergi, “ Theoria Fisiologica della Percezione.” STAGES OF KNOWLEDGE.—PERCEPTION. 
175 
Visual perception is worthy of most careful and detailed study, bccausa 
physiological and experimental psychology have gone further in dealing with 
it than with any other question; because it is so closely connected with space 
perception, and because so many questions of wide psychological and even 
philosophical bearing centre in its treatment. It is undoubtedly the most 
important special subject in psychology at present. Our references are, 
therefore, fuller than usual. Berkeley, “ Essay Towards a New Theory of 
Vision;” Mill, “ Dissertations and Discussions,” vol. ii., pp. 162 ff.; Brown 
{op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 96-121; Abbott, “ Sight and Touch ;” Monck, “ Space 
and Vision;” Le Conte, “ Sight;” Clarke, “ Visions ” (illusions of sight); 
Carpenter {op. cit.), pp. 176-209; Foster {op. cit.), pp. 552-571; Bernstein 
{op. cit.), pp. 137-163; Sully, in Mind, vol. iii., pp. 1 and 167 ; Helmholtz, 
“ Optique Physiologique ” (general theory, pp. 561-594; monocular, pp. 681- 
876; binocular, pp. 877-963); “ Wiss. Abhandlungen,” vol. ii., pp. 229-502; 
Wundt, “Beitrage zur Theorie der Sinneswahrnehmung,” pp. 1-65; 145- 
170; “ Vorlesungen,” vol. i., p. 234 ff.; “ Phys. Psychologie,” vol. ii., pp. 61- 
160; Hermann {op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 343-600; Lipps, “ Psychologische Studien ” 
(first three essays); Ueberhorst, “ Die Entstehung derGesichtswahrnehmung;” 
Classen, “ Physiologie des Gesichtsinnes," and “ Das Schlussverfahren des 
Sehactes;” Nagel, “ Das Sehen mit zwei Augen;” Cornelius, “ Die Theorie 
des Sehens;” Panum, “Ueber das Sehen;” Schleiden, “Theorie des Erken- 
nens durch den Gesichtsinn,” and especially Hering, “ Beitrage zur Physiolo- 
gie ” (for views opposed to Helmholtz). 
Most of the foregoing contain something upon spatial perception, but fur- 
ther, see as follows: Hamilton {op. cit.), lect. xxviii.; Mill, “ Examination of 
Hamilton,” chap. xiii.; Hall, on “ Muscular Perception of Space,” in Mind, vol. 
iii., p. 433; Montgomery, on “ Space and Touch,” in Mind, vol. x., pp. 227, 
377, and 512 ; Ribot, “ Contemporary German Psychology,” chap. v.; Helm- 
holtz, “ Opt. Phys.” pp. 999 - 1028; Lotze, “ Revue Philosophique,” vol. iv. 
(on local signs); “Metaphvsic,” pp. 481-505; “Elements of Psychology,” 
pp. 47-66 ; Sully-, “ Psychology,” pp. 173-194; Murray {op. cit.), pp. 159-182; 
Spencer {op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 178-206; Mahaffy, “ Kant’s Critical Philoso- 
phy,” vol. i., chap. iv.; Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. xiii., pp. 64 
and 199, articles by Cabot and James; Herbart, “ Werke,” vol. vi., p. 114 if.; 
Volkmann {op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 36-117; Strumpell {op. cit.), pp. 219-233; 
Preyer {op. cit.), Appendix C; Wundt {op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 4-33,161-178; and 
“Revue Phil.” vol. vi. (criticism of Lotze on local signs); Weber, “Raum- 
sinn;” and for a historical and critical discussion of the whole subject, see 
Stumpf, “ Ueber den psychologischen Ursprung der Raumvorstellung.” 
For the pedagogy of perception, see any of the numerous treatises in Ger- 
man upon “ Erziehungslehre,” and in addition, Perez, “ First Three Years,” 
pp. 32-43; Jahn, “ Psychologie,” pp. 20-30; Schnell, “ Die Anschauung," 
and Treuge, “ Der Anschauungsunterricht.” CHAPTER YI. 
MEMORY. 
Definition of Memory.—The next higher stage of 
knowledge is memory, which may be defined as knowl- 
edge of particular things or events once present, but no 
longer so. Memory consequently removes one limita- 
tion from knowledge as it exists in the stage of per- 
ception : the limitation to the present. The world of 
strict perception has no past nor future. Perception 
is narrowly confined to what is immediately before it. 
What has existed and what may exist it has nothing to 
do with. Memory extends the range of knowledge 
beyond the present. The world of knowledge as it 
exists for memory is a world of events which have hap- 
pened, of things which have existed. In short, while 
the characteristic of perception is space relations, that 
of memory is time relations. Knowledge, however, is 
still limited to individual things or events which have 
had an existence in some particular place, and at some 
particular time. 
I. General Problem of Memory.—The fact which 
the psychologist has to account for is how our knowl- 
edge can be extended beyond the realm of the imme- 
diate present to take in that no longer existing, namely, 
the past. We begin by stating how the problem can- 
not be solved: (1) It cannot be solved by the mere 
fact that we have had past experiences which are called 
into the light of consciousness when wanted; even if MEMORY. 
there is added to this supposition (2) the laws of asso- 
ciation of ideas. 
1. The case is analogous to that of perception. Just 
as we found that knowledge of present existent ob- 
jects cannot be explained from the mere fact of their 
existence, but that knowledge of them requires a con- 
structive activity of mind, so the knowledge of ob- 
jects existent in the past cannot be explained from 
the mere fact that wre have once had experience of 
them. Memory is not a passive process in which past 
experiences thrust themselves upon the mind, any more 
than perception is one where present experiences im- 
press themselves. It is a process of construction. In 
fact it involves more of constructive activity than 
perception. In perception the objects, at all events, 
do exist before the perception construes them. In 
memory they do not. Our past experiences are gone 
just as much as the time in which they occurred. 
They have no existence until the mind reconstructs 
them. 
Objects of Memory are wholly Ideal.—Their exist- 
ence is wholly mental. Thus the object of memory 
does not exist as a thing in space, but only as a mental 
image. The table which I perceive is one really there 
in space. The table which I remember exists only in 
the form of an image in my mind. The perceived 
table is solid and resists. The remembered table has 
no physical properties of this kind. The memory of 
the color red is not itself red, nor is the memory of the 
odor of a rose fragrant. It is evident, accordingly, 
that in memory the idealizing activity which is in- 
volved in all knowledge is carried a point further than 
it is in perception. The experiences with which mem* 178 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ory deals are, per se, wholly ideal. They exist only as 
results of the constructive activity of intelligence. 
Misleading Metaphors.—This fact makes many met- 
aphors regarding memory entirely misleading. For 
example: Memory is compared to a scar left by a 
cut. Every experience, that is, is thought to leave 
some permanent trace of itself on the mind, and the 
mere presence of this trace at any time is thought to 
constitute memory. But the characteristic of the scar 
is that it is really present; it still exists as a thing, 
but has no ideal existence; that is, no conscious exist- 
ence for itself. The remembered experience, on the 
other hand, has real existence no longer. The knife 
which made the cut does not exist in memory as it 
does in perception, as a thing really there. It may still 
exist, but that means that it could he perceived; not 
that it is remembered. Again, the remembered expe- 
rience has an ideal existence. It exists for itself in 
consciousness. The essential characteristic of memory 
is thus seen to be the ideal presence of an object or 
event no longer really present; and the mere fact that 
it was once really present is of no avail to account for 
its new ideal presence, though, of course, the latter 
could not occur had it not been for the former. 
2. While this is generally admitted, it is often 
thought that the laws of the association of ideas, con- 
joined with the past experience, are enough to account 
for the facts of memory. We have had experiences; 
these exist stored up, in some unexplained way, in the 
mind, and when some experience occurs which is like 
some one of these, or has been previously contiguous 
with it in time or space, it calls this other up, and that 
constitutes memory. This, at most, solves but one MEMORY. 
179 
half the problem. The association of ideas only ac- 
counts for the presence of the object or event. The 
other half is the reference of its present image to some 
past reality. In memory we re-cognize its presence; i. e., 
we know that it has been a previous element of our ex- 
perience. We place the image in the train of our past 
experiences, we give it some temporal relation; we 
refer it to some real object once perceived. No idea, 
however it comes into the mind, certifies of itself that 
it has ever been experienced before, or under what cir- 
cumstances it has been experienced. The mind must 
actively take hold of the idea and project it into time, 
just as in perceiving it takes hold of the sensation and 
projects it into space. Were it not for this projecting 
activity of the mind all would be a fleeting present; the 
range of intelligence would not extend into a past world. 
3. Positive Solution of Problems.—Memory, there- 
fore, like perception, is an active construction by the 
mind of certain data. It differs from perception only 
in the fact that the interpreting process which is in- 
volved in both is carried in memory a stage further. 
In perception the sensation is interpreted only as the 
sign of something present, which could be experienced 
by actually bringing all the senses into relation with it. 
In memory it is interpreted as the sign of some expe- 
rience which we once had, and which we might have 
again, could we accurately reproduce all its conditions. 
If I perceive the President of the United States, cer- 
tain visual sensations represent to me all the sensations 
which my other senses could present to me, and also 
symbolize certain past experiences which I have had, 
which enable me to interpret the visual sensations as a 
man, and as this particular man. If I remember this 180 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
perception, certain ideas now present serve as data (as 
the sensations do in the perception), and represent to 
me, not the experiences which I could now have by 
trying, but the experiences which I once had. 
Memory as Involved in Perception.—Memory is thus 
a natural outgrowth of perception. Past experiences 
are really involved in perception, and memory does 
nothing more than evolve them, and give them a dis- 
tinct place in consciousness. We perceive only by 
bringing past experiences to bear upon the present, so 
as to interpret it; but in perception these past experi- 
ences are wholly absorbed or lost in the present. When 
we see a man we do not recognize that there are in- 
volved in this perception all the other men which we 
have seen, and that it is only through the ideal pres- 
ence of these experiences in the present data that the 
latter signify to us a man. But such is the fact. What 
memory does is (1) simply to disengage some one of 
these experiences from its absorption in the perception, 
giving it an independent ideal existence; (2) at the 
same time interpreting it in such a way that it stands 
for or symbolizes certain relations of time, and (3) gets 
its place in the course of experience, or in the train of 
ideas taken as a whole. 
II. Elements of Problem of Memory.—It is thus ev- 
ident that there are three elements in the problem of 
memory, as there are in the problem of perception. 
The first (1) corresponds to the existence of particular 
objects, but takes the form of the presence in the mind 
of the image or idea—an ideal presence, instead of an 
actual one; the second (2) is the reference of this im- 
age to some past reality, or its projection in time, 
corresponding to the spatial relations of perception; MEMORY. 
181 
while, corresponding to the distinction between self 
and not-self, we have (3) the distinction between the 
present self and the course of experience, or train of 
ideas, taken as a whole. That is, just as the spatial 
world, the world of perceptual experience, appears set 
over against the self, so the temporal world, the world 
of our experiences as presented in memory, is distin- 
guished from the present self, as existing at every 
point of time, or permanently. 
1. The Presence of the Memory Image in the Mind. 
—The laws of association evidently account for this. 
Nothing is ever remembered which does not have 
some point of association with what is actually present 
in the mind. However far the train of images may 
go, therefore, it will always be found ultimately to rest 
upon some perception. This perception, getting its 
meaning through its idealization, on the basis of past 
experience, involves, ideally, these past experiences 
within itself. There are involved in my perception, for 
example, of this book all the perceptions which I have 
had of similar books, and of objects which have been 
contiguous to these formerly perceived books. For the 
independent existence of a memoiy-image it is only 
necessary that some one of these involved former per- 
ceptions be disengaged or dissociated. 
Process of Disengagement.—This may occur in two 
ways, one of which was mentioned (page 104) when 
studying successive association. It is quite probable 
that some of the factors involved in the former per- 
ception of a book are wholly incongruous with those 
involved in the present perception. Its size, its color, 
its subject-matter, above all, its original spatially con- 
tiguous surroundings are so different from those of the 182 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
present perception that only with the greatest difficulty 
can it lose its identity in being absorbed by the present 
perception ; while the similarity of nature of both will 
necessitate its coming into consciousness along with this 
perception. 
Result an Image.—The result of this incongruity is 
its disengagement from the perception, and consequent 
existence as an image or idea. Were it absorbed in 
the perception, it would be referred to some present 
thing, and hence have no more existence ideally, i. e., 
as a mental image. The very fact that it is not thus 
referred to the real object makes it manifest itself 
as it exists, i. e., in the mind alone, or as an image. 
It follows, from what has been said, that every per- 
ception will tend to call up an indefinite number of 
images, as many as there have been experiences of a 
similar nature before, which are incompatible in some 
particular. This is undoubtedly the case. Besides the 
image which comes into distinct consciousness, careful 
introspection will always reveal a large number of nas- 
cent or rising images, which are only suppressed by 
the attention paid to some one selected. This intro- 
duces us to the second way in which the image is given 
an ideal existence, or separated from its absorption in 
the perception. 
Recollection.—It is not always left to the laws of 
association, acting in the way just described, to pro- 
duce the image. The mind may have an especial in- 
terest in the appearance of one idea over another, and 
voluntarily direct itself to securing its appearance. In 
short, the attentive activities are concerned with mem- 
ory as well as the associative. For example, suppose 
that I remember vaguely having obtained a certain MEMORY. 
183 
idea upon psychology yesterday, and I wish to recall it 
definitely. It is not enough to let the laws of associa- 
tion passively bring it back, for they are as likely, by 
themselves, to bring up anything else. Neither is it 
possible to direct the will immediately upon it, and 
bring it forth; for just what it is the mind does not 
know. So the emphasis is laid upon those elements 
which are known to be associated with it, and the asso- 
ative lines, having been led in this direction, finally call 
it up of themselves. 
To take a simpler case, suppose I wish to recall the 
name of a man I met yesterday. I cannot call it lip 
by an immediate act of the will, for what it is I do not 
know. The associative activity, if left to itself, might 
expend itself in some other channel; so what I do is 
to fix my attention on all circumstances connected with 
the man, the place where I saw him, the man who in- 
troduced him, etc.; and thus, intensifying these ele- 
ments, I increase their associative power at the expense 
of others, until, by their own action, they call up the 
name desired. This direction of the mechanical action 
of association into some given channel, to make it work 
towards a desired end, is called recollection. It is evi- 
dently a form of memory in which attentive activi- 
ties are involved as well as associative. The presence 
of the latter alone results in reverie, day-dreaming, etc. 
One of the principal characteristics of dreams, indeed, 
is that attention is in abeyance, and the train of ideas 
is governed by the mechanical principles of association 
alone. It will also be noticed that the associative ac- 
tivities in memory are successive, while in perception 
they are simultaneous fusion and assimilation. 
2. The Element of Time Relation. — But no true 184 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
memory exists until this image, which has, by its dis- 
engagement, got independent existence, is projected 
in time; that is, referred to some point in past expe- 
rience. Time relations may be reduced to two—suc- 
cession and duration, change and extent. There is no 
reason to suppose that, at first, the child has any idea 
of succession or duration in time, any more than he has 
of direction in space. He can have no idea of it until 
he connects successive experiences with each other, and 
regards them as members of a whole. It is, of course, 
a fact that every mental state occupies a certain time; 
comes after another, and precedes a third; but this 
does not constitute the recognition of succession. The 
recognition of succession implies not only the coursing 
of one idea after another, but the recognition of the 
relation of precedence and consequence, before and af- 
ter. It is not enough that there be change in the ideas. 
There must also be connection. The past idea and the 
present idea must be held together before the mind in 
spite of their succession ; otherwise the succession may 
exist, but it will not be known. The recognition of 
succession requires a permanent relating activity of 
the mind itself. 
Hearing and Time Perception.—The general nature 
of the perception of time may be best brought out by 
considering its perception through the sense of hearing, 
as typical of the whole process. As the visual sensations 
are fitted, by their coexistent character and by their 
association with simultaneous muscular sensations, to 
become symbols of space relations, so auditory sensa- 
tions, by virtue of their successive character and their 
association with successive muscular sensations, are fit- 
ted to serve as signs of temporal relations. One hun- MEMORY. 
185 
dred and thirty-two beats per second may be recognized 
as distinct to a well-trained ear, while upon the eye forty 
consecutive impressions seem as one continuous light 
This characteristic of hearing forms the basis of very 
fine time discriminations; but it is only the basis. For 
the recognition of such differences are requisite the 
combination and mutual reference of tone sensations 
in the peculiar way known as rhythm. 
Fundamental Character of Rhythm.—The impor- 
tance of rhythm in the psychical life can hardly be 
overestimated. It plays the same part there that peri- 
odicity does in the physical universe. It is a native 
form under which the soul tends to apperceive all with 
which it comes in contact. And it is also a form in 
which it tends to express its own most intimate states. 
It is the language of the manifestation of emotion. 
All the early traditions of the race are expressed by 
its means. Poetry is everywhere an earlier and more 
natural mode of expression than prose. Prose still re- 
tains traces of its origin; there has been intellectual 
rhythm substituted for sensuous. The sentence has its 
beginning, middle, and end. It is divided by semi- 
colons and commas. Its parts are balanced and anti- 
thetical. Each part is arranged so as at once to continue 
the thought of some other, and to make a transition 
from it. In music, rhythm gave rise to the earliest 
and most widely diffused of the arts, while the accom- 
panying dancing was one of the earliest modes of 
physical activity, and may, in some way, be considered 
more natural than walking, which is, after all, but a 
more regular dance. 
Nature of Rhythm. — Considered very generally, 
rhythm is simply the tendency of the mind every- 186 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
where to reduce variety to unity, or break up unity into 
variety. In its broadest sense, rhythm is identical with 
the apperceiving activity of the mind. If we listen to 
regular and even beats, like those of a pendulum or of 
an engine, we immediately emphasize some one and 
slur another, so as to introduce rhythm. The clock 
no longer says tick, tick, but tick, tack. The strokes 
of the engine go through a regular alternation of weak 
and strong. Variety is introduced by the mind into 
the monotony. On the other hand, if we listen to the 
ticking of two clocks, we are not content to take the 
irregular combination of beats as they come, but we 
endeavor to combine them into some regular system, 
to introduce rhythm into them. We endeavor to re- 
duce their variety to some underlying unity. These 
simple illustrations serve as types of the character of 
intelligence as universally manifested. It always com- 
bines in this rhythmical way. 
Relation of Rhythm to Time.—It is now necessary 
to see how this introduction of rhythm facilitates time 
perception through hearing. Rhythm may here be 
defined as change in the intensity of sound at regular in- 
tervals. A sound of the same quality may be now strong- 
er, now weaker; and if these risings and fallings of 
stress occur at regular periods we have rhythm. It is 
evident that this is the very means of the recognition 
of succession. If there were absolutely no regularity 
in the sounds they would be wholly disconnected; each 
sound would be an independent existence, and would 
not carry the mind beyond itself. On the other hand, 
if the sound were absolutely continuous, it would give 
us no ground whatever for distinguishing time intervals. 
The same thing without difference would be constantly MEMORY. 
187 
present. But in rhythm every sound points, by its very 
structure, both to the past and future. Every part of 
the sound is at once a continuation of the old sound, 
thus combining the two, and a transition from it, thus 
separating them. The accented portion, being a repe- 
tition of the former stress, refers itself immediately to 
it, and thus supplies the element of permanence. But 
alternations of stress are also necessary for rhythm, and 
thus there is supplied the element of change. Rhythm, 
accordingly, meets the requirement of perception of 
succession in time ; permanence amid change. 
Rhythm not Confined to Art.—The importance of 
rhythm is most plainly seen in music and poetry, whose 
very existence depends so largely upon the organic con- 
nection of elements into a whole through this reference 
of one element to every other by the medium of time. 
The connection of successive parts into a whole is in- 
creased by various other contrivances—melody and ton- 
icity in music; rhyme and assonance in poetry ; in both, 
by the fact that measures are united into periods, etc. 
Each of these carries the mind backwards and for- 
wards at once ; and this, amid the succession, preserves 
the idea that the successive parts are members of one 
whole. It is only because of this that time relations 
are perceived. But the process is not confined to art. 
Time itself is divided into centuries; centuries into 
years ; years into weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, 
etc. Each of these divisions is an artificial, yet natural, 
result of the tendency of the mind towards rhythm. 
Were it not for these rhythmical intervals our percep- 
tion of time would be exceedingly inaccurate and indefi- 
nite. Through these beats, into which we instinctively di- 
vide time, any event may be accurately placed and dated. 188 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Origin of Time Perception.—Time will be perceived, 
accordingly, when some event is recognized as being 
changed from some previous event, and still connected 
with it. The child, perhaps, will first perceive succes- 
sion in connection with taking food. Hunger and sat- 
isfaction are the two most intense states of conscious- 
ness, and they are very intimately connected together. 
They form the arsis and thesis of the life of the child. 
They are exceedingly different from each other, and 
yet one succeeds the other. They may, accordingly, 
form the rudiments of the perception of succession and 
duration. The very tendency of the child, while hun- 
gry, to recall his previous satisfaction, and to antici- 
pate the coming one, is the beginning of the recogni- 
tion of time. It growTs more definite and accurate just 
in the degree in which all experiences are related to 
each other as members of one whole. Every time 
any event of psychical life is connected with and re- 
ferred to some other, a time relation is discriminated. 
Growth of Time Perception.—It was remarked, um 
der space perception, that the starting-point is the po- 
sition of the body, and that the perception of any spa- 
tial position depends upon the ability to place the object 
definitely with reference to other objects. An isolated 
object can hardly be placed at all. The same is true 
of the projection of ideas in time. The mental image 
is always referred from the present point of psychical 
life, and with reference to other experiences. When 
we are unable to refer an image definitely to any time, 
it simply means that we cannot place it with reference 
to other experiences. We know that it has come in 
our past experiences, but where it came we do not know. 
Ability to put events in their proper time relation de- MEMOEY. 
189 
pends, accordingly, upon ability to connect our various 
experiences with each other. Events are always dated 
relatively to other events; never absolutely. And, 
apart from this unification of events as members of 
one series, there is, accordingly, no reference of images 
to any given time, and hence, strictly speaking, no 
memory. 
3. Memory as Involving Distinction of Train of 
Ideas from Permanent Self.—As perception involved 
the distinction of self and not-self, that is, the activity 
of the mind in taking its sensations and objectifying 
them by setting them over as unified objects against 
itself, so memory involves the distinction of self, as 
permanent, from the ever-changing course of its expe- 
riences. In memory the activity of the mind takes its 
ideas and combines them into a connected whole, stand- 
ing in relations of time to each other, and sets these 
over against itself in such a way that the latter is re- 
garded as always present, while the former are past. 
Memory involves, therefore, the distinguishing activity 
of mind. Were it not for this distinction, if the mind 
could not take its ideas and project them always from 
itself and thus regard them as not members of its pres- 
ent self, no such thing as memory would exist. 
Memory requires a now and a then—the recognized 
difference between past and present; and this is not pos- 
sible without the recognition of the difference between 
a self which is present both now and then, permanently 
present, and the idea which changes, and consequently 
was then, but is not now. Memory exists, accordingly, 
only where there is a permanent self amid changing 
experiences. Were there changing experiences alone 
there would be succession, but no possibility of the 190 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
recognition of succession ; hence no distinction between 
past and present, and no memory. Were there only a 
permanent self all would be forever present, and hence 
no memory. 
Identifying Activity in Memory.—Thus it is evi- 
dent that memory implies the uniting, identifying ac- 
tivity of mind, as well as its discriminating, separating 
activity. The self recognizes this experience as similar 
with, or contiguous to, some previous experience. 
This recognition implies, of course, their conscious 
identification. This is wrhat is meant by saying that 
memory involves a permanent self; it is the activity 
of the self in uniting the various elements of its expe- 
rience, and making a connected whole of them. Mem- 
ory carries, therefore, the identifying activity of mind 
one step further than perception does. The perceived 
world appears to be a world wholly distinct from the 
self; the world of memory is recognized as a world 
which the self has once experienced. It is still regard- 
ed, however, as separate from the present self. It is 
yet an incomplete stage of knowledge. 
Time as Involving Unity and Difference.—The re- 
lations of time, which we have seen to be characteristic 
of memory, repeat the evidence of the existence of both 
the identifying and the discriminating activities of in- 
telligence. All times are regarded as constituting one 
time; any point of time has no existence, except as in 
relations of before and after to other points. It exists 
only by virtue of its relations to them. It is the con- 
tinuing of the previous time and the passing into the 
next time. Time, in short, is one or continuous. But 
we must recognize, also, that time is discrete. Each 
point of time is outside of, external to, every other MEMORY. 
191 
point. The essential trait of any given period of 
time is, in fact, that it is not any other period. We 
discriminate events as particular by referring them to 
some time, as we do objects by referring them to some 
place. Time as a whole appears, also, external to, and 
unconnected with, the self. The self in memory ap- 
pears identical with itself and permanent, while time 
is always changing. But that time has less of the ele- 
ment of externality than space is evident from the fact 
that the mind regards its own experiences as happening 
in time, while it never thinks of supposing that they 
occur in space. Time presupposes, in fact, a certain 
degree of internality, or intimate connection with self. 
Hamilton (op. tit.), lect. xxx.; Morell (op. tit.), pp. 166-204; Porter (op. cit.), 
pp. 248-268, and 300-324; Spencer (op. tit.), vol. i., pp. 434-453 ; Carpenter 
(op. cit.), chap, x.; Calderwood, “Relations of Mind and Brain,” chap. ix.; 
Maudsley (op. tit.), pp. 512 ff.; Butler, “ Unconscious Memory ” (compare 
relevant portions of Von Hartmann’s “ Philosophy of Unconscious”) ; Galton, 
Mind, voLv., p. 301, and “Human Faculty;” Ribot, “Diseases of Memory;” 
Ulrici (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 207-231 ; George (op. cit.), pp. 281-321; Erdmann, 
“Psychologische Briefe,” chap. xvi.; Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 266-314; 
Wundt (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 318-326. See also monographs by Autenrieth, 
Hering, Hcnsen, and Ebbinghaus, “Ueber das Gedachtniss.” 
Concerning the development of time relations, see Romanes, “ Conscious- 
ness of Time,” Mind, vol. iii., p. 297; Spencer (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 207-215; 
Volkmann (op, cit.), vol. ii., pp. 12-36; Sigwart, “Logik,” vol. ii., pp. 77-83 ; 
Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 129-143; Striimpell (op. tit.), pp. 207-218; Wundt, 
vol. ii., pp. 34-60 (tone perception)• and for experimental researches, see 
Mind for Jan., 1886, by Hall; “ Philosophische Studien,” vol. i., p. 78; vol. 
ii., pp. 37 and 546, by Kollert, Estel, and Mehner, and Yierordt, “Zeitsinn.” 
For the pedagogy of memory, see Thring (op. cit.), pp. 177-186; Perez 
(op. cit.), pp. 121-130; Ziller (op. tit.), p. 314 ff.; Beneke (op. tit.), pp. 91-99; 
Schnell, “ Der LernactDorpfeld, “ Beitrage zur padagogischen Psycholo- 
gie,” vol. i.; Schuhmann, “ Kleinere Schriften,” vol. ii., p. 69 ff.; Joly, “No- 
tions de Pedagogic,” pp. 62-79; Miguel, “Lehre vom Gedachtniss;” Huber, 
“Das Gedachtniss,” and Fortlage, “Acht psychologische Yortriige,” CHAPTER VII. 
IMAGINATION. 
Nature of Imagination.—Imagination may be de- 
fined as that operation of the intellect which embodies 
an idea in a particular form or image. From this 
definition we discover both its resemblance to the twTo 
previous operations of the intellect and its differences 
from them. It is like them in that its product is al- 
ways particular; it is an idea of this or that object, 
person, event. It is one distinct existence. It is un- 
like them in that this particular mental existence is not 
necessarily referred to some one place or time as exist- 
ing there. It is, in short, an idea; not an object or 
event. It is, however, an idea of some object or event. 
Othello, as a product of the imagination of Shakespeare, 
is like Julius Caesar as an object of perception or mem- 
ory, in that he is one particular individual, with per- 
sonal traits and acts. He is unlike Caesar in that the 
idea is not referred to some existence in space or time. 
Othello is, indeed, given a local and temporal habita- 
tion, but it is recognized that this is done purely from 
motives of the mind itself, and not from constraint of 
external fact. 
Imagination Involved in Perception.—The first step 
towards explaining how the intellect advances beyond 
its interpretation of a sensation as referred to a thing 
or event, to its interpretation as ideal, or an image, is 
to recall that imagination is involved in perception. IMAGINATION. 
193 
In the perception of an object, as an apple, there are 
actually present, it will be remembered, only a few 
sensations. All the rest of the perception is supplied 
by the mind. The mind supplies sensations coming 
from other senses besides those in use; it extends and 
supplements them; it adds the emphasis of its atten- 
tion, and the comment of its emotions; it interprets 
them. Now all this supplied material may fairly be 
said to be the work of the imagination. The mind 
idealizes—that is, fills in with its own images—the vac- 
uous and chaotic sensations present. 
Imagination as Involved in Memory. — In percep- 
tion these images are implicitly present, but they are 
not recognized. They are swallowed up in the prod- 
uct, so that the object of perception appears to be a 
mere thing, which exists without any ideal connections. 
In memory some of the images—those supplied from 
previous experiences—are set free from this absorption, 
and given an independent existence. The memory of 
Niagara Falls is very different from its perception. 
The latter is a thing which is really there; the former 
is an idea in the mind. Yet, even in this case, the idea 
is not considered as ideal, but is referred to an object 
in existence. The image has not yet received an inde- 
pendent, free existence, severed from connection with 
some facts actually existing, or some event which has 
really occurred. The presence of imagination is still 
implied rather than explicit. Yet it is implied so com- 
pletely that memory is often treated as one mode of 
imagination. 
The Development of Imagination.—Imagination, as 
the recognition of an idea in a concrete form, will ex- 
ist just as soon as the ideal element involved in bot? 194 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
perception and memory is freed from its reference to 
some existence, and treated freely; that is, as an im- 
age, not as tied down to some thing or event. This is no 
new operation ; it is only the more complete develop- 
ment of one already at work. It is bringing into con- 
sciousness what was previously in unconsciousness. 
The factors which are engaged in this development 
are, especially, dissociation and attention, while associ- 
ation reigns especially in perception and memory. Dis- 
sociation disengages the image, and prepares it for free 
recombination ; attention transforms into novel and un- 
experienced products. 
Dissociation.—The first step of dissociation is to rec- 
ognize that an image may have an ideal existence, and 
need not be referred to an actual thing. Children are 
often spoken of as possessed of great imagination, when 
the fact really is that they have not learned as yet to 
make this distinction, and consequently every idea or 
image which occurs to them is taken for reality. Im- 
agination proper appears only with the ability to dis- 
tinguish between the ideal and the real. This distinc- 
tion originates largely through the dissociation of some 
element from its varying concomitants, according to 
the process already treated (page 104). It is found 
that the same idea, say of a man, occurs under so many 
different circumstances, that it is freed from its detail 
of space and time circumstances, and thus gets an inde- 
pendent and ideal existence. 
Mechanical Imagination.—Along with this isolation 
of various elements of our perception goes a recombi- 
nation of them. A tree is separated from its position 
along with others, and is set in lonely grandeur on a 
mountain. A house is imagined greatly enlarged in IMAGINATION. 
195 
size, and filled with all beautiful objects. It is made a 
palace of things that delight. It is this double process 
of separating and adding that constitutes the lowest 
stage of imagination. It deals with real material— 
things and events previously experienced—and con- 
fines its activity to forming abstractions, and produc- 
ing combinations not experienced. Only the form is 
new. Imagination of this sort, proceeding for the 
most part by the laws of association and dissociation, 
may be called mechanical imagination. 
Fancy.—The next higher stage is known as fancy, 
or fantasy. Here the formation and connection of 
images is controlled by an exceedingly vivacious and 
receptive emotional disposition. The web of fancy 
throws itself about all things, and connects them to- 
gether, through the medium of feeling. It is charac- 
terized by the predominance of similes, of metaphors, 
of images in the poetical sense, of subtile analogies. 
In its higher forms it is seen in such a wonderful pro- 
duction as “Midsummer-Night’s Dream.” Its home 
is romance. Yet even here there is no creation ; there 
13 only unwonted connection — connection rendered 
harmonious and congruous through the oneness of 
emotional tone which characterizes it all. Fancy is 
not revealing in its nature; it is only stimulating. It 
affords keen delight rather than serves as an organ of 
penetration. 
Creative Imagination.—The highest form of imag- 
ination, however, is precisely an organ of penetration 
into the hidden meaning of things—meaning not visi- 
ble to perception or memory, nor reflectively attained 
by the processes of thinking. It may be defined as 
the direct perception of meaning—of ideal worth in 196 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
sensuous forms; or as the spontaneous discovery of 
the sensuous forms which are most significant, most 
ideal, and which, therefore, reveal most to the intel- 
lect and appeal most to the emotions. In its highest 
form, imagination is not confined to isolation and com- 
bination of experiences already had, even when these 
processes occur under the influence of sensitive and 
lively emotion. It is virtually creative. It makes its 
object new by setting it in a new light. It separates 
and combines, indeed; but its separations and combi- 
nations are not the result of mechanical processes, nor 
of the feeling of the moment. They are filled with a 
direct and spontaneous sense of the relative values of 
detail in reference to the whole. All is left out that 
does not aid in developing the image of this whole; all is 
put in that will round out the meaning of the details and 
elevate them into universal and permanent significance. 
Idealizing Action of Imagination.—Creative imag- 
ination, in short, is only the free action of that idealiz- 
ing activity which is involved in all knowledge what' 
ever. Perception is idealization of sensations so that 
they become symbolic of some present reality; mem- 
ory is such an extension of this idealization that past 
experiences are represented. Imagination takes the 
idealized element by itself, and treats it with reference 
to its own value, without regard to the actual existence 
of the things symbolized. There is an ideal element 
in both perception and memory, but it is tied down to 
some particular thing. Creative imagination develops 
this ideal element, and frees it from its connection with 
petty and contingent circumstances. Perception and 
memory both have their worth because of the meaning 
of the perceived or remembered thing, but this mean- IMAGINATION. 
197 
ing is subordinate to the existence of the thing. Im- 
agination reverses the process; existence is subordinate 
to meaning. We perceive a man because we read into 
the sensations all that is required to give them this 
significance; creative imagination instinctively seizes 
upon this significance, this idea of man, and embodies 
it in some concrete manifestation. 
Universalizing Activity of Imagination.—Creative 
imagination is not to be considered as the production 
of unreal or fantastic forms, nor as the idle play of ca- 
pricious mind working in an arbitrary way. It is a 
universalizing activity; that is to say, it sets the idea 
of memory or perception free from its particular acci- 
dental accompaniments, and reveals it in its universal 
nature, the nature which it possesses independent of 
these varying concomitants. It is thus that Aristotle 
said that poetry is truer than history, meaning by his- 
tory the mere record of succession of facts. The latter 
only tells us that certain things happened; poetry pre- 
sents to us the permanent passions, aspirations, and 
deeds of men which are behind all history, and which 
make it. Keats expresses the same thought when he 
says: 
“What care though owl did fly 
About the great Athenian admiral’s mast; 
What care, though striding Alexander pass’d 
The Indus with his Macedonian numbers? 
Juliet leaning 
Amid her window-flowers, sighing, weaning 
Tenderly her fancy from its maiden snow 
Doth more avail than these; the silver flow 
Of Hero’s tears, the swoon of Imogen, 
Fair Pastorella in the bandit’s den, 
Are things to brood on with more ardency 
Than the death-day of empires.” 198 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Of course, this universalizing activity is not to be con- 
fined to the relation of poetry to annals; the function 
of the creative imagination everywhere is to seize upon 
the permanent meaning of facts, and embody them in 
such congruous, sensuous forms as shall enkindle feel- 
ing, and avTaken a like organ of penetration in who- 
ever may come upon the embodiment. 
Imagination and Interest.—It will be noticed that 
imagination presents a stage in the development of 
knowledge where the self and its interests are explicit- 
ly freed from slavery to the results of the action of 
mechanical association (page 130), and are made an end 
in themselves. Imagination has no external end, but 
its end is the free play of the various activities of the 
self, so as to satisfy its interests. Imagination, in 
short, takes its rise in feeling, and is directed by feel- 
ing much more explicitly than either perception or 
memory. Imagination represents the subjective side 
of self acting in its freedom. Its forms are as various 
and numerous as the subjects who exercise it, and as 
their interests. For this reason it is impossible to lay 
down rules for the working of the imagination. Its 
very essence is spontaneous, unfettered play, controlled 
only by the interests, the emotions and aspirations, of 
the self. 
Individual and Universal Interests.—Tlie interests, 
however, which direct the creative play of the imag- 
ination, may be peculiar or general in their nature, and 
the freedom of its activity may be somewhat arbitrary, 
or it may express the universal aspect of mankind. 
Fancy, for example, is directed for the most part by 
feelings which one individual possesses rather than an- 
other, and the same individual, in various ways, at dif- IMAGINATION. 
199 
ferent times of his life. So most poetry of fancy is 
ephemeral. To a generation other than that in which 
it is produced it seems unreal and forced. The prod- 
uct of the imagination may also be the result of mor- 
bid and unhealthy feeling. It then falls into what Bus- 
kin has well named the “pathetic fallacy”; as when 
the poet, for example, finds his own particular mood 
reflected in the workings of nature. Buskin finds an 
example of this in “ Maud,” where the hero 
attributes his own feelings to the rose and the lily. 
But there are interests which are universal, common 
to all persons; and the art which is the result of these 
interests is the permanent, enduring art. The poem 
of Ilomer, the art of Michael Angelo, and the drama 
of Shakespeare are true to the universal side of human- 
ity, not to the individual and peculiar tastes and expe- 
riences of their authors. 
Basis of the Universal Interests.—It must be ob- 
served that the sole basis of such action of imagina- 
tion as is controlled by the universal feelings is a 
fundamental unity between man and man and be- 
tween man and nature. Were there not such a thing 
as the unified life of humanity, with common inter- 
ests, in spite of separation of time and space, all work- 
ings of the imagination would be unreal and fantastic. 
But, more, there must be an organic connection be- 
tween man and nature. Man must find himself in 
some way in nature. It is not all identification of hu- 
manity with nature that comes under the head of the 
pathetic fallacy; it is only the identification of tempo- 
rary, unhealthy, or fleeting aspects of either. We find 
joy in any scene of nature just in the degree in which 
we find ourselves therein, and are able to identify the 200 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
workings of our spirit with those of nature. The art 
which deals with nature is perfect and enduring just 
in the degree in which it reveals the fundamental uni- 
ties which exist between man and nature. In Words- 
worth’s poetry of nature, for example, we do not find 
ourselves in a strange, unfamiliar land ; we find Words- 
worth penetrating into those revelations of spirit, of 
meaning in nature, of which we ourselves had already 
some dumb feeling, and this the poetry makes articu- 
late. All products of the creative imagination are un- 
conscious testimonies to the unity of spirit which binds 
man to man and man to nature in one organic whole. 
Practical and Theoretical Imagination.—We have 
spoken so far of imagination as controlled by the aes- 
thetic interest, the feeling for the beautiful. But it 
may also be directed by practical or theoretic interests. 
All inventions are the result of the creative imagina- 
tion realizing some idea in behalf of the practical needs 
of men. The discoveries of Wolf or of Niebuhr in 
history, of Cuvier and Agassiz in science, are evidence 
of the constructive power of the imagination in theo- 
retic realms. The sciences of historical geology and 
astronomy are almost entirely fruits of the construc- 
tive imagination. Science, as it advances, makes great- 
er and greater demands upon the imagination, for it 
recedes further from the sphere of that which is sensu- 
ously present to the realm of hidden, ideal significance 
and meaning, while it is constantly necessary to body 
these ideas in concrete forms. 
Place of Imagination in Knowledge.—Imagination, 
considered in itself, manifests, as we have seen, the 
free idealizing activity of mind working according to 
its own subjective interests, and having its end merely IMAGINATION. 
201 
in this free play and self-satisfaction. But it has also 
an aspect as a stage of knowledge. As such, it is the 
transition from the particular stage to the universal. 
Memory and perception deal with the particular object 
as such. Thinking, which we shall now take up, is 
concerned with the universal as such. Imagination 
deals with the universal in its particular manifestation, 
or with the particular as embodying some ideal mean- 
ing, some universal element. It dissolves this ideal 
element out of its hard concretion in the sphere of act- 
ual particular fact, and sets it before the mind as an 
independent element, with which the mind may freely 
work. Such free working of the mind with the uni- 
versal elements, rendered fluid by imagination, in order 
to reach certain intellectual ends, constitutes thinking. 
Hamilton (op. cit.), lect. xxxiii.; Porter (op. cit.), pp. 325-376 ; Carpenter 
(op. cit.), chap. xii.; Maudsley (op. cit.'), pp. 522-533; Sully, “Psychology,” 
chap. viii.; Day, “Elements of Psychology,” pp. 103-131; Lewes (op. cit.), 
Third Series, pt. 2, pp. 445-463 ; George (op. cit.), pp. 274-280, Rosenkranz 
(op. cit.), p. 258 ff.; Yolkmann (op. cit.), vol. i., p. 480 if.; Ulrici (op. cit.), vol. 
ii., pp. 270-300; Michelet (op. cit.), pp. 284-309 ; Fortlage, essay in op. cit.; 
Frohschammer, “Die Phantasie,” pp. 73-141, and monographs as follows: 
Michaut and Joly, “ L’lmagination;” Kubinstein, “ Psychologisch-asthetische 
Essays;” Cohen, “Die dichterische Phantasie.” 
Educational references are to Markel, “ Die Einbildungskraft;” Dorpfeld 
(op. cit.), vol. i., p. 87 ff.; Grube, “Yon der sittlichen Bildung der Jugend,” 
p. 258 if.; Perez (op. cit.), pp. 147-163, and “ L’Education des le Berceau,” 
pp. 73-110. 
Dreams may be most conveniently referred to here; Murray (op. cit.), pp. 
250-262; Maudsley, “Pathology of Mind,” chap. i.; Carpenter, “Mental 
Physiology,” chap. xv.; Sully, in Encyclopaedia Britannica, and “ Illusions,” 
chap. vii.; Cobbes, “Darwinism and other Essays,” Wundt (op. cit.), vol. ii., 
pp. 359-370, and monographs as follows: Schemer, “ Das Leben des Traumes 
Binz, “Ueber den Traum;” Spitta, “Die Schlafzustiinde;” Striimpell, “Die 
Natur und Entstehung der TriiumeFrensberg, “ Schlaf und Traum;” Kade- 
stock, same title; Delboeuf, “ La Sommeil et les Keves.” CHAPTER Till. 
THINKING. 
§ 1. Definition and Division. 
Thinking- is the next stage in the development of 
knowledge. Thinking may be defined as knowledge 
of universal elements ; that is, of ideas as such, or 
of relations. In thinking, the mind is not confined, 
as in perception or memory, to the particular object 
or event, whether present or past. It has to do, not 
with this man whom I see, or the one I saw yester- 
day, but with the idea of man; an idea which can- 
not be referred to any definite place or time; which 
is, therefore, general or universal in its nature. Its 
closest connection is with imagination, which deals 
with the general element in the form of a particular 
concrete image, but in imagination the emphasis is 
upon this particular form, while in* thinking the par- 
ticular form is neglected in behalf of the universal 
content. We do not imagine man in general; we im- 
agine some characteristic man, Othello, King Arthur, 
etc. We cannot think a particular man; wTe think 
man in general; that is, those universal qualities com- 
mon to all men—the class qualities. 
The Ideal Element in Thinking.—It is worth notic- 
ing that the universal element which is always the ob- 
ject of thought is ideal. The phase of fact is always 
particular. It exists now or then ; in this or that form. 
But fact, as we have so often seen, is intelligible only THINKING. 
203 
because of its meaning—of the ideal element contained. 
This ideal element cannot be particular. Meaning is 
always universal. A fact means, at one time or place, 
just what it means at another. If the meaning is 
changed the fact is not the same. Indeed, what we 
understand by identity, or sameness of fact, is oneness 
of meaning. It is this element of meaning common 
to all facts, in so far as they are the same, which think- 
ing seizes upon, to the neglect of the limitation which 
may be given it by its especial reference to this or that 
time. Thinking endeavors to discover the meaning of 
facts universally. To think man is to apprehend that 
universal element of ideal significance which constitutes 
a man wherever and whenever he is found. 
Element of Relation.—It is also worth noticing that 
this universal element of idea or significance which 
thinking apprehends, without reference to its special 
embodiment, is always a relation. The universal mean- 
ing of man is what every man has in common with ev- 
ery other; it is the relation of manhood, whatever that 
be. It is not the final object of the botanist to per- 
ceive or to remember or to imagine vegetable forms, 
although he must do all this. His final object is to 
think vegetable life; that is, to apprehend the universal 
essential meaning of these forms. More particularly, it 
is to discover what growth is, without reference to this 
or that growing thing in its separateness; to apprehend 
the nature of a rose, without considering the peculiari- 
ties of this, that, or the other rose. It is evident that 
this object-matter of vegetable life, of growth, of rose, 
is the relation which all forms of vegetable life possess; 
which makes them vegetable as opposed to inorganic 
or animal; it is the relation of growth common to all 204 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
growing things, and which characterizes them as such ; 
it is the common property, the link, the relation which 
binds all roses together as members of one class. In 
short, if things had nothing in common, if each was 
absolutely distinct from every other, no thinking would 
be possible. Since every thing is distinct from every 
other in its existence in this or that time or place, the 
common element is one of meaning or idea. Think- 
ing is possible because there exists in things thought 
an ideal, universal element. The discovery of this ele- 
ment constitutes thinking; when discovered it is al- 
ways expressed in the form of a relation. 
Aspects of Thinking.—There are three aspects of 
thinking as more or less complete stages of it. These 
are, conception, judgment, and reasoning. They are 
not to be considered three distinct acts; not even three 
successive stages. Ho one of them could occur with- 
out each of the others. Conception, however, is the 
least, and reasoning the most, developed. 
§ 2. Conception. 
1. Nature of Conception.—Every mental state is, as 
an existence, an image. There are not different kinds 
of mental existences, one a percept, the other a con- 
cept. Their distinction is not in the state of the mind, 
but in the function of this state. A percept is an im- 
age referring to some object present in space; a phan- 
tasy is an image referring to any object which satisfies 
an emotional or practical interest, whether or not that 
object was ever present in space. A concept is an im- 
age having the function of symbolizing some law or 
principle in accordance with which a thing or number 
of things may be constructed. The number of things THINKING. 
205 
constructed on the basis of this single principle is a 
class, kind, or genus. Thus we solve the old contro- 
versy about “ universal ideas.” Many psychologists 
have denied that there are general ideas, since every 
mental state must be particular. An idea of a triangle, 
for example, must be of an object of a certain size and 
definite form. It cannot be an idea of all possible 
sizes and varieties at once. This is true; as to its exist- 
ence, every idea must be particular and have more or 
less sensuous detail. But it is not the existence that 
we mean by concept. The concept is the power, ca- 
pacity, or function of the image or train of images to 
stand for some mode of mental action, and it is the 
mode of action which is general. 
Conception is a Form of the Movement of Intelli- 
gence.—In a mere image of a triangle, what is actually 
present is the meaning; the particular three lines en- 
closing a particular space. In the concept of triangle 
the meaning is the process by which the three lines are 
put together so as to enclose a space. The concept is 
not the thing, nor the image of the thing. It is the way 
in which lines are made and then combined. And this 
process, this way of constructing, is general. All pos- 
sible triangles must be made in this same way. And 
anything whatever made in this way is a triangle, and 
thus belongs to the class. A concept, in other words, 
does not mean a mental state; it is not static. It 
means a mode of mental movement; a form of mental 
action; this action involving, as we shall see, isolation 
or analysis, and putting together or synthesis. So a 
class does not mean a static group; it means a number 
of objects having as a basis a common principle of pro' 
duction. 206 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
2. Development of Conception.—Conception, as the 
apperception of the universal, the grasping of it in 
a single act of thought, therefore, is not a new kind of 
knowledge, distinct from perception. It is the more 
complete development of the element which gives 
meaning to the percept, and which renders the act of 
perception possible. When we perceive a book, in 
the very act of perception we classify it; we bring it 
under the concept “ book.” Perception is, as we have 
repeatedly seen, the idealizing of sensations. The mere 
existence of sensations does not constitute knowledge 
of a particular object. Sensations must be interpreted ; 
they must be brought into relation with each other, 
and with the past experience of the self. Perception 
is not passive reception ; it is the active outgoing con- 
struction of mind. In perception, however, these ele- 
ments of idealization, of relation, of mind activity, 
are not consciously present; they are absorbed, swal- 
lowed up, in the product. In conception they are defi- 
nitely brought out. Conception is the apperception of 
the apperceptive process. The self here makes its own 
idealizing, relating activity its object of knowledge: 
it grasps this activity, and the product is the concept. 
Conception is, in short, but the development of the 
idealizing activity involved in all knowledge to the 
point where it gains distinct conscious recognition, 
freed from its sensuous, particular detail. 
Processes of Conception.—(1.) Abstraction. It is in 
conception that the stage of apperception called atten- 
tion, or the active direction of the mind to an end, be- 
gins to get the upper hand of the associative activities 
predominant in perception and memory, and of the 
dissociative activity of imagination. It is the selective THINKING. 
207 
activity of attention which is most apparent. The 
mind seizes upon some one aspect of the infinite detail 
of the perception or the image present to it; in tech- 
nical language, it abstracts or prescinds it. This very 
seizure of some one element generalizes the one ab- 
stracted. In the perception this quality which atten- 
tion lays hold on exists absorbed in the object; atten- 
tion, in drawing it forth, makes it a distinct content 
of consciousness, and thus universalizes it; it is con- 
sidered no longer in its connection with the particular 
object, but on its own account; that is, as an idea, or 
what it signifies to the mind; and significance is al- 
ways universal. The other process of attention in- 
volved is comparison. 
(2.) Comparison.—This has already been discussed 
(page 143), and its essence shown to be the holding of 
unlike mental contents before the mind with a view 
to discovering their points of identity, or likeness of 
significance. This process always goes on along with 
the emphasizing activity of abstraction just spoken of. 
When any one element or aspect of an image has been 
isolated the mind does not stop short with the bare 
abstract universal thus reached, but immediately pro- 
ceeds to impose this upon its other images, or to find 
it in them. Thus a child, when he has got from some 
salient object, say a plate, the idea of roundness, will 
find this idea in as many other of his experiences as 
possible. He goes from the isolated idea to the idea 
as connected with other objects. This requires the 
process of comparison ; at first unconscious, afterwards 
purposive. 
(3.) Complete Process of Conception.—There are thus 
revealed two processes in conception ; one of analysis, 208 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the other of synthesis. The first step is one of analy- 
sis, of abstraction, of isolation. Its result is a purely 
abstract universal; as when a child, upon perceiving a 
red apple, emphasizes, and thus separates, the idea of 
redness or of edibility. Such an idea is called an ab- 
stract idea. But the mind never stops here. It imme- 
diately connects this idea of redness with as many con- 
crete objects as possible. It enriches each of them by 
recognizing that it possesses this quality. It performs 
an act of synthesis. Only when the reference of the 
abstract idea to objects is performed is the act of con- 
ception completed. A true concept, in other words, is 
an organic unity, containing within its unity synthetic 
connection with all the diversity of objects to which it 
refers. 
Example.—Let us consider again the action of the 
botanist who is forming his concept of vegetable life. 
At first, we will say that some salient aspect of vegeta- 
ble life—growth, assimilation, reproduction, decay— 
forces itself upon him from some instance. This will 
remain a purely abstract, and therefore useless, idea, 
until he compares; that is, until he recognizes the 
presence of this element in other plants. But every 
time he does recognize its presence his idea becomes 
less vague, less abstract, more definite. He recognizes 
new qualities, which must be included in the idea; ev- 
ery time he perceives a new plant his concept must be 
somewhat enriched. His concept, with growing expe- 
rience, becomes, therefore, at once more universal (for 
it refers to more and more objects) and more definite, 
for he knows more and more elements which go to 
make up the conception of vegetable life. It is the 
same with the growth of every concept. It grows at THINKING. 
209 
once in wideness of reference and in depth of signifi- 
cance. More and more objects are unified by being 
referred to the conception ; more and more diversity 
is included within it. The concept, in short, is a union 
of the two elements of unity and difference. It is the 
recognition of a one comprehending many differences. 
Extension and Intension.—The logicians distinguish 
between the extension of a concept and its intension. 
Extension is the width of its symbolism, the number 
of objects to which it refers; intension is the depth of 
its significance, the number of qualities to which it re- 
fers. The logicians further say that the wider the ex- 
tension the less the intension, and vice versa. That is 
to say, the larger the number of objects included under 
a concept, the fewer qualities will be contained in the 
conception of the class. However this may be in formal 
logic, it has no application to psychological processes. 
We have already seen that the widening of the grasp 
of attention does not mean that less attention is paid 
to the different objects included in the grasp, but that 
these differences are reduced to a more fundamental uni- 
ty (page 115), and conception only illustrates this same 
truth. 
With all increase of abstract analysis, or widening 
of extension,, goes increase of synthetic connection, or 
deepening of intension. Were this not so, we would 
be compelled to say that the more the botanist studies 
vegetable life the less he knows about it. If the con- 
cept w’ere simply the abstract idea of what is common 
to all the objects of the class, each new item, each new 
plant known, would strike out something of the defi- 
niteness of the idea. When the idea had reached refer- 
ence to all objects of a class, or complete extension, its 210 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
meaning, or intension, would reach its lowest degree. 
The more objects known the thinner and poorer the 
idea of them. The absurdity of this makes us recog- 
nize that a true concept is, as was said, an organic unity, 
growing more definite by connection with the diversity 
of objects, at the same time that it grows more univer- 
sal by reference to the similarities of objects. 
Growth of Knowledge.—This is a convenient place 
to refer to a common theory regarding the nature of 
growth of knowledge. It is too often said that knowl- 
edge proceeds from the concrete to the abstract, or 
from the particular to the general. The fact is that 
knowledge proceeds from the individual to the indi- 
vidual. The individual with which it begins may be 
regarded indifferently as exceedingly indefinite or gen- 
eralized, or as very particular, i. e., non-universal, in its 
reference. The typical example of this is found in a 
child’s recognition of men. The child first calls his 
father papa; at the same time he calls all men papa. 
His idea is very vague; he refers it to the whole class. 
In this sense, he begins with general knowledge, and 
his knowledge advances by becoming definite or dis- 
tinct. He learns to distinguish between his father and 
other men ; between one man and another. 
Increase in Universality.—But, at the same time, 
his knowledge is increasing in universality. This 
vagueness does not constitute true universality, for the 
child has no recognition of what constitutes a man. 
He has simply a particular idea which he refers to 
every individual whom he sees. At the same time that 
his knowledge becomes more definite, in that he dis- 
tinguishes between one man and another, it becomes 
more universal, for he learns what constitutes a man. 211 
THINKING. 
He no longer calls all men papa, for he recognizes the 
relation of paternity necessary for this idea; but in 
calling individuals men, he knows more and more what 
is meant by the term, and meaning is always universal. 
Real State of Case.—When one says that knowledge 
begins with the concrete or particular, he overlooks the 
fact that it is an extremely indefinite or vague particu- 
lar, and that knowledge advances by making it more 
definite and distinct, that is, more concrete. When 
one says that it goes to the general or abstract, he over- 
looks the fact that this abstract idea is only one phase 
of conception; that, as matter of fact, the general idea 
is always immediately referred to some object, and that 
it is through this reference of universality to the ob- 
ject that the latter gets its definite meaning. The 
state of the case is that knowledge begins with a vague 
individual, and advances towards a definite individ- 
ual, through the medium of relation to other ideas, or 
of the universalizing of the original idea. The gen- 
eral idea which is the result of analytic abstraction is 
never left floating in the air, but is synthetically re- 
turned upon the individual objects, to their lasting en- 
richment and growth in meaning or universality. At 
the same time the universal idea which is thus re- 
ferred to the diversity of objects included under it 
becomes more definite. Put concretely, perception 
grows through the medium of conception ; conception 
grows through its synthetic reference to perceptions. 
3. Conception and Language. — It is especially 
through the medium of language that the universal 
element of conception gets its reference to particular 
objects and is made definite. Language is the con- 
stant activity of mind seizing upon particular objects 212 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
and universalizing them by reference to the concep- 
tion, and seizing upon the conception and particular- 
izing it by connecting it with objects. Every name is 
universal in its nature. When I say “ man,” I do not 
say any particular man, this man or that man ; I say 
man “ in general,” that is, the ideal quality, the signifi- 
cance of man. Language can never get hold of exist- 
ence ; it can only get hold of meaning. Language 
needs some sensuous pointing index-finger, as the term 
“ this ” or “ that,” connected with gesture, to become 
particular in its reference. 
Language in Existence Particular.—Yet we must 
avoid falling into a common error. It is sometimes 
said that the idea is always particular, as of this or 
that man, and becomes general by being brought under 
the name “ man,” which is the only universal element. 
The fact is that the name “ man ” as an existence is 
purely sensuous or particular in its nature. It is so 
much breath, put forth at a certain time, by a certain 
person, and as existence that is all it is. It becomes 
general only because, by embodying the idea in itself, 
it stands for, represents, symbolizes, all objects possess- 
ing this idea or significance. Language has, therefore, 
a double function. On the one hand, it is purely gen- 
eral in its reference. Without language our capacity 
for general ideas, or the recognition of relations, of 
common meaning in different objects, would be almost 
null. But, on the other hand, language, as purely sen- 
suous and particular in its existence, serves to make 
abstract ideas concrete or definite, by necessarily con- 
necting them with some object. 
Twofold Activity of Mind.—It is all-important, in 
this connection, to recognize that language is not an 213 
THINKING. 
excrescence of mind or graft upon it; but that it is an 
essential mode of the expression of its activity. Con- 
ception, as the apprehending of a universal element of 
meaning, is, as we have seen, the grasping by the mind 
of its own activity ; it is the apperception of the apper- 
ceptive process. In conceiving, the mind gets hold of 
what it has itself put into presentations, namely, mean- 
ing. Universalizing is, therefore, one form of the ac- 
tivity of mind. But if this activity of mind remained 
without a name it would be shapeless; it would be ab- 
stract beyond recognition. The mind takes this idea, 
its own universalizing activity, and particularizes it; 
it renders it sensuous, concrete, by bodying it forth in 
language. The abstract idea is projected into real ex- 
istence through the medium of language. 
Language and Mind.—It is generally said that ani- 
mals do not have language because they cannot form 
general ideas. This is true, but what is generally 
overlooked is just as true. They are also lacking in 
the particularizing activity of intelligence. Their ideas 
are too abstract—not lacking in abstractness. They 
have not the power of rendering them definite, hence 
they lack language. Language is objective testimony 
to the twofold activity of mind ; in its meaning, its 
symbolis?n, its ideal quality, it is universal; in its ex- 
istence, its real quality, it is particular. Mind is at 
once a universalizing or ideal activity, and a particu- 
larizing or real activity. 
§ 3. Judgment. 
A concept, we have seen, involves reference of 
the universal element contained in it to a particular 
definite object; it involves connection of its ideal sig- 214 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
nificance with reality. Judgment is the express affir- 
mation of this connection. It develops and asserts 
what is contained in the concept. Judgment may be 
defined as the express reference of the idea or universal 
element to reality, the particular element. In judgment 
we not only think man, but wre affirm that man exists; 
that this man is a European, is an American; that 
man has a brain ; that he is rational, etc. Judgment 
takes the concept and says something about it; it 
makes it definite. 
Elements of Judgment.—A judgment expressed in 
language takes the form of a proposition, and includes 
two elements, the subject and the predicate. All judg- 
ments involve both intension and extension, but one of 
these aspects may be more apparent than the other. 
For example, when I say that “a lion is a quadruped,” 
the judgment states one element of the meaning of 
lion, the idea of fourfootedness, and it also includes 
the lion in the class or number of objects called quad- 
rupeds. When we consider the aspect of intension or 
meaning, we refer the predicate as the idea to the sub- 
ject as reality; when we consider the aspect of exten- 
sion or reference to objects, wre refer the subject as 
the ideal element to the predicate as reality. For ex- 
ample, when I say that “ man exists,” I may mean to 
assert either that the quality of existence belongs to 
the object man, or, more likely, I mean that, among 
the objects constituting reality, the idea of man is to 
be also found. The judgment, in short, may either 
idealize a real thing, by stating its meaning, or it may, 
so to say, realize an idea by asserting that it is one of 
the universe of objects. As matter of fact, it always 
does both. THINKING. 
215 
Judgment the Typical Act.—It follows that judg- 
ment is the typical act of intelligence. When we were 
studying the processes of knowledge, we found that 
apperception consists in giving a presentation mean- 
ing by interpreting it or idealizing it. When we stud- 
ied the material of knowledge, we found that the basis 
of knowledge is sensation, and that without this basis 
an idea cannot exist. Apperception idealizes sensa- 
tion, sensation realizes apperception. In studying the 
concrete forms—perception, memory, imagination—we 
have discovered in all cases this dual relation of sensa- 
tion as real basis, and apperception as ideal interpreta- 
tion ; the elements of meaning and existence. Judg- 
ment is not, therefore, a new and hitherto unheard-of 
act of mind ; it is simply the conscious recognition of 
the essence of every act of mind—the mutual connec- 
tion of the ideal element with the real. Perception is 
a judgment of place; memory, a judgment of time; 
imagination, a judgment of ideal worth. 
Judgment and Conception.—The relation of judg- 
ment and conception is a twofold one. The judgment 
is an amplification of the conception ; and it is also an 
enrichment of it. All the possible judgments that 1 
can form about gold are, in one sense, so many devel- 
opments of the conception. When I say that its atomic 
weight is 197 ; that it is malleable, soluble in aqua re- 
gia, etc., I am only stating so many elements already 
involved in the conception of gold. But, on the other 
hand, without these judgments I should never have dis- 
covered that these elements were involved in the con- 
ception of gold. Each new judgment that I form en- 
ables me to include something in the conception of 
gold not included before. The conception, in this 216 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
sense, is only a concentration of judgments; it is the 
result of them ; while, on the other hand, judgment is 
a result of conception. Each presupposes the other. 
Analytic and Synthetic Judgments.—The judgment, 
so far as it unfolds something involved in the concep- 
tion, is analytic; so far as it enriches the conception 
by some new meaning, or refers it to some reality to 
which it had not been previously referred, it is syn- 
thetic. These are not, therefore, two kinds of judg- 
ments ; they are two aspects of one and the same judg- 
ment. Judgment is at one time synthetic, at another, an- 
alytic. This may be put in another way by saying that 
every judgment affirms both identity and difference. 
Examples.—If I say that a hog is a pachyderm, it is 
evident that I identify both ideas; I form a connection 
or synthesis. What is not so evident is that I also 
differentiate them, or distinguish between them. That 
this is so may be seen from the fact that there can be 
no judgment where there is only one idea. A judg- 
ment involves duality. No one, except a formal logi- 
cian, ever makes an identical judgment only. When 
we say “ a man’s a man,” we still imply difference. 
We mean that, in spite of all differences of rank, 
wealth, education, etc., every man is distinguished, 
by the possession of manhood. We assert distinc- 
tion as well as unity, though the latter affirmation 
is generally more apparent, except in negative judg- 
ments. Since every act of intelligence implies both 
unification and differentiation, and judgment affirms 
this implication, it is evident, from another point of 
view, that judgment is the typical act of intelligence. 
Falsity and Truth of Judgments.—In one sense psy- 
chology is not concerned with the distinction between THINKING. 
217 
false and true judgments, as both are equally psycho- 
logical processes. But, even from a purely psychical 
standpoint, a difference is recognized, for the mind re- 
gards some of its judgments as untrue, and proceeds 
to correct them, while others it does not change. The 
psychological question is simply, therefore, as to the 
conditions under which the mind regards any judg- 
ment as true or false. It is to be noted, in the first 
place, that judgment is the act of mind to which this 
distinction clings. Both in perception and in memory 
the sensuous element is always true, and the act of the 
mind is always true. To speak more correctly, they 
are facts which exist, and to which the distinction of 
falsity or truth does not apply. The element of truth 
comes in only when one is referred to the other; that 
is, in the judgment. 
Examples.—If, for example, one perceives a ghost, 
the sensuous element is really there, and is just what 
it is. The act of mind also takes place. Each of these 
is a fact, and cannot be called true or false. At most 
it may be called normal or abnormal. The element 
of truth comes in when one is connected with the 
other; that is to say, when the sensuous presentation 
is interpreted by the act of mind, as an existing ghost. 
This is the reference of the ideal element to reality, or 
the judgment. Only a judgment, accordingly, can be 
true or false. From a psychological standpoint a judg- 
ment is called true when it harmonizes with all other 
judgments; false when it is in contradiction to some 
other. Suppose, for example, an individual interprets 
a distant cloud as a mountain. The judgment is false, 
because it does not agree with other judgments which 
he would be forced to make about the presentation 218 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
with growing knowledge of it. If I interpret a shad- 
owy form, seen in dim moonlight, as a tree, and the 
judgment is true, it is so because all other judgments 
which I can make about it will be in harmony with 
this one. Truth, in short, from a psychological stand- 
point, is agreement of relations; falsity, disagreement 
of relations. 
Test of Truth.—It follows from what has just been 
said that the mind always tests the truth of any sup- 
posed fact by comparing it to the acquired system of 
truth. When a novel proposition is brought before 
the mind, intelligence views it in the light of what 
it already regards as true, or in the light of relations 
previously laid down. If the new relation coincides 
with the former, still more if the new one expands 
them, or vice versa, it is judged to be true; if there 
is irreconcilable conflict, one or the other must be 
false. 
It must not be thought from this that the mind has 
any ready-made test existing within it by whose appli- 
cation it can decide upon the falsity or truth of any 
judgment. There is no simple criterion or rule for 
determining truth which can be applied immediately 
to every judgment; the only criterion is relation to the 
whole body of acquired knowledge, or the acquired sys- 
tem of relations, so far as it is realized. The worth of 
the criterion will evidently depend upon the degree in 
which the intelligence has been realized and knowledge 
acquired. 
Belief.—This introduces us naturally to the subject 
of belief. Belief is, perhaps, emotional in character, 
while its test is volition, but its content is always fixed 
by knowledge. It is the subjective side of knowledge. THINKING. 
219 
To believe a thing is to regard it as true. The most 
important point regarding the psychology of belief is 
the recognition that it is not a separate state of mind 
over and beyond the judgment, but is a necessary ac- 
companiment of it. Every act of intelligence, every 
assertion, that is, of a relation, is believed to be true. 
Intelligence must recognize its own existence, its own 
workings; and this recognition is belief. Intelligence 
must believe in itself, and must therefore accompany 
every judgment, so far as it is considered as an exer- 
cise of intelligence, with belief in its truth. 
Doubt.—But the mind learns, in growing experience, 
that not every judgment does agree with the condi- 
tions of universal intelligence ; that is, it discovers that 
some of its judgments contradict others. It thus ar- 
rives at a state of suspense; it is not sure whether this 
particular judgment agrees or not with itself, with the 
whole system of knowledge. It learns that a great 
many, perhaps most of its judgments, have to be cor- 
rected with growing experience, and thus it learns to 
assume a state of suspended judgment. It no longer 
assumes truth, as the child’s mind does; it wraits for 
evidence; and by evidence is meant simply token of 
the connection of the relation under consideration with 
the whole body of relations which constitute intelli- 
gence. 
Unbelief.—When the evidence points to the partic- 
ular given relation not standing in harmonious relation 
with the entire body of known truth, the mind assumes 
an attitude of unbelief. But it must be noted that 
unbelief is only a particular act of mind ; it cannot be 
universal. Universal unbelief would be unbelief of in- 
telligence in intelligence, and this is self-contradictory. 220 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
More concretely, every definite unbelief presupposes 
belief. We disbelieve this or that particular judgment 
because we believe, first, in the general workings of 
intelligence; and, secondly, because we believe some 
other judgment is true which contradicts this one. We 
disbelieve this, in short, because we believe that; unbe- 
lief is only a special case of belief. Denial must be 
because of some affirmation. 
§ 4. Reasoning. 
The whole previous discussion has been such as to 
make us recognize that there is no such thing as 
purely immediate knowledge. Any cognition is de- 
pendent; that is, it is because of some other cogni- 
tion. The act which is apparently most immediate 
is perception. But perception, as when I say this is a 
book, is still mediated. The sensation which I have, 
the direct presentation, does not tell me that this is a 
book. I know that this is a book when I can refer 
these present sensations to my past experience and in- 
terpret them thereby. Were it not for this act of 
reference the sensations would have no meaning, and 
would not be interpreted as a book, or as anything else. 
All knowledge implies, in short, a going beyond what 
is sensuously present to its connection with some- 
thing else, and it is this act of going beyond the pres- 
ent which constitutes the mediate factor. 
Definition of Reasoning.—In perception, in memory, 
in judgment, however, this mediate element is absorbed 
in the result. We do not recognize when we say, “ This 
is a book,” “ Snow is white,” “ Columbus discovered 
America in 1492,” “ I once saw General Grant,” that 
there is a reason for each of these psychical acts, outside THINKING. 
221 
of itself, and that the whole meaning of each depends 
on its relation to this something beyond. We perform 
the act and get the result because, indeed, of something 
else; but we do not recognize the because. All mean- 
ing is through relation to something else, but in the 
results so far studied we have neglected that through 
which each result is, and have considered it only as a 
result. Reasoning is the explicit recognition of this 
mediate element involved in all knowledge. It is con- 
sciously knowing that a thing is so because of, or 
through, its relations, its reference to something be- 
yond its own existence. It is, therefore, no new act 
of knowledge, but the development of the act upon 
which all knowledge depends. Reasoning may ac- 
cordingly be defined as that act of mind which recog- 
nizes those relations of any content of consciousness 
through which it has the meaning which it has, or 
is what it is. 
Implicit Reasoning.—Ordinarily the relation is rec- 
ognized through a particular case. We say, “This is 
snow,” because it is like the snow we experienced last 
winter. We conclude from one particular instance to 
another. So the child says, “This tire will burn,” be- 
cause he has seen some other fire that burned. He 
throws iron into the water to see it sink, because some 
other heavy body has sunk. If all bodies which he had 
thrown in had sunk he would conclude that a piece of 
cotton would sink likewise. Such reasoning, in short, 
simply goes from the likeness of one case to another 
without recognizing in what the likeness consists. This 
is called implicit reasoning. Every perception, every 
remembrance, is a case of implicit reasoning. If the 
child interprets certain sensations and says that he sees 222 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
a man, it is because of the likeness, unconsciously rec- 
ognized, of this experience to others. 
Explicit Reasoning.—The mind may, however, con- 
sciously recognize the element of identity which con- 
nects the two cases ; it may know why it calls this 
substance snow, and why it expects that fire will burn. 
It will recognize in the present object those properties 
which constitute snow—water, reduced to a certain 
temperature and crystallized in a certain way. It will 
perceive in the burning of fire an exemplification of a 
general law of molecular action. It will not merely 
proceed from the likeness of one case to make some 
assertion about another, but it will recognize that it 
does so, and also in what the identity consists. This 
is explicit reasoning, and to it the term reasoning is 
generally confined. 
Universal Element in Reasoning. — Reasoning, 
whether implicit or explicit, is dependent upon the 
presence of a relation, that is, of a universal factor. 
When we reason from one particular case to another and 
say, “ This drug will cure your disorder because it cured 
mine,” the basis of the conclusion is still a universal ele- 
ment. The person identifies one disorder with another, 
and reasons that what a drug does once it will always do. 
The trouble with such reasoning is not that it is too 
particular, but that it is too general. It overlooks any 
differences that may exist between the disorders which 
will cause the drug to act differently in the two cases, 
and lumps them both under the vague and general 
ideas — disorder, cure. Explicit reasoning discovers 
the universal element, the relation of identity, which 
is at work in implicit reasoning. It says that this 
drug will cure the disorder because of a certain re- THINKING. 
223 
lation existing between the two. Its advantage over 
implicit reasoning is that it does not perform the iden- 
tification at a jump, but looks to see where the relation, 
the universal element, really is. 
Particular Element in Reasoning.—It follows, from 
what has been said, that reasoning involves the particu- 
lar element as well as the universal. Reasoning always 
connects the universal and the particular; judgment 
does this also, as when one says that wood floats. 
Here we may say that the universal idea of wood is 
made more definite and particular by attributing to it 
the possession of a certain quality; or we may say 
that the particular idea of wood is brought under the 
wider and more general idea of floating, according as 
we regard it as a judgment of intension or of extension. 
In either case it expresses the relation of a particular 
with a universal element; and what reasoning does is to 
develop the ground or reason of this relation. This piece 
of wood floats because it possesses a characteristic of 
wood in general—a certain specific gravity. Here rea- 
soning universalizes the particular, for it finds the reason 
for a particular fact in a universal relation or law. Or 
wTe say ■wood floats, because the general idea of wood is 
distinguished by the possession of this quality. Here rea- 
soning particularizes the universal. It finds the connec- 
tion of a universal relation with a particular definite case. 
A Priori and A Posteriori Reasoning.—This ena- 
bles us to understand a distinction sometimes made be- 
tween empirical and rational thought, or knowledge a 
posteriori, the result of experience, and knowledge a 
priori, the result of reason. These are often treated 
as if they were two kinds of knowledge, instead of be- 
ing, as they really are, two stages in the development PSYCHOLOGY. 
of knowledge. Empirical knowledge goes from one 
particular to another by means of the universal ele- 
ment which connects them, but is not conscious of the 
universal element. Reason recognizes the universal 
element, the relation, and uses it to connect one par- 
ticular, one fact, with another. All knowledge is, as 
we have seen, the recognition of reason; for it is the 
recognition of relation, and reasoning is the act of re- 
lating. Perception is the recognition that an object is 
such or such, because it has the same meaning as some 
past experience; that is, is identical with it in signifi- 
cance, though not in existence. As recognition of mean- 
ing, it is recognition of reason, for meaning is the con- 
nection of sensuous presentations with past experiences, 
and reasoning is the act of connecting. A posteriori 
knowledge is simply the unconscious recognition of the 
universal element, or relation, the ideal significance; a 
priori knowledge is the conscious recognition of it. 
For example, if one simply notices that a loud noise 
accompanies an explosion, such knowledge is rightly 
called empirical. But if one discovers an identity of 
internal connection between the two facts the knowl- 
edge is rational. The known fact is no longer a mere 
coincidence, but depends upon a necessary relation. 
Knowledge, in one case, is a posteriori, for it follows the 
occurrence; in the other, it is a priori, for the relation 
is the condition of the event. 
Inductive and Deductive Reasoning.—All reason- 
ing, accordingly, connects a universal and a particular 
element. Its procedure may, however, be in either 
direction. It may consist in making the particular 
universal, by bringing it under the head of some law, 
and thus giving it the properties of a class. This act of THINKING. 
225 
bringing a particular under a universal, or of imposing 
a universal upon a particular, is called deduction. It 
may be illustrated as follows : This substance has a less 
specific gravity than water; all such substances float; 
therefore this substance floats. The reason for a par- 
ticular fact is found in the general relation. If the 
mind, however, starts from the particular facts, and 
discovers in them the universal, the law, the process is 
one of induction. A scientific man, for example, in- 
vestigates some oxygen, and finds its atomic weight to 
be 16. He immediately says that the atomic weight of 
oxygen is 16 ; not of this oxygen examined alone, but 
of oxygen, the substance, generally. He regards the 
particular as an instance of a class, and finds in the 
part the law of the whole. He isolates some one rela- 
tion from the complex whole. This act constitutes in- 
duction. The universal is discovered in the particular. 
Synthesis and Analysis.—We have seen from our 
study of the mind that it is always active in the dis- 
covery of relations of identity and of difference ; that 
it unites and separates. Deduction and induction are 
not new, previously unexperienced activities of the 
mind. They are the reappearance of the identifying 
and distinguishing activities. They are highly devel- 
oped forms of the process of attention. Deduction is 
synthetic. It connects the universal relation with this 
or that special case; it finds that the apple falls to the 
ground because of the law of gravitation. It enriches 
the particular by adding a new element, a new quality, 
a new significance, to it. Induction is analytic. It 
examines some particular so as to discover its law. It 
concentrates attention upon the meaning of the fact 
and neglects all else. It neglects all the diverse and 226 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
particular elements in the fact so as to separate out its 
universal element, and thus discover the law, the idea 
of the object. 
Effect of Each.—Induction, or analytic reasoning, 
sees the law in the light of the fact; deductive, or syn- 
thetic, sees the fact in the light of the law. Induction 
is more abstract than deduction, for it ends in the dis- 
covery of a general relation only, while deduction goes 
back to the fact with this law, and adds it to the mean- 
ing of the fact, thereby making it concrete. The ulti- 
mate effect of deduction is, therefore, greater distinct- 
ness or definiteness. The fact which has been con- 
nected with a law by way of deduction is more definite 
than it was before; it is transfigured by the possession 
of a new property. Induction, on the other hand, 
tends towards identification. It makes us lose sight of 
the differences that exist between this and that stone, 
the stone and the bullet, each and the earth, the earth 
and all planets, in the fact that all are falling bodies 
and come under the same law. It identifies them. 
Each Involves the Other.—We saw, when studying 
attention, that the distinguishing and identifying activi- 
ties are not two kinds of action, but different aspects 
of the same self-developing activity of mind. The 
same is true of induction and deduction. In the first 
place, each leads to the other. Deduction is a synthetic 
activity, yet it ends in rendering its object more dis- 
tinct, more defined, i. e., more separated. Induction 
is an analytic activity, yet it ends in rendering its ob- 
ject more unified, more identified with other objects, 
i. e., more connected with them. 
This is because induction never stops with itself, but 
immediately leads to deduction. The scientific man is THINKING. 
227 
not content with the general statement that the atomic 
weight of oxygen is 16, but he returns with this gen- 
eral law to every specific chemical fact which he knows, 
thereby enriching them. But deduction as surely im- 
plies induction. The fact which has been made more 
specific through deduction has also been made more 
universal. It does not possess this definite property as 
an isolated object, but as one of a class, as having a 
common relation or law. The universal is detected in 
the particular, and this is induction. Induction and 
deduction are aspects of the same act, and each occurs 
through the other. 
Example.—We may take, to illustrate this point, 
mathematics; say geometry. This is ordinarily taken 
as the type of a deductive or synthetic science, because 
it advances from certain highly general axioms and 
definitions, by a process of construction, to highly spe- 
cific and definite assertions about definite relations, or 
particular forms of space, each new step being derived 
or deduced from the preceding. Yet it is evident that 
the process has been, at the same time, one of analy- 
sis. The idea of space, with which we began, was a 
thoroughly vague, undefined notion ; the development 
of the science of geometry has been to split it up into 
definite specific relations. We know a great deal more 
about the particulars of space than we did before. We 
have also been discovering, in every element of space 
treated, the triangle, the circle, certain general laws or 
relations exemplified; and this is the essence of in- 
duction. 
Physics, on the contrary, is generally called an in- 
ductive science, because it starts from the investigation 
of certain facts, and ends in the discovery of certain 228 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
laws; it analyzes the facts and finds certain relations 
in them. Yet it is also a process of synthesis, for we 
not only know the laws, but we know immensely 
more about the facts than we did before. Each fact 
is more distinct, because it is seen exemplifying the 
action of certain laws, or involving certain relations, 
and this perception of a fact in the light of a law is 
the essence of deduction. Deduction and induction 
are, in truth, two aspects of the same process; and any 
given method will be called one or the other from the 
aspect that predominates. 
Fact and Law.—It follows that the two elements 
of law and fact cannot be separated from each other. 
Law is the meaning of fact; it is its universal as- 
pect ; the side that gives it relation. It is necessary 
to fact, for only that is a fact to intelligence which 
lias meaning, which signifies something or points be- 
yond itself. Sensation, as mere psychical existence, 
does not constitute fact. A sensation, as such, never 
enters into knowledge; it must be transformed, that 
is, related. In perception and memory we do not, it 
is true, recognize the presence of the relation or uni- 
versal element; we do not see what it is that is pointed 
towards; while in reasoning we do bring this element 
of significance into conscious recognition, and see that 
what is pointed towards is a relation, a law. Every 
new relation or law that is discovered adds so much 
to the meaning of the fact; it makes it so much more 
of a fact for us. 
Law, on the other hand, has no existence for us ex- 
cept in connection with some fact. When out of all 
connection with fact, it is absolutely meaningless to us; 
it is pure abstraction ; and just in the degree in which it THINKING. 
229 
is brought into connection with fact it becomes definite, 
and hence significant. In other words, fact and law 
are abstract ways of looking at the same mental con- 
tent. When we abstract its particular aspect, its defi- 
nite side, we regard it as fact; when we abstract its 
universal side, its relation of identity, we regard it as 
meaning or law. But every concrete mental content, 
every actuality for psychology, is a union of universal 
and particular, of identity and difference, of fact and 
meaning, of reality and ideal significance. It is not 
a mechanical unity, so that we can separate out each, 
but a living one. 
Process of Mind in Knowledge.—Fact and law are 
not, therefore, to be opposed to the activity of mind 
as something set over against it. Each is rather the 
result of one function of the mind’s activity. Fact 
and law cannot be regarded as anything except two 
ways of looking at the same content, because one is 
the expression of the differentiating activity of mind 
and the other of its identifying activity, and these two 
modes of activity cannot be separated from each other. 
When we look at the aspect of fact, we are consider- 
ing the result of the distinguishing function of mind; 
we are considering the content as rendered definite by 
the possession of certain particular properties. When 
we look at the aspect of law, w’e are considering the 
result of the identifying function of mind; we are 
considering the content as rendered universal by the 
possession of a mental significance or idea. Each of 
these functions is an abstraction ; in actual knowledge 
we always identify and distinguish. In other words, 
all actual knowledge proceeds from the individual to 
the individual. 230 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Conception, Judgment, Reasoning.—Judgment, we 
have already seen, stands in a twofold relation to con- 
ception. In one aspect, its analytic, it is based on the 
concept and develops it; in the other, its synthetic, it 
returns into the concept and enriches it, by connecting 
some new element with it. Reasoning, it is now seen, 
stands in a like relation to judgment, and therefore to 
conception. It is based on judgment, for it takes two 
or more judgments, that is, affirmations of relations, 
and analyzes them to discover the common or identical 
relation which unites them. And it expresses this in 
the form of a new judgment. Thus, Sir Isaac Newton 
took two judgments, one regarding the revolution of 
the moon, and another regarding a falling body, and, 
analyzing them, arrived at a relation common to both: 
he reduced both judgments to one in the new judg- 
ment of the law of gravitation. But this does not re- 
main an isolated judgment. It is carried back to the 
judgments from which it was analyzed out, and com- 
bined with them, so that, as soon as we know the law 
of gravitation, we know more about the revolution of 
the moon and the falling of bodies than we did before. 
In short, the process of reasoning has resulted in the 
enrichment of the judgment; it is more definite and 
concrete than it was before. 
The Individual the End of Knowledge.—All knowl- 
edge is therefore of an individual. There are two 
elements which cannot of themselves be, by any pos- 
sibility, the object of knowledge; one is the isolated 
particular, the other is the isolated universal. The 
isolated particular is that which has no relation to 
anything beyond itself; it is not universalized, by any 
relation. It is the result of the distinguishing activity THINKING. 
231 
of mind, supposing that this could go on alone. The 
isolated universal is that which is simply a relation ; it 
is not made definite by its synthetic reference to that 
which is related. What is actually known is always a 
combination of the universal and the particular, of law 
and fact; in other words, an individual. The individ- 
ual known is becoming constantly a richer object of 
knowledge, by virtue of the two processes of univer- 
salization and definition. The individual known is al- 
ways becoming more universal because it is being iden- 
tified with other individuals under some common rela- 
tion or idea. It is becoming more definite, for these 
various relations which are thus recognized are taken 
into it, and become part of its content; they enlarge its 
significance and serve to distinguish it. A complete- 
ly universalized or related individual, which is at the 
same time perfectly definite or distinct in all its rela- 
tions, is, therefore, the end of knowledge. Each spe- 
cial act of knowledge is the recognition of an indi- 
vidual which is yet in process of identification and dis- 
tinction. This we learned is the process of attention 
(page 143). 
Final Presupposition.—It is now evident that the 
very tendency towards knowledge, or the activity of 
intelligence, is based upon relation. It presupposes 
that there is no such thing as an isolated fact in the 
universe, but that all are connected with each other 
as members of a common whole. The final presuppo- 
sition is that every fact is dependent or mediated. It 
is not what it is by its own independent existence. 
Considered as such it has no meaning whatever, and 
hence is no possible object of intelligence. Each is 
§ 5. Systematization. 232 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
what it is, because of its connection with and depend- 
ence upon others, Reasoning is the act of mind which 
recognizes this dependence, and develops the modes of 
connection. But reasoning confines itself to the special 
relations which connect facts. It does not deal with 
the truth that all these relations are also related to each 
other, and are factors of one harmonious whole. 
Process of Systematization.—This higher develop- 
ment of reasoning, which not only develops relations 
of dependence between one fact and another, but which 
also consciously recognizes that there is no such thing 
as an isolated relation, but that all constitute a system, 
is called systematization. It is in result what we call 
“ science ” and “ philosophy,” which are not only knowl- 
edge, but co-ordinated knowledge arranged in connect- 
ed form. Each special branch of science is one form of 
this attempt at harmonious system. Philosophy is the 
attempt to sytematize or arrange in their organic unity 
all special branches of science. No isolated science 
fulfils the end of knowledge or is complete system, be- 
cause in it the analytic activity predominates over the 
synthetic. Science in its completeness, including the 
synthetic function, is philosophy. 
Scientific and Ordinary Knowledge.—Science is the 
attempt to reduce the world to a unity, by seeing all 
the factors of the world as members of one common 
system. Its various subordinate unities are expressed 
in the form of laws, but science is not complete with 
the formulation of analytic laws. These laws must not 
remain isolated, but must be referred, as far as possi- 
ble, to some more comprehensive law, and thus con- 
nected with each other as factors of one whole. The 
highest form of knowledge previously studied—reason- THINKING. 
233 
ing—develops, as we saw, what had been implied in all 
previous knowledge—namely, the dependence of every 
fact of knowledge upon its relations to other facts. 
This presupposition of all knowing whatever, that all 
facts are related to each other as members of one sys- 
tem, science more consciously develops, explicitly set- 
ting forth the relations. 
Philosophic Knowledge. — Philosophy, as complete 
science, aims to do this fully. It is, therefore, no new 
kind of knowledge, but is the conscious development 
of what is unconsciously at the heart of all knowledge— 
the presence of unity in variety. It is the attempt to 
find a true universe ; a world which, in spite of its dif- 
ference, or rather through its difference, is one. It is 
the attempt to fulfil the conditions of all knowledge, 
and to recognize the world as one; in other words, to 
reach an individual object of knowledge which is at 
the same time thoroughly universal. The details of 
philosophy as well as of science we are not concerned 
with in psychology. We have only to recognize them 
as exemplifications of the law of all knowledge, and 
thus show their psychological origin and position. 
Hamilton (op. cit.), lects. xxxiv.-xxxvii.; Porter (op. cit.), pp. 376-491; 
Morell (op. cit."), pp. 204-258; Lewes (op. cit.'), Third Series, pt. 2, p. 463; 
Bain (op. cit.), pp. 524-538; Sully (op. cit.), chaps, ix. and x.; Murray (op. 
cit.), pp. 185-219; Spencer (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 453-472; vol. ii., pp. 6-17, 
521-538; Taine (op. cit.), pt. 1, bk. 1, chaps, ii. and iii.; Laurie, “Metaphys- 
ica,” pp. 27-34, 53-83; Bradley, “Principles of Logic,” pp. 1-39 (judgment); 
pp. 235-249, 396-411,430-450 (reasoning) ; pp. 412-429 (analysis and synthe- 
sis) ; George (op. cit.), pp. 400-453; Bergmann (op. cit.), pp. 129-154; Her- 
bart (op. cit.), pt. 3, § 2, chap. ii.; Striimpell (op. cit.), pp. 252-265; Horwicz 
(op. cit.), vol. ii., pt. 1, pp. 9-55; Wundt, “ Logik,” vol. i., pp. 37-131 (con- 
cepts); pp. 135-154 (judgment); pp.270-290 (reasoning); Sigwart, “Logik,” 
vol. ii., pp. 156-176 (concepts); Lotze, “Logik,” pp. 14-57 (concepts); “Phi- 
losophische Studien,” vol. ii., p. 161. 234 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
References to the psychology of language may also be conveniently made 
here as follows: Calderwood, “Relations of Mind and Brain,” chap. x.; 
Maudsley (op. cit.), pp. 475-481; Ferrier (op. cit.), pp. 269-280; Lotze, “Mi- 
crocosmus,” pp. 601-639; Taine in Mind, vol. ii., p. 252; Perez, First Three 
Years,” pp. 236-264; George (op. cit.), pp. 331-341; Rosenkranz (op. cit.), 
pp. 283-295; Michelet (op. cit.), pp. 368-407; Steinthal (op. cit.), pp. 44-71, 
359-487 ; Lazarus (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 87-345 ; Wundt, “ Phys. Psy.” vol. ii., 
pp. 428-440; Preyer (op. cit.), pp. 259-391; Gerber, “ Die Sprache und das 
Erkennen,” Geiger, “Ursprung und Entwickelung der menschlichen Sprache 
und Vernunft;” Kussmaul, “ Storungen der Sprache;” Strieker, “ Studien 
liber die Sprachvorstellungen.” Lazarus and Steinthal are the best authori- 
ties upon the purely psychological aspects of language. 
Upon the pedagogy of thinking, see De Guimps (op. cit.'), pp. 264-334; 
Joly (op. cit.), pp. 80-113; Thring (op. cit.), pp. 155-164; Perez (op. cit.), 
pp. 164-235; Beneke (op. cit.), pp. 122-141. CHAPTER IX. 
INTUITION. 
Mutual Implication of Stages of Knowledge.—The 
general law of knowledge, that knowledge is a process 
of recognition of the individual through the functions 
of analysis and of synthesis, is applicable, of course, to 
the stages of knowledge themselves, or rather these 
are so many manifestations of the law. If we begin, 
as we have done in this book, with perception and 
ascend to systematization, it is evident that we fol- 
low the analytic, identifying, or universalizing func- 
tion. But attention has been frequently called to the 
fact that each of these more general processes returns 
upon the lower and enriches it. It has been shown 
that perception is as impossible without conception, or 
the presence of the universal element, as conception is 
without perception as the definite element. 
Two Scales in Knowing.—In short, every higher 
analytic stage immediately influences the lower proc- 
ess, rendering it more definite. It is synthetically 
combined with it. Every process of reasoning ex- 
pands a judgment; every judgment enlarges a con- 
cept ; every concept adds new meaning to a percept. 
As we universalize, we also see the particular more in 
the light of the universal, and thus make it more sig- 
nificant and more definite. Without the process of me- 
diation or reasoning there is no perception; the more 
the element of reasoning is involved, the more does the 236 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
percept mean, or tell us of the object. There is a com- 
plete implication of every stage of self-development in 
every other. The scale from perception to systematiza- 
tion looks at the development as an analytic process of 
growing universality; the scale from systematization 
back, looks at it as a synthetic process of growing defi- 
niteness. As matter of actual psychological fact, there 
is no separation of ascending and descending move- 
ments, but every concrete act of mind is an act both of 
perception and reasoning, and each because of and 
through the other. This is but another way of saying 
that all knowledge involves both the identifying and 
the distinguishing activities. 
Intuition.—It follows, in a word, that every con- 
crete, actually-performed psychological result is an in- 
tuition, or knowledge of an individual. The acts pre- 
viously studied are abstractions. It is necessary to 
perforin these abstractions in order that the various 
elements involved in knowledge may be brought into 
consciousness, and our comprehension of the nature of 
knowledge become more definite. What we call per- 
ception is a concrete act of mind involving both the 
universalizing and the distinguishing activities; but 
all the weight, the emphasis of attention, is thrown 
upon the latter function. In reasoning, attention iso- 
lates especially the universalizing function ; but, as 
matter of fact, neither of these can exist without the 
other, and their union constitutes knowledge of an 
individual. The phase of reasoning makes this indi- 
vidual more and more universal or related in charac- 
ter; the phase of perception makes it more definite. 
The union of perception and reasoning involved in 
every act constitutes intuition. INTUITION. 
237 
Nature of Intuition.—Intuition is often conceived 
to mean a purely immediate act, or one taking place 
without the recognition of any relation of dependence. 
Intuition is defined in a way which opposes it to rea- 
soning and excludes the latter. It is thought to be an 
act of mind in which the mind is wholly taken up with 
the presented content, and does not advance at all be- 
yond what is thus given ; it is opposed to all mediation. 
Something perceived by intuition is supposed to be 
just what it is by virtue of its own independent exist- 
ence. We are in a position to recognize that there 
cannot possibly be intuition of such a kind. Every 
act of mind involves relation ; it involves dependence; 
it involves mediation. A thing as known gets its 
meaning by its symbolism; by what it points to be- 
yond itself. Intuition must be defined to include this 
factor. 
Ultimate Knowledge.—When, however, we come to 
know ultimate reality, it is evident that this cannot be 
related to anything beyond itself; it can symbolize 
only itself. All dependence, all mediation, must be 
within itself. Intuition is most properly confined to 
those acts of knowledge, therefore, in which we know 
ultimate wholes; that which is related to self instead 
of being only externally related. It is needful to recog- 
nize that such wholes exist only by virtue of the dis- 
tinctions, the relations, which are comprehended with- 
in themselves. The analytic act, the development of 
relations of identity, has been completely performed, 
and these relations are now reflected back into the ob- 
ject, and, synthetically connected with it, serve com- 
pletely to distinguish it, or make it definite. In the 
act of intuition we grasp that which is self-related. 238 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Stages of Intuition.—Every act of knowledge is, in 
some sense or other, the recognition of something self- 
related, or an individual, for it involves the synthetic 
return of the relation into the content known. Percep- 
tion, memory, imagination, conception, etc.—each of 
these is an act of intuition, and consequently the recog- 
nition of something self-related. But the recognition of 
self-relation may be more or less complete. The bota- 
nist’s knowledge of a tree is more intuitive than that of 
an ordinary man, because he sees in it more of those re- 
lations to the universe which constitute the real life of 
the tree. Recognizing more relations, more laws, he is 
able to combine more into the knowledge of the object, 
and thus his knowledge of it includes more of self-re- 
lation than that of any one else. So of all objects; the 
more universality is recognized, the more truly self-re- 
lated does the object known become. We again arrive 
at the conclusion that, while every concrete act of knowl- 
edge is one of intuition, the term may be most appro- 
priately applied to the most developed acts of knowl- 
edge ; those, that is to say, in which the greatest amount 
of individualized or synthetic universality is recog- 
nized. These may be spoken of under three heads: 
I. Intuition of the world; II. Intuition of self; III. 
Intuition of God. 
I. Intuition of the World.—We are concerned here 
with our knowledge of nature as a whole. After what 
has been said so many times, there is no need of repeat- 
ing that since unity is presupposed in every act of in- 
telligence, every act of knowledge of the external world 
is an intuition. The wholeness of the world, the truth 
that all things and events are in unison with each oth- 
er, is implied in the simplest perception, and the fur- INTUITION. 
239 
ther acts of knowledge consist only in developing this 
unity and rendering it explicit and definite. The intu- 
ition of which we are to speak, the recognition of nat- 
ure as a system, is not, therefore, a new act of knowl- 
edge, but simply the more complete development of 
perception, memory, etc., which are also acts of intui- 
tion. We shall speak first of the process of this more 
complete development. 
Growth of Intuition of Nature.—It begins with the 
recognition of things. The first intuition is that of 
existence or reality. We recognize that we not only 
have sensations, but that these sensations are objec- 
tified, and constitute a world. The first stage of in- 
tuition may be said to be that there is such a thing as 
an object, a world at all, giving rise to the conception 
of substance. But the mind immediately advances be- 
yond this highly general intuition to a recognition 
that the plurality of objects and events which are real, 
or exist, are in space and time. The intuition of space, 
as the condition of the coexistence of objects, and the 
intuition of time as the condition of the sequence of 
events, constitute the more perfect definition of the 
intuition of reality. 
Second Stage.—There comes, then, the intuition of 
force or motion. We recognize that objects are not 
only separated in space and time, but that they are in 
dynamic relations with each other; that they are con- 
stantly exchanging places in space, and passing into 
each other in time. We have an intuition not only of 
space and time, but of that spatial change which we 
call motion, and of that temporal change which we call 
force. From these intuitions the mind forms the con- 
ception of cause and effect. 240 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Third Stage.—The mind advances beyond the rec- 
ognition of change to the recognition of the regular- 
ity, the constancy, of change. It perceives that all spa- 
tial changes are connected with temporal changes—that 
is, manifestations of force—and it further recognizes 
that these manifestations are connected with each other 
in an orderly, permanent way. It thus gets the in- 
tuition of order, or relation. From this intuition the 
mind forms the concej)tion of law. It is evident that 
each stage of intuition grasps something more of the 
wholeness of the world, and renders that wholeness 
more definite. In the intuition of thing, or reality, 
each appears separate from every other, though we 
know that their unity is implied. In the intuition of 
space and time we recognize space and time as one, 
indeed, but we do not recognize the necessary unity 
of each with the objects and events existing and occur- 
ring in it. The intuitions of force and motion enable 
us to make this unification, and see nature more as a 
whole; and if we add the intuition of relation, we see 
all parts interconnected. 
Final Stage.—This originates the final stage of intu- 
ition. Here we have the intuition of reality as a whole, 
defined and particularized indeed by its existence in 
space and time, but yet universalized by its connec- 
tions of order and permanence, expressed in the laws 
which constitute its unity. Here every fact is seen as 
dependent upon and necessitated by its relations to 
every fact. The aim is to see in every part of nature 
the law of the whole; to see exemplified in any fact 
the relations of the whole system. It finds a poetical 
expression in the following lines of Tennyson: 241 
INTUITION. 
“ Flower in the crannied wall, 
I pluck you out of the crannies;— 
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 
Little flower—but if I could understand 
What you are, root and all, all in all, 
I should know what God and man is.” 
It must be remembered that this is truly an intuition, 
for we see in the part the whole. This constitutes its 
difference from systematization. For complete intui- 
tion, that activity of the mind implied in science and 
philosophy is doubtless necessary, but systematization 
is not intuition. It is only the highest means by which 
the original intuition, knowledge of an individual thing, 
becomes complete intuition, or knowledge of the uni- 
verse as an individual. It is only necessary to add that 
from this intuition of completeness of interdependence, 
the mind forms the conception of necessity. 
Transition to Intuition of Self.—It must be noticed 
that, as the growth of intuition of nature towards com- 
pleteness occurs, we approach nearer and nearer to the 
self. Each new stage comprehends within itself a more 
universal relation than the preceding, and hence leads 
more nearly to the recognition of the action of intelli- 
gence. In the intuition of things, and even of space 
and time, what is perceived seems opposed to intelli- 
gence (page 161); when we perceive order, we are, in 
truth, perceiving the ordering action of intelligence; 
when we perceive the world as an interdependent whole, 
every part of which is in orderly connection with every 
other, we are perceiving objectified intelligence; for 
this unification of relations is precisely the ’work of in- 
telligence. Or, put in a more psychological way, this 
intuition of the whole in a part is the recognition of all 242 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
that the part means, and meaning is put into fact from 
the activity of the self (page 142). We are thus led to 
II. The Intuition of Self'.—We are concerned here 
especially with what is called self-consciousness, or the 
knowledge of the self as a universal, permanent activ- 
ity. We must, however, very carefully avoid supposing 
that self-consciousness is a new and particular kind of 
knowledge. The self which is the object of intuition 
is not an object existing ready made, and needing only 
to have consciousness turned to it, as towards other ob- 
jects, to be known like them as a separate object. The 
recognition of self is only the perception of what is 
involved in every act of knowledge. The self which is 
known is, as we saw in our study of apperception and re- 
tention, the whole body of knowledge as returned to and 
organized into the mind knowing. The self which is 
known is, in short, the ideal side of that mode of in- 
tuition of which we just spoke—it is their meaning in 
its unity. It is, also, a more complete stage of intui- 
tion, for, while in the final stage of intuition of nature 
■we perceive it as a whole of interdependent relations, 
or as self-related, we have yet to recognize that we 
leave out of account the intelligence from which these 
relations proceed. In short, its true existence is in its 
relation to mind ; and in self-consciousness we advance 
to the perception of mind. 
Stages of Growth of Intuition of Self .—The self is 
a connecting, relating activity, and hence is a real 
unity, one which unites into a whole all the various 
elements and members of our knowledge. In associa- 
tion and in attention it is the activity of mind which 
associates and which attends, and thus only does our 
mental life become significant in its products (page 85). INTUITION. 
243 
The self is consequently the bond of unity. There is no 
member of our psychical life, no object of knowledge, 
which is not such because the self has acted upon it, and 
made it what it is. All knowledge is knowledge of and 
through self. In knowing anything whatever we know 
some activity of self, and therefore all knowledge is an 
intuition of self, just as it is an intuition of the world. 
But in the first stages of knowledge this is not recog- 
nized. We recognize only meaning or significance, 
without recognizing where it comes from—the mind. 
The first intuition may be called that of ideality, as 
opposed to reality in the intuition of the world; it is 
meaning as opposed to thing. The mind, on the basis 
of it, forms the conception of unity and universality. 
Final Stage.—The development of the intuition of 
self consists simply in recognizing more and more of 
what is implied in the simplest acts of knowledge. The 
activity of self is involved in perception. In memory 
some of this activity, that by which elements are re- 
lated in time, is re-cognized. We re-know what we 
knew before, and in so doing develop some factor of 
which we were previously unconscious. There is no 
need to follow the process through in detail, but it is 
evident that every higher “faculty ” in re-knowing the 
lower, brings out more and more of the activity of the 
self implied in it, until we get to complete self-con- 
sciousness, which is the recognition of the whole of 
self in any special act of self. From the intuition of 
self we form the conception oi freedom, as we recognize 
that the process is one which goes on through self alone. 
Transition to Intuition of God.—There is no knowl- 
edge which does not include both the particular and 
the universal factor. There is no knowledge which 244 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
does not include both the real and the ideal element. 
In the two previous intuitions we have treated each as 
if it could exist independent of the other, though we 
saw that intuition of the world, as a unity of interde- 
pendent relations, implies the self. We know, also, 
that knowledge of the self would be entirely without 
content were it not for the acts of apperception which 
it is always performing, and which, when performed, 
are retained or organized into the self (page 152), and 
thus make it real. In short, we know the world be- 
cause we idealize it; we know the self because we real- 
ize it. Every concrete act of knowledge must involve 
both factors. This brings us to the complete stage of 
intuition. 
III. Intuition of God.—Neither the world nor the 
knowing self can be called truly self - related. The 
world gets its existence as known only because of its re- 
lations to the activity of the intelligence knowing; the 
intelligence knowing becomes a definite actuality only 
through the relations which it puts forth in construing 
the world. The true self-related must be the organic 
unity of the self and the world, of the ideal and the 
real, and this is what we know as God. It must be 
remembered that this intuition is one like in kind to 
the other intuitions, and involves the process of medi- 
ation as much as they. It is not a unity which has 
no relations, but a unity which is self-related. It must 
be remembered, also, that we are speaking wholly here 
of an intellectual intuition, which is simply perfectly 
realized intelligence or truth. 
Development of Intuition.—Every concrete act of 
knowledge involves an intuition of God; for it in- 
volves a unity of the real and the ideal, of the objec- INTUITION. 
245 
tive and the subjective. Stated in another way, every 
act of knowledge is a realization of intelligence ; an 
attainment of some relation which constitutes truth. 
The development of this intuition is the recognition 
of complete truth, the perfect unification of intelli- 
gence. The steps of the process are precisely the proc- 
ess of intelligence itself in knowledge; and as that 
is just what we have been studying in this psychol- 
ogy, it need not be repeated here. It needs only to be 
recognized that every act of knowledge is an intuition 
of truth, and that the goal of all knowledge is the 
complete intuition of truth, and that this truth is 
the complete manifestation of the unifying and distin- 
guishing activities of the intelligence. All failure to 
grasp truth, or statement that ultimate reality is un- 
knowable, consists simply in laying emphasis upon one 
of these processes to the exclusion of the other. It is 
the intuition of God as perfectly realized intelligence 
that forms the cognitive side of the religious conscious- 
ness. It is the most concrete and developed form of 
knowledge ; but it is, at the same time, implied or in- 
volved in every act of knowledge whatever. There is 
more truth, in short, implied in the simplest form of 
knowledge than can be brought out by our completest 
science or philosophy. These latter are processes of 
systematization, and find their function in enriching 
the primal and the ultimate intuition. 
Upon intuition and self-consciousness, see Spencer (op. tit.'), vol. ii.,pp. 454- 
488 ; Wundt, “Phys. Psy.” vol. ii., pp. 216-218; Striimpell (op. tit.), pp. 294- 
309; Erdmann (op. tit.), chap. ii.; Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. ii., pt. 1, pp. 122- 
129 ; Ulrici (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 43-66; George (op. tit.), pp. 341-351; Berg- 
mann (op. tit.), pp. 54-91; Ribot, “Maladies de la Personnalite;” Jeanmaire, 
f‘ L’Idee de la Personnalite dans la Psychologie Moderne.” PART II.—FEELINa 
CHAPTER X. 
INTRODUCTION TO FEELING. 
Nature of Feeling.—Feeling, it is to be remembered, 
signifies not a special class of psychical facts, like mem- 
ory or conception, but one side of all mental phenom- 
ena. It is not a particular group of psychical experi- 
ences, occurring now and then in our mental life ; it is 
coextensive with mental life; it is its internal aspect. 
All knowledge occurs in the medium of feeling, for in 
knowing we render internal, or make belong to our 
consciousness, something which exists in the universe. 
In knowledge we do not pay attention, indeed, to this 
internal factor, but to the information that we get 
about something existing. The very fact, however, 
that we regard this knowledge as our knowledge, that 
we refer it to ourselves as subjects, shows that it is 
also feeling. There is no consciousness which exists 
as wholly objectified, that is, without connection with 
some individual. There is, in other words, no con- 
sciousness which is not feeling. 
Feeling and the Individual Self.—Every conscious- 
ness is felt as my consciousness. This is feeling. It 
is feeling that constitutes the essential difference be- 
tween me and thee. We cannot define the “ego” as 
that which is at once subject and object, for this is true INTRODUCTION TO FEELING. 
247 
of every ego. It gives us the universal form of self- 
hood, but does not give any ground for distinction be- 
tween myself and thyself. Knowledge affords no 
ground for this distinction, for knowledge is of the 
object, and is universal. Knowledge is, indeed, re- 
garded as my knowledge or as your knowledge, but 
this is because of the existence of the self. It cannot 
constitute that self. Feeling is, however, unique and 
unsharable. Feeling expresses the fact that all is not 
purely objective and universal, but that it also exists in 
individual and subjective form. Feeling cannot be 
defined. For the very good reason that it is individ- 
ual and particular, it can only be felt. But it may 
be characterized again by saying that feeling is the in- 
teresting side of all consciousness; consciousness in its 
unique personal reference to me or thee. 
Feeling and Activity of Self '.—Feeling, or the fact 
of interest, is therefore as wide as the whole realm of 
self, and self is as wide as the whole realm of experi- 
ence. To determine the forms and conditions of feel- 
ing we must know something about self. Self is, as 
we have so often seen, activity. It is not something 
which acts; it is activity. All feeling must be an ac- 
companiment, therefore, of activity. Through its ac- 
tivity, the soul is; and feeling is the becoming con- 
scious of its own being. The soul exists for itself; it 
takes an interest in itself, and itself is constituted by 
activities. This is all that can be said in a general way 
about feeling. But the activity may be in two directions, 
and there may be consequently two kinds of interest. 
The activity may further or develop the self; it may 
hinder or retard it. The interest may be one oipleas- 
ure or of pain. Between these poles all feeling moves. 248 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
The Source of Qualitative Feelings.—Pleasurable 
feeling is the rendering manifest to the soul its own 
activity in a direction tending to increase of well-being, 
or self-realization; painful feeling, the reverse. We 
have seen before that self is not a merq formal exist- 
ence, that is, one having no necessary connection with 
the material with which it deals, and with the results 
which it produces; but it is a real activity, that is to 
say, one with a content. The various spheres of expe- 
rience are only so many differentiations or develop- 
ments of the real nature of the self. The self, through 
its retentive activity, is constantly organizing itself 
in certain definite, explicit forms, and only as it does 
thus organize itself is it anything more than mere ca- 
pacity. It follows, therefore, that there is no such 
thing as pain or pleasure in general, any more than 
there is such a thing as color in general. Every feel- 
ing has a definite content which distinguishes it from 
every other feeling, over and above the mere fact of 
pleasure and pain ; just as red is distinguished from 
blue by a quality over and above the mere fact that 
both are colors. Every activity of the self, in other 
words, has a definite filling or quality quite distinct 
from every other; and feeling, as the accompaniment 
of this activity, or rather as its immediate presence in 
consciousness, must be differentiated also. 
Treatment of Feelings.—All feeling is the individual 
side of the activity of self. The activity of self devel- 
ops itself in an infinity of directions, and with an in- 
finity of contents. These are the facts upon which we 
have to base our discussion. None the less, the activi- 
ties may be reduced to a few general heads, and thus 
a basis of treatment discovered. The quality or con- INTKODUCTION TO FEELING. 
tent of feeling is evidently determined by the degree 
of the development or realization of self, and we may 
recognize as many classes of feeling as we distinguish 
degrees of activity of self-realization in the soul. The 
self, taken in its lowest terms, is the organic body, fit- 
ted out with a nervous system, and capable of respond- 
ing to physical stimuli, through its connection with 
soul, in the form of sensations. (I.) The first class of 
feelings will be those accompanying this organic activ- 
ity of self, or sensuous feelings. The mind also ap- 
pears as associative activity, or as mechanically com- 
bining the various elements of its experience, as well 
as an attentive activity which idealizes them, and gives 
them their especial significance. The next two classes 
of feeling might, with great propriety, be made to con- 
form 4o these two kinds of feeling, but it is more con- 
venient to adopt a cross division. In both associative 
and attentive activities there are feelings which are 
due to the relations which the activities bear to each 
other, and there are those which are due more espe- 
cially to the contents with which they are concerned. 
This gives rise to (II.) Formal feelings, and (III.) Qual- 
itative feelings, of which we shall consider (1) the aes- 
thetic, (2) the intellectual, and (3) the personal and 
moral. CHAPTER XI. 
SENSUOUS FEELING. 
Nature.—The first and simplest form in which the 
soul puts forth its activity is through the physical or- 
ganism. Feeling is the internal or individual side of 
all activity, and here it appears as rendering internal 
the organic processes. For physiology the organism 
is an external body, existing with each part distinct 
from every other in space. In feeling, this externality 
and separation are overcome. If the eye see§, the 
whole organism feels the experience; if the hand is 
bruised, or if the digestive apparatus does not work 
normally, through feeling the entire man is made con- 
scious of it. Each action and reaction has a unique 
reference to the whole self. We have now to analyze 
the forms of this class of feeling. 
Sensation as Feeling.—Every sensation, considered 
in itself, is a feeling. We have previously considered 
sensations as stimuli to the apperceptive activity, and 
hence as resulting in knowledge; and they are rightly 
so considered. But a sensation is none the less itself 
an intrinsic affection of the soul, possessing a peculiar 
emotive quality of its own. An infant, we may sup- 
pose, has sensations long before he has knowledge; 
there are affections of his eye and ear, etc., before he 
recognizes colored or sounding objects. Such sensa- 
tions have an existence very similar, we may suppose, SENSUOUS FEELINGS. 
251 
to our own digestive sensations. They are feelings. 
When these sensations become objectified, they do not 
cease to be feelings ; and their characteristics are found 
to depend (1) on intensity, and (2) upon quality. 
1. Dependence of Feeling on Intensity. — Pleasure 
and pain have certain quantitative aspects. Any sensa- 
tion intensified beyond a certain point becomes painful. 
Almost all sensations lowered below a certain point 
become painful. Between these limits a sensation is 
agreeable, and at a given point it seems to reach a 
maximum of agreeableness. An obscurity which is 
neither light nor dark—one which calls forth a slight 
sensation, and yet one which cannot be defined—is 
painful. Exceedingly strong light, as that of the sun, 
is also painful. Yet, between these limits, light is grate- 
ful and pleasing. A feeble whisper or rustle is irri- 
tating; a loud bang is offensive. Between these limits 
sound delights the soul and is sought for. There is 
pleasure in mere seeing and hearing, independent of 
what is seen or heard, when the stimulus is of a cer- 
tain intensity. In tactual impressions, varying from 
tickling to abrasion, the same law is illustrated. In the 
temperature sense it is illustrated in the progression 
from cold through genial warmth to extreme heat. 
The Place of the Limits.-—The position of the limits 
is fixed by the fact that a stimulus which occasions pain 
is either too slight to allow the sense to respond nor- 
mally, or is so great that it calls forth so much activity 
of the organism that it exhausts the latter or actually 
destroys some part of it. The moderate stimulus which 
gives pleasure lies within the bounds of possible easy 
adjustment without excess of activity. The stimulus 
calls forth a ready response, and one which does not 252 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
make too much demand on the organism. A veTy 
slight stimulus leaves the soul in a divided state. It 
calls the mind out towards itself, and yet it does not 
offer sufficient inducement to be actually responded 
to. A verjr strong stimulus calls forth the reserve 
strength of the organism to meet it, and, making ex- 
cessive demands, drains the system. Exceedingly ir- 
regular stimuli call forth futile attempts at adjustment, 
and energy is wasted. All such forms occasion pain, 
while freer moderate play is pleasurable. This is what 
we should expect from the theory. Normal or healthy 
activity furthers the organism; other, destroys or re- 
tards it. It should be noticed, also, that the greatest 
amount of pleasure seems to be given at that point of 
the intensity of the sensation which is most conducive 
to clear discrimination, thus affording a basis in feel- 
ing for the best workings of the differentiating func- 
tion of intelligence. 
Duration of /Sensation.—Connected with the inten- 
sity of a sensation may be considered its duration. There 
seems to be a natural rhythm or ebb and flow of feel- 
ing, independent of all the processes operating upon it. 
Physical activity seems to discharge itself in alternating 
pulses. Very short and rapid stimuli interfere with 
this regular recovery and loss, and are unpleasant; 
while the same sensation, long prolonged without 
change, whether of pleasure or pain, becomes dead- 
ened. A stimulus enduring just long enough for the 
mind to respond adequately to it, and then giving away, 
without too abrupt change, to another, seems to afford 
the maximum amount of pleasure. 
2. Dependence of Feeling on Quality.—Feeling is, 
however, ranch more than a matter of bare pleasure or SENSUOUS FEELING. 
253 
pain. Feelings differ qualitatively or in their content 
according to the quality of the sensation. The organic 
sensations, as we saw when studying them, have mueb 
greater value for the emotional life than for the cogni- 
tive ; and in general it may be said that the more value 
a sensation has for knowledge, the less it has for feel- 
ing directly. Thus sensations of sight seem to possess, 
as mere sensation, the least degree of emotional qual- 
ity. The student must be careful, however, to distin- 
guish between the emotional value of a sensation con- 
sidered by itself, and its value when idealized by the 
higher processes. The less emotive power a sensation 
possesses per se, the more it seems capable of taking on 
in complex forms. Thus the organic sensations enter 
very slightly into the more developed forms of feeling, 
while those of sight and hearing are all-important. 
Organic Feelings.—Sensations of the organism serve 
for the most part simply to give us a feeling of gen- 
eral well-being. The feeling of health, of being alive, 
is due to the summation of the various minute feelings 
which the sensations proceeding from each organ pos- 
sess. Feelings of this character are well termed volu- 
minous or massive; they are so pervasive that they 
seem almost to possess spatial characteristics. This 
feeling is much keener in childhood than afterwards. 
Whether this is due to an actual falling-off of emo- 
tional quality, or to the fact that the adult conscious- 
ness is much more occupied with more complex feel- 
ings, it would be difficult to say; but there can be no 
doubt that the sense of “ being alive” is much more vivid 
in childhood than afterwards. Leigh Hunt says that 
when he was a child the sight of certain palings paint- 
ed red gave him keener pleasure than any experience 254 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of manhood. Making allowances for exaggeration, 
this expresses a common experience. 
Characteristics.—This vital sensation remains at all 
periods, however, the substructure of every feeling; 
it is the most permanent and enduring of all feel- 
ings, and any interference with it is sure to produce 
the most disastrous psychical effect. It is the summa- 
tion of the feelings of the workings of the entire or- 
ganism that appears to form the basis of the tempera- 
ments, and which, interwoven with more complex 
states of emotion, constitute mood or emotional tone. 
While it seems impossible that we should have feeling 
and not be conscious of it, it yet appears to be a fact 
that while the healthy workings of the organism give 
us our most fundamental feeling, and that other feel- 
ings are, in a sense, only differentiations of it, we are 
not reflectively conscious of it. In truth, however, 
there is no contradiction, for it is one tiling to possess 
a feeling, and another to make it an object of recogni- 
tion. The healthier the feeling, the more we are ab- 
sorbed in it, and the less we recognize it, even as a feel- 
ing. It is only when the feeling ceases to be healthy, 
when it is due to some abnormal action, that we are 
reflexly conscious of its existence. 
Taste and Smell.—It has already been noticed that 
in taste and smell the emotional side preponderates 
over the cognitive. The latter is more apparent than 
in the organic sensations, however, for the properties 
of the latter we never think of referring beyond the 
organism, while we do speak of the taste of sugar or 
the smell of cologne. Nevertheless both tastes and 
smells are more easily classified as agreeable or disa- 
greeable than from any objective standard. Taste has SENSUOUS FEELING. 
255 
the more immediate capacity for giving pleasure and 
pain, and the feelings arising from it and the organic 
sensations seem to constitute most of the psychical life 
of an infant. Smell is more elusive and subtle in its 
effects, and, by reason of its less degree of grossness, 
enters more readily into higher associations. 
It must be noticed that the organic sensations and 
taste are personal in the narrowest sense, a sense in 
which “ person ” is identified with our own organism, 
distinct from others in space and time. It is only 
one’s own bodily processes which occasion organic feel- 
ing; and a substance must be actually taken into the 
organism through the mouth before it can be tasted. 
Such feelings tend to divide one individual from an- 
other, for their enjoyment by one is either not shared 
with another, or is actually incompatible with such 
sharing. In smell, feeling becomes a whit more objec- 
tive and universal. The odorous object, as a whole, is 
not dissolved in the organism. A number may get 
and enjoy similar feelings from one object. 
Touch.—In touch we see an emotional side mani- 
fested in the fact that we speak of feeling something 
when we come in contact with it. The object which 
stimulates sensations of contact is extra-organic, and 
the feeling is more universal in its nature than any yet 
studied. The tactual qualities which give pleasure are 
smoothness and softness—especially when combined, as 
in velvet, the human skin, etc. Roughness and hard- 
ness, on the other hand, are highly disagreeable, espe- 
cially when combined in the form of harshness. The 
physiological basis of this fact seems to be that a 
smooth, soft surface allows a continuous, uninterrupted 
nervous discharge, while jagged and uneven surfaces 256 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
occasion an intermittent, irregular activity. The feel- 
ing occasioned by running the fingers over sand-paper 
is not unlike that experienced by hearing the filing of 
a saw. 
Muscular Feelings.—The feelings originating from 
muscular sensation occupy a peculiar position between 
the organic sensations, on the one hand, and those of 
sight and touch, on the other. They are due to the 
activity of the body, and hence have a purely personal 
reference, but they are so associated with all other 
senses that they take on the qualities of the latter. 
More especially they are the condition of our reaching 
any end, and hence they become associated with what- 
ever feelings cluster about the attainment of this end. 
Their distinction from organic feelings as purely per- 
sonal seems to be due to the fact that the latter have 
to do wholly with our own passive enjoyment; while 
the former, though originating in ourselves, are accom- 
paniments of our activity, and may extend as far and 
wTide as these activities reach in their effects. What 
we passively enjoy can be enjoyed by ourselves alone ; 
what we actively enjoy may be indefinitely shared. In 
fact, in many cases, as when the good of some other 
person is the proximate end of action, there will be no 
pleasure in the activity to ourselves unless the other 
person is made happy, and thus the end of action is 
reached. 
Use of Language.—There is unconscious!}7 embodied 
a great deal of psychological truth in the terms which 
we use to express various emotional characteristics. 
No matter how high these may be, their names are 
quite generally derived from their sensuous basis. 
Thu3, terms which express immediate personal attrac SENSUOUS FEELING. 
257 
tion or repulsion are derived for the most part from 
the senses of smell and taste. To loathe is much the 
same as to be nauseated at something. Dis-gust is a 
strong term for personal repugnance, and even its ob- 
jective manifestation centres about the curl of the nos- 
trils and of the mouth. The idea in these words seems 
to be that we reject the loathsome or disgusting or 
bitter object, as we would something offensive to stom- 
ach, taste, or smell. Agreeable things, on the other 
hand, are sweet, delicious, fragrant. In general, what 
agrees with us, or is disagreeable, is expressed in terms 
of the lower senses. 
The Use of Language in Higher Feelings.—Terms 
expressive of moral qualities and such as name activi- 
ties are derived rather from touch and muscular activ- 
ity. A person is sharp, acute, or obtuse. He has 
smooth, polished manners, or is rough and coarse. 
Character is firm or yielding. An upright man is said 
to be square. Some persons are called light, while the 
words of others carry weight. Dull persons are gen- 
erally heavy as wTell; harsh people grate upon us, while 
fine traits attract us. Some men are slow, others fast. 
An act is right and of a high character, or is base and 
low. Good elevates a man, bad degrades him. All 
such adjectives show an instinctive feeling that moral 
qualities are connected in some way with personal ac- 
tivity, and that one’s most striking characteristics are 
due to the way in which “one holds himself” towards 
others. Intellectual traits are designated rather by 
terms derived from sight, as clear, bright, sparkling, 
lucid; though even here terms that denote putting 
forth of mental activity are derived from terms of 
muscular action, as penetrating, incisive, etc. 258 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Feelings of Hearing.—Sensations of hearing are, for 
the most part, objectified, and hence lose that purely 
individualistic reference which constitutes their value 
as sensuous feelings. By the very reason of their ob- 
jectification, however, they become centres for those 
more complex forms of feeling which cluster about 
objects. In especial, they constitute the sensuous basis 
of all the enjoyments of language and music. But 
such emotional effects transcend the subject we are 
now considering. The harmony and melody of mu- 
sic, however, although properly complex aesthetic ef- 
fects, seem to have a sensuous aspect, in the fact that 
they find their basis in continued, regularly-recurrent 
nerve discharges. Apart from any process of devel- 
opment, also, slow sounds suggest sorrow, quick ones 
joy and mirth. Sounds get much of their emotional ef- 
fect through their associations with muscular sensation, 
as in the march and the varied forms of the dance. Soft 
tones are melancholy; loud suggest impatient energy. 
Deep tones suggest gravity, dignity ; high ones, unless 
so high as to be shrill, cheerful brightness or levity. 
Very peculiar and indescribable feelings are those due 
to the characteristic quality or tone-color of various in- 
struments, as the flute, organ, violin, bagpipe. Disso- 
nance accompanying prevailing harmony occasions a 
feeling of unrest and longing. 
Feelings of Sight.—In sight, as in hearing, there is 
very little of immediate emotional quality. This very 
fact, of course, indefinitely enlarges the range of emo- 
tions which visual sensations take on through their 
indirect connections. In particular, it is the lack of 
immediate reference to the organism which enables 
feelings of sight as well as of hearing to be the basis SENSUOUS FEELING. 
259 
of aesthetic effects. We may say of feeling, as of 
knowledge, that the more immediate it is—that is, the 
less it takes us beyond what is sensuously present, the 
less developed it is. The more we are absorbed in the 
feeling as such, and the less we are absorbed in the 
object or activity to which the feeling clings, the more 
undefined and undeveloped is the emotion. Sight 
gives so little direct pleasure and pain that it is pre- 
eminently fitted for becoming the vehicle of higher 
enjoyments and sufferings. 
Sensuous Characteristics. — Even visual sensations 
are not wholly free, however, from sensuous appeal to 
feeling. An expanse of light gives pleasure in itself. 
Long-continued darkness is gloomy. A succession of 
cloudy days may give the blues. Black seems mel- 
ancholy, or suggests earnestness; white is cheerful. 
The amount of white mixed with any spectral color 
affects its emotional tone, as may be seen in the differ- 
ence between the effects of violet and lilac, blue and 
sea-blue, red and rose. Colors which are so mixed 
that the spectral colors do not stand forth at all, as gray 
and brown, are very properly called neutral colors, as 
they seem to be wholly indifferent to feeling. It is 
noticeable that, with growing civilization, there is a 
tendency to take less and less delight in the purely 
sensuous quality of colors, and to take refuge in neu- 
tral tints. Grays and browns consequently predomi- 
nate in clothing, house-furnishing, etc. It is quite 
different with uncultivated taste. While a neutral 
tint will allow the emotional qualities of form, de- 
sign, etc., to be still more apparent, not exciting the 
feelings immediately, tastes unable to appreciate the 
subtler enjoyments find keen delight in glaring reds 260 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
and yellows. In the spectral scale, Goethe called the 
colors from red to green, plus, because they excite 
feeling; from green to violet, minus, because they 
soothe or depress it. Yellow seems associated with 
warmth, while pure blue is a cold color. Unrefined 
tastes enjoy the plus and the warm colors. There is, 
however, the possibility of carrying a refinement of 
taste to the point where it becomes fastidiousness, and 
ceases to find any pleasure in those colors which nor- 
mally excite a healthy enjoyment. After a period of 
over-fastidiousness, taste recovers itself by having re- 
course to those brighter and warmer colors which once 
it spurned as barbaric and coarse. 
Application of Theory.—It will be seen that the dis- 
cussion of sensuous feeling is in line with our theory. 
Every sensation represents an activity of the soul. It 
is a re-active and mechanical activity it is true, but none 
the less an activity; as such, we should expect it to 
give rise to pleasure and pain. As the activity of the 
soul in sensation is not purely formal, or confined to 
one mode, but specifies itself in the whole series of 
sensations differing in quality, we should expect to find 
sensuous feelings highly diversified in content. As 
feeling is the individual side of consciousness, we 
should expect to find that the more the sensation be- 
came objectified, the less would it appear as immediate 
feeling, that is, as sensuous feeling. As knowledge is, 
however, one mode of the activity of self, we may ex- 
pect to find that what is lost in the way of direct sen- 
suous feeling we shall find turning up again in the 
form of mediate intellectual feeling. 
Murray (op.cit.), pp. 330-348; Wundt (op.cit.), vol. i., pp. 465-499; Lotze, 
*Microcosmus,” pp. 567-578; Laycock, “Mind and Brain,” vol. ii., pp. 274- SENSUOUS FEELING. 
261 
293; Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 191-201; vol. ii., pt. 1, pp. 88-122; Brau- 
bach, “Psj'chologie des Gefiihls,”pp. 12-39; Nahlowsky, “Das Geluhlsleben,” 
pp. 130-156; Schneider, “Der menschliche Wille, pp. 117-246. 
Upon the temperaments, consult Wundt (op. cit.'), vol. ii., p. 345 ff.; George 
(op. cit.'). pp. 125-150; Ulrici (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 129-136; Braubach (op. 
cit.), pp. 112-140; Yolkmann (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 209-216; Fortlage in “ Acht 
psychologische Vortriigeand Henle, “ Anthropologische Vortrage.” CHAPTER XII. 
FORMAL FEELING. 
Distinction from Sensuous Feeling. — In sensuous 
feeling the emotion clings to the bare presence of the 
sensation itself. The pleasure, indeed, that comes from 
the taste of an orange, the pain arising from a bruise 
of the finger, may become associated with the rest of 
our life; the pleasure of eating the orange may be en- 
hanced by its rarity or by the thought of some one 
from whom it was a gift; the pain of the bruise may 
be increased by the reflection that it will prevent our 
carrying-out some cherished scheme. But the feelings 
in themselves, as sensuous, do not thus take us beyond 
their immediate presence. Their significance is entire- 
ly exhausted in their own intrinsic qualities. The 
feelings which we are now to study are those which 
are concerned with the connecting activity of mind. 
They are psychical experiences which extend beyond 
the intrinsic qualities of the sensation to the emotional 
value which it has from its connection with other ex- 
periences, past or anticipated. 
Formal Feelings.—Snell feelings, taking us beyond 
what is sensuously present, may be classified under two 
heads. While all are due to the fact of connection, 
some are due to the mere mode of connection, with no 
reference to what is connected, while others depend not 
upon the mode of activity, but upon the subject-matter 
connected. The hearing of an unexpected remark, FORMAL FEELING. 
263 
and the news of the death of a friend occasion feelings 
which in their form are alike. Each is due to an ac- 
tivity suddenly appearing which is not in harmony 
with that already existing. In content, however, the 
feelings may be wide-world apart; as far apart as the 
quality of that which is heard. This occasions a dis- 
tinction of feelings into formal and qualitative. It is 
the former which we are now to consider. The formal 
feelings accompany, for the most part, the mechanical 
activities of mind which connect together the various 
past and present elements of psychical life; and the 
qualitative feelings correspond more nearly to the at- 
tentive activity which idealizes these elements and gives 
them their specific significance. But the correspond- 
ence is a general one and must not be pressed too far. 
Feelings of Adjustment.—We have to do, then, with 
the feelings awakened by the form of the activity with- 
out any reference to the material upon which this ac- 
tivity is exerted except so far as that may continue or 
repress the activity. Every activity may, in a certain 
sense, be regarded as one of adjustment, as it is based 
upon a certain stimulus, and is directed towards bring- 
ing itself into conformity with the stimulus, either by 
altering its own condition, or by doing away with the 
stimulus. There will be, accordingly, as many kinds 
of formal feeling as there are forms of adjustment. 
We recognize three general types. There is, first, the 
adjustment which connects or reacts against various 
elements in our present activity, corresponding, upon 
the whole, to simultaneous association. There is, sec- 
ondly, the adjustment which brings into connection 
present and past experiences, corresponding, we may 
say, to successive association. And, thirdly, we have 264 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
feelings depending upon the relation which present ex- 
periences bear to those anticipated in future, feelings 
which are connected with the adjusting activity of atten- 
tion. 
1. Relative Feelings.—Every adjustment involves, of 
course, various elements. These elements stand in vary- 
ing relations to each other. They may agree and allow 
a harmonious adjustment to occur. They may be incom- 
patible, so that they offer some obstacle, so complete that 
it prevents adjustment, or of such a character that the 
adjusting activity must be largely expended in recon- 
ciling the opposed elements. With these variations in 
activity go, of course, variations in feeling. In general 
terms, we have feelings of harmony, of conflict, and of 
reconciliation, or harmony after conflict. When the 
elements are so related that they actually favor the 
adjusting activity, there is harmonious feeling. If the 
mind is stimulated at the same time in such a way 
that two incompatible responses are called for, there 
arises a sense of dis-chord, or of jar. In form these re- 
sulting feelings will be the same, whether the harmony 
or conflict be one of sense elements, of intellectual or 
of moral. 
I. Feelings of Pkesent Adjustment. 
Varieties.—While the feeling, in general, is that of 
the putting forth of energy so as to adjust present fac- 
tors, subordinate forms must be recognized, due to the 
varying relations which these factors bear to each other. 
The student will find an advantage in analyzing these 
types for himself, but a few examples may be given. 
One of the most important feelings is that of exercise 
or the putting forth of activity. If the activity pours 
forth in ready and abundant measure, beating down all FORMAL FEELING. 
265 
resistance, and making use of obstacles only to over- 
come them, there is a feeling of energy, which may 
amount to triumph or exaltation. If the obstacles seem 
too great, if the conflict results in dividing the activity 
so that nothing is or can be accomplished, there is a 
feeling of impotence, which may amount to discourage- 
ment or depression. If the activity appears to be right- 
ly directed, and yet is thwarted by some circumstance 
which seems beyond control, there is the feeling of im- 
patience passing into discontent, if the circumstances 
are continued, or relief \ if they are removed. 
Further Illustrated.—There is a feeling of clearness 
when each element in the activity is appropriately di- 
rected towards its object; each part of the activity not 
only harmonizing with every other, but also assisting 
it, so that the effect of the whole is greatly heightened 
by this mutual furtherance. When each interferes with 
some other, and there is no evident way of reconciling 
the conflict, although this does not amount to entire op- 
position, there is the feeling of confusion. When there 
is conflict of various activities going on, and no resolu- 
tion of them is at hand, there is the feeling of suspense 
or uncertainty, which enters also as one element of the 
feeling of confusion. At the completion of the con- 
flict there may be the feeling of rest or peace; or the 
strife may have been so severe and prolonged that it is 
one of exhaustion. 
When the conflict of activities is decided not by such 
a harmonizing of different elements as allows each to 
be included as a subordinate part in the final activity, 
but by the entire suppression of some one activity, there 
arises a very complex feeling. There is the feeling 
of satisfaction that the exhausting conflict is ended; 266 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
there is the positive feeling of pleasure 'which arises 
from the victory of some one activity, while there is 
also the feeling of pain or loss which comes from the 
repression of some one. There is no specific name for 
this feeling, perhaps because it is so common; but we 
rarely make a decision which is not followed by a mixed 
feeling of content for that which is attained, and regret 
for that which is foregone. As already said, if the con- 
flict is ended, not by the repression of any element, but 
by the harmonious inclusion of all in some comprehen- 
sive activity, there is the feeling of reconciliation, which 
may become joy. 
2. Feelings of Excess of Activity.—Feelings of pres- 
ent adjustment may depend not only upon the relation 
which various present stimuli bear to each other, but 
also upon the extent of the demands which these stimuli 
make upon the mind. The more conflict the better, 
provided the conflict does not become actual opposi- 
tion—that is, provided all the conflicting activities are 
capable of being united in one whole—for such conflict 
only calls forth more activity and results in more com- 
plete adjustment, that is, in more complete develop- 
ment of the self. But the activities may be so long 
continued and so severe as to drain the self of its power 
of action. There results the feeling of fatigue, which 
may, of course, be mental in its causation, as well as 
physical. It is, however, more likely to accompany 
such activities as bear a purely external relation to the 
end sought. Daily manual labor is, for example, gen- 
erally not sought for itself, but only for the wages 
which reward it. The work in itself may be repulsive 
and endured only for the sake of its end. This gives 
rise to the feeling of drudgery. If, on the other hand, FORMAL FEELING. 
267 
the activity is put forth for its own sake, as in technical 
operations, where the working man takes pleasure in 
his skilful performances, or in artistic production, or in 
scientific research, there is a feeling of ease, a feeling 
which approaches very closely to play in its nature. 
Activities accompanied by a feeling of drudgery or 
lack of interest are much more apt to result in fatigue 
than those accompanied by a feeling of play. In fact, it 
may be doubted whether the latter activities, if properly 
alternated, can give rise to any very permanent fatigue. 
3. Feelings of Defect of Activity. — At the other 
end of the scale, lie those feelings resulting from lack 
of sufficient exercise. There is not enough stimulus to 
call forth activity, or else there is not enough energy in 
the individual to respond. In the former case, there is 
the feeling of triviality, of insipidity. In the latter, 
there is the feeling of the blase. In either case, it 
may take the form of feeling that nothing is worth 
while, that all is vanity and vexation of spirit. If 
there is store of energy in the individual, but his sur- 
roundings are such as not to call it forth, there arises 
the feeling of isolation, of being out of joint with 
one’s place or age. If it is hemmed in by external 
obstructions and allowed to find no outlet, there comes 
into existence the feeling of bondage, of slavery. Or 
the activities which are prevented their natural out- 
flow may blindly react against whatever obstructs them, 
and there arises the feeling of injury, of resentment 
and destructive anger, which would sweep out of ex- 
istence all hinderance. 
As we saw so often when studying the activities of the 
II. Feelings Due to Past Experiences. 268 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
mind in knowing, there is no present activity which is 
not modified or influenced in some way by past activities. 
It follows that there is involved in all feelings due to the 
immediate exercise of energy a certain element result- 
ing from previous exercises, and it is this element, with 
the various forms of feeling to which it gives rise, that 
we must now study. First, it may be noticed that 
every past experience may be more or less perfectly 
reconstructed in memory, and the feeling which ac- 
companied it thereby revived, though in vaguer and 
slighter measure. There are the pleasures and the 
pains of memory. But as these are only less vivid 
copies of original feelings, we need not stop to consider 
them. The remaining feelings of this class may be 
classified (1) as feelings due to relative ease of transi- 
tion from old to new experience; (2) feelings due to 
the relative familiarity or, (3) novelty of experience; 
(4) feelings of contrast, (5) and of continuance. 
1. Feelings of Transition. — Old experiences give 
way to new ones with various degrees of resistance. 
This ease of transition varies greatly in different indi- 
viduals and enters largely into the determination of 
disposition and temperament. Where there is a dispo- 
sition to cling to the line of past experience, and to re- 
sist the introduction of much novelty, there is a firm 
disposition, which in exaggerated form constitutes ob- 
stinacy. When but little opposition is offered to the 
entrance of changing experience there is a yielding, 
pliable, or easy nature, which may become volatile. The 
relative amount of resistance offered to the introduc- 
tion of new experience may be an important factor in 
determining the will. A stable disposition may give 
rise to a firm will; one accessible to change to a weak FORMAL FEELING. 
will, but this by no means necessarily follows. While 
dispositions are different in different individuals, yet 
there is no one who can wholly shut himself within the 
old; and no one who can make himself wholly open to 
the new. This occasions certain varieties of feeling 
which are found in all. 
Varieties.—When past experiences tend to thrust 
themselves pretty constantly into the present, there 
arises the feeling of dwelling or lingering upon a sub- 
ject, which in its extreme aspect is brooding. If the 
dwelling is upon some supposed wrong done, it takes 
the form of sullenness. If upon some past agreeable 
experiences in contrast with present painful ones, it is 
melancholy. “ Sorrow’s crown of sorrows is remem- 
bering happier things.” The opposite feeling, induced 
by a pleasant transition, is gladness; while opposed to 
sullenness, which looks for occasion of pain, is cheerful- 
ness, which is the feeling which arises from a constant 
tendency to find pleasure in the change of experience. 
The effect of increase of experience is to moderate in 
both directions the feelings due to change of experi- 
ence. A child finds more joy in mere change of ex- 
perience than an adult, while his grief at disagreeable 
change is much more poignant and acute, if not so en- 
during. 
2. Feelings of Familiarity.—Aside from the change 
which may itself give rise to feeling, we have feelings 
which originate in the more definite relations which 
past experience bears to the present. In studying as- 
sociation, we saw that it turns largely upon the two 
factors of familiarity and novelty. A feeling of famil- 
iarity, or of likeness between the present and the past 
experience, is pleasant because the energy which occa- 270 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
sions it is put forth in a well-worn groove, and it re- 
quires no overcoming of obstacle and resistance. In 
a very general sense, it is the feeling of comfort', the 
feeling that we are “at home” in our surroundings, 
whether physical, intellectual, or social. On the other 
hand, a feeling of familiarity may be unpleasant, be- 
cause the experience is so customary that it can be 
performed without the putting forth of much activity. 
A feeling may consequently arise very similar to that 
induced by defective activity; a feeling which takes 
the form of ennui or monotony, of staleness. We are 
bored instead of being comfortable. 
3. Feelings of Novelty.—A feeling of novelty, on the 
other hand, is pleasurable in so far as it affords a new 
channel for the exercise of energy. It opens a fresh 
outlet for action. The forces which would be other- 
wise penned in, or only half used in repeating actions 
become habitual, find full scope for exercise. This 
feeling may take various forms. It may be one of 
brightness, or of buoyancy, or of recreation, as opposed 
to staleness, or ennui. If, however, the new experi- 
ence is not easily reconciled with the old, if it requires 
a division or conflict of energy, the feeling will be 
painful. The feeling may be one of strangeness, of 
discomfort; or, if it is of such a nature as to reflect 
upon ourselves, of rawness and inexperience. If the 
new experience is accompanied with a feeling of our 
inability to cope with it, there is the feeling of terror, 
or fright. 
In genera], it may be said that the maximum of 
pleasurable feeling is occasioned by a combination of 
the new and the customary. Such a combination al- 
lows the mind to feel at home, as dealing with material FORMAL FEELING. 
271 
over which it has command, while it also stimulates it 
to fresh and unworn activities. The pleasure derived 
from hearing music on its formal side may be consid- 
ered an illustration of the advantages of a union of the 
recurrent and the novel. One factor satisfies the mind ; 
the other stimulates it and keeps it on the alert. This 
corresponds to what is found to be the best condition of 
intellectual action; not bare identity nor extreme dif- 
ference calls forth knowledge, but the identical in the 
midst of difference. 
4. Effects of Contrast.— There must be a certain 
amount of change, or else no activity is called forth, 
and where there is no activity, there is no feeling. On 
the other hand, there must not be complete breach of 
continuity, for then the energy will be expended at 
random and unsuccessfully. Progressive change, or 
contrast, is fitted to awaken pleasurable feelings. The 
following facts, among many which might be selected, 
illustrate this: When we are extremely hungry, food 
that would otherwise be indifferent or repulsive is very 
agreeable. An object which is agreeable is still more 
so if it finds the soul at rest, and stimulates it to some 
action. Moderate transitions are generally more pleas- 
ant than abrupt. The climax of a drama is not thrust 
upon us, but is led up to, and then the tension is gradu- 
ally relieved. Unpleasant effect, however, is often best 
relieved by sudden contrast, so Shakespeare alternates 
the scenes of the fool in Lear and the grave-digger in 
Hamlet with those of extreme tragedy. Even in such 
cases, however, there is no complete breach of con- 
tinuity. The character of a feeling is fixed largely by 
its place in the succession of ideas. A joke is not 
funny in the midst of exalted religious feeling; nor 272 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the sound of revelry enjoyable to one in deep mourn- 
5. Effects of Continuance.—On the other hand,, the ef- 
fect of the continuance of any feeling without the in- 
troduction of some new element deadens the feeling. 
This is what we should expect, for our store of activity 
being limited, the activity will exhaust itself if not fre- 
quently stimulated afresh. Hence pleasures of the 
same kind continued without interruption cease to 
please. Pain loses some of its painfulness if not rein- 
forced by fresh stimuli. Only those games continue 
to be enjoyable which offer large opportunity for the 
introduction of the unexpected. Play owes much of 
its pleasure to the fact that it does not confine action 
to any definite line, but allows it constant variety. The 
use of artificial stimulants is constant witness to the 
psychological law that continuance in any state un- 
interruptedly is unhealthy and hence unpleasurable, 
and that if no natural variety offers itself, unnatural 
will be sought. 
But, on the other hand, we must not lose sight of 
the fact that actions unpleasant at first, because not 
conducive to the welfare of the organism, may become 
agreeable if persisted in. The action causes a modifi- 
cation of the organ involved, and causes it to become 
finally adjusted to something originally repulsive. The 
finding of enjoyment in reading by one to whom books 
were once tedious, and the pleasures which tobacco and 
liquor users find in their habits equally illustrate this 
law. If the change of the organ is such as occasions 
the development of the whole organism, permanent 
pleasure is gained; it is possible, however, to adjust 
one set of organs, only upon condition that the organ- FORMAL FEELING. 
273 
ism as a whole is put out of healthy adjustment to its 
surroundings, and in such cases the temporary pleas- 
ure is necessarily followed by permanent break-down. 
This is true, of course, not only of physical actions, but 
of all coming in the moral sphere. 
III. Feeling of Adjustment Directed Towards tiie 
Future. 
All of our activities, though based upon past expe- 
riences, have their end in the future, and there are 
certain feelings which arise from the relations existing 
between the end aimed at and the activities put forth. 
In a general way, the typical feeling of this class is 
expectancy, which is the feeling that accompanies the 
stretching forward of the mind. Its acute form is eager- 
ness. If the self is much interested in the end towards 
which it is directed this feeling takes the form of hope 
or anxiety; hope if the expectation is that the result 
will conform to one’s desires, anxiety or dread in the 
reverse case. Courage is the feeling with which one 
faces a future to which he feels equal; timidity is the 
feeling of inability to cope with the expected end. 
Active Feelings.—The activity directed towards the 
future may not merely passively await the expected 
event, but may, as it were, go forth to meet it. This 
in its most general form takes the form of a feeling of 
pressure, of effort and of striving. If the action is to 
reach the end, the feeling is one of seeking. If the 
seeking is intense it is yearning. If the striving is to 
avoid the expected end, there is a feeling of aversion. 
There is also a class of feelings which accompany the 
end itself. There is feeling of success or failure; of 
satisfaction, or of disappointment. PSYCHOLOGY. 
Summary. 
Feeling is an accompaniment of activity. It is the 
self finding its own nature in every activity of the soul. 
In each the self finds itself either hindered or fur- 
thered ; either repressed or developed, and in every 
activity there is accordingly pleasure or pain. As no 
activity is entirely at random, but has certain connec- 
tions and ends, feeling is an accompaniment of adjust- 
ment, of what in knowledge we learned to know as ap- 
perception. All adjustment that accomplishes itself 
gives rise to pleasure; all failure to adjust, or mis-ad- 
justment, to pain. The adjusting activity is called forth 
by stimuli, and, under the following circumstances there 
is lack of adjustment or improper adjustment with con- 
sequent pain : when the stimuli relatively to the energy 
to be put forth are (a) too numerous, too conflicting or 
too powerful; and (b) too few, too much alike, or too 
weak (perhaps entirely absent). The right combi- 
nation of unity and variety calls forth the best ener- 
gy and the most successful adjustment, and hence the 
greatest pleasure. 
Murray (op. cit.'), pp. 378-385; McCosh (op. cit.), pp. 115-148; Bascom, 
“ Principles of Psychology,” pp. 249-255; Bain, “ Emotions and Will,” pp. 
63-93, 145-198; Brown, “Philosophy of Mind,” vol. ii., pp. 31-193, 272-313; 
Braubach (op. cit.), pp. 95-112; Nahlowsky (op. cit.), pp. 85-129; Ulrici (op. 
cit.), vol. ii., pp. 182-199; Beneke, “ Psychologische Skizzen,” vol. i., pp. 45-91. CHAPTER XIII. 
DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
Distinction from Formal.—We have been consid- 
ering feelings so far as they are the result of the form 
of the activity which they accompany, without refer- 
ence to the object of the activity, except so far as this 
influences the form. We may feel confused, or bored, 
or anxious about almost anything. But in thus con- 
sidering feeling we have made abstraction of the fact 
that activities are always called forth by, and are di- 
rected towards, certain objects. There is, in a concrete 
sense, no such thing as a purely formal activity; there 
is no activity without a content. The self does not 
realize or develop itself in empty ways, but in specific, 
definite modes. Our activities are due to the objects 
which come within the range of our experience, and 
hence the feelings excited necessarily cluster about 
these objects. The object and the feeling cannot be 
separated; they are factors of the same consciousness. 
Connection with Apperception.—This relation of the 
feeling to the object is sometimes spoken of as if it 
were due to the law of association which connects a 
feeling with something which awakens the feeling. 
But this does not express the whole truth. The con- 
nection is not an external one of the feeling with the 
object, but an internal and intimate one; it is feeling 
of the object. The feeling loses itself in the object. 
Thus we say that food is agreeable, that light is pleas- 276 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ant; or on a higher plane,that the landscape is beauti- 
ful, or that the act is right. Certain feelings of value 
or worth we attribute spontaneously to the object. It 
is the same fact seen on the side of emotion, that we 
have already seen on the side of knowledge. An ob- 
ject becomes intellectually significant to us when the 
self reads its past experience into it. But as this past 
experience is not colorlessly intellectual, but is dyed 
through and through with interests, with feelings of 
worth, the emotional element is also read into the ob- 
ject, and made a constituent element of it. The object 
becomes saturated with the value for the self which the 
self puts into it. It is a universal law of the mind in 
apperception that it must objectify itself. The world 
thus comes to be a collection of objects possessing emo- 
tional worth as well as intellectual. 
Mere Feeling and Interest. — We may, then, distin- 
guish between mere feeling and developed feeling—in- 
terest. Mere feeling is a mental affection in its isola- 
tion. A pain pricks me; a noise startles me; a picture 
or landscape delights me; a comprehensive philosophi- 
cal or religious idea awakens me ; a moral crisis arouses 
my whole being—in each of these cases we may con- 
sider the feeling, the pain, the alarm, the delight, etc., 
in itself apart from its connections. This is bare feel- 
ing. But taken concretely the feeling is integrated 
with the object which arouses it and with the action 
which accompanies it. This integration is slighter the 
more sensuous the feeling—as of the pin-prick — and 
more important the “ higher ” the feeling. Feeling, so 
far as it is taken out of its isolation and put in relation 
to objects of knowledge or ideals of action, is interest. 
Interest has three factors. First, as feeling, it implies DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
277 
a certain excitation of the self in which there is satisfac- 
tion. Secondly, this satisfaction is not in the mere feeling, 
but in some activity connected with the feeling. Third- 
ly, this activity has to do with some object. The mere 
feeling is exhausted in itself. An interest attaches to 
an object. We are interested in something. This neces- 
sarily, for the activity takes us beyond the feeling. 
Varieties of Qualitative Feeling. — It follows that 
there will be as many kinds of qualitative feeling as 
there are objects into connection with which experi- 
ence has been extended. Our feeling for a broom is 
not the same as our feeling for a rose; our feeling for 
a geometrical proposition not the same as our feeling 
for the spectrum ; our feeling for Abyssinia not the 
same as our feeling for our own country; our feeling 
for Alexander the Great not the same as our feeling 
for our most intimate friend. Each stands in a differ- 
ent relation to the self. There is, as it were, a distinct 
side of the self found in each, or if not a distinct side, 
then more of the self is projected into one than into 
another. There will be, therefore, as many varieties 
of qualitative feeling as there are objects of knowledge 
or ends of action. 
Treatment of Qualitative Feeling. — Yet it is possi- 
ble to form a general classification of feelings in their 
quality of interests. Interests may be classified, first, 
on the basis of their connection with objects, according 
to the greater or less range of these objects. As our 
ideas come to include more and more in their scope, 
the feelings integrated with them get a similar exten- 
sion. While the mere feeling is particular, because 
isolated, interests are universal through their connec- 
tion with the content of ideas. Furthermore, the PSYCHOLOGY. 
mere feeling is of necessity vague. It has no rela- 
tions which define it to intelligence. But every act 
necessarily brings matters to a head, to a focus. 
The sight of a beautiful flower may awaken a vague 
shock or a diffused wave of emotion; the feelings 
connected with the attempt to paint it, or scientifi- 
cally to analyze it, will get a limited, distinct char- 
acter through this associated activity. Secondly, 
then, interests are defined feelings. We shall study 
the development of qualitative feeling therefore: I. 
As growing more universal; II. As growing 
more definite. These are the lines along which 
feeling normally develops, but as variations arise, 
we have: III. Abnormal feelings; IY. Conflict of 
feelings. 
I. Growth of Feeling in Universality. — Our first 
feelings may be called purely personal, and personality 
is here confined to one’s organism. Such are the feel- 
ings accompanying the various forms of bodily activity, 
of the appetites, of muscular action, of the eye and ear, 
etc. But the self is something more than a body. It 
enlarges itself, grows wider and deeper with every ex- 
perience, and with every enlargement of the self must 
go a corresponding increase of the scope of feeling. 
We have to study a few aspects of the growth. We 
shall consider (1) the widening; (2) the deepening of 
feeling. 
1. The Widening of Feeling.—Our first feelings are 
limited, as already said, to those connected with bodily 
activity—to sensuous affection. The first step in the 
widening of feeling comes about through 
(1.) The Transference of Emotion.—All that comes 
within the range of one apperceptive act will be colored DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
279 
by the feeling which immediately and intrinsically be- 
longs to only one factor of the act. The pleasure, at 
first purely sensuous, which the child gets from his 
food, becomes extended to his nurse, to the utensils 
employed, etc., and thus becomes somewhat objectified. 
The pleasure is no longer purely personal. The child 
does not feel pleasure in his nurse because she is con- 
sciously recognized as the source of his pleasure in food- 
taking, but the feeling is instinctively transferred to her 
as the child’s range of experience is widened to include 
her. There is no limit to this widening of emotion 
through increase of factors involved in the same act. 
The result, of course, may be trivial and accidental, as 
when the feeling relates to some memento; but if the 
various factors of the act have some necessary internal 
relation to each other, it may be important and endur- 
ing. A child’s feeling for his parents, for example, is 
largely the result of this widening of feeling through 
transference. Their connection with his wdiole life on 
all its sides is so intimate that something becomes trans- 
ferred to them out of almost every experience. 
(2.) Symbolism of Feeling.—Feeling is at first trans- 
ferred to include that which is directly involved in 
the same apperceptive act with that which originally 
awakens the feeling, but in its growth it is transferred 
to that which is also symbolically connected. The 
word “ home ” symbolizes great ranges of emotion. 
The sight of a flag calls up the deepest and most ear- 
nest feelings of patriotism ; a crucifix may stir religious 
emotion to its very depths. In such cases there has 
been no direct transference by the inclusion of the 
same factors in one act of perception. The transfer- 
ence is due to the idealizing action of imagination. 280 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Just as any intellectual conception tends to be em- 
bodied in a concrete sensuous image, so our deepest 
sentiments are clustered about some object which may 
symbolize and thus unify feeling otherwise vague and 
scattered. All the familiar objects of our life thus be- 
come saturated with more or less of emotional interest 
of which we are hardly conscious till some break in 
our experience causes it to discharge itself. 
(3.) Universal Feelings.—Feelings originating through 
this operation, however, are still more or less contin- 
gent and accidental. They extend somewhat beyond 
the immediate self to its objective and more universal 
relations, yet the particular form which they take is 
dependent to a large degree upon unessential elements 
of experience. It happens that the self in its develop- 
ment comes in contact with objects which it thus sur- 
charges with its own interests, but these particular 
forms are not absolutely necessary to the development 
of the self. There are some relations, however, with- 
out which the soul would remain forever undeveloped 
and unrealized, a mere bundle of potential capacities. 
There are, in other words, universal and essential realms 
of experience in which the self must find itself, in or- 
der to be a self at all. There thus originate classes of 
feeling universal in their nature. 
Classes of Universal Feelings.—Speaking very broad- 
ly it may be said that without relation to things and to 
persons the self would not be realized. It is not that 
the self realizes itself by means of these relations, but 
that its realization takes the form of these relations. 
The universe of known objects is, as we have seen, the 
objective side of self. But in the world of things the 
self does not find itself wholly manifested. They at DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
281 
most are but things, while it is a person. Without 
them it is true that there would be no development, 
but they cannot furnish complete development. This 
can occur only through personal relations. It is only 
in a soul that the soul finds itself completely reflected; 
it is only through relations to conscious individuals 
that one becomes himself truly a conscious individual. 
Since feeling is always a feeling of self, of the hinderance 
or furtherance of self - development through activity, 
and since the self is developed in virtue of its relations 
with things and with persons, it follows that there are 
two kinds of universal feeling, impersonal, and personal 
or social. 
Divisions of Impersonal Feelings.—Impersonal feel- 
ings may be subdivided into two classes. The universe 
of objects, through relations to which the mind is real- 
ized, may be regarded as actual or as ideal, and these 
originate accordingly intellectual and (Esthetic feelings. 
There are the sentiments which spring from or answer 
to our desire for intellectual satisfaction ; and there are 
those which are occasioned by our need of aesthetic 
gratification. Each of these classes will be considered, 
hereafter, and so it need now only be mentioned that 
these feelings do not concern two wholly different 
spheres, but two aspects of the same sphere. Objects 
may be felt as presenting meaning, and as stimulating 
to the search for meaning ; that is, they may be felt as 
bearing some relation to each other. The feelings 
which gather about the mutual relations of objects to 
each other are intellectual. Objects may also be felt as 
embodying beauty and as stimuli to a search for beauty 
and for its creation—that is, objects may be felt to bear 
some relation to an ideal. Feelings which cluster about 282 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the relations of objects, not to each other, but to an 
ideal, are aesthetic. 
Special Forms of Universal Feelings.—The concrete 
forms of (a) intellectual, (b) aesthetic, and (c) personal 
feelings will be studied hereafter. Attention must now 
be called to the fact that they are three progressive 
stages of the widening of feeling. In intellectual feel- 
ing we get beyond the immediate presence of the sen- 
sation ; we get beyond the more or less accidental rela- 
tion of self to objects into which it transfers, irradiates, 
and reflects its own feelings; we get into those feel- 
ings which are due to the connection of objects with 
each other, and which have, therefore, no immediate 
relation to the individual self. They are the feelings 
which are due to the development of the universal side 
of self. In aesthetic feeling we advance beyond this, 
and feel the relation which some experience of ours 
bears to an ideal, which is conceived as universal, per- 
manent, and out of the reach of individual desires and 
impulses. The self finds itself realized in what ap- 
pears at first as not-self. It is taken beyond its limi- 
tation to its immediate sensuously-present experience, 
and transferred to a realm of enduring and indepen- 
dent relations. It marks also an advance beyond in- 
tellectual feeling, for the feeling of worth or valpe is 
immediately included in all aesthetic experience, as it is 
not in intellectual. 
Social Feeling.—In social feeling, we merge our 
private life in the wider life of the community, and, 
in so doing, immensely transcend our immediate self 
and realize our being in its widest way. In knowl- 
edge we take the universe of objects into ourselves; in 
aesthetic perception and creation we take the universe DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
283 
of ideal worths into ourselves; in social life, we make 
to be an element of our being the universe of personal 
and spiritual relations. Only thus, in any true sense, 
do we live the life of a developed personality at all, 
and thus it is that this realm of experience is the 
widest and most varied upon its emotional side. 
Finally, feeling finds its absolutely universal expres- 
sion in religious emotion, which is the finding or real- 
ization of self in a completely realized personality, 
which unites in itself truth, or the complete unity of 
the relations of all objects; beauty, or the complete 
unity of all ideal values; and rightness, or the com- 
plete unity of all persons. The emotion which ac- 
companies the religious life is that which accompa- 
nies the completed activity of ourselves; the self is real- 
ized, and finds its true life in God. In sensuous feeling 
we find our self expressed in organic processes; in intel- 
lectual feeling we find our self expressed in the objec- 
tive relations of the world ; in aesthetic feeling we feel 
our self expressed in ideal values; in social feeling we 
find our self expressed in persons; in religious feeling 
we find our self expressed in God. We feel our self 
identified, one in life, with the ultimate, universal re- 
ality. 
2. Deepening of Emotional Disposition.—The sec- 
ond element in the universalizing of feeling is its 
deepening. Feeling not only widens by extension to 
larger ranges of experience, but it also grows more in- 
tense in itself. A child’s feeling is quite fickle and 
superficial. It is easily excited, and as easily appeased 
or transformed. There is no stability of emotional 
life. Fixation of feeling is as foreign to a child as fix- 
ation of attention. Every adult, however, has perma- 284 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
nent and deeply founded modes of emotional response. 
He has an emotional character as well as an intellect- 
ual. Hot all objects excite feelings equally ; some are 
relatively indifferent, and others affect him to the 
depths of his being. Feeling returns upon itself, and 
forms a disposition. 
Process of Deepening.—Some of the steps of the 
process may be considered. First there is increasing 
adaptation for emotion in a certain direction. Every 
exercise modifies the organ used in a certain way, and 
leaves it in a condition to act again in a similar di- 
rection more easily. The act of attention or memory, 
which was at first difficult, becomes easy with rep- 
etition, and the result is that feeling moves along 
that groove rather than elsewhere. Feeling which 
originally was diffused and superficial, tending to at- 
tach itself slightly everywhere, becomes concentrated 
and deepened. Less stimulus is henceforth required to 
call out the feeling in this direction. A child who con- 
stantly indulges in spiteful acts towards others, finds 
a constantly lessening provocation sufficient to induce 
anger. So with benevolence or regret, or any emo- 
tional characteristic. 
Emotional Disposition.—The result of this develop- 
ment, through repeated and frequent experiences, is 
that there comes to be formed certain permanent groups 
of emotional responses which color the person’s char- 
acter. Just as, in the intellectual life, the frequent oc- 
currence of any act of apperception leads not only to 
an easier recurrence of the same act, but to the forma- 
tion of an apperceptive organ, which tends to appre- 
hend experiences of that nature rather than others, so 
channels of feeling are worn along which the emotions DEVELOPMENT OP QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
285 
all tend to discharge themselves. The individual forms 
dispositions, organs of feeling. His emotional life be- 
comes organized in certain ways. It is these emotional 
dispositions which, taken under the control of will and 
made subservient to certain lines of conduct, consti- 
tute character. 
Idealization and Detention.—It will be evident that 
the widening of feeling corresponds to the idealizing 
activities of apperception, while its deepening is analo- 
gous to retention. Feeling becomes wide as it extends 
over more comprehensive ranges of objects of experi- 
ence; it becomes deep as it returns into the self or 
subject, and is organized into its very emotional struct- 
ure. The two processes are also related to each other 
as the corresponding intellectual processes. Each re- 
quires the other for its own development. Religious 
and moral feelings, which are the widest of all, are 
also, when genuine, the deepest. Being the widest, 
there is no experience which does not involve them 
to a certain extent, and the result is that every activity 
performed strengthens in some way the feeling in that 
special direction. Where a feeling is deepened and 
intensified at the expense of its comprehensiveness, 
when a narrow feeling is dwelt upon and given prom- 
inence, the result is its isolation, a split in our nature 
and resulting unhealthy character and action. Healthy 
feeling deepens only as it widens. 
II. Growth in Definiteness of Feeling.—Along with 
the growth of feeling in comprehensiveness and in 
depth, goes a growth in definiteness, that is, in dis- 
tinctness of content. Feeling, when undeveloped, is 
exceedingly vague and diffuse. But it has already 
been noticed that growth of feeling in definiteness 286 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
depends upon its connection with the will, with ends 
of action. Objects are constantly becoming, through 
their connection with feeling, springs to action. This 
process reacts upon the feeling and makes it more 
definite. We have just seen how wider ranges of ex- 
perience are takon into the emotional realm. We have 
now to see that, when so included, they render feeling 
specific or organized. 
Illustration.—A child, for example, eats an orange 
for the first time. This action gratifies his organic nat- 
ure and occasions pleasure. This pleasure is hence- 
forth an integral part of his conception of an orange. 
But this idea of the orange as agreeable now becomes 
a spring to future activity. The procuring and eating 
of oranges is now one motive to action. The result is 
that the organic feeling of pleasure which were other- 
wise exceedingly vague now becomes definite; it gath- 
ers about this special line of action. In our entire 
emotional life feeling is differentiating itself and be- 
coming distinct in just this way. Nothing in our men- 
tal life is so impalpable, so hard to grasp, as feeling 
which has not become distinct through connection with 
some specific end of action. 
Differentiation of Interests.—There thus arises a 
differentiation of interests. Every object that comes 
within our experience gets some emotional coloring, as 
it helps or hinders that experience. It thus gains a 
special and unique interest of its own. We have al- 
ready had occasion to mention what diverse forms these 
interests may take (page 277). It is only necessary now 
to mention in addition that an object, as soon as it has 
become interesting, becomes an end of action in itself. 
It may be food in general, or some special form of DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
287 
food; it may be power, physical or political; it may 
be knowledge, technical or of some line of science; it 
may be money or fame or influence. And each of 
these ends may thus subdivide itself into thousands of 
more specific forms, depending upon the individual 
himself. As the end becomes more specific, the feel- 
ing connected with it becomes more definite. 
Two Forms of Definite Feeling.—Of the feelings 
thus differentiated, by virtue of their association with 
specific ends of action, two forms may be recognized. 
As the feeling connected with the experience may be 
either pleasurable or painful, so the end may be felt as 
desirable or as hateful. Feeling thus specifies itself into 
likes and dislikes, loves and hates. Any object what- 
ever may become an object of love or of hatred, though 
it is usual to restrict these terms to higher objects. 
The generic term expressing the relation of feeling 
to definite objects is affection. We have affection of 
some kind, accordingly, for every element coming 
within our experience. Love or liking alone is a pos- 
itive spring to action ; it tends to create or produce 
the object needed to satisfy the affection. Hate is de- 
structive, and tends to put out of the way all which is 
felt as hindering the realization of self. 
Definiteness and Universality.—Aside from extrinsic 
and accidental sources of affection for objects of expe- 
rience, it is possible to recognize certain general groups 
of likings, fixed by the growth of feeling in universal- 
ity. Universality does not mean mere broadness; it 
means closer and more comprehensive relations with 
self. It means the enlarging of the interests of self to 
recognize more and more as identified with self. It 
is in no way opposed, therefore, to growth of definite- 288 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ness of feeling. Our loves and hatreds, our affections, 
become more definite as our feelings correspond to 
wider growths of the soul. ISTo one would speak of 
loving very definitely something which satisfied the 
narrower activities of self—the organic, as food and 
drink. One loves a beautiful work of art more dis- 
tinctly than he does a proposition in geometry; and 
he loves a person more than either; while the only 
perfectly definite object of love can be alone the ab- 
solutely ideal self; the absolutely universalized per- 
sonality, or God. It will be noticed, therefore, that 
definiteness of feeling must be discriminated from in- 
tensity of feeling. It often happens that the more 
intense a feeling is, as an appetite, the less definite 
it is. 
Love as Completely Qualitative Feeling. — It was 
shown, in the early part of this chapter, that qualita- 
tive feeling originates in the objectification of self; it 
is the internal side of this objectification. It follows 
that feeling must take upon itself the form of liking 
or love. Liking is essentially an active feeling; it is 
the outgoing of the soul to an object. It is the giving 
up of the immediate or personal self, and its fixation 
upon something which is beyond the immediate self. 
It is somewhat so in the lowest likings—the likings for 
food and drink; for these are affections for something 
which are necessary to develop the body; likings for 
something of which it is not immediately in posses- 
sion. The fact is more clearly shown, however, as we 
rise in the scale of likings, and it finds its complete 
illustration in the fact that moral and religious love 
require a complete surrender of one’s particular and 
subjective interests, with devotion to what is regarded DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
289 
as the permanent and universal, the thoroughly objec- 
tive, self. 
III. Abnormal Feelings.—Before passing on to the 
concrete forms of qualitative feeling, we must notice 
the principles upon which abnormal or morbid feel- 
ings are based. All natural, healthy feeling is ab- 
sorbed in the object or in the action. Healthy feel- 
ing never has an independent existence in conscious- 
ness. Even sense-feelings are absorbed. The pleasure 
of eating an orange seems a part of the orange. The 
pleasure which we derive from healthy bodily existence 
and activity we are not reflectively conscious of (page 
254), but it is the sense of life itself. All other feelings, 
as we have seen, cluster about objects, and are lost in 
the objects; or they serve as springs to action, in the 
form of affections. As Mr. Martineau says, feelings 
are mere functions of an integral life, and there is an 
inevitable penalty attached to every attempt to detach 
them from this position, and live upon some particular 
order of feeling. 
Self-conscious Feeling.—Feeling is unhealthy, there- 
fore, when set free from its absorption in tho object 
or in the end of action, and given a separate existence 
in consciousness. We see this in the case of bodily 
disease or fatigue, when alone we are conscious of the 
separate existence of any organic feeling; and we see 
it in the higher sentiments. Feelings of knowledge 
are normally lost in the objects known; aesthetic feel- 
ings, in the beautiful object created or contemplated ; 
moral feelings, in the outgoing activity which the af- 
fection for them induces. Normal feelings, in short, 
are regarded as real values in the objects which excite 
them, or exist only as springs to action; they subserve 290 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
conduct. Cut loose from their connections, they occa- 
sion what is called “ self-consciousness,” in a bad sense 
of the term, when the individual is unduly conscious 
of the reference which feelings have to him as an indi- 
vidual. True self-consciousness, as we have learned to 
see, is objectified in ideas and actions; and it is only 
when the feelings are separated from their proper ob- 
jective and volitional position, and are made indepen- 
dent factors in consciousness, that the “ self-conscious- 
ness,” which is the mark of an undue interest in some 
form of one’s own special and peculiar characteristics, 
arises. There may be, of course, as many degenerate 
forms of feeling, that is, of “ self-consciousness,” as 
there are normal forms. 
IY. Conflict of Feeling.—All isolation of feeling is 
not only unhealthy in itself, but leads to conflict of 
feelings. We have already noticed some forms of con- 
flicting feelings, so far as these are due to the form of 
activity (page 264). We have now to notice that there 
is a more or less permanent conflict of feelings result- 
ing from the opposition of some particular individual 
interest to some more universal one. When we were 
studying the development of qualitative feeling as in- 
creasing in universality and definiteness, we were study- 
ing its normal laic. As we have just seen, feeling may 
also be abnormal, that is to say, not increase in univer- 
sality and definiteness. The feelings of an individual, 
instead of centring more and more upon objects which 
constitute the pain and pleasure of all, may be concen- 
trated more and more upon such as concern his purely 
personal self. Instead of being made springs to ac- 
tions which will take him outside of himself, he may 
dwell upon the feelings as states of his own private DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
291 
consciousness, and be led only to such actions as have 
reference to his own particular enjoyment. But as 
this individual has necessarily a universal as well as a 
particular side, this results in a breach of his activities, 
and consequent conflict of feeling. 
Illustration.—Take, for example, one who has what 
we may call an abnormal organic consciousness; one 
who has learned to pay attention to his own bodily 
feelings, and to make them the end of action, instead of 
regarding them as mere tokens of the well-being of his 
organism. Such a one has isolated these feelings, and, 
instead of paying attention to them so far as they re- 
late to his own true development, he makes them an 
end in themselves. Such, for example, is the case with 
a voluptuary; such is the case with one who, for the 
satisfaction of his own feelings, has formed the alco- 
holic habit. The gratification of these interests un- 
doubtedly results in pleasure. Pleasure always accom- 
panies every development, every expansion of self, and 
such an individual is indulging the particular, private 
side of himself. Yet, even in purely organic matters, 
he has a universal side. His body should conform to 
law, and law is universal. The result of a constant 
neglect of this universal side is pain, disease, possibly 
destruction of the organism. In gratifying the purely 
particular side of his nature, he gets pleasure; but, as 
this gratification disorganizes the universal side, that 
which connects him with the laws of the universe, he 
gets ultimate pain. There is conflict of feeling. 
Illustration in Social Feeling.—Or, upon a higher 
plane, suppose that one has made the pleasures which 
come from money-getting an end in themselves; sup- 
pose he has isolated them from his integral being, and 292 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
makes his life to consist in their gratification. From 
such a course, since he thus manifests and furthers 
one side of his being, he undoubtedly gets pleasure. 
Yet, in so doing, he violates the universal side of his 
being—the law which connects him with his fellow- 
men. As the well-being of his organism consists in 
conformity to the law of the organism, so the true 
■well-being of his social nature consists in conformity 
with the law of the identification of himself and of his 
interests with other men. So far as he subordinates 
them and their interests to his own particular wants, 
he is neglecting and disintegrating the universal side 
of himself, and the result must be pain. There is, 
again, necessary conflict of feeling. 
Twofold Conflict.—Yet it will be noticed that there 
is a difference in the two cases. In the first case, the 
individual must ultimately feel particular pains of dis* 
ease, etc., just as he originally felt particular pleasures. 
In the latter case, unless his greed for his own private 
pleasures goes so far as to bring him in contact with 
social law which has become physical—the courts and 
their penalty—he may not feel any such particular 
pains. What he feels is rather loss, dissatisfaction, 
misery. Ilis feelings of pain are rather negative than 
positive; he feels the loss of higher pleasure, rather 
than of actual pain. There may be, therefore, a con- 
flict between particular pleasures and pains, or a con- 
flict between pleasures and a higher general feeling of 
well-being, whose loss may be occasioned by the attain- 
ment of particular pleasures. This leads us to recog- 
nize a distinction between pleasure and happiness. 
Pleasure and Happiness.—The self is not a bare 
unity, but is a very complex organism, uniting physi* DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
293 
cal, intellectual, aesthetic, social, moral, and religious 
interests. How, in acting to gratify any one of these 
interests, pleasure will necessarily result, but not nec- 
essarily happiness. Pleasure will follow because the 
self has been expressed, has been realized in some one 
way. But the expression of this particular side of our 
nature may be in conflict with others; one physical ac- 
tivity may be in conflict with another, or may be in 
conflict with an intellectual interest. The satisfaction 
of one may result in lack of satisfaction, non-realiza- 
tion of the others. So there will be no happiness. 
Pleasure, in short, is transitory and relative, enduring 
only while some special activity endures, and having 
reference only to that activity. Happiness is per- 
manent and universal. It results only when the act 
is such a one as will satisfy all the interests of the 
self concerned, or will lead to no conflict, either pres- 
ent or remote. Happiness is the feeling of the whole 
self, as opposed to the feeling of some one aspect of 
self. 
Opposition of Pleasure and Happiness.—There will 
be pleasure whenever there is any excitation which is 
passively enjoyed. A life of pleasure-seeking inevita- 
bly becomes a life of search for passive enjoyments, for 
irritations. Happiness is active satisfaction, or interest. 
Pleasure, since isolated, comes into conflict with happi- 
ness, for happiness is always built upon an active unifi- 
cation of various acts into a whole life. On the other 
hand, happiness may coexist with pain. A man who 
has lost money will feel pain, for he has been deprived 
of one mode of action; but he may continue to be 
happy. He may not feel the loss as a loss of himself. 
If he is thoroughly identified with more universal and 294 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
permanent interests, intellectual, aesthetic, social, etc., 
he will not so feel it. 
The Actual and the Ideal Self.—So far as the more 
universal self has not been realized, so far as the indi- 
vidual has not succeeded in identifying himself thor- 
oughly with the wider and more permanent conditions 
of well-being, but still finds his pleasure in activities 
which can relate only to particular, limited sides of his 
nature, the universal self remains only an ideal, and 
there is a conflict, a dualism between it and the actual- 
ly realized self. There will also be, therefore, a con- 
flict of feelings, so long as this ideal self is not real- 
ized. Pleasure is not a sign of well-being in itself; in 
an unhealthy soul, as in an unhealthy body, it may be 
at times a token of disorder, or of degeneration. It 
may signify that some organic factor is acting in ac- 
cordance with its natural or acquired nature, but that 
this factor is isolated from the entire organism, and, 
acting independently of it, must lead to final disinte- 
gration, or lack of harmony, unhappiness. The satis- 
faction of the actual self may result in loss of the ideal, 
the universal. Happiness, on the other hand, is at all 
times a sign of well-being. It is, indeed, the internal 
side of well-being. It is realization of one’s true, per- 
manent nature brought home to him as an individual. 
We have now to pass on to the treatment of the spe- 
cific forms of qualitative feeling, the intellectual, the 
aesthetic, and the social. 
Upon the nature and laws of qualitative feeling in general, see Nahlowsky 
(op. tit.), pp. 1-44,68-81; Braubach (op. tit.), pp. 48-87; Horwicz (op. tit.), vol. 
ii., pt. 1, pp. 1-88; Lotze, “ Elements of Psychology,” pp. 78-83; “Microcos- 
mus,” pp. 240-248; Herbart (op. tit.), pt. 2, ch. iv.; Sully, “ Psychology,” ch. 
xi.; Carpenter (op. tit.), ch. vii.; Maudsley (op. tit.), ch. vi.; Spencer (op. tit.), 
vol. i., pp. 472-494; Volkmann (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 298-353; Drobisch, “ Em- DEVELOPMENT OF QUALITATIVE FEELINGS. 
295 
pirische Psychologie,” pp. 172-219; James, in Mind, vol. ix., p. 188, on “ What 
is an Emotion ?” Mercier, in Mind, vol. ix., pp. 325 and 509, and vol. x., p. 1, 
on “Classification of Feelings.” General treatises upon the emotions are: 
McCosh, “Emotions;” Maillet, “De l’Essence des Passions;” Maass, “Ver- 
such fiber die Liedenschaften;” Kehr, “Ueber das Gemiith;” Jungmann, 
“ Das Gemllth;” Krause, “ Die Gesetze des menschlichen Herzens.” Special 
discussions upon the nature of interest are George (op. cit.), p. 544 ff.; Erd- 
mann (op. cit.'), ch. xiii.; Beneke (op. cit.), pp. 301-310; Bradley, in Mind, 
vol. viii., p. 573, and passim in Maudsley’s “ Pathology of Mind.” More par- 
ticularly upon pleasure and pain, see Hamilton (op. cit.), lects. xlii.-xliv.; 
Murray (op. cit.), pp. 304-323; Spencer (op. cit.), vol. i., pp. 272-290; Bain 
(op. cit.), pp. 288-300; Martineau, “Types of Ethical Theory,” vol. ii., pp. 
297-307; Bradley, “Ethical Studies,” pp. 78-144; Green, “Prolegomena to 
Ethics,” pp. 233-255; Laurie, “Ethica,” pp. 93-104; Sully, “ Pessimism,” ch. 
xi.; Dumont, “Theorie Scientifique de la Sensibilite;” Delbouef, “Theorie 
de la Sensibility;” Grote, “ Psychologie de la Sensibilite;” Bouillier, “ Le 
Plaisir et la Douleur;” Schneider, “Freud und Leid;” Rolph, “Biologischc 
Probleme.” CHAPTER XIV. 
INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
Definition and Treatment.—Intellectual feelings are 
such as accompany our apprehension of the meaning 
of experience. Meaning taken by itself is universal; 
it is that relation of objects to each other which makes 
them significant of each other; but as this meaning 
always exists in the medium of individual conscious- 
ness, it is felt meaning. Objects not only signify each 
other, but they signify this to us. Experience has a 
meaning not only in that objects are connected with 
each other, but also as it is connected with ourselves. 
Experience is feeling, therefore, as well as knowledge; 
for feeling, in ultimate definition, is simply this inti- 
mate connection with self. That factor of emotional 
experience which has to do with the value which re- 
lations between objects have for us constitutes intellect- 
ual feeling. We shall take up, first, its general nat- 
ure ; second, intellectual feeling as an outgoing energy, 
a spring to action ; third, the objective side of intel- 
lectual feeling, the intellectual judgment. 
I. General Nature of Intellectual Feeling.—Intellec- 
tual feeling is not to be considered a special form of 
feeling, occurring now and then in our experience. 
There is no experience which does not have involved 
in it some relation, and there is no experience, there- 
fore, which does not involve intellectual feeling. Looked 
at on its internal or subjective side, our whole psyclii- INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
297 
cal life is a succession of intellectual feelings. Those 
■who fail to see the objective or universal side of con- 
sciousness reduce the self, therefore, to a series of feel- 
ings. As my individual possession, all consciousness 
is feeling. An act of perception, an act of memory, 
an act of imagination, an act of thinking, an act of in- 
tuition, each and all are feelings, for they are states of 
my unique, unsharable consciousness. 
All knowledge whatever exists dissolved in the me- 
dium of feeling. Knowledge is an affair not only of 
objective relations, but of value for me. It bears an 
indescribable, absolutely personal relation to me, so 
that while you may know exactly the same that I know, 
my knowledge cannot possibly be your knowledge. 
The content of each consciousness may be absolutely 
identical, but the fc/rin of each, the fact that one is 
mine and the other yours, is absolutely distinct. Feel- 
ing, therefore, is not a psychical event appearing now 
and then in consciousness. It is the individual side of 
all consciousness. Since all consciousness has a con- 
tent, that is, objective relations, all feeling must also 
have an intellectual element involved. 
Classification of Intellectual Feelings.—It is, accord- 
ingty, impossible to treat intellectual feeling at all ex- 
haustively in this place. As its scope is as wide as 
that of experience, all that we can hope to do is to 
seek out some broad basis of division, which, however 
inadequate to the complexity of actual fact, will not 
misrepresent it. Such a division we find by classifying 
feelings according as they originate (1) in the acquiring 
of knowledge, and (2) in its possession. Such a divi- 
sion will be seen to correspond in a general way to the 
distinction made under the head of knowledge between 298 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
apperception and retention. Some feelings are due to 
the process by which we learn to know the world; 
others are due to the result of this, to the organization 
of knowledge into the structure of our minds. 
1. Feelings of Acquisition.—These correspond quite 
closely to the formal feelings already studied, except 
that we now treat them as expressing the internal side 
of the knowledge acquired, while formerly we treated 
them as the internal side of the activity put forth in 
acquiring knowledge. They may be considered as 
connected either with knowledge acquired through as- 
sociation, through dissociation, or through attention. 
The former are the feelings of custom; the second, the 
feelings of surprise; the third, the feelings of likeness 
and difference. 
(1.) The function of association being mechanical, 
and consisting in rendering certain combinations ha- 
bitual and automatic, the feelings which accompany 
the acquisition of knowledge through association are 
those of habit and routine. A mind governed for 
the most part by associative processes has a dry and 
hard emotional life. Such minds are easy only when 
in old ruts, and nothing is so disagreeable as the unex- 
pected. 
(2.) Feelings of Dissociation.—The feeling accom- 
panying knowledge derived from the breaking-up of 
mechanical associations is essentially one of shock or 
change. Any association repeated often enough be- 
comes fixed ; it becomes part of our mental furniture. 
We may not expect that the same relation will continue 
forever, for expectation presupposes an active relation 
of the mind to experience, but we unquestionably take 
it for granted that it will. When any relation turns INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
299 
up which breaks into this order, hitherto passively ac- 
rpiiesced in, there is a feeling of surprise. Natures 
capable of constantly feeling surprise are much more 
fresh and vigorous on their emotional side than those 
whose sluggish associations are not easily disturbed. 
Undeveloped and Abnormal Feeling.—It is an obser- 
vation as old as Theophrastus that a boor will not be 
moved to feeling by the sight of a great truth or of a 
beautiful statue (because he does not really see them), 
but that he will stand gaping for hours watching the 
movements of an ox. This is due to the undeveloped 
state of feeling. There is also an abnormal condition, 
not very different in practical result. This is the nil 
admirari spirit; the feeling that there is nothing in 
heaven or earth which can surprise one, for one has 
gone through it all. Such a mood results from a ces- 
sation of the healthy objectification of feelings, and 
from dwelling upon them as experiences of self, until 
the entire capacity for freshness of feeling has been 
destroyed. 
Emotion turned inward eats up itself; and the result 
is either the assumption of cynicism and the nil ad- 
mirari spirit, or the restless searching for some new 
thing, the latest sensation, which may stimulate the 
jaded and wornout emotional nature. If any one vio- 
lates the law of his being by living upon his feelings, 
rather than upon the objects to which those feelings 
normally belong, his power of feeling becomes gradu- 
ally exhausted, and he defeats his own end. He com- 
mits emotional suicide. There has probably never been 
a time when this unhealthy employment of feeling was 
so prevalent as it is now. The sole remedy is for the 
man to get outside of himself by devoting himself to 300 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
some object, not for the feelings which such devotion 
will bring him, nor for the sake of getting outside of 
himself, but for the sake of the object. True feeling, 
as true knowledge, must be thoroughly objective and 
universal. There is no contradiction between this 
statement and the one that feeling is the internal, the 
subjective side of self, for the true self finds its exist- 
ence in objects in the universe, not in its own private 
states. Although it does and must have these private 
states, it pays attention to them only for the sake of 
their universal worth. They exist not for their own 
sake, but as the medium through which the universe 
makes its significance and value apparent. 
(3.) Feelings of Relation.—The especial function of 
attention is to unify and discriminate. Accordingly we 
have the feelings accompanying the agreement or dis- 
agreement of our mental experiences. Every identifi- 
cation is accompanied by a peculiar thrill of satisfac- 
tion ; a feeling which seems to be a combination of 
the feelings of harmony and of the broadening-out of 
the mind through the performed identification. There 
is a like feeling of satisfaction accompanying all clear 
distinction. When knowledge, previously vague and 
formless, becomes defined and sharply limited, there is 
experienced an emotion which seems to be a combina- 
tion of the formal feeling of clearness hitherto spoken 
of, and the feeling of having reached an end. For all 
attention is directed towards the development of self; 
it has an end at which it aims, and the reaching of this 
end has its own peculiar emotion of satisfaction. These 
feelings of relation take, of course, as many forms as 
there are kinds of relation. One unique feeling, how- 
ever, is that of wit, which seems to be the feeling which INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
301 
arises when ideas are identified which seem wholly dis- 
tinct, accompanied by a feeling of suddenness and sur- 
prise. When the identification is reached by a process 
of reasoning there is no feeling of wit. This must be 
an intuitive flash. 
2. Feelings of Acquired Knowledge.—There is not 
only the feeling which accompanies the acquiring of 
knowledge, but there is that which accompanies the 
possession and retention of knowledge. In its charac- 
teristic form it is a sense of ownership and of power. 
It may take a degenerate form, and become merely 
the feeling of superiority over others, of political power 
or social recognition which arises from the knowledge. 
But this occurs only when the feeling is made an end 
in itself. Normally, it is a feeling that we possess 
ourselves; that we have become masters of ourselves 
instead of being controlled by external impressions. 
It is a feeling of having come into possession of our 
own birthright. It has been said that the great advan- 
tage of education is the sense which it gives us of not 
being dupes. This is another way of stating the .truth 
that the emotion which arises from the organization of 
knowledge into self is one of self-ownership, of free- 
dom. 
Conflict of Intellectual Feelings. — As oar life is 
one of progressive realization, not of completed devel- 
opment, of growth rather than of attained being, there 
comes to be a conflict of intellectual feelings. So far 
as we have mastered the relations which constitute the 
materia] of knowledge, and have organized these into 
our mental structure, there are the feelings of satisfac- 
tion and self-possession already spoken of. But such 
relations are organically connected with other relations 302 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
which we have not mastered. There arise, accordingly, 
feelings of dissatisfaction and of limitation. Were the 
world divided into two parts, that is to say, were there 
any relations which were not necessarily connected 
with others, as parts of one system, such feelings would 
not necessarily arise. But since, as matter of fact, all 
relations are thus systematically connected in one whole, 
every relation known brings with it a dim sense of 
others with which it is connected, but which are not 
known. A feeling of knowledge is necessarily ac- 
companied by one of ignorance, and will so continue 
until the whole organic system of knowledge is mas- 
tered. 
Feelings of Ignorance.—A feeling of ignorance is, 
therefore, strictly correlative to one of knowledge. A 
feeling of knowledge is one of the realized self; a 
feeling of ignorance is one of the unrealized self. One 
is the feeling of the objective and universal self, so far 
as this has been made to exist in individual form; the 
other is the vague and indefinite feeling of this univer- 
sal self as not realized. An animal may be ignorant, 
for example, but we cannot conceive it to be conscious 
of this ignorance, unless we attribute to it a true self- 
consciousness. Ignorance is the feeling of the division 
or conflict in our nature. 
A feeling of the unknown must be distinguished, 
therefore, from one of the unknowable. The latter 
would be a feeling of something utterly unrelated to 
self, and hence is a psychological impossibility. The 
feeling that something is unknown, or of ignorance, is 
the feeling of self, but of self as still incomplete. A 
feeling of the unknowable would be possible only if 
we could transcend wholly our own being; a feeling INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
303 
of the unknown is possible, if we can transcend our 
present being, and feel our true being as one which is 
not yet completely realized. The true function of the 
feeling of ignorance is, therefore, to serve as an induce- 
ment, as a spring, to further action, while a feeling of 
the unknowable could only paralyze all action. It leads, 
accordingly, by a natural transition, to our second topic. 
II. Feeling as Spring to Intellectual Action.—Intel- 
lectual feeling, like all feeling, takes the form of an 
interest in objects. It is directed outward ; it can find 
its satisfaction only in an outgoing activity of self. 
Intellectual feeling, considered in this aspect, is won- 
der. Wonder is the attitude which the emotional 
nature spontaneously assumes in front of a world of 
objects. The feeling is utterly incomprehensible as a 
purely personal or selfish feeling. Wonder is the first 
and the final expression of the individual as it finds a 
universe over against it. Wonder, by false education 
or by selfish indulgence, may be deadened, but it is 
only by eliminating the very spring to all knowledge 
that it can be wholly annihilated. The mind cannot 
entirely lose the sense that it is in the presence of a 
universe of objects to know which is to find its own 
true being. Wonder is the emotional outgoing of the 
mind towards this universe. To lose wholly the feel- 
ing of wonder is to lose the sense of the universality 
and objectivity of mind; it is to sink back contented 
into one’s own subjective possessions, and thus commit 
intellectual suicide. 
Wonder and Surprise.—It is evident that wonder 
is to be distinguished from surprise. Surprise is the 
emotion experienced when the mind finds itself con- 
fronted with an order contravening its established as- 304 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
sociations. AVonder is the emotion experienced before 
all objective orders whatever. We feel surprise when, 
expecting to find a building in a certain place, we find 
only a heap of smoking ruins. We feel wonder both 
at the presence of the building and of the ashes. We 
feel, that is to say, in both cases a challenge to our in- 
telligence. We find an appeal made to our minds to 
discover what exists there and why it exists. It may 
come about that we grow so used to our customary 
environment that we feel wonder only when the shock 
of surprise strikes us, but the normal healthy attitude 
of the mind is wonder at all facts, familiar or novel, 
until it has mastered their meaning and made itself at 
home among them. 
Wonder and Knowledge.—It is not strange, there- 
fore, that both Plato and Aristotle regarded wonder as 
the source of science and of philosophy, for wonder is 
the sole spring which can take a man beyond his sub- 
jective states, and put him in that active relation to the 
world which is the sole condition of getting at its mean- 
ing. But it is no less true that wonder is the cause of all 
growth, of all increase of knowledge. It is not only the 
originator, but it is the continuer of science. Ordinary 
minds may accept mere familiarity as sufficient creden- 
tials for a fact, but the scientific mind finds in the fact 
that it is familiar only additional cause for wonder. 
Most of us get to think that the mere fact of experi- 
ence that things are such and such, is reason enough 
why they should be so ; the scientific mind continues 
to wonder why they should be so, and is impelled to 
discover their meaning. It has been well said that 
there is no better test of genius than the ability to 
wonder at what is familiar. INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
305 
Disinterestedness and Curiosity. — Wonder is the 
simple recognition that objects have significance for us 
beyond the mere fact of their existence. It is accord- 
ingly the spring to that activity which shall discover 
their significance. A wide development of the feeling 
of wonder constitutes disinterestedness, the primary 
requisite for all investigation. Wonder, as the outgo- 
ing activity of mind, necessarily requires a surrender 
of all purely subjective and selfish interests, and the 
devotion of one’s self to the object wholly for the sake 
of the latter. It is love of knowledge; and knowledge 
is necessarily objective and universal. It is vitiated by 
the presence of any merely personal interest. When 
the activity occurs not for the sake of the object, but 
for the sake of satisfying the personal emotion of 
wonder, we have, not disinterestedness, but curiosity. 
The feeling is separated from its connection with ob- 
jects, and is given an independent existence in con- 
sciousness. This is why the term “curiosity,” which 
might be synonymous with wonder, has come to have 
a bad meaning. It is wonder which has taken a per- 
sonal form. 
Abnormal Feelings.—As such, curiosity is an abnor- 
mal feeling. It is possible, however, for intellectual 
feelings to assume still more unhealthy forms. Such 
we have when knowledge is sought for the gratifica- 
tion of vanity, or for the sake of show or power. A 
more subtle form is that distinctively nineteenth-cen- 
tury disease, the love of culture, as such. When the 
feeling is directed not towards objects, but towards the 
state of mind induced by the knowledge of the objects, 
there originates a love of knowing, for the sake of the 
development of the mind itself. The knowledge is PSYCHOLOGY. 
acquired becauses it widens and expands self. Culture 
of our mental powers is made an end in itself, and 
knowledge of the universe of objects is subordinated to 
this. The intellectual feelings are separated from their 
proper place as functions of the integral life, and are 
given an independent place in consciousness. Here, as 
in all such cases, the attempt defeats itself. The only 
way to develop self is to make it become objective; the 
only way to accomplish this is to surrender the inter- 
ests of the personal self. Self-culture reverses the pro- 
cess, and attempts to employ self - objectification or 
knowledge as a mere means to the satisfaction of these 
personal interests. The result is that the individual 
never truly gets outside of himself. 
III. Objective Side of Feeling.—As this has been pre- 
supposed in what has already been said, it may be 
passed over briefly here. Intellectual feeling, in the 
first place, is the internal side of all knowledge ; it is 
objects and their relations dissolved in the medium of 
individual consciousness. In the second place, it is, as 
wonder, the spring to intellectual activity; the source 
of the endeavor to master the meaning of objects. In 
whatever way we look at feeling, accordingly, we find 
it connected with objects. We have now only to trace 
the process of its connection very briefly. 
Presentiment.—All intellectual activity is directed 
towards an end. Yet just what that end is we do not 
know; if we did, we should not be going through the 
mental process of reaching it. Yet our reaching this 
end depends upon directing all our thoughts accord- 
ing to it; we must select and reject mental material 
accordingly to its reference to this end. The end, 
therefore, exists in the mind by "way of feeling. ¥e INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. 
307 
do not know what it is, but we dimly feel what it is; 
and we select material that feels congruous with this 
end, and reject that which feels unharmonious. The 
direction of all intellectual processes by feeling is very 
commonly overlooked, but it is fundamental. Our 
knowledge consists in giving feelings definite form 
and in projecting them. Knowledge is the attempt on 
the part of feeling to give an account of itself. That 
aspect which guides feeling in this attempt we may 
call presentiment, using the word in a wider sense than 
is usual. 
Intuitive Feeling.—This fore-grasp of feeling upon 
what is not yet intellectually identified and discrimi- 
nated constitutes a form of intuition. This power of 
intuition or of feeling in what direction truth lies, a 
vague power of foretelling what its general nature is 
and what measures must be taken to reach it, is one of 
the unfailing marks of intellectual genius. It is a mat- 
ter which cannot be subjected to rules, and which be- 
longs to the individual alone, since it is a matter of 
feeling. No mind can teach another to feel as it does. 
After, however, the end has been reached, it is possi- 
ble for consciousness reflectively to trace the steps and 
formulate the process. It will be found that feeling 
has been controlled when it succeeds in reaching the 
end by certain general considerations. 
Feeling and Logic.—Feeling, when thus reflectively 
criticised and crystallized into intellectual propositions, 
gives rise to the rules of the logic of method. Logic, 
as the science of investigation, must wait upon the act- 
ual discoveries of the intellect, which are controlled by 
feeling. It is reflective and critical, not intuitive and 
creative; it, therefore, may be taught, while the actual 308 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
process of discovering new truth can never be impart- 
ed. It must follow after, not precede, discovery. Logic, 
in short, only generalizes and crystallizes what was 
originally existing in the form of feeling. A judg- 
ment is the projection of a fore-feeling that things are 
so and so; logic can only sum up the considerations, 
according to which feeling works in forming these pro- 
jections. 
Martineau (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 141-154; Bain, “Emotions and Will,” pp. 
199-209; Wundt, “Phys. Psy.” vol. ii., pp. 347-352; Nalilowsky (op. tit."), 
pp. 157-162; Strumpell (op. cit.')1 p. 271 If.; Beneke, “ Psychologische Skiz- 
zen,” vol. i., pp. 227-262; Perez, “L’Education des le Berceau,” pp. 35-72; 
James, in Mind, vol. iv., p. 317, on “ Sentiment of RationalitySully, “ Psy- 
chology,'’ pp. 521-530. CHAPTER XV. 
AESTHETIC FEELING. 
jDefinition and Mode of Treatment. feel- 
ings are such as accompany the apprehension of the 
ideal value of experience. They are presupposed in 
the intellectual emotions which are the feelings of the 
meaning of experience, or of the relation of objects to 
each other; for meaning, or relation, as we saw when 
studying knowledge, is a thoroughly ideal factor. We 
shall take up, first, the general nature of aesthetic feel- 
ing, its analysis,and various elements; second,aesthetic 
feeling as a spring to activity, or the fine arts; third, 
the objective side of aesthetic feeling, the aesthetic judg- 
ment, or taste. 
I. General Nature.—As just said, aesthetic feeling 
is that which arises from the contemplation of the ideal 
value of any factor of experience. This does not mean 
that there exists first an intellectual apprehension of 
certain relations, and then that this apprehension is fol- 
lowed by another apprehension of the congruence or 
incongruence of these relations to a certain ideal, ac- 
companied by a feeling of aesthetic quality. It is meant 
that every element of experience stands in certain re- 
lations to the ideal of mind, and that the mind imme- 
diately responds to these relations by a feeling of beau- 
ty or ugliness. The feeling is the internal, individual 
side of the process; it goes before rather than follows 
any intellectual apprehension. We shall consider (1) 310 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the connection of the feeling of beauty with idealiza- 
tion; (2) the universality of the feeling; (3) the prin- 
cipal elements which make it. 
1. Idealization and the Feeling. — Every 
content of consciousness may have an element of beau- 
ty in it, or, indeed, must have it so far as it must con- 
tain an ideal element. AVe speak of a beautiful land- 
scape ; a beautiful statue or musical composition ; a 
beautiful truth, a beautiful deed or character. So the 
adjective ugly is applied to fact and to moral action as well 
as to professedly artistic creation. Yet it is not to the 
intellectual phase of the truth, nor to the moral aspect 
of the character that the aesthetic quality appertains. 
The truth is called beautiful because it thrills the soul 
with a peculiar feeling of an ideal indwelling in nature 
which finds an expression in this truth; the character 
is beautiful because of a like embodiment of an ideal. 
There is a sense of satisfaction felt in each, apart from 
any information conveyed by the truth, or any ap- 
proval induced by the character. This feeling of sat- 
isfaction in the objective presentation of any harmo- 
nious ideal constitutes aesthetic sentiment. 
Intellectual and Esthetic Idealization. — There is 
no knowledge whatever without idealization, and yet 
beauty is not truth, nor intellectual feeling the same 
as aesthetic. How this can be, the following illustra- 
tion may serve to suggest. A person in knowing a 
locomotive goes through a process of idealization. He 
reads into the sensations presented to him all the rela- 
tions possible and thus renders the sensations signifi- 
cant. Just in the degree in which he can read the re- 
sults of past experience into these sensations may he 
be said truly to know the locomotive. Yet this process ESTHETIC FEELING. 
311 
of idealization does not constitute an aesthetic quality. 
The idealization takes a wholly objective form. It is 
regarded as a property of the object. The ideal quali- 
ty exists, but it is absorbed in the thing. The feelings 
which we have are intellectual feelings; they are feel- 
ings of the relation of the locomotive to other objects, 
and of its parts to each other. On the other hand, the 
locomotive has “ beauty ” so far as it is felt to be the fit 
and successful embodiment of an idea in outward form. 
Its inventor was an artist wdien he succeeded in so 
working out his own idea (inner at first) that it assumed 
the appropriate sensuous detail. emotion is 
still experienced whenever we consider not merely the 
parts of the machine in their reciprocal relations to one 
another, but the locomotive in its whole function ; in 
its spirit or idea, its power to break down barriers of 
distance and bind men together in the exchange of 
goods and ideas. The intellectual interest has to do 
with the parts of a product; the aesthetic with t\\Q pro- 
cess of uttering an idea. 
Sensuous Element in Beauty.—There can be no beau- 
tiful object without the presence of the sensuous ele- 
ment, as there can be no object of knowledge without 
it. The arrangement, however, of the sensuous material 
is much more important from an artistic point of view 
than from an intellectual. When a rose is considered 
as an object of knowledge, it is indifferent what color it 
possesses. The clashing of cymbals may be made as 
much an object of scientific investigation as the render- 
ing of a sonata of Beethoven. But in art, the color, 
even its purely sensuous qualities, and the sound, even 
apart from higher ideal associations, constitute much of 
the effect to be reached. An idea may be very beauti- 312 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ful in itself, but become ugly by the sensuous material 
used to embody it, while a comparatively mediocre con- 
ception may be rendered fairly beautiful by suitable 
handling of material. This increased importance of 
sensuous basis in art is not in contradiction to what was 
said in the previous paragraph regarding the greater 
share of idealization in art, but in confirmation of it. 
The sensuous material is not of greater importance in 
itself, but as a vehicle for presenting the ideal. In 
knowledge the sensation is indifferent—that is to say, 
any sensation is capable of conveying some informa- 
tion, and as mere matter of knowledge, one piece of in- 
formation is as important as another; in art, the sen- 
sation is of value, because certain sensuous stuff serves 
to present the idea, while other material utterly fails. 
Freedom in Art.—It follows that, since in art the 
sensuous material is handled solely with reference to 
its fitness for embodying values or ideals, art appears 
in freer form than science. Science must conform 
to the relations which are found actually to exist. 
The freedom of art does not mean that it can deal 
capriciously with these actual relations or with 
fact. But it does mean that fact can be found to 
have an aspect in which it is not a constraint upon 
self or an external limit to self, but in which it 
satisfies some interest or idea of self. Art is free 
because it can thus handle the fact as one with 
self instead of as a material foreign to it. Its 
freedom does not lie in emancipation from law, but 
in the fact that the laws which it follows are laws of 
the self. 
Idealism and Realism in Art.—This enables us to de- 
cide upon the proper function of the so-called “ideal” ESTHETIC FEELING. 
313 
and “real” elements in art. In strictest sense, a pure- 
ly realistic, as a purely idealistic, art is impossible—- 
that is to say, pure realism would have no meaning 
to appeal to the mind, for meaning is a product of 
idealization, and would have no interest to appeal to 
the emotions, for interest is a product of the putting 
of self into fact. And pure idealism, if interpreted to 
mean that sensuous material shall not be used, is im- 
possible, for an ideal unembodied, unmanifested, would 
have no meaning whatever. Furthermore, all meaning 
is meaning of fact, of reality. It cannot exist in the 
air. The careful, minute, and faithful study of actual 
fact is needed, therefore, first, that one may know what 
the value of an experience really is; and, secondly, that 
one may know the concrete sensuous material which 
shall be used in presenting it. All art, however, is 
idealistic in the sense that it has for its function the 
appreciation of the ideal values of experience, and sub- 
ordinates the treatment of its material to the convey- 
ing of this material. The material exists for the sake 
of the realization of the ideal. 
2. The Universality of Beauty.—This introduces ns 
to the universal quality of aesthetic feeling. This is a 
necessary corollary of its ideal nature, for value, signifi- 
cance, is necessarily universal and cannot be confined to 
any one particular time or place. The form in which 
the idea is realized is necessarily particular; the beau- 
tiful object exists here and now; but its beauty is not 
a thing of time or place. An author may study a phase 
of society which is extremely local and transient. If 
his object is merely to reproduce in his pages this so- 
ciety, his work is not one of art, but of science. It is 
a study in sociology. If, however, he manages to por- 314 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
tray through the medium of this material the ideal 
significance of the society, it is art. No matter how 
much of perishing and particular detail he may intro- 
duce, the result is universal. It is true, as we say, to 
human nature • that is, to the permanent and essential 
being of man, and will, therefore, always appeal to those 
in whom the idea of man lives. Universality does not 
depend upon the material employed, but upon the spirit 
in which it is treated. We have now to study some of 
the ways in which this universality of feeling appears. 
(1.) In the first place, the universality of aesthetic 
feeling necessarily precludes the lower senses from any 
important role in art. Tasting or smelling an object 
requires that it be brought into actual contact with the 
organism and bodily appropriated by it, either in whole 
or part. Such feelings may be agreeable, but they can- 
not be beautiful. What they convey is simply a rela- 
tion of agreement between the substance and the given 
organism, not an agreement or harmony between the 
object and intelligence in general, by reason of idea 
symbolized by it. Such feelings are selfish ; they have 
no universal aspect. 
(2.) A beautiful object must exclude the feeling of 
ownership. The beautiful object may be owned, but 
its beauty cannot be. If what one enjoys in a beauti- 
ful object is the sense of its ownership, his feeling is 
not an aesthetic one. So far, indeed, as any feeling en- 
ters into the experience, which is not capable of being 
shared by all who witness the beautiful object, the sen- 
timent is not an aesthetic one. All enjoyment of pos- 
session, as well as of immediate physical use, must be 
excluded. 
(3.) Finally, the universality of aesthetic feeling re* ESTHETIC FEELING. 
315 
quires that the beautiful object be not subordinated to 
any external end. There is no separation of use and 
beauty, of useful and fine art, but there is a distinction. 
Both kinds of art are ways of expressing an idea and 
thus have a common principle. But in the mereby use- 
ful this process of expression is simply a means to some 
product beyond. It has no free value, but only as 
leading up to the article produced. There is a divorce 
of the process from its product. So far as the action 
is useful not simply to something else, but in itself and 
to the whole self, there is beauty. A locomotive is 
merely “useful” if we consider it not in its relations 
to the idea which it actively expresses, but in relations 
to some external shipper or stockholder. It is “ beau- 
tiful” if considered as a way of realizing social ideas 
and interests. 
3. The Factors of Esthetic Feeling.—We have al- 
ready seen that the characteristics which mark aesthetic 
feeling are its ideality and universality; that it is char- 
acterized by great freedom, suggestiveness, and unre- 
strained manipulation of sensuous material to embody 
the ideal effect aimed at. It may be objected that these 
terms are all very general and vague, and that we should 
be able to point out just those characteristics which 
constitute beauty and awaken the aesthetic feeling. It 
is impossible to limit art in this way, however, as one 
of its most striking characteristics is that it cannot be 
defined. It is impossible to tell beforehand just what 
combination of qualities will appear beautiful, or how 
they should be arranged to excite aesthetic feeling. We 
can only point out the very general characteristics which 
all beautiful objects are found to possess. 
Harmony.—The most general property, constituting 316 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
beauty, is harmony, or variety in unity. It is impossi- 
ble to give a more definite answer, because the element 
of harmony may take thousands of different shapes. 
Art is essentially creative, and it is impossible to limit 
it beforehand by rules. It makes its own rules. It is 
impossible to tell what a beautiful object is except by 
creating or contemplating some particular beautiful ob- 
ject. We can lay down some formal considerations, 
but we cannot tell anything about the concrete content 
in any other way. We have, therefore, simply to ana- 
lyze the idea of harmony. 
Harmony and the Feeling of Self.—Harmony is, in 
essence, the feeling of the agreement of some experience 
with the ideal nature of the self. This distinguishes it 
from the feeling of agreement or congruity which plays 
so important a part in intellectual feeling. That is a 
feeling of agreement of relations. Whether the feel- 
ing of beauty is excited by the perception of regular 
form, of a picturesque landscape, a pleasing melody, a 
poem, or a painting, its essence is the felt harmony of 
the beautiful object with our own inmost nature. We 
find a landscape beautiful because we find ourselves in 
some way reflected in it. It appeals to us. This does 
not mean that we have a prior conception of our nat- 
ure, and, consciously finding this realized in the land- 
scape, call the latter beautiful. Rather the landscape 
serves to reveal to ns something hitherto unknown of 
our own capacities and sympathies. 
Adaptation and Economy.—The term adaptation 
also involves the idea of harmony. It has, however, 
two meanings. That which is merely calculated to pro- 
cure some end beyond itself has an external adaptation, 
and is useful simply. But when many means, diverse AESTHETIC FEELING. 
317 
and even opposed in themselves, are adjusted into an 
internal unity through some single function, purpose, 
or idea, which reflects itself in each detail, there is 
beauty. A cart-wheel has adaptation of members to 
an end, but the means and end are external to one an- 
other. In a living being, on the contrary, the adapta- 
tion shines through and gives meaning to each of the 
component members. Another term, expressing the 
same idea, is economy. When a result is rich and full, 
and is reached by a few means and these few simple 
and accurately fitted to the end, there is beauty. The 
graceful is always the economical, the awkward the 
wasteful and ill-adapted. 
II. AEsthetic Feeling as a Spring to Action. 
thetic feeling not only goes out into objects where it 
takes the form of beauty, but in its connection with 
these objects becomes a source of interest to the mind, 
and hence leads to action for the satisfaction of this 
interest. feeling, in other words, is some- 
thing more than passive enjoyment of beauty ; it is ac- 
tive delight in it, it is love for it; and love can be sat- 
isfied only with the production of that which is loved. 
Feeling thus becomes a spring to creative activity 
which in its result takes the form of the fine arts. As 
the intellectual feelings, as springs to action, take the 
form of wonder, so the aesthetic feelings take the form 
of admiration. Admiration is love of beauty, as won- 
der is love of knowledge. 
The Fine Arts.—Art is, therefore, the attempt to 
satisfy the aesthetic side of onr nature. As the aesthet- 
ic side of our nature is the feeling of the ideal as such, 
it follows that art can completely satisfy admiration, 
only when it completely manifests the ideal—whatever 318 
PSYCHOLOGY, 
that may be. And as we have seen that this ideal is 
the completely developed self, we may say that the end 
of art is to create that in which the human soul may 
find itself perfectly reflected. Or as the essential fac- 
tor in beauty is harmony—harmony with self—we may 
say that the end of art is to produce a perfectly har- 
monized self. The various fine arts, architecture, 
sculpture, painting, music, and poetry, are the succes- 
sive attempts of the mind adequately to express its 
own ideal nature, or, more correctly stated, adequately 
to produce that which will satisfy its own demands for 
and love of a perfectly harmonious nature, something 
in which admiration may rest. 
Architecture.—Architecture is the beginning of this 
ideal creation. It is an art which appeals especially to 
the eye, and since its products occupy the three dimen- 
sions of space, to touch and the muscular sense. It is 
the least idealized of the arts, for it depends in the 
largest degree upon the actual material used, and it 
uses this material least freely since it has to subordi- 
nate it to certain ends of utility. Its imposing forms, 
as well as its size, however, make its effects approach 
those of sublimity. Its aesthetic influence is one of 
vague, but powerful, emotion. The fact that this emo- 
tion is so akin to one of dependence and worship ren- 
ders this art especially fitted for religious associations. 
The greatest architectural productions have always 
been temples and cathedrals. Another reason for this 
is, that a building for worship obtrudes less than any 
other kind its especial end of use, and so allows the 
artist more of that freedom of creation which is a req- 
uisite to all high art. 
Sculpture and Painting.—The art of sculpture ap- .ESTHETIC FEELING. 
319 
peals to the same senses as architecture, and is, indeed, 
generally found associated with it, all art of this kind, 
excepting the lower forms of domestic art, having been 
produced with at least a partial architectural effect in 
view. This art is more ideal than architecture, how- 
ever, for it is less obviously subordinated to any use; 
its effects depend more upon the idea which is to be 
conveyed and less upon the material employed ; and 
it is more intimately connected with man’s own nat- 
ure, for it is usually employed in constructing the hu- 
man figure, and in presenting some human ideal, while 
architecture in itself must be confined to physical ma- 
terial, which is, therefore, inadequate to express man’s 
true nature. Painting mounts a step higher. Its ma- 
terial is color alone, occupying two dimensions of space. 
It depends less upon actual objective existence (is 
less realistic, if one choose to use that word) than either 
of the preceding arts. The sensuous element in paint- 
ing is nought but a certain amount of varicolored pig- 
ment laid on a surface, and, without the interpreting 
action of intelligence, is dead and meaningless. Paint- 
ing wddens the range of man’s ideal expression of him- 
self, likewise, for it represents man’s passions and man’s 
deeds, and not alone his outward figure.at rest. It also 
brings Nature into ideal relations with man, rendering 
her spirit in its kinship to man’s. 
Music. — In music the ideal factor assumes still 
greater prominence. The material used has no longer 
even an existence in space. It is rather internal in 
character, filling time only in the form of sounds. The 
aesthetic quality, or beauty, is the manifestation of 
man’s soul through these sounds. The sounds are noth- 
ing; the indwelling idea of the artist is all. Music is 320 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
not only less material than the arts already studied, but 
it is freer. It seems like an actual embodiment of the 
artist’s own feelings for the beautiful. While in the 
other arts it is possible reflectively to trace something 
of the rules which the artist followed in producing, 
music appears like an immediate projection of a cre- 
ative nature. The laws of the combination and ar- 
rangement of sounds can indeed be made out, but the 
laws for the selection of these arrangements remain 
hidden in the artist’s breast. Music also reveals its 
higher ideal character in the part which harmony plays 
in it. There is harmony in architecture, but it appears 
as more or less external, as spatial proportion, etc.; in 
painting, it appears in the gradation of colors, in the 
massing of light and shades, in the composition of the 
figures; but in music, it is the very soul of the produc- 
tion. It is not the arrangement of the material; it is 
the material. 
Poetry.—In poetry, however, art for the first time 
becomes thoroughly ideal. The sensuous basis is now 
degraded to an arbitrary symbol having next to no 
value in itself. That which it possesses is musical, 
and has its significance only as the vehicle of ideas. 
Here for the first time is the content of experience 
adequate to the ideal form employed. That is to say, 
here for the first time is the subject-matter living man 
himself. It does not deal with his material present- 
ment, as sculpture, nor with the shadow}7 representa- 
tion of his form, as painting, nor with his emotions 
and aspirations, as music, but with his own vital per- 
sonality. It is true that there is a poetry of nature, as 
well as of man, but nature is treated only as the reflex 
of man’s spirit, of his hopes and fears, loves and admi-  FEELING. 
321 
rations. In poetry, also, man works with even greater 
freedom than in music. Its material is not non-living 
sounds, whose freedom, after all, must be assimilated 
or imparted freedom, but personalities, wdiose action is 
the expression of their own inner nature. Its form is 
also freer, being less subject to restrictions of mathe- 
matical relations. 
Forms of Poetry.—Poetry may be divided into epic, 
lyric, and dramatic,neglecting minor subdivisions. Epic 
poetry treats men as, in a certain sense, natural forces. 
It gives man’s acts, rather than his motives and springs 
to action. It shows him moved to great deeds, in com- 
pany with other men, by great external forces, but it 
shows us the deeds and the company, rather than the 
workings of man’s heart and his individuality. It is 
objective poetry. Lyric poetry, on the other hand, is 
little concerned with historical happenings, or with 
mythical counterfeits of history. It cares little for ac- 
tion and results. It finds its field in man’s inner life; 
it expresses his individual experiences—his loves, hates, 
desires, joys and sorrows. 
Dramatic poetry unites many of the characteristics 
of each of the two foregoing classes. It deals with men 
in groups, and men in action. It shows the action, 
rather than tells us of it. It does not paint life, but it 
sets it before us. It shows us these acts, however, as 
the ontcome of man’s personal motives, rather than as 
the result of any external historical forces or tenden- 
cies. It show us man, not in the interior recesses of his 
own subjective nature alone, nor man as swayed by 
forces beyond him to a goal of which he knows noth- 
ing, but man as irresistibly pushing on towards an in- 
evitable end through his own personal desires and in- 322 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
tentions. It shows us man’s interior nature working 
itself out as an objective fact. It consummates, there- 
fore, the range of fine arts, because in dramatic form 
we have the highest ideal of self, personality display- 
ing itself in the form of personality. The ideal and 
the mode of its embodiment are both personal, and be- 
yond this art cannot go, for in this man finds himself 
expressed. 
III. The Judgment or Taste. 
feeling, like intellectual, has its objective side. Beauty 
is a quality which we spontaneously attribute to ob- 
jects. Admiration is the energy of aesthetic feeling 
directed outwards. It follows that the feeling of beau- 
ty necessarily passes over into the judgment of beauty. 
We not only feel a certain thrill of satisfaction, but we 
perform an intellectual act. We say the painting, the 
landscape, is beautiful; we regard the feeling not as 
an affection of our own subjective consciousness, but we 
objectify it. Feeling must express itself. 
In the great artist the impulse to expression, the de- 
mand for an adequate interpretation of the feeling, is 
much stronger than in the ordinary individual, and so 
he is impelled to creation; but the impulse is strong 
enough in every individual, so that he recognizes some- 
thing as beautiful. The great artists are, after all, onty 
the interpreters of the common feelings of humanity; 
they but set before us, as in concrete forms of self- 
revealing clearness, the dim and vague feelings which 
surge for expression in every human being, finding no 
adequate outlet. Thus it is that we always find a great 
work of art natural; in its presence we do not feel 
ourselves before something strange, but taken deeper 
into ourselves, having revealed to us some of those ESTHETIC FEELING. 
323 
mysteries of our own nature which we had always felt 
but could not express. The aesthetic judgment, in 
short, is implicit in all human beings. The artist helps 
it into light. 
Taste.—Just as the intellectual feelings, when pre- 
cipitated in the form of judgments, are afterwards con- 
densed in the form of logical principles and rules, 
so the aesthetic judgments crystallize in the form of 
the principles of taste. The “ faculty ” of taste is sim- 
ply a generic name for the power which the individ- 
ual possesses of framing judgments concerning beauty. 
The principles of taste are the product of the reflective 
analysis of the understanding as it goes over the action 
of aesthetic feeling, and attempts to discover the lines 
along which the latter spontaneously expresses itself. 
They are attempts to formulate the characteristics of 
that object which feeling, without consciousness of 
rules, pronounces to be beautiful. It follows that 
taste is something individual in its nature, depending 
upon the aesthetic capacity and culture of the one ex- 
ercising it. It follows, also, that while the rules of 
taste may be imparted, the method of creating or even 
of appreciating beauty cannot be handed from one to 
another. It is a matter of individual feeling, of aesthet- 
ic tact, and the canons of taste furnish only the dry so- 
lution of that which exists in living form in the soul 
of the artist. Artistic feeling is creative; taste is crit- 
ical. It must follow after art, not precede it. 
Function of Taste.—It is with matters of beauty as 
Aristotle says it is with matters of right conduct; only 
the man of an artistic or ethical nature is a judge, in 
individual cases, of what is beautiful or good. Yet 
the formulation of the principles according to which 324 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
feeling works in pronouncing anything beautiful is 
not useless. The attempt to say what is beautiful sets 
up an ideal of beauty towards which the artistic im- 
pulses may direct themselves, and which may keep them 
from being wasted in vain and unfertile attempts. The 
conscious ideal may serve as a criterion of what is pro- 
duced, and as a guide of what to produce. It must 
not be forgotten, however, that this conscious ideal 
gets its definite shape only from past productions, and 
while new creations must be informed by this ideal, 
the ideal must be constantly widened to include these 
new developments. Every attempt to set up the ideal 
as ultimate has two evil effects. In the first place, it 
stifles the efforts of the individual, and substitutes for 
that spontaneous freedom of action which is the es- 
sence of esthetic production a rigid obedience to ex- 
ternally imposed rules. In the second place, it ties the 
ideal down to what has already been accomplished, and 
thus destroys its ideal character. It fossilizes the ideal 
into cut-and-dried formulae. What should be a spur 
to new creation becomes a burdensome command to 
produce nothing new. 
Abnormal JEsthetic Feeling.—The tendency of aes- 
thetic feeling to get an independent existence in con- 
sciousness, and to be cultivated, not for the sake of the 
beautiful object, but for the sake of the personal sat- 
isfaction which it gives the one enjoying it, is great. 
feeling, in other words, degenerates into ces- 
theticism. Admiration is no longer a love of beauty, 
an interest in whatever makes the universe lovely, but 
love for the pleasures of beauty ; an interest in the reflex 
effect which the loveliness of the universe has upon the 
individual soul. Or a correct taste may become the .ESTHETIC FEELING. 
325 
object sought, rather than genuine appreciation of what 
gives experience its value. Instead of surrendering 
one’s self to admiration of the beautiful object, the in- 
dividual may regard admiration as a confession of weak- 
ness, and assume an attitude of superiority. He be- 
comes a connoisseur or an amateur, and prides himself 
upon his fastidiousness and refinement of taste rather 
than loses himself in the realm of objective beauty. 
Feeling, in short, is shut up within itself, instead of 
being made the key to the unlocking of the beauty, 
grace, and loveliness of the universe. The penalty is 
inevitable—loss of freshness, of healthiness, and finally 
of all vitality of feeling. Feeling has to live on itself, 
instead of finding new food in every object of experi- 
ence, and it ends by destroying itself. 
Allen, “Physiological Gurney, “ Power of SoundHamilton, 
“ Metaphysics,” lect. xlvi.; Bain, “ Emotions and Will,” pp. 247-270; McCosh 
(op. cit.), pp. 148-214; Sully, “Sensation and Intuition,” pp. 186-245; “Psy- 
chology,” pp. 531-552; Murray (op. cit.'), pp. 223-235, 387-390; Lazarus (op. 
cit.), vol. i. (essay on “Humor”); vol. ii. (essay on “Psychology of Fine 
Arts”); Striimpell (op. cit.'), p. 275 ff.; Lipps (op. cit.), fourth essay; Spen- 
cer (op. eft.), vol. ii., pp. 627-648; Nahlowsky (op. cit.'), pp. 162-197; Horwicz 
(op. cit.), vol. ii., pt. 2, pp. 176-225; Wundt, “ Phys. Psy.” vol. ii., pp. 179-194; 
Perez, “First Three Years,” pp. 265-281; Hecker, “Die Psychologie des 
Lachens und des Komischen;” Siebeck, “Das Wesen der asthetischen An- 
schauung;” Carriere, “ Die Idee des Schonen;” “ Das Wesen und die Formen 
der Poesie;” Dimetresco, “Der Schonheitsbegriff;” Dreher, “Kunst in ihrer 
Beziehung zur Psychologie;” Hermann, “Aesthetische Farbenlehre;” Yischer, 
“Aesthetik;” Ulrici, “ Grundzlige der praktischen Philosophic,” pp. 157-183; 
Rosenkranz, “ Aesthetik des Hasslichen;” Eye, “Das Reich des Schonen;” 
Lotze, “Geschichte der Aesthetik;” Fechner, “Vorschule der Aesthetik;” 
Neudecker, “Studien” (historical); Perez, “L’Education,” etc., pp. 111-159; 
Joly (op. cit.), p. 210 f.; Meyer, “Aus der asthetischen Padagogik;” Volk- 
mann (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 353-363. CHAPTER XYI. 
PERSONAL FEELING 
Definition and Mode of Treatment.—Personal feel- 
ings are such as arise from the relations of self-con- 
scious beings to each other. All feeling is the accom- 
paniment of self-realization. No individual can real- 
ize himself in impersonal relations—relations of things 
to each other or to an ideal. He can truly develop him- 
self only in self-conscious activity, in personality, and 
this is impossible without relations to other persons. 
A person developing his personality in isolation from 
other persons, through contact with intellectual or aes- 
thetic material, is impossible. It is hardly conceivable 
that he should ever become a being capable of know- 
ing objects, and of enjoying beauty, without the aid 
and stimulus given by others; it is impossible to con- 
ceive him as developing the social side of his nature. 
Following the lines hitherto laid down, we shall take 
up: (I.) The general nature of personal feeling; (II.) 
Personal feeling as a spring to action, or love; (III.) 
The objective side of personal feeling, the social judg- 
ment or conscience. 
I. General Nature of Personal Feeling.—There are 
sometimes said to be two distinct kinds of feeling for 
persons; one, feelings for self, egoistic or personal 
feelings, properly so called; the other, feelings for 
others, altruistic or social feelings. This division sup- PERSONAL FEELING. 
327 
poses that, in the first place, feelings belong to our own 
limited individuality, and are considered only as they 
affect one’s immediate self, but may afterwards be ex- 
tended to include other individuals. It overlooks the 
necessary reciprocal relation of egoistic and altruistic 
feelings. There can be no egoistic feelings except as 
the self is distinguished from others and set over against 
them; there can be no altruistic feelings, except as oth- 
ers are recognized in their relations to self, and com- 
pared with it. Our first feelings are not personal, in 
the sense of egoistic. 
They are, properly considered, not personal at all; 
they become personal only as they are referred to per- 
sons; and they cannot be referred to the ego, except 
as the ego is compared, consciously or unconsciously, 
with others, and preferred before them ; they cannot 
become altruistic except as others are compared with 
the immediate claims of the ego. The love of proper- 
ty, the feeling of rivalry, of anger, of the love of ap- 
probation, the feeling of self-esteem or pride, of sel- 
fishness, may be egoistic feelings, but they are so only 
because of an act which recognizes, at one and the 
same time, self and not-self, ego and alter. The self 
has no meaning except as contrasted with other per- 
sons. Egoistic feelings are impossible except through 
a connection with altruistic feelings. “ Mine ” requires 
a contrasted “ thine.” 
Classification of Personal Feelings.—Recognizing, 
therefore, that personal feelings cannot be classified as 
egoistic and altruistic, as each necessarily involves the 
other, we may properly classify them, in the order 
of increasing universality, as social, moral, and relig- 
ious. Not only are egoistic feelings not the original 328 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
type of personal feelings, but they are not normal feel- 
ings at all, when egoistic is interpreted in a selfish 
sense. Love of property, for example, is not a selfish 
leeling; it is one form in which the self necessarily 
expands and expresses its being. It becomes selfish 
only when the feeling is isolated from the object, and 
the pleasure of property, the connection of property 
with one’s immediate self, is made the object of con- 
templation or of action. Severed in this way from its 
connection with the object, and given independent ex- 
istence in consciousness, it is, like all such feeling, ab- 
normal. 
1. Social Feelings. — Since feelings for self are as 
thoroughly social in their nature as feelings for others; 
since, indeed, one class is not possible without the oth- 
er, we recognize two forms of social feeling, of others 
and of self. One is the feeling of others in their 
relation to self; the other is the feeling of self in its 
relation to others. They are not feelings which can 
exist apart from one another; they are phases of the 
same feeling separable only through abstraction. Each 
is further resolvable into two types: feeling for others, 
into sympathy and antipathy; feeling for self, into 
humility and pride. 
(1.) Sympathy and Antipathy.—Both of these feel- 
ings manifest the essential unity of human nature, ap- 
pearing though it does in various individuals. They 
are feelings which result from the identification of 
one's self with another, antipathy no less than sympa- 
thy. Were it not for the unity of one nature with an- 
other, and the possible identification resulting from this 
kinship, the feeling of indifference (which is properly 
not a feeling, but its absence) would be the only state PERSONAL FEELING. 
329 
of mind in which one person could stand towards an- 
other. 
Antipathy.—The special forms of antipathy are dis- 
gust and indignation. In disgust we identify the state 
of mind or experience of others with ourselves, and 
find it repulsive to our own actual state. Indignation 
is to be distinguished from anger and rage. The lat- 
ter are more or less blind, impulsive outbursts of feel- 
ing against whatever obstructs our pleasurable activity 
or brings us positive pain. They may be directed 
against things as well as persons; it is only by experi- 
ence that they come to be restricted to the latter. In- 
dignation is a feeling that results from identifying the 
course of action or emotional mood of another with 
ourselves, when this course or mood comes short in 
large measure of our own ideal. Could we not iden- 
tify the other person with self, and then measure both 
by a common ideal, the feeling of indignation would 
be impossible. 
Sympathy.—This feeling results from an identifica- 
tion with self of such experiences of others as are felt 
to be possible experiences of our own. The feeling 
may be unpleasant as much as that of disgust it- 
self, but the experience which excites the latter feel- 
ing is one which we feel repulsive to our inmost self; 
while that awakening sympathy we feel as something 
common to our natures. In sympathy we take the feel- 
ings of another for our own ; in disgust or indignation, 
we say that we would not have such feelings for our 
own. We generally speak of sympathizing with the 
griefs of others, but, of course, sympathy comprehends 
their joys as well. But the community of sorrow 
seems wider than that of gladness. 330 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Origin of Sympathy.—Sympathy has its origin in 
what is termed resonance or contagion of feeling. 
There is a psychical atmosphere as well as a physical, 
and one living in this atmosphere absorbs and reflects 
it. Laughter and crying are both “ catching.” We 
unconsciously reproduce the feelings of those about 
us; we take on their mood unaware. The method ap- 
pears to be as follows: we see the physical sign of grief 
or joy. By pure reflex or imitative action our own 
features tend to take on this expression and induce the 
same feeling. There is the tendency to interpret this 
sign, and as the feeling can be interpreted only as it 
is reproduced, the person himself assumes the mood. 
We know what the sign of anger means only as 
we ourselves feel anger. These two facts combined 
form the psychological mechanism of the origin of 
sympathy. 
Nature of Sympathy.—But this is only the basis of 
the emotion. As already said, in sympathy we take 
the feelings of others for our own. The process just 
described only reproduces in ourselves the feelings of 
others; it originates certain emotions in ourselves, but 
that is all that it does. For sympathy, we must not 
only have this feeling ourselves, but we must recog- 
nize, in addition, that it is the experience of some one 
else. A skilful actor may, by the foregoing process, 
awaken in us just the emotion which he desires, but 
this is not necessarily sympathy. For we may recog- 
nize that it is all a “show,” a make-believe, and thus, 
while experiencing just the same feelings as the actor, 
never dream of projecting them beyond ourselves, and 
of regarding them as the real feelings of others. Sym- 
pathy, in short, is the reproduction of the experience PERSONAL FEELING. 
331 
of another, accompanied by the recognition of the fact 
that it is his experience. 
Conditions of Sympathy.—The conditions of sympa- 
thetic feeling are, therefore, first, ability to apprehend, 
consciously or unconsciously, the feelings of others, 
and to reproduce them in our minds; and, secondly, 
the ability to forget self, and remember that these feel- 
ings, although our own feelings, are, after all, the ex- 
perience of some one else. Sympathy involves dis- 
tinction as well as identification. I must not only 
assume into myself the experiences of a man who is 
suffering from poverty, in order to sympathize with 
him, but I must realize them as his ; I must separate 
them from my own personal self, and objectify them 
in him. 
Tims it is that many persons who are extremely sen- 
sitive to the feelings of others are quite unsympathet- 
ic. They register in their own mood each slight vari- 
ation of feeling in those about them, as a barometer 
registers physical variations; but they have no true 
sympathy, for they regard these new feelings only as 
new experiences of their own; they do not project 
them outward. The conditions of such projection are, 
first, sufficient emotional experience of our own to 
be able to apprehend and take on those of others; 
second, such an active interest in others as will en- 
able us to regard these experiences as truly theirs. 
We must not only take their life into ours, but we 
must put ours into them. Sympathy, as active inter- 
est, thus becomes love and a spring to action, which 
we will treat under the second head. 
Function of Sympathy.—It is impossible to over- 
estimate the importance of sympathy in the emotional 332 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
life. It is there what attention is in the strictly intel- 
lectual department; as the latter is the sole means by 
which objects and relations come within the reach of 
our consciousness, so sympathy is the sole means by 
which persons come within the range of our life. It 
is thus an extremely universal feeling, for it takes us 
beyond what constitutes our immediate personality, 
our private interests and concerns, into what univer- 
sally constitutes personality. It may be limited at first 
to those of our own family, our own rank in society, 
our own neighborhood, but this is because of a defec- 
tive sympathy; it is because we have learned to sym- 
pathize only with that which is in harmony with some 
limited aspect of our own nature; as our nature widens 
and becomes developed there must be a corresponding 
increase of sympathy, and this increase can reach its 
end only in a completely developed personality, a per- 
sonality which has become absolutely universal. Such 
a sympathy can, of course, recognize no distinction of 
social rank, wealth, or learning, or anything that tends 
to cut off one person from another. 
Sympathy and Social Relations.—Sympathy is the 
bond of union between men; it is to the social sphere 
what gravitation is to the physical. It is the expres- 
sion of the spiritual unity of mankind. While it 
may, in its undeveloped condition, be confined, it is 
always widening to reach more men, and deepening 
to include more fundamental relations between men. 
It constitutes society an organic whole, a whole per- 
meated by a common life, where each individual still 
lives his own distinct life unabsorbed in that of the 
community. It is possible, perhaps, to conceive of 
a development of sympathy such that each individ- PERSONAL FEELING. 
333 
ual should simply take into himself the experiences 
of others, and not project them outward in realiz- 
ing that they are the experiences of persons. Such 
a development would result in each living a self- 
absorbed life, without recognizing his relations of spir- 
itual identity with other men. Or it is possible to 
conceive such a development of sympathy that each 
should simply project himself outward, and lose his 
individual life in the life of the community, becoming 
more and more absorbed in it. In this case a sense 
of separate personality would be lost. But, as matter 
of fact, the nature of sympathy is such that growth in 
individuality is a necessary accompaniment of growth 
of universality of feeling. Sympathy identifies others 
with one’s self, and at the same time distinguishes 
them from one’s self. It enables us to realize our true 
nature, which is universal personality, by widening our 
life till it becomes as comprehensive as humanity, and 
at the same time deepens our own distinct individual- 
ity. The growdli of feeling is like the growth of 
knowledge—it becomes more individual through uni- 
versal relations. 
(2.) Pride and Humility.—As sympathy and antip- 
athy are feelings for others as connected with self, so 
pride and humility are feelings of self as related to 
others. Pride is a sense of our own worth com- 
pared with a personality not ourselves, and humility 
is a sense of our demerit compared with such a per- 
sonality. Pride may be self-respect. As such, it is 
the feeling that we are personalities; that there is em- 
bodied in us the infinite value of a self which is worthy 
of respect wherever found. As such, it is not an egoistic 
feeling, but the obverse of sympathy. In short, it is 334 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
not feeling of our particular separate qualities; it is 
feeling of our universal nature, that which we have in 
common with all personalities. When it is the feeling 
of some quality, acquirement, or circumstance of self, 
pride takes the form of self-complacencjq conceit, van- 
ity. Such feelings are egoistic, and prevent the person 
from getting outside of himself. 
Ilumility.—Humility is not necessarily opposed to 
self-respect. As self-respect is the recognition in feel- 
ing that wTe are persons, and, as such, cannot be put to 
any low use, so humility is the sense of the con- 
trast between this personality which constitutes our 
real (that is, objective and universal) being, and our 
actual state of attainment. As such, pride and hu- 
mility necessarily accompany each other. .Humility 
may, however, be the sense of our own particular 
worth as compared with the particular worth of 
somebody else. As such it takes the form of sensi- 
tiveness, self - depreciation, perhaps even to degrada- 
tion ; though it may occur in the form of modesty, 
which, if genuine, is rather the absence of conceit than 
a positive form of feeling. 
Complex Forms.—It is not to bo supposed that our 
analysis is able to correspond to the actual wealth 
of positive relations which social feelings assume; 
we are able only to indicate a few of the leading 
types. We may mention in addition certain more 
complex forms which result from the simple combi- 
nation of these types. Antipathy combined with 
the egoistic form of humility, gives rise to the feeling 
of envy ; sympathy, similarly combined, gives jealousy, 
for where there is jealousy there is sympathy regard- 
ing the end in view, but recognition of one’s own in- PERSONAL FEELING. 
335 
feriority, while envy would carp at all the attainments 
of another. Malice is the egoistic form of pride joined 
with antipathy; covetousness is the same form of feel- 
ing combined with sympathy. The student will find 
it an excellent psychological analysis to take the almost 
infinite variety of social feelings and analyze them into 
their elementary types. 
2. Moral Feelings.—The moral feelings are based 
upon the social feelings, and are an outgrowth of 
them. We recognize moral relations to those whom 
we feel to be identical in nature with ourselves. The 
feeling of sympathy as the basis of this identifica- 
tion of natures is, therefore, the source of all moral 
feeling. Moral feelings may be extended to include 
all possible relations, intellectual and aesthetic, as well 
as the strictly social, but this only when these relations 
are brought into connection with personality. In study- 
ing moral feelings we have only to ascertain how they 
are developed out of the social feelings, and what ele- 
ments, hitherto unrecognized, this development intro- 
duces. 
Feelings of Rightness.—As the essential characteris- 
tic of an intellectual feeling is that it is the sense of 
truth, or the harmony between one object and relation 
and the ideal unity of all relations; as the essential 
characteristic of an aesthetic feeling is that it is the 
sense of beauty, or the harmony between an object 
and the ideal value of all objects, so moral feeling is 
the sense of rightness, the feeling of the harmony ex- 
isting between an act of a person and the ideal of per- 
sonality. The feeling that an act is right is the feeling 
that in that act the ideal—that is, the perfectly objec- 
tive and universal—personality is realized; the feeling 336 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of the wrongness of an act is the feeling that it does 
not conform to this ideal of personality, but contra- 
venes it. Intellectual feeling deals with the relations 
of objects; {esthetic feeling with their ideal values; 
social feelings with the relations of persons; moral 
feelings with the ideal relations and worths of per- 
sons. 
Moral Feeling is only Explicit Social Feeling.—It 
is evident from this that moral feeling only brings into 
conscious recognition what is all the time involved in 
social feeling. The essence of social feeling is that in 
it man feels himself identified with a self more com- 
prehensive, more permanent than his own private and 
particular being. He feels his true life to be that of 
all personalities; he feels, in short, that he cannot real- 
ize himself except in a self which will unite and har- 
monize all the varied experiences of humanity. It is 
not meant, of course, that this relation of the actual 
self to the ideal, universal self is consciously recog- 
nized by all to be present when they experience social 
feeling. It is only meant that a fair analysis reveals 
this relation as constituting its essence. But in moral 
feeling this relation is brought more explicitly into 
consciousness. In moral feeling man feels his true 
self to be one which comprehends possible relations to 
all men, and all acts which are necessary to bring the 
actual self into harmony with this true self, to make 
his will, in other words, conform to a universal will, 
he conceives as duties. 
The Feeling of Obligation.—Besides the feeling of 
rightness, it is evident that moral sentiment involves 
the feeling of obligation. In intellectual feeling, and 
in aesthetic feeling, there is no sense of obligation. PEESONAL FEELING. 
337 
We simply feel that the truth or the beauty is there. 
We feel no responsibility for its existence. If we feel 
any responsibility to reproduce them in ourselves, it is 
only because we have brought them in relation to per- 
sonality, and have conceived them as elements of a 
completed personality—as merely intellectual and aes- 
thetic no such responsibility is felt. But the feeling 
that a universal self is our own true being is neces- 
sarily accompanied by the feeling of obligation and 
responsibility. We feel bound to realize our own nat- 
ure because it is our nature, and feel responsible for 
its non-realization, because we are not dealing with a 
material which seems partially external to ourselves, 
and hence out of our control, like the relations consti- 
tuting the universe, or the ideal values which these 
relations express, but with our own very selves. 
Reverence and Remorse.—The combination of feel- 
ings of rightness and of obligation gives rise to the 
feeling of reverence. Reverence is the feeling that the 
object towards which it is directed is completely uni- 
versal, realizing in itself the wills of all men, and hence 
is entirely “right” or perfect, combined with the feel- 
ing that this personality is not foreign to our nature, 
but is its true being, and hence is an absolute obliga- 
tion upon it. The social feeling of humility becomes 
greatly deepened in the presence of such an ideal per- 
sonality. Remorse is the feeling of the chasm exist- 
ing between this ideal and our own actual state through 
some act of our own. We feel that we ought to have 
realized our own being, and that we could have done 
so, but that we have not. The feeling of this split, 
this dualism, in our nature constitutes remorse. 
3. Religious Feeling. — Moral feeling is the out- 338 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
growth and manifestation of the true nature of social 
feeling; religious feeling bears a similar relation to 
moral. There is a conflict in moral feeling as such. 
Moral feeling lays hold of our own true self, as one 
harmonizing all elements of human character, and says 
that this ought to be made real, and that our actual 
self must be made into conformity with it. Moral 
feeling involves, therefore, a gulf between the actual 
and the ideal or universal self. Our own nature does 
not completely manifest itself in moral relations; it 
does so partly, and ought to do so wholly. Our nature 
can be completely objectified or realized only when 
the chasm between what is and what ought to be, be- 
tween the actual and the ideal self, is overcome. Re- 
ligious experience is the sphere in which this iden- 
tification of one’s self with the completely realized 
personality, or God, occurs. Religious feeling is, 
therefore, the completely universal feeling, and with 
it the progressive development of feeling ends. It 
brings into our experience the elements which are in- 
volved in moral and social feeling, but are not made 
explicit in them. "VYe shall briefly mention some of 
these elements. 
Feeling of Dependence. — In the feeling that our 
actual self is not our true self there is involved the 
element of dependence. In social relations we feel 
ourselves dependent upon other personalities for onr 
development; we feel that isolated wTe are deprived of 
most of our powers. In moral relations this depend- 
ence is consciously felt, and is expressed in the emotion 
of obligation. To feel that we ought to realize a cer- 
tain personal worth is to feel our dependence upon 
that worth. But this feeling does not become corn- PEKSONAL FEELING. 
339 
plete. There is always our own private self which is 
set up over against the universal self; this private self 
cannot be got rid of in moral action, although we feel 
that it ought to be abolished. But in religious feeling 
we recognize the worthlessness, the nullity, of this pri- 
vate separate self, and surrender ourselves wholly to 
the perfect personality, God. We feel that there is 
absolutely no independent element in us. It follows, 
of course, that the feeling is not one of physical de- 
pendence, one upon power,but a spiritual dependence; 
that whatever we have and are is not of our particular 
selves, but from God. 
Feeling of Peace. — Another element of religious 
feeling is that of the feeling of peace. This emotion 
is that of complete reconciliation, of harmony. So far 
as we attain the moral ideal there is this feeling, for 
the moral ideal is simply a completely unified person- 
ality, but, as already mentioned, the moral life is one of 
conflict. The unity is not attained. In the religious 
life, however, so far as one gives up wholly his own 
particular self (and except as he does this, there is no 
religious life), and takes the life of the completely har- 
monious Personality for his own, he is not living a 
life of conflict, but of apprehending that which abso- 
lutely is. There can be no essential dualism in his life, 
for the only thing which is real for him is that Being 
in whom personality is complete. There is, therefore, 
the feeling of peace. 
The Feeling of Faith.—Both in social and moral 
relations faith is involved. In moral relations, for 
example, one says that something must be realized by 
him which exists not as matter of fact, but as an ideal. 
The moral ideal is not a mere fact in the world; it is 340 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
truly an ideal, that which ought to be actual, but is not 
seen to be so. It is true that morality is not an imagi- 
nation, it is manifested in living characters in society 
and the state; but these get all their moral force be- 
cause they are felt to be expressions of an ideal. This 
ideal, therefore, not existing as so much fact, must be 
apprehended by faith. The moral life is one of faith, 
for it constantly asserts that the final reality for man 
is that which cannot be made out actually to exist. 
The religious life only brings this element to con- 
scious recognition. It says that that of which alone 
the individual can be sure as matter of fact, namely, 
his private self, is unreal, and that the sole reality is 
the perfect and universal personality, God, who cannot 
be immediately felt to be. It asserts that this Person- 
ality is not only ideal, and an ideal which ought to be 
real, as moral feeling asserts of its object, but that it is 
perfectly real. Since the entire intellectual, aesthet- 
ic, and moral life is one of idealization, it is evident 
that the feeling of faith, which religion insists upon and 
induces, is the feeling which is implicitly involved in 
all experience whatever. Religious feeling, or faith, is 
absolutely universal, universal in its object, and univer- 
sal as coextensive with all experience. 
II. Personal Feeling as Spring to Action.—Personal 
feeling takes the form of interest in persons. It is 
necessarily directed outwards. It can find its satisfac- 
tion only in the realization of that in which its interest 
lies. Considered in this light, personal feeling is love. 
Love is to persons what admiration is to ideal values, 
or wonder to the objective universe. It is not s>, sub- 
jective sentiment, nor a passive affection. It is active 
interest. It is not receptive in its nature, but creative. PERSONAL FEELING. 
341 
It is essentially objective. We may be pleasurably af- 
fected by individuals, and may, through association, ex- 
tend the pleasure we experience to these individuals; 
we may include them within the sphere of our personal 
enjoyment. But this is not love, although it is one of 
the means by which love comes into existence. As 
wonder and admiration are forgetfulness of self in the 
presence of the universe of objects and ideals, so love 
is forgetfnlness of self in the presence of persons. 
Love and Hate.—All love is sympathy considered as 
spring to action, and hate is antipathy. It has been mat- 
ter of discussion among psychologists whether there is 
any such feeling as pure hate or malevolence. Some 
have asserted and others denied that it is possible to 
assume an utterly hostile attitude towards others, and 
find pleasure in their loss. In one signification of the 
term hate, it is necessarily implied in love. As love is 
interest in the well-being of another for his own sake, 
it involves hatred for all that hinders this well-being. 
Since we recognize that well-being is personal and cannot 
be controlled by non-personal considerations, we recog- 
nize that these hinderances must be due to the person 
himself, and in that sense we may be said to hate him. 
We hate, in other words, all that prevents the realization 
of our love. The hatred is simply the negative side of 
love. Since, however, love is necessarily an emotion 
which finds its satisfaction in persons, hate as a feeling 
directed towards persons in themselves is a psychologi- 
cal impossibility. Personality is a universal character- 
istic, and wre could not hate a person in himself without 
hating our own self. 
Like and Dislike.—Love, however, has an abnormal 
form. It is possible that the feeling should not lose 342 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
itself in others, but should become turned inwards, and 
exist for the satisfaction of one’s private self. We may 
regard others, in other words, only so far as they min- 
ister to our individual satisfaction. Our feeling tow- 
ards them may be because they “ agree ” with us, or are 
agreeable; because they produce pleasurable emotions 
in us. Such affections are “ likes ” rather than love. 
Similarly they may affect us disagreeably; they may 
cause us unpleasant experiences. They may do this 
by the possession of some quality which constantly re- 
minds us of our own inferiority, by some quality which 
irritates us, or by actually injuring us. Such persons 
we dislike. But such feeling is an egoistic feeling, not 
a social one, while hate proper, since it is directed 
only towards that which hinders self-realization, is, in 
effect, a social feeling. Most of what is ordinarily 
called hatred is either malice or dislike. 
Products of Love.—Love, as interest in the well- 
being of personality, is necessarily creative. Wonder 
creates science, admiration creates the line arts; love 
creates the various forms of personal relations and in- 
stitutions : of these, the primary and fundamental is 
the family, based upon sexual, parental, and filial love. 
It is the most immediate and intimate form which in- 
terest in others takes. It is based in the greatest de- 
gree upon the immediate and direct demands of our 
nature; the demands for reproduction, for nourishment, 
for shelter, for protection. As, however, it is in the 
family that each personality most fully expresses his 
own nature, as the relations of persons to each other 
are there the most intimate, it becomes the fundamental 
social unit, the primary moral agency, and the ultimate 
source of religious education. PERSONAL FEELING. 
343 
Other Forms.—Love, however, cannot be restricted 
to those with whom we are in immediate natural and 
physical relations. Wherever there is a person, there 
is a possible object of personal interest. Love widens 
into friendship, which, taken in a comprehensive sense, 
is the basis of all social relations. Society, as an insti- 
tution, is but the manifestation, the realization, of per- 
sonal feeling as a spring to action. Personal feeling 
can find its goal only in relations to persons, which are 
permanent and universal; and all that we call society, 
state, and humanity are the realization of these perma- 
nent and universal relations of persons which are based 
upon active sympathy. 
Psychologically, the bond of union in society and the 
state is not law in a legal or judicial sense; much less 
force. It is love. Law is the expression of the fact 
that love is not an ill-regulated gush of sentiment nor 
a personal indulgence, but is the universal and natural 
manifestation of personality. The force which society 
employs is the recognition by society that the uni- 
versal personality is an absolute obligation upon every 
member of society; and that only in society can this 
personality be realized, and that every breach of social 
relations is a hinderance to the accomplishing by man 
of his true life. It is the manifestation by society of 
that hate which is necessarily implied in all love. The 
highest product of the interest of man in man is the 
Church. This brings into explicit consciousness the 
elements involved in all social organization. It re- 
quires love as the supreme obligation, and it brings to 
light the relation of this love to the perfect and uni- 
versal personality, God. 
III. Feeling as Social Judgment, Conscience.—The 344 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
feeling of rightness necessarily passes over into the 
judgment of rightness. We regard the feeling not as 
something which we subjectively experience, but as an 
attribute of the act of personality. We do so because 
we conceive that to be right which agrees with the con- 
ditions of a complete personality, and such a person- 
ality we instinctively feel to be universal and objective. 
The moral judgment is the explicit presence in con- 
sciousness of the objective factor involved in all per- 
sonal feeling. The moral judgments, taken together, 
are referred to a power called conscience. Conscience 
is not, however, to be conceived as a special faculty of 
mind. As feeling, it is the emotion of rightness and 
obligation, together with the consequent remorse or 
approbation flowing from a feeling of conformity or 
non-conformity to the obligation. As intellectual, it is 
the apprehension of the content of these feelings; the 
apprehension of the quality of moral acts measured by 
the ideal of personality. 
Nature of Conscience.—Conscience is, therefore, in- 
tuitive. It is not such in the sense that it enunciates 
universal laws and principles, for it lays down no laws. 
Conscience is a name for the experience of personality 
that a given act is in harmony or in discord with a 
truly realized personality. It is the internal side of 
every personal experience. These experiences are nec- 
essarily connected with feelings of pleasure and of pain, 
of approbation and disapprobation. That which is felt 
to correspond to the perfect ideal of man is felt as har- 
monious, and calls forth the feeling of moral harmony 
which we call approbation. Conscience, like the intel- 
lectual and the aesthetic sense, is capable of develop- 
ment. To sa}' this, is only to say that man’s moral PEKSONAL FEELING. 
345 
nature is in process of realization. With every new real- 
ization of personality comes a higher ideal of what 
constitutes a true man, and a keener response to rela- 
tions of harmony and discord. So every degradation 
of manhood is accompanied by a lowering of the ideal 
which one can form, a blunted sense of what conforms 
to it, and approbation of what would otherwise flood 
the soul with displeasure. Conscience is, indeed, a 
feeling of the universal and objective wTorth of per- 
sonal acts, but in what degree its feelings are true to 
fact depends upon how universal and objective is the 
self which feels. 
Conscience and Ethics. — The moral feeling, like 
the intellectual and sesthetic, is individual. It is the 
intuitive expression of the moral nature of the indi- 
vidual. Reason may, however, investigate the sponta- 
neous and intuitive declarations of feeling to find the 
grounds upon which it works, and, having reflectively 
analyzed these grounds, may formulate them in the 
laws of conduct, as it formulates the canons of taste, 
and the rules of logic. It thus attempts to arrive at 
universal laws of action and permanent qualities of 
right action. It must not be forgotten, however, that 
a moral law is an abstraction. The concrete fact is a 
living personality, and what we call an ethical law is a 
mode of action which has been separated by reflective 
analysis from this personality. The moral individual 
does not live to realize moral law, but to realize him- 
self, and what are termed moral laws are those modes 
of action which are observed to be harmoniously re- 
lated to such realization. While ethics is a legitimate 
analysis of the moral sense, an attempt to make it 
render up its hidden meaning, casuistry is an abnormal PSYCHOLOGY. 
manifestation of it. It is the attempt to formulate rules 
to decide between right and wrong action in specific 
cases. It thus attempts to substitute for the uncon- 
strained freedom of the person external and foreign 
prescriptions. The heart of the moral life lies in the 
free personal determination of right and wrong. No 
set of rules can take the place of this personal deter- 
mination without destroying the vital spring of morals. 
Upon social feeling we refer to the following: Sully, “Psychology,” pp. 
508-518; Murray (op. cit.), pp. 360-377; McCosh (op. cit.), p. 215 fF.; Bain, 
“Emotions and Will,” pp. 106-188, 210-227; Brown (op. cit.'), vol. ii., pp. 
206-253; Spencer (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 558-577, 587-626; Martineau (op. cit.), 
vol. ii., pp. 134-141; Laurie, “Ethica,”pp. 104-119; Marion, “La Solidarity 
Morale,” pp. 163-205; De Guimps (op. cit.), pp. 444-449; Perez, “ L’Educa- 
tion,” pp. 224-264; Nahlowsky (op. cit.), pp. 215-333; Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. 
ii., pt. 2, pp. 353-466, 479-504; Michelet (op. cit.), pp. 474-485; Ulrici (op. 
cit.), vol. ii., pp. 346-356; Fortlage, “Acht psychologische Yortrage” (essay 
on “Friendship”); Lazarus, essay on “Friendship,” in “Das Leben der Seele;” 
Schmidt, “ Ueber das Mitgefuhl;” Duboc, “ Psychologie der Liebe.” Re- 
garding feelings of self, see Murray (op. cit.), pp. 356-360; McCosh (op. cit.), 
pp. 7-42; Bain, “Emotions and Will,” pp. 128-144; Stephens, “Science of 
Ethics,” pp. 219-227; Lotze, “ Microcosmus,” pp. 696-706; Rosenkranz (op. 
cit.), pp. 143-156; Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. ii., pt. 2, pp. 232-301; Preyer (op. 
cit.), pp. 392-406 ; Joly, “ Notions de Pedagogic,” pp. 196-210. Upon moral 
and religious feeling, see Caird, “ Philosophy of Religion,” ch. ix.; Martineau 
(op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 19-64; Laurie, “Ethica,” pp. 28-37, 59-68, 148-155; 
Bain, “ Emotions and Will,” pp. 121-125, 286-322; Abercrombie, “ Philosophy 
of Moral Feelings;” Ulrici (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 356-390 (moral), pp. 418-453 
(religious); Striimpell (op. cit.), p. 278 ff.; Nahlowsky (op. cit.), pp. 197-213; 
Horwicz (op. cit.), vol. ii., pt. 2, pp. 302-352, 512-520; Volkmann (op. cit.), 
vol. ii., pp. 363-373. For a pessimistic view, see Ree, “Der Ursprung der 
moralischen Empfindungen,” with which compare Von Hartmann, “ Phano« 
menologie des sittlichen Bewusstseins,” pp. 163-322. PART III.—THE WILL. 
CHAPTER XVII. 
SENSUOUS IMPULSES. 
Nature of Will.—The term will has a narrower and 
a wider sense. In its broad sense it is synonymous with 
all psychical activity having a mental and not merely a 
physiological stimulus, and which accomplishes any re- 
sult whether intended or not. In the narrower sense 
the word is limited to action arising from an idea and 
ending in making this idea real; in changing it from 
an idea into a presentation. In the narrower sense, 
there is required for will a union of feeling and knowl- 
edge in one and the same act. Will always unites me 
with some reality, either transforming an element of the 
me into objective reality, or bringing that objective re- 
ality into the sphere of my immediate feeling. It thus 
connects the content of knowledge with the form of feel- 
ing. Or, again, there is no knowledge without atten- 
tion ; but attention is simply the activity of will as it 
connects a universal content with an individual sub- 
ject. There is also no feeling except as an accompani- 
ment of some activity. Both knowledge and feeling, 
therefore, find their basis in will. 
The Will and Sensuous Impulses.—The will is not 
purely formal, but has a real content of its own. This 
is supplied primarily through the sensuous impulses. 348 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
These do not of themselves constitute will, any more 
than sensations constitute knowledge. As the latter 
consists in relating, connecting, and systematizing sen- 
sations, in mastering and interpreting them, so will gets 
its existence in the co-ordination and mutual regulation 
of the sensuous impulses; in bringing them into har- 
monious relations with each other through their subor- 
dination to a common end. We have, for example, 
impulses which induce us to locomotion; these im- 
pulses do not constitute a volition until they are con- 
nected with one another, and organized into a defi- 
nite mode of action. The sensuous impulses, in other 
words, constitute the raw material, the basis of will; 
they must be elaborated into the actual forms of voli- 
tion through a process. We shall take up, therefore, 
in this chapter, the raw material; shall then pass on to 
the processes of development of this material; and 
finally consider some of the results, the concrete mani- 
festations, occasioned by the action of the processes on 
the sensuous impulses. 
Sensuous Impulse Defined.—Sensuous impulse may 
be defined as the felt pressure of a state of consciousness 
arising from some bodily condition to express itself in 
producing some physical change. It involves, there- 
fore, some affection of the physical organism which 
occasions a state of consciousness; and this state of 
consciousness is not purely quiescent, but involves in 
itself, as it were, a surplus of energy which reacts 
against the external stimulus in some way. For exam- 
ple, the nervous mechanism of the eye is affected by 
setherie vibration; the molecular motion conducted to 
the brain results there in the state of consciousness 
which we call the sensation of light. But there is also SENSUOUS IMPULSES. 
349 
an affection of the self; there is a tendency either to 
direct the eye towards the light or away from it. The 
energy of this tendency or pressure towards or from a 
physical stimulus is sensuous impulse. The stimulus, 
of course, may arise from within, as in the case of 
hunger, where it is a condition of the organism. The 
sensation of hunger, so far as it gives us information 
of the state of our body, is the basis of knowledge; so 
far as it is a pleasurable or painful affection of self, it 
is feeling; so far as it is the tendency to react upon 
this feeling, and satisfy it, by bringing about some 
objective change, it is impulse. 
Reflex Action.—A sensuous impulse involves, there- 
fore, both an internal and external side. It has, as a 
necessary prerequisite, a state of feeling, an affection 
which is agreeable or the reverse. But it has, as its 
necessary outcome, a tendency towards physical ex- 
pression, an actual change of the body. There must 
be, accordingly, some mechanism to connect these two 
sides, to give the internal feeling its external expres- 
sion. This mechanism is known as reflex action. The 
nerves of the cerebro-spinal system of the body are 
either sensory or motor; that is to say, they either con- 
duct the stimulus from a sense-organ inwards, or they 
conduct a stimulus from a central organ to a group of 
muscles. These sensory and motor nerves unite in 
ganglia near the spinal cord. When a stimulus is 
transferred from a sensory nerve to a motor without 
the conscious intervention of the mind, we have reflex 
action. 
That is to say, reflex action is the direct and imme- 
diate deflection of a stimulus having a sense origin 
into a motor channel. If something suddenly ap- 350 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
proaches the eye, the nerve stimulus is transferred to 
the spinal cord, and, instead of being thence continued 
to the brain, and giving rise to a sensation, it is dis- 
charged into a motor nerve, and the eye is immediate- 
ly closed. Coughing, chewing, swallowing, etc., are oth- 
er examples of reflex acts. Heflex action, as such, is a 
physiological process, but it is of importance here be- 
cause it forms the physical basis of sensuous impulse. 
The reflex action, in itself, involves no consciousness, 
while the sensuous impulse does; but the union of 
sensory and motor nerves, whether in the spinal cord 
or brain, affords the mechanism by which any feeling 
may discharge itself in producing physical change, and 
thus relieve the pressure. 
Classes of Impulses.—Strictly speaking, sensuous im- 
pulses would be confined to impulses accompanying the 
immediate feelings which come from our senses, gen- 
eral and special, but, owing to their great similarity of 
nature, we shall treat, in connection with them, im- 
pulses of perception, imitative impulses, ideational im- 
pulses, and instinctive impulses, considering under the 
latter head especially those of expression. 
1. General Sense Impulses.—Every sensation, as a con- 
crete fact, is an impulse. In treating sensation under 
the head of knowledge, we spoke of it as if it were a 
mere state of the mind. That is only one side of it. 
It is also a reaction against the stimulus; it is a dis- 
turbance of the equilibrium of the organism, setting 
free energy which must discharge itself in producing 
some change. This is seen most plainly in the organic 
senses, where the senses appear as appetites, or as reg- 
ularly recurring tendencies to the appropriation of 
material external to the organism. These demands of SENSUOUS IMPULSES. 
351 
the sense organs may be constant, as that for air; or 
periodical, as those for food and drink; or irregular, 
like the sexual. But in all cases the sensation is not 
exhausted in itself, but is an impulse going out upon 
some foreign material. It expresses, in other words, 
the demand of the mind to make something outside 
of itself part of itself; in the given cases, part of its 
physical self. 
2. Special Sense Impulses.—This fact is no less true 
of the special senses. There is a hunger of the sense of 
touch for bodies; of the sense of hearing for sounds; 
of the sense of sight for light and its colors. The con- 
tact of the hand with a body is reacted upon with an 
impulse to explore that body, to “ feel ” it. Every sound 
is a stimulus to the mind to observe it, to note its qual- 
ity, its relations, etc. If it is particularly pleasant, the 
mind acts by an impulse to continue it; if disagreea- 
ble, to destroy its cause, or to take the body out of its 
hearing. Were not sensations something more than 
mere sensations, were they not impulses to action, 
knowledge would not originate ; for there would be 
nothing to induce the mind to dwell upon the sensation 
with the accentuating action of attention ; nothing to 
direct the mind to its qualities and relations. It fol- 
lows, as a matter of course, that will would not origi- 
nate, for there would be nothing to induce the mind to 
put forth its activities at all, much less anything to in- 
duce it to put them forth in this direction rather than 
in that. 
3. Impulses of Perception.—The sensuous impulses 
just spoken of follow directly out of the state of feel- 
ing, involving no recognition of an object. There are, 
however, impulses which follow as directly from the 352 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
perception of some object, involving no consciousness 
of the end of the action, and such we may call impulses 
of perception. They all come under the general head 
of impulses to grasp something. There seems to be a 
connection of some sort between the recognition of an 
object and a tendency to reach for and grasp it. This 
tendency is seen very fully developed in infants. The 
child soon reaches for all objects which come within 
the range of his vision ; this impulse easily develops it- 
self into the play impulse. The child grasps for ob- 
jects, handles them, moves them here and there, throws 
his arms about, with no end in view except the expres- 
sion of his own activity. It is the development of the 
muscular impulse in connection with the recognition 
of objects, and is of great importance as a stimulus to 
activity, and as constantly initiating new modes of ac- 
tivity. 
4. Impulses to Imitation.—Growing out of the im- 
pulses of perception, and forming a large part of the ma- 
terial of play, are the impulses to imitate or reproduce 
any perceived movement. This again is especially mani- 
fest in children, being seen both in their sports and in 
their relations to their elders, and is one of the most 
important factors in their education. A child, by pure 
force of imitation, takes on very largely the artistic 
and moral coloring of his environment. The force of 
the imitative impulse is seen very clearly, also, in hyp- 
notized persons. The tendency to imitate is ordinarily 
checked by the presence in consciousness of other ideas 
and ends incompatible with the bare reproduction of 
something externally perceived ; but when these are 
excluded from the sphere of consciousness, as they are 
in persons in a somnambulic condition, whether natu- SENSUOUS IMPULSES. 
353 
ral or induced, this tendency holds complete sway, and 
such persons often accurately reproduce every move- 
ment of the one operating upon them. 
5. Ideational Impulses.-—Ideas, as well as feelings and 
perceptions, may be impulses to action. In ordinary 
life they are so only when harmonized with each other 
and brought into reference with some end of action, 
and hence are not impulses truly so called. In abnor- 
mal cases, however, the ideas seem to be freed from 
their co-ordination and subordination, and to work 
freely on their own account. In hypnotized persons, 
for example, any idea suggested is immediately exe- 
cuted, as swimming, ascending in a balloon, delivering 
an oration, etc. 
Those having to do with persons of disordered nature 
recognize what they call “compulsory ideas” (Zwangs- 
vorstellungen), where the individual is impelled to the 
execution either of every idea that occurs to him, or 
of some one kind of ideas, often finding terrible ex- 
pression in murder or suicide. In such cases the in- 
dividual is haunted constantly by a certain idea, and 
finds no relief except in the performance of the corre- 
sponding act, and this although he may be suffering 
under no intellectual delusion whatever regarding the 
nature of his act. 
6. Instinctive Impulses.—In a wide sense all the 
impulses hitherto mentioned are instinctive. An in- 
stinctive act may be defined as one to which an indi- 
vidual feels himself impelled without knowing the end 
to be accomplished, yet with ability to select the proper 
means for its attainment. In a sense more specific, 
instinctive impulses may be distinguished from the 
forms of sensuous impulse just discussed. The ground 354 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of distinction will be the fact that the latter are reac- 
tive or reproductive only, while instinctive impulses 
initiate new modes of activity, having results far be- 
yond their immediate occasion. Such, for example, is 
the instinctive action of a bird in building his nest. It 
is not only in response to the immediate stimulus, but 
it looks forward to a long future course of actions, in 
rearing the young, etc. 
Instincts in Man. — A complete discussion of the 
origin, nature, and function of instinct would take us 
into the realm of comparative psychology, but we have 
to recognize the fact that every human being per- 
forms many acts which are directly fitted to reach an 
end without his knowing what the end is, or why he 
uses the means that he does. So far, indeed, as our 
intellectual, artistic, and moral activity is directed tow- 
ards an end of which we have not complete conscious- 
ness, but which we yet succeed in reaching without 
much experimenting, it ma}7 be said that instinct enters 
into all the psychical life of man. 
Instincts of Expression.—Under the general head of 
instinct come those acts by which the infant takes food, 
by which he learns locomotion, etc. Owing to their 
typical character and their greater psychological im- 
portance, we shall treat briefly of the impulses which 
express feeling and ideas. There is a certain class 
of physical movements which serve to express internal 
states, and which do this with no intentional con- 
sciousness. Such are the cry of pain, the laugh of joy, 
the trembling of anger or fear, the blush of shame, 
the stare of astonishment, etc. They are of twofold 
importance: in the first place, they form the instinc- 
tive basis upon which individuals are bound together; SENSUOUS IMPULSES. 
355 
and, in the second place, they form the material out of 
which are developed the higher and intentional forms 
of communication. The first use may be illustrated 
by the cry of the infant, which immediately awakens a 
response from its mother. The expression not only 
gives an outlet to the emotion, but occasions certain 
actions in others. 
Principles of the Expressive Impulses.—Every im- 
pulse is expressed by a gesture, using the word in the 
widest sense. Attempts have been made to reduce 
gestures to classes, and account for them on certain 
principles, all conventional gestures being, of course, 
excluded. Mr. Darwin formulated three principles: 
first, that of serviceable associated habits; second, of an- 
tithesis ; third, that of direct action of nervous centres. 
By the last is meant that when the brain is strongly 
excited nerve force is generated in excess, and is trans- 
mitted in certain definite directions. Examples of it 
are found in change of color of hair from excessive 
grief, perspiration from great pain, the reddening of 
the face in rage (from disturbed heart action), etc. 
The principle of antithesis presupposes the prior action 
of other principles, and affirms that when a certain 
emotion expresses itself in a certain way there is a 
strong involuntary tendency for an opposite emotion 
to express itself in an opposite direction. Thus, if 
feelings of fear, depression, etc., are expressed by re- 
laxation and trembling of the muscles, feelings of 
strength, elation, etc., will express themselves by con- 
traction of the muscles and a general expansion of the 
body. 
Serviceable Associated Habits.—The chief principle 
which Mr. Darwin relies upon is that of serviceable 356 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
associated habits, in connection with the laws of hered- 
ity. This principle may be stated as follows: certain 
actions are now, or have been at some time, serviceable 
to the organism in connection with certain feelings, 
and have thus become associated with those feelings. 
Hence, when the feeling recurs, the associated move- 
ment reappears, whether or not it is serviceable in this 
particular case, and, indeed, even when it has become 
wholly useless. The expressions of extreme rage, for 
example, as the drawing up of the upper lip, the gnash- 
ing of the teeth, the spasmodic movements of the fin- 
gers, are relics of a time when these gestures were of 
use in biting, clutching, etc., that which caused the 
anger. So expressions of scorn, hatred, etc., are actions 
which were once associated with an actual attack upon 
an enemy, or movements which were calculated to in- 
spire fear or submission in him. 
Wundt's Principles.—Wundt has supplemented 
these principles by two which he calls those (1) of 
analogous feelings and (2) of the relations of movement 
to sense-ideas. By the latter principle is meant that 
when we speak of persons or objects which are present 
we point to them ; if absent, in their direction ; that 
we unconsciously imitate their shape, measure their 
size, etc., by movements of the hands. The principle 
of the association of analogous feelings states the law 
that feelings of a similar emotional tone are easily con- 
nected, and that when connected the expression of one 
is transferred to the other. For example, there is a 
certain expression following the tasting of sweet sub- 
stances, another of bitter, etc. Now all experiences, 
however ideal in their nature, which are agreeable pos- 
sess a tone analogous to that of the sweet taste, aud SENSUOUS IMPULSES. 
357 
hence they naturally express themselves by the same 
external signs. Such are the principles recognized by 
the chief authorities, but the matter cannot be regarded 
as scientifically settled yet. 
Expressive Impulses and Language.—Those physical 
changes which express emotions serve as signs to oth- 
ers of our own state, and thus form the basis of com- 
munication. By language, however, we mean, in addi- 
tion, the expression of thoughts, involving also the 
idea that the expression is with the conscious purpose 
of sharing our experience with others. But as these 
signs come under the general definition of gesture, they 
may be very briefly noticed here. They all come 
originally under the second principle of Wundt. He 
recognizes two sorts of signs of this class—the demon- 
strative, which point towards the object, and the plas- 
tic, which imitate some of its salient features. These 
gestures, by a sort of reflex action, are accompanied by 
sounds which aid in expressing the emotion awakened, 
and which, by the principle of association of anal- 
ogous feelings, react upon and strengthen the dumb 
gestures. Thus the sound becomes in time the sign 
of the object. The sounds, in short, have certain 
likenesses in emotional tone to the feelings awakened 
by objects, and this likeness enables them to sym- 
bolize the object to the mind. This forms the sen- 
suous basis of speech. It must be recognized, how- 
ever, that the sound must be used with the intention 
of its serving as a sign, must be recognized by others 
as a sign, and must be adopted by the community be- 
fore it becomes language proper. And not all author- 
ities agree with Wundt in his account of the origin of 
vocal gesture, or speech. This question opens up the 358 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
whole wide field of the psychology of language, into 
which we cannot go. 
Upon reflex action and motor impulse, see Ferrier (op. cit), ch. ii.; Bain, 
“Senses and Intellect,” pp. 46-53, 262-276; “Emotions and Will,” pp. 351- 
387; Preyer (op. cit), pp. 157-215; Yolkmann (op. cit), vol. i., pp. 321-338; 
vol. ii., pp. 437-451; Lotze, “ Microcosmus,” pp. 254-261; Wundt, in Mind, vol. 
i., p. 161 ff., on “ Central Innervation and Consciousness;” Lazarus, “ Ueber die 
Reize des Spiels;” and especially for the whole subject of impulse, Schneider, 
“ Der thierische Wille,” pp. 95-418. Upon impulses of expression, see Darwin, 
“Expression of Emotions;” Spencer (op. cit), vol. ii., pp. 539-557; Sully, 
“Sensation and Intuition,” pp. 23-37; Ferrier (op. cit), p. 67 ff.; Wundt, 
“ Phys. Psy.” vol. ii., pp. 418-427 ; Michelet (op. cit), pp. 215-234; Schneider, 
“ Der menschliche Wille,” pp. 453-488; Rosenkranz (op. cit.), pp. 163-184. 
Upon instinct, in addition to references in Appendix B, see Spencer (op. 
cit.), vol. i., pp. 432-443; chapter on instinct in Darwin’s “ Origin of Species;” 
Bascom’s “ Comparative Psychology,” pp. 147-178; Perez, “ First Three 
Years,” pp. 44-59; Joly, “ L’lnstinctPreyer (op. cit), pp. 174-207; Wundt, 
“ Phys. Psy.” vol. ii., pp. 327-344; Schneider, “ Der thierische Wille,” pp. 55- 
84; George (op. cit.), pp. 169-204. CHAPTER XYIII. 
DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
Impulses and Volition. — The sensuous impulses 
form the basis, the material, the sine qua non of voli- 
tion, but they do not constitute it. Yolition is regu- 
lated, harmonized impulse. It involves a double proc- 
ess: first, the various impulses must be co-ordinated 
with each other; secondly, they must all be brought 
into harmonious relations with an end, must be sub- 
ordinated to one principle. Volition is impulse con- 
sciously directed towards the attainment of a recog- 
nized end, which is felt as desirable. 
Elements of Volition.—A volition or act of will in- 
volves, therefore, over and above the impulse, knowl- 
edge and feeling. There must be knowledge of the 
end of action; there must be knowledge of the rela- 
tions of this end to the means by which it is to be at- 
tained; and this end must awaken a pleasurable or 
painful feeling in the mind; it must possess an inter- 
esting quality, or be felt to be in immediate subjective 
relation to the self. The impulses furnish the moving 
force by which the end whose quality is recognized, 
and whose necessity for the happiness of self is felt, is 
actually brought about. It is the energy which fur- 
nishes its actual accomplishment, directed along the 
channels laid down by the intellect for the satisfaction 
of feeling. Feeling, in other words, determines the 
position of the lever; knowledge furnishes the fulcrum 360 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
for its use; the impulse applies the force. Each of 
these elements is an abstraction arrived at by analysis 
from the concrete whole—a volition. 
Development of Volition.—We have, therefore, to 
study the process by which the concrete forms of voli- 
tion are built up from the crude material of impulse. 
The successive steps of the process may be formulated 
as follows: First, there is awakened the state of mind 
known as desire; there is then a conflict of desires; 
this is concluded by the process of deliberation and 
choice ; these result in the formation of an end of ac- 
tion which serves as the purpose or motive of action; 
this purpose is then, through the medium of its felt 
desirability, handed over, as it were, to the realm of 
the impulses, which realize it. 
1. Desire.—We begin with Desire, and shall study 
its (1) origin, (2) object, and (3) development. 
(1.) Origin. — Impulse does not constitute desire. 
Impulse goes straight and blindly at an end, but it 
does not know this end, nor does it feel that there 
will be pleasure in reaching it. A bird in building 
its nest has no thought of the purpose which the nest 
is to subserve, nor does it feel that any pleasure is to 
be gained by building it. It builds to satisfy the felt 
pressure from within. The internal force of feeling 
constrains it to act in a certain way. When, however, 
an act has been once or oftener performed through im- 
pulse, and a certain end is reached which is discovered 
to be pleasurable or painful, there arises the state of 
mind known as desire or as aversion. 
Example.—The child, for example, impelled by a 
perceptive impulse, grasps for an object. He reaches 
it, we will say, and it proves soft and pleasure-giving DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
361 
to touch and possibly to the palate. Now, by the laws 
of apperception, this pleasure and this object are asso- 
ciated together as parts of one experience. Or, it is 
felt as rough; perhaps it burns; at all events, it occa- 
sions pain. This pain and its object are associated. 
Now this object stands in a certain definite relation to 
experience, and a relation which is brought, according 
to the theory of pleasure previously explained (page 
286), into intimate and personal connection with the self. 
The object now has an interest, and becomes a spring 
to action. This objective interest constitutes desire. 
Impulse occurs no longer blindly, but with reference 
to that object which satisfies itself, this satisfaction 
being made known to us through pleasure. Desire and 
aversion are impulse plus respectively the idea of an ob- 
ject which satisfies or thwarts the impulse, as revealed 
to us by pleasure or pain. 
(2.) Object of Desire.—It lias been held that what we 
desire is in all cases pleasure, what we are averse to is 
pain. For example, a child desires an apple. It is 
said that the true object towards which the desire is 
directed is the pleasure which comes of eating the ap- 
ple. If a man desires to resist temptation and tell the 
truth, his real object of desire is the pleasure which re- 
sults from the act. But it is evident that this view 
overlooks two facts. First, the pleasure is a mere ab- 
straction ; the concrete existence is the object which 
gives the pleasure. It is quite true that no object 
would be desired unless it were in that relation to self 
which we call feeling, that is, pleasure or happiness; 
but it is just as true that what is desired is not the 
pleasure, but the object which affords pleasure. The 
other fact which is overlooked is that we do not desire 362 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the object because it gives us pleasure; but that it 
gives us pleasure because it satisfies the impulse which, 
in connection with the idea of the object, constitutes 
the desire. The child desires the apple, for he has the 
idea of the apple as satisfying his impulse. Only for 
this reason does he conceive it as pleasure-giving. 
Pleasure follows after the desire, rather than deter- 
mines it. 
And this is not in contradiction to what has been 
said regarding the origin of desire. Desire is the im- 
pulse plus the feeling of satisfaction got in its realiza- 
tion. But impulse is always towards an end, and the 
satisfaction is because this end has been reached. De- 
sire merely adds the knowledge or feeling of that line 
of conduct or of that object in which the impulse will 
fulfil itself. Desire is the impulse in its known objec- 
tive connection. The pleasure is one element in it, 
and an element subordinated to the objective experi- 
ence. 
Desire and the Self.—While in a proximate way it 
is true that the object as satisfying impulse, and there- 
fore giving pleasure, is the end of desire, in ultimate 
reference the truth is that a certain conceived state of 
the self is the object of desire. What the child con- 
cretely desires is himself in possession of the apple ; 
what the man desires is himself in conformity with a 
certain idea of himself—himself as truth-telling. The 
object which satisfies the impulse is only the means 
through which the desire is realized. It is desired 
only because it is felt to be necessary to the satisfac- 
tion of self. Pleasure, as we have so often seen, is the 
accompaniment of the activity, or development of the 
self. It has no existence except as the internal side of DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
363 
this activity. When it is said that the object of desire 
is pleasure, this can be interpreted to mean only that 
what is desired is a certain activity or realization of 
self, which is anticipated as pleasurable, since it is a 
realization. 
(3.) Development of Desire.—The development of 
desire is constituted by the progressive objectification 
of impulse. As sensation becomes knowledge when it 
is distinguished, and thus ceases to bo a mere state or 
affection of self, so impulse becomes desire when it 
ceases to be a mere outgoing towards something which 
is not consciously presented to the mind, and becomes 
distinguished from the self as a possible end of action. 
Desire implies a consciousness which can distinguish 
between its actual state and a possible future state, 
and is aware of the means by which this future state 
can be brought into existence. It involves a perma- 
nent self which regards itself both as a present and fut- 
ure self, and acts with reference to their connection. 
It involves, in short, a self which can project or objec- 
tify itself. It not only has impulse, but it knows that 
it has; it sets before itself the satisfaction of impulse 
as the form which action may take. The development 
of desire will consist, accordingly, in the increasing sep- 
aration of the impulse as an immediate affection from 
the self, and its objectification into a possible end of 
action. The impulse for food develops into the desire 
for it when the condition of want is recognized and 
distinguished from the present self; when, in short, it 
is objectified. 
System of Desires.—All desires form a system, that 
is, have an internal connection with each other. There 
is no such thing as an isolated desire, a desire which 364 
PS Y CIIOLOG Y. 
does not get its quality fixed by its reference to other 
desires. The self forms a necessary bond of union be- 
tween them. When desire for food and drink ceases 
to be a blind impulse, it is put in possible relation to 
all the acts of the man. The man’s desire for food 
has reference to his desire to live and perform certain 
acts; to support his family, to gain a recognized posi- 
tion, to contribute to society. It is a pure abstraction 
apart from such reference. Even the desire for intox- 
icating liquor implies such a reference, unless it is blind 
impulse. It implies love of companionship, desire to 
drown sorrow, to escape from pressure of physical irri- 
tation or of circumstance, etc. The child’s desire to 
eat an orange may be in relation with a desire to obey 
a command, a desire to put off the pleasure to some 
other time, a desire to be generous, etc. Just in the 
degree in which desire is developed, it is brought into 
relation with a larger and larger sphere of desires. 
Desire must be as universal as the self is. The devel- 
opment of desire being through the objectification of 
self and the recognition in feeling of the distinction 
between the actual and the unrealized self, it follows 
that as desire is developed, each desire is brought into 
wider relations with self, and hence with other desires. 
The Conflict of Desires.—Because no desire is iso- 
lated, but each is in potential relation to every other, 
through its connection with self, it follows that desires 
may conflict with each other. The desire to work and 
to support a family may conflict with desire for per- 
sonal ease or indulgence; the desire to tell the truth 
with that to gain some personal advantage or avoid 
harm; the desire to eat an orange with the desire to 
give it away. That is to say, the person may regard DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
himself as satisfied in various modes of action which 
are incompatible with each other. The self projects 
itself or imagines itself realized in these various forms; 
since the actual realization in one, however, precludes 
that in another, there arises strife. It is important to 
notice that it is a strife or conflict which goes on in the 
man himself; it is a conflict of himself with himself; 
it is not a conflict of himself with something external 
to him, nor of one impulse with another impulse, he 
meanwhile remaining a passive spectator awaiting the 
conclusion of the struggle. What gives the conflict of 
desires its whole meaning is that it represents the man 
at strife with himself. He is the opposing contestants 
as well as the battle-field. 
2. Choice.—The recognition of the conflict of de- 
sires leads us to the discussion of the mode in which 
it is settled—the fact of choice. The conflict arises 
because the self is capable of feeling itself satisfied in 
various modes of action or being, only one of which 
can actually be brought about. The process of choice 
is that process by which some one of the conflicting 
desires is first isolated and then identified with the self 
to the exclusion of others. This process may be longer 
or shorter, automatic or a painful deliberation. 
Automatic Choice and Deliberation.—In perhaps the 
larger number of cases in adult life the conflict is set- 
tled so directly and immediately that it hardly appears 
in consciousness. Choice is the identification with self 
of a certain desire; when the desire is in accord with 
the direction in which the self habitually works, this 
identification takes place almost automatically. For 
example, a merchant can hardly be said to choose to go 
to his business in the morning. The desires which con- 366 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
flict with this deed are generally so transient, compared 
with the fixed routine, that the man instinctively, as 
we say, goes to his work. In other Avords, his self has 
become so organized in one direction through past acts 
of choice, it has become so stable and set, that it iden- 
tifies itself with this act at once. If, on the other hand, 
the question is as to some new venture in trade, there 
is no such organized self to fall back upon. The de- 
sire of new gain, the aversion to possible loss, the de- 
sire to continue in old lines, and to get the better of a 
competitor, struggle with each other; probabilities upon 
this side and that must be Aveighed, and it is only at 
the end of a process of deliberation that a choice is 
made, or one line of conduct identified with self. De- 
liberation is the comparison of desires, their mutual 
reference to each other; choice is the decision in favor 
of one. 
3. The End of Action or Motive.—A desire when 
chosen becomes a motive. We often speak of a con- 
flict of motives, but in strict use this is improper. 
There is a conflict of desires, but the formation of a 
motive is the cessation of the conflict by settling the 
self upon some one motive. A motive is sometimes 
spoken of as the strongest desire. This may be either 
false or a mere truism. It is not true if it is meant 
to imply that the desires carry on a conflict with each 
other till all but the strongest is exhausted, and this 
survives by sheer preponderance of force. No such 
conflict goes on. The conflict of desires is the con- 
flict of self with self. The conflict of desires ends 
when the self reconciles or concludes this internal 
struggle by setting itself in some one direction, by 
choosing to realize itself in the line laid down by some DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
one desire. This desire is then the strongest, because 
the whole force of the self is thrown into it. This de- 
sire, in short, is nothing but the self having formed a 
definite purpose. It is now a motive or spring to ac- 
tion; it is the end of action. The action is only the 
reaching of this end, the execution of the motive. It 
gives us no new information to say that the act is de- 
termined by the motive, for the motive is the act which 
the self chooses to perform. 
Motive and Ideal.—It is only necessary to notice in 
addition that the motive to action, the end of action, is 
always ideal. It makes no difference how apparently 
material it is. Suppose it be a desire for food. The 
food, it is true, may already exist; but it is not the ex- 
istence which is desired. What is desired is the eating 
of food, and this does not exist as matter of fact, but 
only in idea, or ideally. We never choose what ex- 
ists already as matter of fact for us; we only choose 
that which has no objective being for us. Choice, in 
fact, is the declaration of self that a certain ideal shall 
be realized. The motive is another word for the ideal. 
The motive to getting food is the idea of satisfying 
one’s self in the food. Since the object of desire is al- 
ways the self in a certain state or act, it may be said 
that choice is the declaration by self that a certain ideal 
of self shall be realized. 
Choice and the Intellectual Processes.—It will be 
seen that the act of choice brings explicitly into con- 
sciousness what is involved in all intellectual acts. 
There is possible no knowledge without attention. 
Attention involves the discrimination of sensations 
from each other, and the identification of some one 
group of these sensations with self—in short, an act 368 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of choice. Furthermore, knowledge, as will, works 
towards an end, which is ideal, and has to select and 
arrange means for reaching this end. The process of 
knowledge is a process of volition. In studying knowl- 
edge, we simply neglect the process in behalf of the 
'product. Knowledge was finally seen (page 153) to 
mean the realization of an ideal self; in studying voli- 
tion wre see whence this ideal comes, that it is the ob- 
jectification of self by self, and whence come the means 
by which the end is reached, the ideal accomplished. 
4. Realization of the Motive.—We have now stud- 
ied the method by which an impulse, when combined 
with the idea of a self satisfied through this impulse, 
gives rise to desire; and have seen that this desire when 
identified with the self becomes a motive or end of ac- 
tion. But this motive is ideal; it exists only in idea. 
It is something that should or ought to be, not that ac- 
tually is. We have now to notice briefly the process 
by which the end is attained, the motive realized. 
Dissatisfaction.—The first element involved is the 
pain which arises from a feeling of the difference be- 
tween the actual state of self and that ideal state which 
is the motive to action. The self has identified itself 
in choice with a certain mode of being or action. Yet 
this mode with which it feels itself identified is not 
actual. The self is not that which it has said it is ; it 
involves a contradiction in itself, and the feeling of this 
disparity is necessarily one of pain. This feeling of 
pain, or dissatisfaction with what is, serves as a stimu- 
lus to go beyond that which is actual and realize the 
end. No matter how strongly a certain thing is de- 
sired, nor how firmly it has been chosen, unless the 
contemplation of the choice awakens a feeling of dis- DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
369 
satisfaction with what actually is, no volition will ever 
result. The ideal will remain existing in idea only. 
As a representation held before the mind, it has no 
moving power. It is a motive to action, but not a 
motor force of action. 
Action of Impulses.—The pain thus awakened serves 
as stimulus to cancel the contradiction in the self be- 
tween its actual and its represented state, and thus to 
experience real satisfaction. Actually to do this, to 
realize the chosen end, impulses must be called in. It 
should not be forgotten that our mode of exposition is 
necessarily one of abstraction, in which we isolate one 
factor after another. In isolating the factors of choice, 
motive, etc., we have neglected that from which we orig- 
inally started, impulse. We must now return to this, 
for it is the impulsive character of that which has been 
desired and chosen that insures its actual realization. 
The end can be brought about only by surrendering it 
to the realm of the impulses, which possess the neces- 
sary outgoing force. More properly, we reach an end 
by allowing the impulsive force of the desire which 
was checked during the process of deliberation to ex- 
press itself through the act of choice. It is always a 
physical impulse of some sort or other which furnishes 
the force which realizes the end, thus changing the mo- 
tive into a deed. 
Action of Intellect.—But the impulses will not reach 
the end working blindly. They must be directed along 
certain channels by the intellect. The mind, in other 
words, must not only have an end before it, must not 
only have the sensuous impulse with which to reach 
this end, but must also have a conception of the means 
to the end, the paths which the impulse must follow. 370 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
These means, however, are not intrinsically distinct 
from the end. They are only proximate ends; they 
are the end analyzed into its constituent factors. For 
example, the end of volition is the construction of a 
house. The means are the plans, the brick and mor- 
tar, the arrangement of these by the workmen, etc. It 
is evident that the end is not something intrinsically 
different from the means; it is the means taken as a 
harmoniously manifested whole. The means, on the 
other hand, are something more than precedents to an 
end. The first means, the plans, are only the end in 
its simplest, most immediate form, and the next means 
are an expansion of this, while the final means are iden- 
tical with the end. When we look at the act as a real- 
ized whole, we call it end; when we look at it in pro- 
cess of realization, partially made out, we call it means. 
But the action of the intellect is requisite to analyze 
the end, the whole, into its means, the component fac- 
tors. 
The System of Ends.—It is evident, from what has 
been said, that ultimately there can be only one end to 
human action. All other ends are proximate ends; 
absolutely they are means, though also, relatively, ends 
when looked at in their connection with other acts. 
The house has its end in sheltering the family, in man- 
ifesting artistic taste, etc. The sheltering of the fam- 
ily has still another end, the preservation and develop- 
ment of life, individual and social. Each end is refer- 
able to a higher end, which, stated in most general 
form, is self-realization. All acts are means to self for 
its own realization ; yet it must be remembered that 
this self-realization is not a last term over and beyond 
the means, but is only the organized harmonious sys- DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
371 
tern of the means. It is the means taken in their 
wholeness. 
Desire, Choice, and the Self.—We arrive at this same 
result when we consider the nature of desire and of 
choice. What is desired is always the self in some act 
or state. Choice is only the explicit identification of this 
act or state with the self. The end of every desire and 
choice, in other words, is the self. The self constitutes 
the one end of every volition. Yet what is desired is 
not the self in general; it is some specific self, the self 
doing or experiencing this or that. The self, in other 
words, has a content. It cannot be realized by some 
one act; it can be realized only by realizing every pos- 
sible legitimate desire; that is, every desire wThose real- 
ization does not preclude the realization of some other. 
We realize the self only by satisfying it in the infinite 
variety of concrete wTays. These are means, because 
they are partial manifestations ; the self is the end, be- 
cause it is the organic unity of these various aspects of 
self-realization. 
The Goal of Will.—It is evident, therefore, that will 
can find its goal only in the completely realized self. 
It can lind its goal, in other words, only in itself. Till 
the will is completely real, that is, until the whole self 
has become objective and universal, will must have an 
end towards which it cannot cease striving. It can find 
its goal only when the actual and the ideal self are at 
one. Till this point is reached there is a dualism in 
the self; always a conflict. The will is in itself uni- 
versal, and this presence of the universal element must 
prevent the self resting in any realized attainment. It 
must form the spring to renewed action. It is the es- 
sence of the will to objectify or realize itself. It al- 372 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ways holds up its objective or real self, therefore, as 
the end of all action, into which the given self must 
be transformed. 
Form and Content of Will.—This real self, which 
the will by its very nature, as self-objectifying, holds 
before itself, is originally a bare form, an empty ideal 
without content. We only know that it is, and that 
it is the real. What it is, what are the various forms 
which reality assumes, this we do not know. But this 
empty form is constantly assuming to itself a filling; 
as realized it gets a content. Through this content we 
know what the true self is, as well as that it is. It is 
so in knowledge; it is so in artistic production; it is 
so in practical action. A man feels there is truth and 
the feeling impels him to its discovery. What actually 
constitutes truth he knows only as he finds it. A man 
feels there is beauty and is impelled to its creation : 
when he has created, the idea of beauty has taken unto 
itself a definite content. A man feels there is some 
end advantageous for him or obligatory upon him; 
what this is in its fullness he knows only as he grasps 
it and makes it real for himself. The will, as self-ob- 
jectifying, is at once the source of the empty form, 
which is the moving spring to realization, and of the 
process by which it is reached, and the form and con- 
tent made one. 
Stages of Realization.—Ultimately, there is but one 
end, the self; all other ends are means. But there are 
degrees of subordination. In our treatment of will, we 
shall begin with the lowest group of ends, that which 
has the element of means in it to the greatest extent, 
and work upward. We begin, then, with physical vo- 
lition, control of the body; go on to prudential voli- DEVELOPMENT OF VOLITION. 
373 
tion, control of purposes for an end recognized to be 
advantageous; and finally treat moral volition, or the 
control of the will for itself as the absolutely obliga- 
tory end. It alone is absolute end. Every other group 
is also means. 
Spencer (op. cil.), vol. i., pp. 495-504; Sully, “ Psychology,” pp. 522-593; 
Perez, “ First Three Years,” pp. 99-109; Maudsley, “ Physiology of Mind,” 
ch. vii.; Drobisch (op. cit.), § 99; Radestock (op. cit.'), pp. 49-62; George (op. 
tit.), pp. 552-571; Schneider, “Der menschliche Wille,” pp. 260-359; Erd- 
mann (op. tit.), ch. xvii.; Wundt, in “ Philosophische Studien,” vol. i., p. 337 
ff., “ Zur Lehre vom Willen,” and “ Phvs Psy.” vol. ii., pp. 383-395. For 
disorders of will, see Maudsley, “ Body and Will,” pt. iii., and Ribot, “ Diseases 
of Will.” Particularly upon desire, choice, and motive, see Bascom (op. tit.), 
pp. 300-316; Sully, “Psychology,” pp. 626-646; Murray (op.cit.), pp. 398- 
405; Bain, “Emotions and Will,” pp. 420-498; Brown (op. tit.), vol. iii., 
pp. 324-473; Volkmann (op.cit.), vol. ii., pp. 397-437; George (op.tit.), p. 548 ff., 
Rosenkranz (op. cit.), pp. 323-330; Ulrici (op. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 322-345; Dro- 
bisch (op. tit.), pp. 220-239; Tappan, “The Will,” pp. 331-351 ; Laurie, 
“ Ethica,” pp. 37-48; Sidgwick, “ Method of Ethics,” pp. 34-47; Beneke, 
“ Erziehungslehre,” pp. 219-281. CHAPTER XIX. 
PHYSICAL CONTROL. 
Problem.—We need, in adult life, only intend a cer* 
tain movement to have that movement follow. The 
will to walk is followed by the act of locomotion ; the de- 
sire of uttering some word leads to just that word being 
pronounced. We take a pen in hand, and express our 
thoughts by a series of muscular movements directed 
to that end. We will to move the head, and do it; or 
we select the motion of some one finger. The prob- 
lem which we have to solve is how the idea of a cer- 
tain movement occasions that exceedingly complex ad- 
justment of muscles which produces the movement. 
We have to see how it is that our movements cease to 
be purely impulsive and become directed to reaching 
an end which is present in idea to the mind—how they 
become voluntary. 
Basis of Solution.—We have, of course, prior to ex- 
perience no knowledge of the relations of means to the 
end; we have no idea of what movements must be per- 
formed in order to do a given act, say walk. Nor do 
we, after experience, have any direct knowledge of the 
relations of means to end. That is to say, all our 
movements are performed by certain arrangements of 
muscles, but of these muscles and of the mode in which 
they act we know nothing. Even if we study anatomy 
and learn the arrangement and action of our muscular PHYSICAL CONTROL. 
375 
system, this gives us no aid in performing any definite 
movement. It does not help us, in playing the piano, 
to know just what muscles are brought into requisition 
for the performance of the act. We fix our attention 
upon the end to be reached, and let the direct means, 
the muscles, take care of themselves. The basis of so- 
lution, therefore, cannot be found in any knowledge of 
the muscular system. It is found, however, in the sen- 
sations which accompany all muscular action. 
Nature of Solution. — Every change of every vol- 
untary muscle is accompanied by a sensation, and this, 
of course, whether the change occurs impulsively or 
through conscious volition. The result is that this sen- 
sation becomes to us a sign or symbol of the movement. 
The will, it must be remembered, does not have to orig- 
inate the muscular impulse; it has only to direct the 
outgoing force in such a way that it shall subserve a 
required end. How the muscular sensations constant- 
ly report to consciousness the state of the body, and of 
the muscles which make it up. Prior to experience we 
do not know what these reports signify; we do not 
know, in short, what change corresponds to a given sen- 
sation. Our experience consists in learning to interpret 
these sensations; in seeing what acts they stand for. 
Having learned this, knowing that a certain sensation 
means a certain movement, we control the movements 
by controlling the sensations. We learn, in other words, 
not only the meaning of a sensation, but the connec- 
tion of the various sensations, and in what order sen- 
sations must be arranged in order to occasion other sen- 
sations. 
Process of Physical Control.—In studying, accord- 
ingly, the process by which we learn to govern our 376 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
bodily impulses, and direct them to an end, we have to 
study the process by which we learn how to interpret 
any muscular sensation, see what movement it stands 
for; and the process by which we are enabled to con- 
nect these sensations together, so that a group of sen- 
sations comes to mean a certain complex act, made 
up either of simultaneous or of successive movements. 
We not only learn the meaning of each isolated sensa- 
tion, but we learn how it must be combined with oth- 
ers to reach a certain result. The process is similar to 
that of attention, where we select and combine certain 
sensations, and neglect others, in order to reach the in- 
tellectual end we have in view; except that in the 
present case the sensations are selected and connected 
with reference to a practical end rather than to an in- 
tellectual. The end in one case is producing some ex- 
ternal change; in the other, of some internal change, 
some new combination of ideas; but the process is 
identical in both. Psychologically, the end is identical 
in each, for we know nothing of the muscular change 
to be effected, but only of the sensations which accom- 
pany this change. 
Mode of Treatment.—We shall take up, first, the 
process by which we come to know what act each 
muscular sensation represents—the process by which 
muscular sensation becomes definite, and movements 
specific ; and, secondly, the process by which muscular 
sensation becomes more comprehensive, and movements 
harmonized with each other—the process by which we 
connect muscular sensations with each other, either 
simultaneously or successively. 
I. The Differentiation of Motor Impulses. — Origi- 
nally all motor impulses, except such as are, by instinct PHYSICAL CONTKOL. 
377 
or through heredity, adjusted to some specific though 
unconscious end, are vague, undefined, and diffused 
through the whole system. The motor impulse for 
food is adjusted in the infant to just the acts which 
are necessary to get food, those of sucking, and so 
with some other impulses which we have studied. But 
the vast majority of muscular impulses have no such 
definite adjustment. They originally spend themselves 
in spreading through the whole system, according to 
their intensity, accomplishing no definite result. There 
is an impulse to locomotion, but this impulse does not 
instinctively seek the precise channels which will ac- 
complish the end. It loses itself in undefined move- 
ments of the whole body ; so also do the impulses to 
speak, to write, etc. We have first to study the proc- 
ess by which the impulse becomes definite or limited 
to producing a certain number of movements. 
Process of Experimenting.—This is by a process of 
experimentation. It may be illustrated by the way in 
which a child learns to reach for and handle an object. 
This has its basis, as already explained, in a reflex im- 
pulse of grasping. The child sees, we will say, a bright- 
ly colored ball. This awakens in him a purely instinc- 
tive impulse to grasp it. lie may fail, because it is 
out of his reach. From this failure, however, he learns 
something. He learns that a certain visual sensation is 
connected with a distance of an object longer than the 
reach of his arm. By repeated failure, there is set up 
a distinct association in his consciousness of certain 
visual sensations with the muscular feelings due to the 
movements of his arm and body. lie may, however, 
grasp the object. If so, there is formed an association 
between this distance and the muscular sensation ac- 378 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
companying the successful movement. This associa- 
tion becomes solidified by repeated experience. The 
process of learning to reach the object consists, accord- 
ingly, in forming the association between the visual 
sensation, which means distance, and the muscular sen- 
sation, which means movement. 
Further Illustration.—Imagine a child learning to 
talk. Our starting-point here is the reflex impulse to 
utter sounds ; the problem is to control these impulses 
in such a way that intelligent articulate speech shall 
result. The child hears a certain sound applied to ob- 
jects. His business now is to make some one of his 
reflex sounds—the raw material which he has in stock 
—correspond to the sound—reproduce it. His attempts 
are partial failures, but each of these failures allows him 
to eliminate certain sounds. His feeling of non-success 
leads him successively to discard many of them ; while 
each attempt that is successful forms an association be- 
tween the auditory sensation which is the sign of an 
object, and the muscular sensation which is the sign of 
that movement which occasions this sound. He learns 
to interpret auditory sensations in terms of muscular, 
and vice versa. This process of experimentation has 
three results: 
1. It Leaves in Consciousness a Distinct Idea of the 
End to be Beached.—We must not conceive the problem 
as if the child has originally a distinct notion in con- 
sciousness of the end he has to reach, and needs only 
to learn the means of reaching it. The child has only 
a very indefinite idea of what constitutes the act of 
reaching an object or of pronouncing a word before he 
has actually accomplished it. It is only when he has 
reached the end that he knows what the end is. He be- PHYSICAL CONTROL. 
379 
gins with a vague consciousness that there is an end to 
be reached, and the result of his experimentation is 
that he knows what this end is. His vague impulse 
has now taken definite form in the distinct idea of 
some act which he performs. 
2. The Movement becomes Localized just in the 
degree in which the idea of the act becomes definite. 
The original movement is vague and diffuse, like the 
idea of it. A child in learning to walk moves his 
whole body. In learning to write the motor impulse 
is expended through the arm, the head, the mouth, and 
tongue; probably more or less through the whole body. 
Similarly with learning to play the piano. But the re- 
sult of his experimentation is that the motor impulse 
becomes differentiated. It does not seek an outlet in- 
differently through any and every muscle of the body, 
but is confined to certain channels. The movement, in 
short, becomes specialized. 
3. Less and less Stimulus is Required in Order to Set 
up the Movement.—This follows directly from the re- 
striction of the impulse to a definite channel. So long 
as the force is expended in moving the whole body, a 
large amount is required, most of which is wasted; 
only that being economically used which is actually 
employed in that one part of the movement which is 
necessary to the result. With every localization of 
movement comes a saving of the stimulus, until, when 
just the proper channel alone is employed, one hun- 
dredth of the original force may suffice. The result is 
that a less violent and more internal stimulus serves to 
occasion the action. 
Degrees of Stimulus Reguired.—The original stimu- 
lus is, in all probability, the demand of the whole or- 380 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
ganism for food. Nothing less than a disturbance of 
the equilibrium of the entire organism suffices. In the 
next stage a sudden and violent affection of one of the 
senses serves—a sudden pain, a bright light. Then, as 
the force becomes more and more utilized as it is prop- 
erly directed, the performance of an act by another per- 
son occasions enough disturbance to impel us to it. As 
the process advances it is no longer necessary to have the 
action presented to us through our sensations as a stim- 
ulus ; the request or suggestion of another suffices. 
Then comes the last and final development, when an 
idea of the action originating from within serves to 
occasion the act. A stimulus which is wholly ideal is 
all that is necessary to occasion the discharge of super- 
fluous nervous force into just its proper channel. The 
mind has no longer to oversee the whole expenditure 
of the energy; it has, as it were, only to open the 
valve which liberates the force, and by its own self-ex- 
ecuting mechanism directs it. An idea of the end is 
stimulus enough to open the valve. 
II. The Combination of Motor Impulses.—All pliys- 
ical control involves co-ordination and mutual connec- 
tion of the motor impulses. In order to walk it is not 
enough that there should be a definite idea of the end, 
and the localization of each movement necessary. There 
must also be an idea of the successive and simultaneous 
steps of the process; the various movements must be 
harmonized. This comes about also through a process 
of experimentation, by which the child learns not only 
to associate some muscular sensation with a given tact- 
ual or visual sensation, but also learns to associate vari- 
ous muscular sensations with each other. Suppose the 
attempt is to utter a certain sentence. In addition to PHYSICAL CONTROL. 
381 
the process just described, there will be an association 
of all the muscular sensations accompanying the suc- 
cessive sounds. In playing the piano there will be 
also simultaneous associations added. The principles 
of successive and simultaneous association, in short, are 
sufficient to account for the various phenomena of the 
combination of motor impulses. The associated sen- 
sations become signs of the associated movements. 
Three effects of this process of association may be no- 
ticed. 
1. The Idea of the Movement to be Performed be- 
comes more Complex.—The infant begins with a very 
simple and immediate idea. His first voluntary efforts 
are limited to movements containing very few elements, 
and the end of which is directly present. The con- 
sciousness of an end which is remote, and which can 
be reached only by the systematic regulation of a large 
number of acts, cannot be formed until the combina- 
tion of motor impulses has realized some such end. 
Then there exists in consciousness the idea of an end 
comparatively remote in time, and comprehending 
many minor acts. The man lives in the future, and 
with the consciousness that his present acts do not ex- 
haust themselves in themselves, but have reference to 
this future. Take, for example, the consciousness of 
one learning a trade. He must put before himself the 
idea of an accomplishment which cannot be reached 
for years, and must recognize the subordinate relation 
which his movements through these years bear to the 
end willed. The idea in consciousness becomes ever 
more complex and further projected in time. 
2. Along with this goes an Extension in the Range 
of Movements. The original movements are isolated. 382 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
Each has no meaning beyond itself. With growth of 
consciousness of a comprehensive end, this isolation 
ceases. Each is considered only in its reference to 
others with which it is combined, while all are subor- 
dinated to a common end. In an adult of pretty com- 
plete volitional control, almost all movements, whether 
of recreation or of business, are connected together 
through their reference to some unity, some final pur- 
pose which the man intends. There is involved first 
a process of inhibition, by which all movements not 
calculated to reach the end are suppressed ; second, co- 
ordination, by which the remaining movements are 
brought into harmonious relations with each other; 
and, third, accommodation, by which they are all ad- 
justed to the end present in consciousness. 
3. There is also a Deepening of the Control.—The 
movements become organized, as it were, into the very 
structure of the body. The body becomes a tool more 
and more under command, a mechanism better fit- 
ted for its end, and also more responsive to the touch. 
Isolated acts become capacity for action. That which 
has been laboriously acquired becomes spontaneous func- 
tion. There result a number of abilities to act in 
this way or that—abilities to walk, to talk, to read, to 
write, to labor at the trade. Acquisition becomes func- 
tion ; control becomes skill. These capacities are also 
tendencies. They constitute not only a machine capa- 
ble of action in a given way at direction, but an auto- 
matic machine, which, when consciousness does not put 
an end before it, acts for itself. It is this deepening 
of control which constitutes what we call habit. 
The Nature of the Will.—In studying this process 
of physical control, we have been studying in a con- PHYSICAL CONTROL. 
383 
crete way, the nature of the will itself. The will is 
sometimes spoken of as if it were a force outside of 
the rest of our nature: sometimes a legislative force, 
laying down rules for the feelings and impulses; some- 
times an executive force, carrying out the decrees of 
the intellect upon the impulses. Then the will is 
spoken of as directing the body to do this or that, and 
there arises the insoluble problem of how a spiritual 
force like the will can operate upon a material substance 
like the body. But these views are based upon an in- 
adequate conception of volition. As we have seen, it 
is not the will standing outside of the body, which di- 
rects the body to perform some movement. The per- 
formance of the action is the existence of the will. 
The will is the concrete unity of feeling and intellect; 
the feeling carries us to a certain result, the intellect 
takes cognizance of this result, the end, and of the 
means to it, and now places this as a conscious motive 
or end in the feelings, and controls them thereby. The 
whole process is will. The intellectual operation of 
representing the means and end, and the feeling which 
impels us to the end, have no separate existence. 
Illustrations.—Let the process, for example, be that 
of learning to walk. Where does the will come in ? 
In the first place, we have the more or less unconscious 
operation of feeling; the craving of the muscular sys- 
tem for exercise, and the tendency of this feeling to 
impel itself along certain lines and produce locomo- 
tion. That this is the end in view and how it is to be 
reached, there is, of course, no knowledge. But the 
impulses bring about certain actions. By the child’s 
instinct and more especially by the aid of other wills, 
some of these are seen to be useless, without an end, 384 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
and are inhibited; others are successful. From those 
which are successful, the idea of an end is consciously 
framed by the intellect; there now exists the idea of 
walking and of the means which constitute it. This 
end, however, is simply the due localization and com- 
bination of the various motor impulses by which it is 
reached. The impulses are now controlled. We may 
say, if we wish, that they are controlled by the will; 
more properly, however, their control, the union of im- 
pulse and intellect, feeling and end, is the will. The 
process is the same, if one takes the example of the ac- 
quisition of a foreign language by an adult, except that 
the adult does not have to rely so much on the uncon- 
scious experimentation of his feelings as they work to 
the end, which they finally hit upon ; for through the 
greater development of his intellect he appropriates 
the results of the acquirements of others. Conscious 
imitation, in short, plays a larger part than unconscious 
feeling towards an end. The volitional element is the 
same. It is the co-ordination of impulses for an end 
recognized by the intellect. 
Body and Will.—The will is not, therefore, a force 
outside of the body. The will (so far as physical con- 
trol is concerned) is the body, so far as this is organ- 
ized so as to be capable of performing certain spe- 
cific and complex acts. The will has given itself con- 
crete existence by constituting the body its mechan- 
ism, its expression. In other words, the defining and 
combining of motor impulses so that they bear a har- 
monious relation to each other is the existence of the 
will, so far as physical control is concerned. The end 
is only another name for the harmony. The will is 
not formal, but has a real content. PHYSICAL CONTROL. 
385 
Twofold Nature of Will.—The will, therefore, gets 
concrete existence only so far as the soul, through its 
experimentation with the motor impulses, reaches an 
end, which is the intelligent, harmonious relation of 
these impulses. But why do the feelings tend to pro- 
ject themselves towards an end? Why does the self 
experiment with the feelings? Why does it inhibit 
or reject some as useless? Why does it employ others? 
The answer to these latter questions is because it feels 
pain in the one and satisfaction in the other. But why 
should it? These questions lead us to recognize that 
the soul through its impulses is already feeling towards 
an end, and that it is guided constantly by the feeling 
which its acts bear to this end as shown by the ac- 
companying satisfaction and dissatisfaction. What the 
actual reaching of this end does, is to make the will 
articulate, body it forth in definite shape. 
We must recognize, therefore, that the will has a 
twofold nature. On the one hand, it sets up (originally, 
no doubt, in the form of feeling) an end, and guides 
the impulses towards this end ; as such it is the source, 
the spring to all realization of self. On the other hand, 
will is the actual reaching of this end ; it is the definite 
harmonizing of the impulses. As such it is realized 
self. In the latter form only is the will a definite, con- 
crete existence. Yet the unconscious projection of the 
self in the form of impulses, and the sequent experi- 
mentation with them till they are harmonized, are the 
sources of this definite realization of will. Will is the 
cause of itself, in other words. The process of our 
actual life is simply that by which will gives itself 
definite manifestation, bodies itself forth in objective 
form. Just what will is, we can tell only so far as it 386 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
has thus realized itself; but will is never exhausted in 
any such realization, and its continued action in the 
form of impulse towards an end as yet not formulated 
is the source of all change, all growth in psychical life. 
Dependence of Will. — In addition, it needs to be 
noted that tlie possibility of physical control depends 
upon the connection of the individual will with other 
wills. In its lower forms, as locomotion, it is depend- 
ent upon these other wills for guidance, encourage- 
ment, and approval, as well as largely for models of 
imitation. Were the infant left to himself, it is safe 
to say that either he would never accomplish the act, 
or that it would take a much longer time, and be very 
clumsily done. In the higher forms, as talking, writ- 
ing, etc., there is not only dependence of the foregoing 
kind, but of the material also, for the content of the will 
is due to other wills. In learning to speak, the individ- 
ual merely appropriates the product of the wills of the 
community in which he lives. In learning to walk, 
indeed, he does not create. He merely reproduces by 
his will, under the direction of the wills of others, cer- 
tain physical relations. In learning to speak, he re- 
produces under the direction of other wills, and repro- 
duces that which owes its existence to these wills; he 
reproduces social relations through physical processes. 
Carpenter (op. cit.), pp. 209-218, 279-315, 376-386, and in Contemporary 
Review, vol. xvii., p. 192 ff.; Calderwood (op. cit.), ch. v.; Lotze, “ Elements 
of Psychology,” pp. 83-91; Lazarus (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 59-71; Ulrici (op. 
cit.), vol. ii., pp. 301-321; Schneider, “Der menschliche Wille,” pp. 407-452; 
Steinthal (op. cit.), pp. 263-289; Hoppe, “ Das Auswendiglernen.” CHAPTER XX. 
PRUDENTIAL CONTROL. 
Relation to Physical. — Physical control forms in a 
twofold way the basis of the higher developments of 
will. In the first place, the body is the mechanism by 
which all changes in the world must be brought about. 
Thinking involves the use of speech and the control of 
the brain ; moral purpose involves in its execution 
movements, etc. Physical control is a necessary pre- 
condition of all more developed forms. Secondly it 
develops the same factors of will that are involved 
in the complex modes of control. Regulation of mo- 
tor impulses so that they conform to an end involves 
the choice of an end, the apt selection of means, fixed 
resolution, and determined adherence to a course of 
action. All the elements constituting will are thus 
brought into play. 
Prudential Control.—It is distinguished from phys- 
ical by the fact that the co-ordination and regulation 
of movements is now only a means, not an end in it- 
self. It includes all actions in which the impulses are 
directed towards an end which is regarded as advanta- 
geous, or away from an end which is considered harm- 
fid. The word therefore, is used in a 
very wide sense to express all actions dictated by mo- 
tives of anticipcded gain or loss. It is further distin- 
guished from physical control by the fact that the 
latter is not directed by any conscious representation 388 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
of future benefit, but rather by instinctive feeling; 
and from moral control by the fact that the latter oc- 
curs to fulfil obligation, not to reap advantage. The 
same act may illustrate each kind of control. A child, 
for example, learning a foreign language does not do 
it with any motive of the advantages that are to ac- 
crue to him from it; a youth may set about learning 
the language because he sees it is necessary to his busi- 
ness success; furthermore, if the business success is 
necessary in order that he may support a dependent 
mother, the act becomes also moral. 
Analysis of Prudential Act.—The various factors 
of an act of the prudential class may be shown from 
the example just given. The first element is the crea- 
tion and development of the desire, of the want. There 
must be produced the conscious want of succeeding in 
business. This is something over and above any sen- 
suous impulse; it arises only when the sensuous im- 
pulses are associated with wider ranges of experience. 
We have to study, first, the process by which the de- 
sires for whose satisfaction prudential action occurs are 
developed. This desire is then constituted an end or 
motive of action, and those means are selected which 
are best fitted to reach the end. It involves, second- 
ly, the development of intelligent selection and adap- 
tation of means to result; which will vary, thirdly, ac- 
cording as this end is purely practical, is intellectual, 
or is emotional. 
I. Development of Desires.—As already said, sensu- 
ous impulse, as for food, does not constitute the desire 
for food. Desire involves at least three additional ele- 
ments. In the first place, there must have been expe- 
rience of something which satisfied the impulse. The PRUDENTIAL CONTROL. 
389 
impulse must have become associated with the act 
in which it resulted, and also of the pleasure which 
accompanied this act. In the second place, there must 
be explicit recognition of the fact that the impulse is 
not at the present time satisfied. There must be rec- 
ognition of lack. The individual must feel that the 
act, with its pleasure, which was his once is not his 
now. And, in the third place, there must be conscious 
recognition that this experience which formerly satis- 
fied the impulse will do so again. Desire implies rec- 
ognition of present non-satisfaction • remembrance of 
past satisfaction, and anticipation of future satisfac- 
tion through a similar experience. The development 
of desire will be, of course, merely the process by 
which these three elements are brought into existence. 
Illustration.—It follows that every new experience 
may result in the creation of a desire. Every expe- 
rience may bring about such measure of self-satisfac- 
tion as will cause that experience, when it is re-presented 
in consciousness and compared with the present expe- 
rience, to be an object desired. For example, a child 
performs some act, say, doing an errand, which is re- 
warded with money. Money is now an object of de- 
sire. It constitutes a possible motive of action, as it 
could not do before experience of it. With this money 
he purchases, perhaps, toys, which give him new satis- 
faction, and form a new object of desire. These toys 
he may share with his playmates, and thus gain their 
approbation, which in turn affords a new source of de- 
sire. To this process there is no conceivable end. It 
is also evident that the process of development widens 
desires and renders them definite. The range of things 
wanted is constantly enlarged; the idea of that which 390 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
is wanted, that which will satisfy need, becomes more 
precise and accurate. 
Imagination and Desire.—"With the development of 
imagination, especially of constructive imagination as 
opposed to reproductive, desire somewhat changes its 
character. All desire, as requiring anticipation of a 
future state, involves imagination. With growth of 
imagination desire gets to be more comprehensive and 
more distinct. As imagination becomes plastic, shap- 
ing old material into new forms, desire is no longer 
limited to experiences precisely similar to those already 
experienced. Imagination creates ideals towards which 
desire projects itself. It constructs conceptions of 
honor, of wealth, of fame, which are no less real for 
desire than the experiences of every-day life. 
Imagination not only extends desire to ideal embod- 
iments, but it determines largely tlie channels which 
desire shall follow. Every imagination of anything is 
the idea of it as real, and is, in so far, desire. There 
is no surer way of strengthening desire than allowing 
the imagination to dwell upon some conception. The 
idea of a thing is the projection of the mind towards 
it. So the objects, the kinds of objects, upon which 
imagination dwells decide what desires, what class of 
desires, are of most importance for an individual. A 
merchant’s desires are not as an artist’s; a scholar’s 
not like an artisan’s; and the difference of the desires 
is largely due to the fact that the habitual mental 
areas upon which the mind dwells are so different. 
The close relation between desire and imagination is 
nowhere better illustrated than in the artist. Here 
this imagination, the ideal bodying forth of beautiful 
objects, becomes a desire so strong for the actual exist- PRUDENTIAL CONTROL. 
391 
ence of these objects that one is instinctively led to 
create them. The relation exists no less in the mer- 
cantile and practical spheres. The man who lets his 
thoughts run constantly on money and the advantages 
to be gained from it is the man of strongest desire for 
it. So far is it from being true that the man of imagi- 
nation and the man of action are opposed that it should 
rather be said that only the man of vivid and close 
imagination can be a man of action. Dreamy action 
is the result of dreamy, that is, vague and scattering, 
imagination. 
II. Choice of Ends and Means.—With every exten- 
sion of experience and every new development of im- 
agination there arises, therefore, a growth of desire in 
distinctness and in range of comprehensiveness. All 
objects and all ideals become saturated with that close 
connection with the experiences of the self that con- 
stitutes them desirable. As such they come into con- 
stant contact and conflict with eacli other. There are 
all degrees of relationship existing between them. 
Some are directly in line with each other and mutually 
strengthen each other, as, say, desire for wealth and 
for social recognition. Others, though not opposed in 
themselves, may necessitate choice of opposed means, 
as desire for increase of learning and for social enjoy- 
ment. Others may be directly incompatible with each 
other, as desires for the approval of others and for per- 
sonal self-indulgence. This conflict of ends and means 
requires that some one be chosen and the conflict 
ended. 
Grounds of Choice.—The nature of choice we have 
studied previously. It is the selection of some one 
desire, its identification with self, and consequent ob* 392 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
jectification as an end of action. The chosen desire 
becomes the motive. We have now only to study the 
grounds of choice. Why is one desire selected and 
decided upon as an end of action while another is re- 
jected? The desire which is chosen becomes the mo- 
tive, but what is the motive to choice? In prudential 
action the general answer is, that desire is chosen 
whose satisfaction is conceived to result in the most 
advantage. Of all possible ends that is made the ac- 
tual end whose realization affords the most benefit. 
Superior advantage of result is the motive in all pru- 
dential action. But what are the factors which decide 
what will be regarded as most advantageous, and hence 
be made the motive? 
1. Choice Depends on Individual Characteristics.— 
That which appears of most worth to one will not to 
another. The factors which are, for the individual, 
accidental will decide largely where choice falls. The 
hereditary influences, the early home life, the circum- 
stances of education and of surroundings all enter in 
to fix what one considers to be of the higher advan- 
tage to himself. A savage’s idea of what is most desi- 
rable differs from that of the civilized man, and that of 
the ancient Greek from that of the modern Briton. 
Every choice which renders a desire a motive reflects 
also the past experience of the person. He will not 
be apt to choose that which has not been in intimate 
connection with his former doings. The channels along 
which he has habitually directed his imagination, the 
fancies he has indulged in, will also be determining 
factors. 
2. Choice Depends upon Knowledge.—But supposing 
that the individuals who choose are alike in other re- 393 
PRUDENTIAL CONTROL. 
spects, their choice of an end will depend upon their 
knowledge. Just in proportion as one’s knowledge 
in a given direction is comprehensive and definite 
will he be able to tell which of many possible ends is 
the most advantageous. One may choose, for example, 
to engage in a certain business as the best of many al- 
ternatives, and this may turn out about the most harm- 
ful, because of influences which his limitation of knowl- 
edge would not allow him to take into account—the 
character of his business associates, a financial crisis, 
perils by fire and water, etc. To sum up, we may say, 
the person makes that an end which he regards as pro- 
ductive of most advantage; what he regards as most 
advantageous depends upon the accidents of his birth, 
surroundings, and past experiences, and upon the ex- 
tent of his knowledge in enabling him to determine 
that whose selection will prove of greatest profit. 
Choice of Means. — Along with the choice of end 
goes the choice of means to reach the end. In a gen- 
eral way it may be said that the choice of the end is 
the choice of means. In choosing ail end one must 
choose whatever is necessary to it. But many differ- 
ent ways of accomplishing the one end may present 
themselves, out of which some one must be selected. 
Aside from personal idiosyncracy, the essential factor 
in deciding is the range of knowledge. The means 
at hand will be compared by the intellect; the mind 
will calculate so far as it may the consequences of 
choice in either direction, will weigh the resulting ad- 
vantages and disadvantages of each, and then strike 
the balance in favor of the side upon which most ad- 
vantage lies, so far as knowledge will allow it to be 
calculated. 394 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
III. Forms of Prudential Control.—These are three, 
practical, intellectual, and emotional. 
1. Practical Control.—This includes all actions ex- 
ternally directed with a view to reaching some ad- 
vantage. It involves, in the first place, the checking 
or inhibition of some action. A child, for example, 
sees some sweetmeats, and is impelled to eat them by 
the idea of the satisfaction they will give him. There 
then occurs another thought—the representation of his 
mother’s displeasure or of possible sickness. These 
originate an aversion to the sweetmeats, and an action 
away from them. This conflict will result in the 
checking of one or the other of the actions. The fact 
that all volitional action implies some degree of possi- 
ble conflict shows that the first step in control is inhi- 
bition. The next is postponement. That is to say, the 
child acts with reference to more remote ends. He 
undergoes some present painful operation in consider- 
ation of some future good, the recovery of health. Or 
he abstains from present pleasurable indulgence, think- 
ing of some future pain. Or he goes through some 
operation, in itself perhaps a matter neither of desire 
nor of aversion, because he sees it to be a necessary 
condition of something that is desired. Postponement 
becomes connection of acts. As inhibition leads him 
to refer one present act to another and consider them 
in their relations to each other, so the postponement of 
action leads him to connect his acts serially, and make 
successive acts mutually tributary to one another. 
Enlargement of Scope.—The third and final step is 
that the actions occur with reference, not only to more 
remote ends, but to more inclusive ones. The child 
acts with reference to health as a comprehensive, per- PRUDENTIAL CONTROL. 
395 
manent end. lie so acts with reference to the ap- 
proval of others, to the attainment of a mastery of 
some trade, etc. Then he may form a most compre- 
hensive end, say happiness, which shall include all 
these, and act with reference to that. So far as he 
does thus act with reference to some one comprehen- 
sive end, he has himself in perfect prudential, practi- 
cal self-control, for this comprehensive end will lead 
him to inhibit all acts which are not in accordance with 
it, and to connect all successive acts so as to lead up 
to it. 
Results.—As the results of this increasing control, 
action becomes more reasoned or deliberate ; evincing 
more pertinacity or perseverance, and being more reso- 
lute or determined. The deliberateness of an act is 
opposed to its impulsiveness. If we bring reason to 
bear upon an impulse, the result is that we do not 
act immediately, but from the consequences which rea- 
son shows as likely to flow from the act. Early im- 
pulses are also easily turned aside. The occurrence of 
some other impulse leads the child to forget the act 
upon which he is engaged, and diverts his energies 
into the new channel. The setting-up of a more re- 
mote end towards which all mediate acts must be or- 
ganized, changes this. Will becomes persevering. It 
recognizes that action must persist in one choice to ac- 
complish anything. Uniting the qualities of delibera- 
tion and perseverance, together with a firm grasp upon 
the end of action, is resolute will. A child may perse- 
vere to the attainment of some chosen end, but his will 
cannot be called determined or resolute unless he is 
conscious of what the end is, how it is related to other 
ends, and has consciously subordinated them to it; un- 396 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
less, in short, he has formed an end which is compre- 
hensive. A firm or controlled will is deliberate in 
making its choice, tenacious to this choice, and resolute 
in making use of whatever means will realize it. 
2. Intellectual Control.—To go exhaustively into the 
subject of intellectual control would be simply to re- 
peat what has already been said concerning attention. 
This, indeed, has been defined as inner will. The study 
of its mode of action is merely the study of the way in 
which the mind masters and controls its thoughts, di- 
recting them to some end. It may be recalled here 
that attention involves an inhibiting activity. In giv- 
ing attention even to the least complex presentation 
the attracting force of all other presentations must be 
disregarded. The positive development of intellectual 
control, on the other hand, is seen in increased ability 
to fix the mind upon some one subject—concentration 
—and in the ability to pursue longer and longer courses 
of subordinate mental processes, all leading up to a final 
goal. In memory we manifest intellectual control in 
the process of recollection, where we fixate attention 
upon some element and thereby greatly increase its 
power to redintegrate what we are seeking for. Think- 
ing is an example, on a large scale, of intellectual con- 
trol; for here we consciously adjust our conceptions 
with a view of bringing about a certain mental re- 
sult. 
3. Emotional Control.—Here, as in the other forms, 
the first step is a negative one, to restrain the feeling. 
This is chiefly brought about indirectly by the control 
of the muscular system. In studying the sensuous im- 
pulses, we saw that emotions tend to manifest them- 
selves in movements. It follows that if we can control PRUDENTIAL CONTROL. 
397 
these movements, by the process studied in the last 
chapter, we also control the emotions. In controlling 
feelings like anger, for example, the first thing to be 
done is to repress its outward manifestation. But this 
may simply turn the feeling into another channel. If 
it is repressed from any external motive, it is almost 
sure to do so. In this case anger turns into sullen 
brooding or a desire for revenge. It is evident that 
there must be some further method of checking feel- 
ing. This is again indirect through control of our 
thoughts. That is to say, if anger is the feeling to be 
inhibited, the thoughts must be kept away from the 
person who has inflicted the injury and from the injury 
itself, and directed towards any benefits that may have 
been derived from the person, or towards any subject 
that will arouse pleasurable feeling. This suggests the 
most efficient method of repressing any feeling, name- 
ly, calling up an opposed emotion which will expel it. 
In general, it may be said that it is not the way to get 
rid of a feeling to destroy it, leaving a vacuum. This 
is impossible. It can be done only by introducing a 
stronger opposed feeling. 
Positive Control.—Many psychologists have treated 
the subject of control of feeling as if it were exhaust- 
ed when it is shown how feeling is repressed. But this 
is a one-sided view. Feeling is a normal factor of our 
psychical life, and involves, therefore, as much as any 
other factor, regulated development towards a certain 
end. The inhibition of feeling is not an end in itself, 
but merely a necessary means in order that the feel- 
ings which are not inhibited may be duly developed. 
Anger is repressed only that benevolence or some oth- 
er emotion may express itself. Were feeling really 398 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
suppressed, all action would be suppressed also, for no 
desire, no motive to act, would remain. 
The positive control of feeling consists in so direct- 
ing it that it becomes a stimulus to knowledge or to 
action. The emotion of indignation, for example, is 
controlled, not when it is obliterated, but when it is so 
directed that it does not expend itself in vague or vio- 
lent reaction, but quickens thought and spurs to action. 
Many of the world’s greatest orations, as well as deeds 
of valor, are so many illustrations of controlled indig- 
nation. Feeling that merely expresses itself is uncon- 
trolled ; feeling that subserves the intellect or the will 
is controlled. Feeling does not cease to be feeling in 
becoming thus subservient; on the contrary, it becomes 
more susceptible, readier, and deeper. 
Martineau (op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 65-74; Bain, “ Emotions and Will,” pp. 399- 
419; Carpenter (op. cit.), pp. 386-428; George (op. cit.), p. 576 ff.; Volkmann 
(op. cit.), vol. ii., pp. 463-489. CHAPTER XXL 
MORAL CONTROL. 
Delation to Prudential. — Prudential action is not 
in itself moral action, yet there is no prudential action 
which is not potentially in the ethical sphere, and 
hence either moral or immoral. Actions may be di- 
rected, for example, so as to preserve health, and carry 
on a business which it is supposed will lead to wealth. 
So far they are only prudential. But as soon as the 
preservation of health is seen to be a duty (and so, 
in many cases, with the securing of a certain compe- 
tency), the acts become moral action. Or if the se- 
curing wealth will necessitate the non-securing of some 
other end, which is recognized to be higher, or will 
necessitate certain means, as dishonesty or lying, the 
act becomes immoral. The terms “ prudential ” and 
“ moral ” da not refer, therefore, to two kinds of acts, 
for the same act may be either or both. What is the 
distinction ? 
Distinction of Moral from Prudential.—In brief, 
the difference is that a prudential act is measured by 
the result/ the moral, by the motive. A man may in- 
tend, for example, to gain a certain advantage for him- 
self by embarking in a certain line of action, but his 
knowledge is limited. Hew circumstances occur, and 
his purpose is thwarted. The action turns out to be a 
disadvantageous or imjprudent one. But if a man in- 400 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
tends a moral action the result cannot be immoral, 
however unforeseen or deplorable it may be. On the 
other hand, an act which appears rash at the time may, 
by lucky and opportune happenings, result in gain. 
But an act whose purpose is immoral cannot result in 
morality, no matter how beneficial to any one it may 
be. If a surgeon intends to save a man’s life, and per- 
forms an act with that motive solely, and the result is 
the man’s death, the result is deplorable, but it is not 
wrong. If a man intends to kill another, but, failing, 
unwittingly does the man a great benefit, the result is 
a desirable one, but the action is immoral. Actions, in 
short, that are judged from their motives alone are acts 
lying in the moral sphere. 
Analysis of Moral Action.—Why do we make this 
distinction ? Why do some acts get their character es- 
tablished by their results, and others by their motives? 
This question is an ethical question, if we inquire into 
the ultimate ground of the distinction ; it is a psycho- 
logical question when wre ask through what conditions 
it originates as a fact in psychical life. It is a psychi- 
cal fact that we do judge some acts by their motives 
and others by their results, and this difference must 
have its origin in some psychical processes. We have 
only to inquire what, as matter of fact, these processes 
are. This brings us to the analysis of a moral action, 
to see what constitutes it. 
Responsibility.—Before answering directly the ques- 
tion why we estimate the quality of some acts by their 
results and that of others by their intention, we must 
recognize a further difference between prudential and 
moral acts. The doer recognizes his personal responsi- 
bility for the act in the latter case, while in the former MORAL CONTROL. 
401 
he does not. The person may regret the result of a 
course of action undertaken to derive some benefit, if 
it turns out hurtfully, or if the disadvantages outweigh 
the accruing gains, but he does not blame himself for 
this result. This gives us the added fact that an indi- 
vidual does not hold himself responsible for the result 
of his actions, but only for their motives. When the 
result is the direct outcome of the motive, responsibil- 
ity is extended, of course, to the former. 
Basis of Distinction.—It is easy to see why a man 
does not hold himself responsible for the result of an 
action, except so far as that result is the legitimate ef- 
fect of his motive in action. It is because the result is 
beyond his control. The commencement of the action 
may lie with him ; its issue does not. The final out- 
come is determined by a multitude of causes of which 
the one acting can foresee only a few. It is impossi- 
ble, in originating an action, to tell how many forces, 
hitherto unnoticed, may be set in motion ; it is impos- 
sible to tell how many forces independently set in op- 
eration by others may cross the workings of these 
forces, sometimes reinforcing them, sometimes nullify- 
ing them. Or, as was said before, the ground of de- 
cision in prudential action is the surroundings and 
knowledge of the one deciding. Whether the result 
is reached or not depends upon the extent and limita- 
tions of these decisive factors. For these limitations one 
does not hold himself responsible, and, because he does 
not, he does not hold himself responsible for the result. 
Actions in the Moral Sphere.—On the other hand, 
if some acts are judged by their motives, and if the ac- 
tor holds himself responsible for these motives, it fol- 
lows that he must regard these motives as within his 402 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
control. For example, the surgeon, taking measures 
to perform an operation, which finally results fatally, 
judges his act to be unsuccessful from the prudential 
point of view, but not to be immoral. He did the 
best he knew how. The issue lay with forces of nat- 
ure. Suppose, however, that from a motive of indiffer- 
ence, of love of ease, or of love of speedy fame, he has 
not gained some information which he might have 
acquired regarding the state of his patient, and which 
would have induced him to act otherwise. In such a 
case he blames himself for the result, that is, he judges 
it from the moral point of view. He estimates his act 
from the quality of its motive, and he does so because 
he recognizes that, while he does not make the result, 
he does make the motive. 
Moral Action and Personality.—The fact that we 
estimate the quality of some acts as successful or non- 
successful according to their outcome, while we esti- 
mate that of others as moral or immoral according to 
their motive, is, therefore, due to the fact that the lat- 
ter are determined by personality alone, while the 
former are determined by some accident or contin- 
gency, as it were, of personality. Some actions affect 
the man, what he is in himself; others affect the cir- 
cumstances of the man, what he has about him. A 
man’s wealth, his health, his knowledge, his general 
prosperity are not himself; they are what the man 
has or would have. A man’s will is himself. Every 
act that arises from will or personality, but has its 
result in something external to that will, something 
which the will has, is a prudential act. Every act that 
both arises from and affects the will, the being of a 
man, is in the moral sphere. MORAL CONTROL. 
403 
The wealth a man possesses, the esteem in which he 
is held, the degree of bodily well-being which charac- 
terizes him, are circumstances of the man ; they are 
not the man. All acts which aim at these external 
circumstances are estimated by the extent to which 
they realize these circumstances; by their results. 
Where a man wills to tell the truth he wills to be some- 
thing ; and even if what he says is false by reason of 
the limitation of his knowledge, he is still true. The 
fact about which he makes his statement is external, and 
his knowledge of it is decided by facts external to him. 
His motive to tell the truth is internal to him, and is de- 
cided by himself, and cannot be changed by the contin- 
gency of the result. If his motive is truth, he cannot 
be false, no matter how false the actual result may be. 
Prudential Actions become Moral.—None the less 
actions directed towards the attainment of wealth, of 
health, of knowledge, of esteem, etc., are, as matter of 
fact, in the moral sphere, and form, indeed, the content 
of most moral actions. How can we reconcile this 
statement with the one previously made that they are 
external to personality, circumstances of it? The rec- 
onciliation lies in the fact that while health, knowl- 
edge, etc., do not in themselves constitute personality, 
or will, they may be necessary conditions of its real- 
ization. A man cannot be the person he otherwise 
would be, if he is ignorant, sickly, and so poor as not 
to be able properly to support his family. So far as 
these circumstances are necessary to the realization of 
personality, they become themselves moral ends, and 
constitute acts which are judged by their motives. 
Taken by themselves, or in abstraction from the reali- 
zation of personality, they are not such ; taken as ends 404 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
in opposition to the realization of personality they be- 
come immoral. 
Summary.—It is evident from what has been said 
that moral action only brings into explicit consciousness 
that which is virtually contained in prudential action. 
All prudential action must have its end ultimately in 
its effect upon the person willing; health, knowledge, 
etc., cannot be ultimate ends. They are ends only be- 
cause in them the personality reaches its end and be- 
comes itself. When we treat them as if they were 
ends in themselves, we are simply neglecting or ab- 
stracting from their effect on the will itself. When 
we complete our account by taking this into considera- 
tion, we are in the realm of moral action. When we 
do take personality into account we judge the act from 
its motive; for while the result is external to the per- 
sonality, the motive is internal to it and reveals what 
the personality is and would be. 
The actual will to be something, not the mere desire 
or longing for it, but the resolute choice to be it, con- 
stitute the being it. The will to have it does not con- 
stitute the having it. A man who wills to be good 
will be good. A man who wills to be learned, to be a 
statesman, etc., is not necessarily such, because, after all, 
these are circumstances which he may have, not the 
personality which he is. The man also holds himself 
responsible for the moral action, because his personality 
constitutes the motive; it is not constituted by any- 
thing external to him. The recognition of personality 
as constituting the essence of moral action enables us, 
therefore, to account for its two distinguishing features 
—that it is measured by its motive, and that responsi- 
bility for it is recognized. MORAL CONTROL. 
405 
Treatment of Subject.—Having analyzed moral ac- 
tion, we have now to consider (1) the process of the 
development of ethical desires, whether moral or im- 
moral; (2) the nature of ethical choice; (3) the result 
of moral control, formation of character, etc. The cau- 
tion already mentioned must be kept in mind ; though 
we are dealing with ethical material, we are dealing 
with it only as a matter of psychological experience. 
I. Development of Ethical Desires.—Ethical desires, 
whether moral or immoral, arise when any action is to 
be performed whose result is seen to affect personality 
itself, and not any of its possessions or circumstances. 
As matter of historic development, they probably con- 
sciously arise in the conflict between having something 
and being something. The child, for example, has been 
told not to touch some sweetmeats, and is very desir- 
ous of eating them. Now the desire of eating them is 
not in itself, of course, immoral, but it conflicts with 
the desire to be in harmony with his mother’s wishes 
and the worthy recipient of her love. The child does 
not reason the matter out, but he feels that if he yields 
to his desire he will have come short of that which he 
should be. This consciousness of coming short of his 
own true being is, without doubt, a reflex one and not 
a direct one; that is to say, he feels himself measured 
by a standard of himself which his mother holds up, 
and not by a standard which he consciously holds be- 
fore himself; but the psychological essence of the act 
remains unchanged. He feels that the desire is im- 
moral, because its gratification will lead to a lowering 
of himself. He will have more immediate pleasure, 
but he will be less. The desire to obey he feels to be 
moral, for the opposite reason. PSYCHOLOGY. 
Extension of Desire in the Ethical Sphere. — The 
process roughly sketched here constantly widens the 
range of feelings and desires which are felt to have 
moral bearings. At the beginning, in many, perhaps 
all cases, the child feels the ethical bearing only of such 
acts as are directly commanded or are forbidden ; acts 
which are accompanied also by pleasures and pains as 
their rewards and penalties. Only such acts are seen 
to have any relation to his own personal worth. But 
as his experiences widen and his feelings come in con- 
tact with more objects his desires increase, and more 
and more of these desires are seen to have direct bear- 
ing upon the inner core of his own being, as distinct 
from the circumstances of his life. The widening ex- 
tends also in another direction. Not only does he rec- 
ognize that each desire has, if realized, some connec- 
tion with himself, but he recognizes also that each will 
is a personality as much as himself. He sees that while 
he may hare more or less than other persons, he can be 
a person or will no more and no less than they. The 
claims of their personality are equal to the claims of 
his. This gradually extends his desires to include the 
welfare of those in the same family with him. No 
end can be set to the process in either direction. There 
is no desire which does not have a possible bearing upon 
the realization of himself) there is no person who does 
not have a possible relation to him which may become 
the source of a desire for the realization of that per- 
sonality. Of course, the desire may tend the other way; 
it may be towards such a gratification of himself as 
will thwart his own realization or that of some other 
person. 
Conflict of Desires.—The same processes that origi- MOKAL CONTKOL. 
407 
nate desires bring them into opposition with each other. 
The difference between the conflict of desires in the 
ethical and in the prudential sphere is, that since in the 
latter acts are judged by their results, desires range 
themselves along a scale, and the question is simply 
concerning which desire to gratify in order to get the 
most advantage; in the ethical sphere, since actions are 
judged by their motives, the conflict is between two 
desires, which represent not a possible more or less, but 
an actual opposition. The conflict is between desires 
for qualitatively opposed ends. In other words, the con- 
flict is always between desire for an end which is felt 
to be good, and desire for an end which is felt to be 
wrong. The desire, as said before, is not wrong in it- 
self, but its satisfaction is felt to be wrong, because it 
is incompatible with the realization of the good. In 
ethical matters the lesser good is felt to be the bad. 
II. Ethical Choice.—This conflict of desires is set- 
tled, as are all similar conflicts, by the act of choice or 
decision, which is that identification by self of itself 
with one of the desires which renders it the motive to 
action. The act of choice selects some desire, and says 
that that one shall be realized. The object of any 
desire is ideal, for it has no existence as yet; choice 
changes the mere longing for its reality into the as- 
sertion that it shall be made real. Choice is practical 
judgment. Judgment (page 214) asserts that some 
reality is possessed of some ideal quality, or that some 
ideal quality is real. Choice asserts that this ideal 
quality shall be real. Judgment as theoretical is about 
things as they are; judgment as practical is about 
things as the self will have them to be. 
Grounds of Choice.—Any desire becomes a motive 408 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
because it is chosen. Why is it chosen ? Why does 
the self reject one desire which is competing for its 
identification with self and select another ? To an- 
swer this question we must distinguish between the 
content and theform of what is chosen. In prudential 
choice the form is identical in all acts; for it is the ad- 
vantage to be gained by that act. The content is the 
specific advantage sought for—health, public reputa- 
tion, place. And the ground of choice is, that con- 
tent is chosen which seems to the chooser to corre- 
spond most closely with the form under which it is 
subsumed—advantage. In moral actions, on the oth- 
er hand, there are two forms, not one, possible, and 
the choice is primarily not about the content to be 
included under the form, but about the form itself. 
The form is good or bad. The question which con- 
tent shall be willed, whether truth, temperance, cour- 
age, patience, purity—which, in short, of the virtues, 
is a subordinate question, as is the one regarding any 
content of bad action or a vice. To answer the ques- 
tion regarding the grounds of choice, we must ask sep- 
arately regarding the content and the form. 
Choice of Content.—Why is this or that special kind 
of good action chosen rather than another? Or, to 
put the question more correctl}r, why does one regard 
one course of action as the good, while to another the 
good content is something else? Such, of course, is 
the fact. A South Sea Islander’s idea of what actually 
constitutes good is hardly the same as that of a civil- 
ized man. The occupant of a crowded tenement-house 
in a large city, surrounded from birth by almost every 
variety of evil, can hardly have the same ideas of what 
constitutes the content of good and of bad as one edu- MORAL CONTROL. 
409 
cated in a refined family and subject from the first to 
the most elevated and purifying influences. The ideal, 
the standard, of one varies from that of another; that 
is to say, the content which is conceived as coming 
under the form of good or bad varies. 
Reason for This.—In stating that this difference ex- 
ists we have virtually shown why it exists. The reason 
that one chooses one content as good while to another 
the same content appears as unworthy, or even posi- 
tively bad, is the relative limitation and extent of the 
circumstances of each, which cause the knowledge or 
conception of each to take the form that it does. The 
grounds for the choice of a given content in moral ac- 
tion are precisely what they are in prudential action. 
The choice in each case is limited by the man’s birth, 
early training, surroundings, and resulting knowledge. 
The good to one man may be to abstain from stealing 
a loaf of bread, to keep himself free from the influ- 
ences of intoxicating liquors; to another man it will 
be to devote his life to the elevation of humanity 
through great self-sacrifice. Each comes under the 
form of good; but the content which is given this 
form is the result of the circumstances of the person, 
using that word in its widest sense. 
o 
Choice of Form.—But there is another question jet 
to be answered: why does the will choose good in 
preference to bad, or vice versa f We have seen why 
it chooses the special good that it does, but why should 
it choose good at all? What are the grounds of this 
choice? It is evident from what has been said that 
the grounds of this choice cannot be external to the 
will, but must be in the will itself. The moral worth 
of the act is constituted by its motive, and not by its 410 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
result; and the motive is constituted by the will itself, 
by the personality. The answer to the question why 
one man chooses truth as a good under certain circum- 
stances while another chooses kindness could be found 
in the antecedents and circumstances of the chooser if 
our knowledge were sufficiently extended. Why he 
chooses a good at all rather than a wrong finds its an- 
swer only in the will of the man himself. He will 
have himself good. The reason that he will is, that he 
will. Only the ideal of himself as good will satisfy 
him. If we ask why this ideal alone is satisfactory we 
can get no other answer than this : he wills to be satis- 
fied in that, and in that alone. It is willed because it 
is satisfactory; it is satisfactory because it is willed as 
that the man would be. 
Meaning of this Circle.—In other words, we here 
reach an ultimate fact in the psychological constitution 
of man. lie has the power of determining himself. 
lie has the power of setting up an ideal of what he 
would have himself be, and this ideal in form depends 
only upon himself. If one man chooses moral evil 
under certain circumstances, and another man chooses 
moral good, the sole answer to the question why each 
acts as he does is that one man will have himself good, 
the other bad. Each wills a certain ideal of himself, 
and according to the ideal willed so is he. In moral 
matters a man is what he would have himself be. The 
will to be good is the being good. In moral action, in 
other words, the action is measured by the motive, and 
the motive is decided by what a man’s ideal of himself 
is; by his conception of what would realize his nature. 
This ideal of self-realization depends/br its form upon 
the self and upon that alone. For its content, for its MORAL CONTROL. 
411 
specific and concrete filling up it depends, as previously 
shown, upon his education, surroundings, etc. But the 
man’s own will, the core of his personality, decides 
what he would have himself be, and this decision de- 
cides what he is. Man determines himself by setting 
up either good or evil as a motive to himself, and he 
sets up either as he will have himself be. 
Summary. — Just that specific act which a man 
chooses as good or bad depends upon circumstances 
external to himself. For it, in other words, he is not 
responsible. He is responsible only for his motive. 
If his motive is good he is not responsible for the spe- 
cial direction which the act takes unless this is the 
result of some previous choice of his own. In moral 
matters, as in prudential, a man can do only the best 
that he knows. But a man in willing the good at all 
does not merely will the best th-at he knows, or that 
his circumstances permit of, but he wills the best ab- 
solutely, the best that the universe permits of. The 
concrete content of the good action, the virtues, de- 
pend upon social deveiopmeni; the good depends upon 
the will only. The good is the will to be good. 
111. The Result of Moral Action. — The result of 
moral control is the formation of character. Each act 
as it is performed has, if it is a moral act, its effect 
upon personality. It organizes it in a certain direc- 
tion. It gives it a specific set or bent. Moral action 
results from the ideal which a man forms of himself, 
and occurs in order that he may realize himself. 
This realization of the moral self constitutes char- 
acter. A man begins with that whole complex of 
feelings and desires which are given him by nature 
and his social surroundings, and with the capacity of 412 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
choosing from these, and constituting some one, that 
is, some anticipated state or activity of himself, an end 
of action. Each action, as it takes place, gives his will 
a definite content. It changes the capacity to choose 
into something actually chosen. It furnishes the will 
with certain specific concrete organs. This furnishing 
is what we call character. 
Nature of Character.—Character is the will changed 
from a capacity into an actuality. The will is the 
power to realize self morally. Character is the self 
realized. It is still will, but it is will made organic 
and real. From this fundamental nature of character 
flow certain subordinate results, which may be summed 
up as follows: first, the formation of generic volition 
as opposed to particular; second, the regulation of de- 
sires ; third, more accurate and intuitive choice; fourth, 
more effective execution. 
1. Generic Volition.—By this term is meant a voli- 
tion that covers a large number of subordinate specific 
volitions. The result, for example, of a general ten- 
dency to perform acts from virtuous motives, that is, 
from the will to realize the good, is the generic voli- 
tion of goodness. When a strong temptation is pre- 
sented to a child, it is conceivable that he has to stop, 
as it were, and execute a specific volition “to be good” 
in this especial case. If, under similar circumstances, 
lie acts in a similar way habitually, it is evident that 
his character finally gives rise to a general intention or 
purpose “ to be good,” and each special right act is 
simply the manifestation of this governing purpose of 
the life. Another name given to this same fact is that 
of “immanent preference.” This phrase brings out 
the additional fact that the generic volition continues MORAL CONTROL. 
413 
in action even when there is no overt occasion for its 
manifestation. A man’s will to be temperate does not 
cease when he happens not to be eating or drinking, or 
satisfying any appetite. It is still immanent in his 
being, and serves unconsciously to direct the course of 
his actions. 
2. Regulation of Desires. — Original impulses are 
natural in the sense that they spring from the physical 
and psychical constitution of man. As such, they are 
no more under his control directly than are any forces 
of nature. But desire originates only when these im- 
pulses are satisfied, and there arises the intellectual 
representation of that act which satisfies them. Up to 
a certain point the formation of desires is a spontane- 
ous, natural process. But we have already learned that 
it is the will, the man himself, who decides which of 
these desires shall be realized. The satisfaction of 
any desire strengthens it, for it adds to it a new repre- 
sentation of the act, and of the pleasure which neces- 
sarily accompanies the act. Ivefusal to make the de- 
sire a motive or end of action not only represses this 
particular desire, but weakens all desires similar to it. 
A desire never satisfied would finally die of inanition. 
It is evident, therefore, that every choice strengthens 
some desires and weakens others. It controls them. 
Still more is this the case when the choice has become 
a generic or immanent one. This encourages the 
growth of all desires in harmony with itself, and serves 
as a check upon all others by the very fact of its exist- 
ence. The formation of a settled character finally de- 
cides what a man’s desires shall be. It strangles all 
opposite ones at the moment of their birth. 
3. Accurate and Intuitive Choice.—It is evident that 414 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
this control of desires exercises great influence upon 
every future specific choice. Where there is no desire 
there can be no motive. Where the desires are all, or 
almost all, along one line they reinforce each other, 
and the specific act of choice follows almost as a 
matter of course, after next to no conflict. With 
the formation of an organized character, choice be- 
comes speedy. It follows from the same line of rea- 
soning that it becomes more and more intuitive or 
spontaneous. Where no character has been formed 
moral action requires considerable hesitation and a 
process of deliberation. Without stopping to discuss 
whether or not our ideas of duty are intuitive, it is ev- 
ident that it is not always intuitive just what is our 
duty in a specific case where there is a conflict of 
claims upon us. Just in the degree, however, in which 
acts, whether vicious or virtuous, have reacted upon 
the will, and have been organized into its structure, 
does the will act spontaneously. It is conceivable that 
a child, in the process of forming a character, may 
often hesitate long. It is not conceivable that a very 
good or a very wicked man should; that is, about the 
nature of the act; there may be hesitation concerning 
results. The same process renders choice more definite 
and less vague. At the beginning one does not know 
just what he is choosing. As character is formed the 
nature of the motive is better and better estimated. 
4. Effective Execution.—The moral act, as we have 
seen, does not depend upon its character for its execu- 
tion. The will to execute is morally its execution. 
This presupposes, of course, that there be a real act of 
choice, and that there are no “mental reservations.” 
Nothing is commoner than for a man to make up his 415 
MORAL CONTROL. 
mind in a certain way upon its surface, while under- 
neath the will has set itself in an opposite direction. 
It requires a well-formed character for truth not to de- 
ceive one’s self in this way. But objectively considered, 
the execution of the act is highly important. For other 
men there is no way of judging a motive except by its 
result. If the motive is thwarted in its execution the 
actor does not feel remorse, but he cannot help feeling 
regret. From the standpoint of the world the impor- 
tant thing is to get the right thing done, and no man 
can consider himself an effective power whose ability 
to execute his intentions does not bear a commensurate 
ratio to his intentions. The sole condition of effective 
execution is an organized character, and for two rea- 
sons. 
(1.) Character constitutes a reservoir of energy which 
may be drawn upon to bring about the end willed. In 
character there are conserved the results of all previous 
acts. Each has lent some of its own strength to the 
will. Character is multiplied volition ; it is will wdiicli 
has ceased to be isolated, and which has concentrated 
itself. It is will which is no longer sporadic, but has 
turned its force in one direction. The man with char- 
acter, whether good or bad, is not easily daunted. He 
does not recognize obstacles. His e}7e is upon the end, 
and upon that alone. Weakness means instability, and 
instability is lack of character. 
(2.) Another reason for the practical efficiency of 
character is suggested by Aristotle when he says that 
the man who rejoices in abstinence is temperate; the 
man who abstains but is grieved thereby is still in- 
temperate. We have already seen that the force 
which carries out any choice is the impulsive ac- 416 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
tion of feeling. Intellect proposes the end; this is 
chosen, and the propulsive tendency of feeling realizes 
it. Now only the man with fixed character takes a 
great and, what is more, an enduring pleasure in the 
anticipation of a certain end. Only the man of truth- 
ful character can be said to rejoice in the truth for its 
own sake. Only he, therefore, is likely to have that 
supply of propulsive feeling which will see to it that 
the truth is actually told, no matter what the difficulty. 
Love is the only motive which can be relied upon for 
efficient and sure action ; and only the man of charac- 
ter has fixed love of a thing for its own sake; and 
that which is sought for anything but itself is not a 
moral end. 
Murray (op. cit.), pp. 235-240; Sully, “ Psychology,” pp. 649-680; Rade- 
stock (op. cit.), pp. 81-86; Yolkmann (pp. tit.), vol. ii., pp. 489-513; Herbart 
(op. tit.), pt. iii., ch. v.; Striimpell (op. tit.), pp. 283-293; Fortlage, “Acht 
psychologisclie Vortriige” (essay on “Character”); Marion, “La Solidarity 
Morale,” pp. 108-145; Hagemann, “ Was ist Charakter?” De Guimps (op. tit.) 
pp. 431-443; Perez, “ L’Education,” pp. 265-300; Joly, “Notions de Peda- 
gogic,” pp. 164-196; Beneke, “ Erziehungslehre,” pp. 310-343; Dittes, 
“Naturlehre der moralischen Erziehung;” Wendt, “Die Willensbildung;n 
Habel, “ Entwickelungsgeschichte des Willens;” Grube, “ Von der sittlichen 
Bildung der Jugend;” Wiese, “Die Bildung des Willens;” Hall, Princeton 
Review for 1882, articles on “ Moral Training of Children,” and “ Education 
of Will.” CHAPTER XXII. 
WILL AS THE SOURCE OF IDEALS AND OF THEIR 
REALIZATION. 
Will is Self.—We have now finished our study of 
the various factors of the self. It is now necessary 
very briefly to notice their relation to each other. The 
unity of the self is the will. The will is the man, psy- 
chologically speaking. Knowledge we have seen to be 
in its essence a process of the realization of the univer- 
sal self-consciousness; feeling to be the accompaniment 
of self-realization ; and its specific quality to be depen- 
dent upon the definite form of self-realization accom- 
plished. Will we have just seen to be the self realiz- 
ing itself. This is involved throughout in physical and 
prudential control, and it is explicitly developed when 
we study moral control. Here the will is seen to be 
self-determination. The will, in short, constitutes the 
meaning of knowledge and of feeling; and moral will 
constitutes the meaning of will. 
Will, Knowledge, Feeling.—Knowledge is the ob- 
jectification of feeling or sensation by the will, in the 
process of apperception. Sensation or feeling is itself 
meaningless, except in its relation to sensuous impulse, 
which constitutes the raw material of the will. Sensu- 
ous impulse is the will in the process of becoming. It 
is the will before it has obtained the control of itself; 
before it is self-determined. The construction of knowl- 
edge out of sensuous impulse, or out of sensation, by 418 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the apperceptive process is simply one aspect of the 
will obtaining control of itself. It is the will deter- 
mining itself to an objective and universal form. The 
varieties of qualitative feeling, on the other hand, are 
the accompaniments of the self-determination of the 
will. They accompany either the outgoing action of 
the will or its action as it takes some objective con- 
tent and dissolves it in the medium of the individual. 
Knowledge, in short, is the objective universal aspect 
of will; feeling is its subjective individual aspect. 
Will, as the process which includes and unites both, is 
the self. 
Twofold Nature of Will.—There is involved in the 
will and hence in the self a twofold mode of action. 
The will is the source, the origin of ideals, and also 
of their realization. The will is always holding it- 
self before itself. The self has always presented to 
its actual condition the vague ideal of a completely 
universal self, by which it measures itself and feels its 
own limitations. The self, in its true nature, is uni- 
versal and objective. The actual self is largely par- 
ticular and unrealized. The self always confronts it- 
self, therefore, with the conception of a universal or 
completed will towards which it must strive. What 
this will or self as complete is, it does not know. It 
only feels that there is such a goal, and that it is only 
as it attains it that it experiences any abiding satisfac- 
tion ; that is to say, happiness. This will or self which 
the will sets before itself is its ideal. 
Function of the Ideal Will.—This ideal will serves 
as a spur to the actual self to realize itself. It leads to 
discontent with every accomplished result, and urges 
on to new and more complete action. It serves also to WILL AS THE SOURCE OF IDEALS. 
419 
measure all accomplishments; it serves as the criterion 
by which to judge them. The feeling of harmony, 
which is the mind’s ultimate test of intellectual truth, 
aesthetic beauty, and moral rightness, is simply the feel- 
ing of the accord between the accomplished act and 
the completed activity which is the ideal. 
The Realizing Activity of Witt.—But the will does 
more than set up this ideal of absolute truth, absolute 
beauty, and absolute goodness. The will is the activ- 
ity which realizes this ideal and makes it a fact of rec- 
ognized validity in life. It gives this form, its con- 
tent; it specifies it and makes it definite. Intellect- 
ual life consists not only of the goal of truth towards 
which intelligence is striving, but also of truth attained. 
.Esthetic life finds its motive power in the working 
within it of an ideal of beauty; but this ideal has also 
worked itself out in some degree, and created specific 
beautiful forms. The moral life has its motive in a 
perfect will, a will absolutely at harmony with itself, 
and this ideal has manifested itself in social institu- 
tions and in personal character. It is not one self or 
will which is the ideal, and another will which is the 
source of its attainment; but the ideal will has been 
a constant motive power, which has energized in bring- 
ing forth the concrete attainments in knowledge, beau- 
ty, and rightness. 
The Moral Ideal in Particular.—The ethical will 
brings clearly to light what is implicitly contained in 
the intellectual and emotional processes. We have in 
these latter the feeling of perfect or completely harmo- 
nized truth and beauty as constituting the reality of 
the psychical life ; but we do not have the conscious 
recognition that this ideal is the true self to which 420 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
the actual must be made to conform. In moral will 
there is this recognition : the good self or will is felt 
to be absolutely obligatory, and its realization not a 
matter of advantage or even of mere growth or de- 
velopment. It is a matter of rightness, for the coming 
short of which there is the feeling of guilt. 
We also see the closer identification in the ethical 
realm of the will as ideal and the will as realizing 
power in the fact that here motive and act are one. 
The will to know the truth or to create beauty does 
not constitute the willed result. There is a gap be- 
tween the motive and the attained end. The realiza- 
tion of the motive depends upon conditions more or 
less external. But in ethical matters it is not so. As 
we have repeatedly noticed, the choice of the motive 
constitutes, for ethical purposes, the attainment of the 
end. The will to be good is the good. In moral will, 
therefore, the ideal will is recognized as the ground of 
the actual self. The obligation of the perfect upon the 
actual imperfect self is the conscious manifestation of 
this fact. Furthermore, the unity of the ideal will as 
the goal, with the will which reaches this goal, the unity 
involved in all volition, is explicitly developed. Moral 
will makes definite and clear the meaning of intellect- 
ual and aesthetic action. Were it not for what we find 
manifested in moral will, the action of the intellect in 
searching for truth, and the creative activity of the aes- 
thetic imagination, would remain ultimately incompre- 
hensible. 
Remaining Dualism in the Moral Will.—The moral 
will, however, does not entirely overcome that dualism 
between the actual and the ideal selves which is involved 
in the other two spheres of action. The moral will is WILL AS THE SOURCE OF IDEALS. 
421 
incomplete or partial in its action. The acting from a 
good motive in a given case constitutes being good in 
that case. This choice sufficiently repeated results in 
the formation of a good character. Yet this character 
never gets so formed that it can dispense with the re- 
peated act of choice whenever there is conflict of good 
and bad desires. The choice may grow more rapid, 
accurate, and intuitive, but the act of choice remains 
necessary. To say that it remains necessary is to say 
that the will as ideal and the will as actual have not 
been truly unified. Were they once truly unified there 
would be no need of the repetition of the act of their 
identification. Each act would flow naturally and spon- 
taneously from their complete unity. 
Religious Will.—Moral action, in short, is particular 
in its nature. It may cover a multitude of cases, but 
it is not universal in itself. It is religious will which 
performs the act of identification once for all. The 
will, as religious, declares that the perfect ideal will is 
the only reality ; it declares that it is the only reality 
in the universe, and that it is the only reality in the 
individual life. It makes it a motive, once for all, of 
action ; and not of this or that action, but of life, and 
of life generically and absolutely. Religious will de- 
clares that the perfect will is the only source of activ- 
ity and of reality, and that it is in itself perfect activity 
and perfect reality. It is the completely self-deter- 
mined. In it realization and the ideal are one. There 
is no longer any dualism between the wfill as it is and 
the will as it ought to be. 
Religious Action.—As religious will makes this dec- 
laration, so religious action is the continuous appropri- 
ation of the truth asserted by it. The religious will 422 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
declares that God, as the perfect Personality or Will, is 
the only Reality, and the Source of all activity. It is 
therefore the source of all activity of the individual 
personality. The Perfect Will is the motive, source, 
and the realization of the life of the individual. He 
has renounced his own particular life as an unreality; 
he has asserted that the sole reality is the Universal 
Will, and in that reality all his actions take place. In 
other words, the source of his concrete actions is no 
longer the will that the ideal and actual ought to be one, 
and that in this specific case they shall be, but it is the 
will that they are one; and this specific case, as well as 
all others, is the manifestation of this unity. In short, 
while moral action is action directed to render the act- 
ual conformable to the ideal, religious action is action 
directed to the embodiment of the ideal in the actual. 
Faith.—This will that the real and the perfect Will 
or Personality are one constitutes the essence of the 
religious act known as faith. It transcends knowl- 
edge, for knowledge, while always the realization of a 
complete self, is never its complete realization. There 
is always a chasm between actual knowledge and abso- 
lute truth. There can be no knowledge beyond the 
ground that knowledge actually covers. There can- 
not be knowdedge that the true reality for the indi- 
vidual self is the universal self, for knowledge has not 
in the individual compassed the universal. But this 
will or faith, while transcending knowledge, is yet im- 
plied in all knowledge. The motive to knowdedge and 
the energy of its realization is the belief that there is 
truth, and that every act of intellect, legitimately per- 
formed, leads to truth. In knowledge there is no ulti- 
mate justification for this belief. It finds its validity WILL AS THE SOURCE OF IDEALS. 
423 
and the revelation of its meaning only in the will that 
the real and the ideal of truth are one in a perfect per- 
sonality—God. This act of faith also precedes and 
transcends feeling. There is, in the feeling of harmony, 
the feeling of unity, but this feeling accompanies will. 
It is the internal side of the universal or objective 
unity realized through the will. Without this act of 
will, all feeling is that of discord, of incongruence. 
Summary.—We find the unity of the psychical proc- 
esses already studied, and therefore their ultimate ex- 
planation, in the fact that man is a self; that the es- 
sence of self is the self-determining activity of will; 
that this will is an objectifying activity, and that, in 
objectifying itself, it renders itself universal. The re- 
sult of this activity is knowledge. The objectified will 
is science; the objectifying activity is the intellect. 
This will or activity also renders an account to itself 
of its own doings. It is internal to itself. The objec- 
tive universal result is at one and the same time exist- 
ent in the medium of the individual’s consciousness. 
This subjective aspect of the activity is feeling. As 
expressing the furtherance or hinderance of the activ- 
ity, it is pleasure or pain ; as an accompaniment of an 
actual realization, it possesses content and is qualitative. 
The activity which is both subjective and objective, 
which unites the individual and the universe, which 
finds its motive in feeling and its result in knowledge, 
and at the same time changes this known object into 
the felt subject is the will, the unity of psychical life. 
But the activity of the will is not exhausted in these 
realizations of itself through knowledge and feeling; 
the will is universal in its nature, and therefore must 
always hold before itself its own universal nature. PSYCHOLOGY. 
This universal nature of will with which the will 
confronts itself constitutes what we call ideals. Ac- 
cording as it takes the nature of a universal harmony 
of truths it is the intellectual ideal; as the universal 
harmony of feelings, it is the aesthetic; as the univer- 
sal harmony of volitions, it is the moral. 
Moral will is the conscious realization by man that 
the real and the ideal ought to be one, and the result- 
ing attempt to make them one in specific acts and in 
the formation of character. Religious will is conscious 
realization that they are one because man is a self-de- 
termining power. It is the realization that a perfect 
will is reality. It is the realization of freedom through 
the realization of the union of finite and the infinite 
Personality. It is only when we recognize this latter 
activity of will that we are able really to comprehend 
the previous forms of activity. Without it there re- 
mains a contradiction in them. Without it knowledge 
is only of that which has been individually objectified ; 
the universal which is its goal remains a blind pos- 
tulate, impossible to account for. Without it feeling 
can be only dissatisfaction, for it must reveal discord 
between what is and what is felt after, its goal of hap- 
piness. With it all psychical life may be indifferently 
described as the progressive realization by the will of 
its ideal self, or as the progressive idealization of the 
actual through the ultimate, absolute reality. In either 
case is it progressive appropriation of that self in which 
real and ideal are one; in which truth, happiness, and 
rightness are united in one Personality. APPENDIX A. 
Since every psychological treatise is influenced largely by its 
philosophical basis, a brief characterization of the standpoint of 
the principal writers referred to in the body of the work will 
not be amiss. Brown, Hamilton, and McCosh belong, of course, 
to the Scotch school. With the same school, but influenced 
more by German philosophy, Porter may be classed. Murray 
has connections with the same school, but his point of view 
is rather that of the Post-Kantian movement. Mill is of the 
traditional English (or associational) line. Of the same school 
are Lewes, but affected by the physiological development of 
the sciences, and Spencer, influenced in the same way and 
also by the theory of evolution. Lewes also shows the influ- 
ence of the German “ Volkerpsychologie ” school. Sully has 
his standpoint fixed by the same fundamental metaphysical 
principles, but is influenced largely by the later experimental 
treatment of the science. Bain has given the most thorough 
and detailed exposition of the special questions of psychology 
to be found in English from the standpoint of the English 
school modified by physiological considerations. In Germany 
Herbart’s influence has been, upon the whole, dominant in psy- 
chology, and Volkmann, Waitz, Striimpell, Schilling, Glogau, 
Drobisch all build upon his foundation in a more or less inde- 
pendent way. Steinthal and Lazarus cannot be classed as Her- 
bartians, but they reflect more of Herbart, perhaps, than of any 
other one man. The same may be said of Morcll in English, 
while Ward shows decided traces of his influence. Lotze is 
difficult to class, having, upon the whole, an independent basis; 
he is indebted to Kant and to Herbart in about equal measures, 
while he is everywhere influenced by the physiological aspects 
of the science. Much the same may be said of Ulrici, although 
the latter was not an independent investigator in experimental 
psychology. Other Herbartians not referred to in the preceding 426 
APPENDIX. 
pages are Lindner, Stoy, and Ballauf. Erdmann, Rosenkranz, 
and Michelet are all Hegelians, as is George, upon a more inde- 
pendent basis. Rosenkranz has written upon pedagogy from 
this standpoint, and Thaulow’s “ Hegel’s Ansichten iiber Erzie- 
hung und Unterricht ” belongs here. Ostermann’s “ Padago- 
gische Psychologie ” follows Lotze. Beneke, Dittes, Schrader, 
and Kern reflect Herbart in their educational treatises. Stoy’s 
“Encyclopadie der Padagogik” contains a bibliography, as do 
also the works of Frohlich and Joly, referred to in the body of 
this work. Every educationalist is acquainted, of course, with 
Diesterweg’s “ Wegweiser,” with its valuable references. 
APPENDIX B. 
We add the following references upon psycho-physics: Fech- 
ner, “Elemente der Psychophysik,” “In Sachen der Psychophy- 
sik,” and “ Revision der Hauptpunkte der Psychophysik;” Mid- 
ler, “ Zur Grundlegung der Psychophysik;” F. A. Muller, “ Das 
Axiom der Psychophysik;” Delbceuf, “ Elements de Psycliopliy- 
sique; Ribot, ch. vii. of “Contemporary German Psychology;” 
“ Philosophische Studien,” yol. i.. p. 566, vol. ii., p. 1, and p. 655; 
Ward, in Mind, vol. i., p. 452; Langer. “ Die Grundlagen der Psy- 
chophysik.” 
Upon comparative psychology the following works may be 
consulted: Romanes, “ Animal Intelligence ” and “ Mental Evo- 
lution;” Lubbock, “ Ants, Bees, and Wasps;” Lindsay, “Mind in 
Lower Animals;” Ilouzeau, “fitude sur les Facultfis Mentales 
des Animaux;” Blanchard, “ Les Metamorphoses, les Moeurs et 
les Instincts des Insectes;” Bourdon de Monte, “L’Homme et les 
Animaux;” Fourni<5, “ La Bete ct l’Homme ;” Joly, “ Psychologie 
ComparSe,” and “ L’Homme et 1’Animal;” Espinas, “ Des So- 
cifites Animates;” Cams, “ Yergleichende Psychologie;” Bastian, 
“Beitrage zur yergleichende Psychologie;” and Perty, Fliigel, 
and Gleisberg upon “ Das Seelenleben der Thiere.” 
Upon genetic psychology see: Preyer, “ Die Seele des Kindes 
Perez, “ First Three Years of Childhood,” and “ La Psychologie 427 
APPENDIX. 
de l’Enfant;” Kussmaul, “ TJntersuchungen iiberdas Seelenleben 
des neugeborenen MenschenEgger, “ Sur le Developpement 
de l’lntelligence et du LangageLobisch, “ Die Seele des 
Kindes;” Schultze, “Die Sprache des Kindes;” Taine, in Revue 
Philosophique, for Jan., 1876 ; Darwin, in Mind, vol. ii., p. 285 ff.; 
Pollock, in Mind for July, 1878; Genzmer, “Die Sinneswahr 
nehmungen des neugeborenen Menschen.” 
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