SECTION I.. Pleasurable or Painful States, Contemplated As Consequents of Our

PLEASURABLE OR PAINFUL STATES, CONTEMPLATED AS CONSEQUENTS OF OUR OWN ACTS.

IN contemplating pains and pleasures as future; in other words, anticipating them, or believing in their future existence; we observe, that, in certain cases, they are independent of our actions; in other cases, that they are consequent upon something which may be done, or left undone by us.

Thus, in certain cases, we foresee that a painful sensation or sensations will be given us, but that something may be done by us which will prevent it: Again, that a pleasurable sensation, or sensations will be given us, but not unless something be done by us, of which the sensations are the consequence.

It is necessary that those two cases, a pain to be prevented, and a pleasure to be obtained, by our own actions, should be distinguished from one another; but as they both rank under the title of a good, and, as it will shorten our phraseology to name them {257} together, we shall speak of the removal of pain, in the present section, at least, under the denominations of a pleasure.

We have seen what is the state of consciousness, produced by the contemplation of a pleasurable sensation as future; that it is called Joy, if the pleasure is contemplated as certainly future, in other words, believed; that it is called Hope, if the sensation is contemplated as not certainly future, that is, if the anticipation does not amount to belief.

We have also seen what is our state of consciousness, when we contemplate the cause of a future pleasure, and the pleasure, together. It is a mixture of Love, and Joy; Love as regards the cause; Joy as regards the sensation.

The association which constitutes those States of Mind (AFFECTIONS, as they are commonly called) it is hardly necessary to repeat. The anticipation of a future sensation, is merely the association, the result of prior sensations, of a certain number of antecedents and consequents. I anticipate, for example, the pleasing sensation of light, at a certain hour to-morrow morning. The meaning is, that with my sensations of the present moment, are associated those of the next; with those of the next those of the following; and so on, till sleep; after sleep, waking, and then the anticipated sensation.

When the cause is contemplated along with the sensation, the association which constitutes the process of anticipation is the same, till we arrive at the link which immediately precedes the sensation. Thus, if instead of the pleasurable sensation of light, the pleasure of breakfast, is my anticipation of to-morrow {258} morning; in that case, the idea of the pleasure of eating is associated with the idea of the food, not as with an ordinary antecedent, but that peculiar antecedent which is called a cause.

When the idea of the Pleasure is associated with an action of our own as its cause; that is, contemplated as the consequent of a certain action of ours, and incapable of otherwise existing; or when the cause of a Pleasure is contemplated as the consequent of an action of ours, and not capable of otherwise existing; a peculiar state of mind is generated which, as it is a tendency to action, is properly denominated MOTIVE.

The word MOTIVE is by no means steadily applied to its proper object. The pleasure, for example, which is the consequent of the act, is apt to be regarded as alone the impelling principle, and properly entitled to the name of Motive. It is obvious, however, that the idea of the pleasure does not constitute the motive to action without the idea of the action as the cause; that it is the association, therefore, to which alone the name belongs.

As every pleasure is worth having; for otherwise it would not be a pleasure; the idea of every pleasure associated with that of an action of ours as the cause, is a motive; that is, leads to the action. But every motive does not produce the action. The reason is, the existence of other motives which prevent it. A man is tempted to commit adultery with the wife of his friend; the composition of the motive obvious. He does not obey the motive. Why? He obeys other motives which are stronger. Though pleasures are associated with the immoral act, pains are {259} associated with it also; the pains of the injured husband; the pains of the injured wife; the moral indignation of mankind; the future reproaches of his own mind. Some men obey the first, rather than the second motive. The reason is obvious. In them, the association of the act with the pleasure, is, from habit, unduly strong; the association of the act with the pains, is, from want of habit, unduly weak. This is a case of bad Education; and one highly unfortunate, for the value of the pleasures in question is infinitely outweighed by the value of the pains. The business of a good education is to make the associations and the values correspond.

In the preceding paragraph, I have spoken of the abstaining from an act, as an act. Though this language is not rigidly correct, yet as it will lead to no confusion, and will often permit the use of abridged expressions, I shall not scruple, as often as I find occasion, to adopt it.

In the cases adduced above, of one man who obeys the motive to commit a crime, of another who obeys the motive to abstain from it, we have an example of an important fact; that, among the different classes of motives, there are men who are more easily and strongly operated upon by some, others by others. We have also seen, that this is entirely owing to habits of association. This facility of being acted upon, by motives of a particular description, is that which we call DISPOSITION. And it is necessary to take notice of the name and its meaning here; because we shall find that many of the names of Motives are names also of the corresponding Dispositions; and we should not, therefore, be able to exhibit distinctly the {260} marking power of such names, without an accurate conception of what it is which, in this mode of using them, they are employed to mark.

Each of the senses affords sensations, which, associated with the act which is its proper antecedent, may be considered as forming a class of motives.

In most of its cases, this association, taking place uniformly and habitually, is, like the motion of the eyelids, unnoticed, and not provided with a name.

Two cases, however; one, the pleasures of the palate; the other, those of sex; act so important a part in human life, that the motives they constitute by association with their antecedents, have not been left without names; though very defective ones have been applied to them.

Thus, for the motive of Eating, we have the name Gluttony: but gluttony is applied to it only when it is unduly strong. In like manner, we have the name Lust for the motive of sex; but that, too, only when the motive is unduly strong, or in some other respect faulty.

We have here an instance of that confusion of names which was noticed above; the same word employed as the mark of two different things; first, the Motive; secondly, the readiness to be acted upon, and strongly acted upon, by it. The name Gluttony is not only the name of a certain Motive; it is also the name of the corresponding Disposition; a readiness to obey that motive. The name Lust is not only the name of the Motive; but also of the Disposition, or a readiness to obey the motive.

Drunkenness is a name used in the same way exactly as the preceding two. It is the name of a motive, {261} only in the case of excess. And it is a name with a double meaning, being applied both to the Motive, and the Disposition.

For these several motives, in the cases which are not considered as in excess, we have none but circumlocutory names; as, love of eating; love of drinking; love of sex. It is to be observed, also, that the circumlocutory names have the same double meaning, as the preceding single name; they are the names both of the Motive, and the Disposition.

The motives, arising from the pleasures of the palate, and from the pleasures of sex, are sometimes spoken of as two species of one genus. To this the name Sensuality is applied. The fact, however, rather is, that the cases of excess, named Gluttony, Drunkenness, Lust, are considered as the species of a certain genus. Sensuality is rather a generical name of the cases of excess, than of those of moderation.

Sensuality has the same duplicity of meaning, with all the other names, just enumerated; it is the name, both of the Motive and of the Disposition.

Temperance, and Intemperance, are names of Dispositions, which have a reference to pleasures generally.

We have seen, from a previous illustration, that when the motive resulting from the association of a pleasure is not obeyed, it is owing to the association of a pain. When the association of the pain resulting from any act so balances that of the pleasure, that when the value of the pain exceeds that of the pleasure, the pleasure never prevails,--the {262} Disposition called Temperance exists; that is, an equal facility of associating with any act both its pleasures and its pains.

When the association in the two cases is not in this manner equally balanced; that is, when the association of the pleasures is an overmatch for the pains, the Disposition called Intemperance exists.

In further elucidation of Motives, I cite the following passages from the First Appendix to the author's "Fragment on Mackintosh" (pp. 389, 390):--

"A motive is something which moves--moves to what? To action. But all action, as Aristotle says, (and all mankind agree with him) is for an end. Actions are essentially means. The question, then, is, what is the end of action? Actions, taken in detail, have ends in detail. But actions, taken in classes, have ends which may be taken in classes. Thus the ends of the actions which are subservient to the pleasures of sense, are combined in a class, to which, in abstract, we give the name sensuality. The class of actions which tend to the {263} increase of power, have a class of ends to which we give the name ambition, and so on. When we put all these classes together, and make a genus; that is, actions in general; can we in like manner make a genus of the ends; and name ends in general?

"If we could find what the several classes of ends; sensuality for example; ambition; avarice; glory; sociality, &c.; have in common, we could.

"Now, they have certainly this in common, that they are all agreeable to the agents. A man acts for the sake of something agreeable to him, either proximately or remotely. But agreeable to, and pleasant to; agreeableness, and pleasantness, are only different names for the same thing; the pleasantness of a thing is the pleasure it gives. So that pleasure, in a general way, or speaking generically; that is, in a way to include all the species of pleasures, and also the abatement of pains; is the end of action.

"A motive is that which moves to action. But that which moves to action is the end of the action, that which is sought by it; that for the sake of which it is performed. Now that, generically speaking, is the pleasure of the agent. Motive, then, taken generically is pleasure. The pleasure may be in company or connection with things infinite in variety. But these are the accessaries; the essence, is the pleasure. Thus, in one case, the pleasure may be connected with the form, and other qualities of a particular woman; in another, with a certain arrangement of colours in a picture; in another, with the circumstances of some fellow-creature. But in all these cases, what is generical, that is the essence, is the pleasure, or relief from pain.

"A motive, then, is the idea of a pleasure; a particular motive, is the idea of a particular pleasure; and these are infinite in variety.

"Another question is, in what circumstances does the idea of a pleasure become a motive? For it is evident, that it does not so in all. It is only necessary here to illustrate, not to resolve the question. First, the pleasure must be {264} regarded as attainable. No man wills an act, which he knows he cannot perform, or which he knows cannot effect the end. In the next place, the idea of the particular pleasure must be more present to the mind, than any other of equal potency. That which makes the idea of one pleasure more potent than another; or that which makes one idea more present to the mind than another, is the proximate cause of the motive, and a remote cause of the volition. The cause of that superior potency, or of that presence to the mind, is a cause of the volition, still more remote, and so on.--Ed.]

{265} SECTION II.

CAUSES OF OUR PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL STATES, CONTEMPLATED AS THE CONSEQUENTS OF OUR OWN ACTS.

The motives which are formed by the association of our actions, not with our pleasures immediately, but the causes of them, are much more numerous than those which are formed by the association of them with the pleasures themselves; and give birth to a much greater number of actions.

The cause of this we have already explained, and need not explain it again.

The causes of our Pleasures, including as well the remote as the proximate, are so numerous, that it is necessary to speak of them in classes.

We have surveyed them under the following Heads; Wealth, Power, Dignity, our Fellow-creatures, the objects called Sublime and Beautiful; and having fully explained the associations by which they become AFFECTIONS, we have now only to shew, by what additament these Affections are converted into MOTIVES.

It is not difficult to trace the course of association. The idea of the pleasure carries us to the idea of the cause; the idea of that cause, to the idea of its cause; and so on till we arrive at that action of ours which is the commencing cause, and gives birth to all the {266} rest. This association forms a complex state of consciousness, which receives the name of MOTIVE.

It is also to be observed, that when a grand cause of pleasures has been associated with a great many pleasures, and a great many times, the association acquires a peculiar character and strength. The idea of the cause, as cause, is so lost among the innumerable ideas of the pleasures combined with it, that it seems to become the idea of pleasure itself. An instance commonly adduced to illustrate the important class of associations to which this belongs, is that of Money; and a remarkable instance it is. Many are the instances in which the association of pleasures with money constitutes so vehement an affection that it is an overmatch for all others.

In those cases the association which constitutes the motive seems to consist of a single link. The money is the passion; the idea of the action which is to add to it, or prevent its diminution, associated with the passion, constitutes the Motive.

The Motive which leads to the acquisition of wealth, great as is the part which it plays in human life, has no appropriate name. Avarice, Rapacity, like the words Gluttony, and Lust, are only names for cases of excess. It is observable, however, that they have the above-noticed duplicity of meaning; that they are names both of the Motive, and of the Disposition.

We have noticed three states of consciousness into which the idea of a cause of our pleasures enters as a main ingredient: 1. The mere contemplation of it as a cause, past or future; which is called the AFFECTION: 2. The association of an act of ours, as the {267} cause of the cause; which is called the MOTIVE: 3. A readiness to obey this motive, which is called the DISPOSITION.

We have seen, that in regard to Wealth, we had no other name for the first of those states of Consciousness, or the AFFECTION, than the term "Love of Wealth." It is here of importance to observe, that for the Motive also, or the second of those states, unless in its cases of excess, we have no other name than the name of the affection. We call the Motive also, "love of wealth." Nor have we any other name for the Disposition. This, therefore, is a case of great confusion. We have but one name for the Affection, for the Motive, and for the Disposition. They are states of consciousness, therefore, perpetually confounded.

Power, as a cause of pleasure, is rather a less distinct and definite idea, than Wealth. The associations formed with it partake of this indistinctness. The Motive which is formed by association of the idea of Power, with that of an act of ours, which is to add to it, is a more vague idea than that formed of the idea of Wealth associated with the ideas of the acts which are to add to it. Our present purpose, however, does not require a minute analysis. The acts by which, in the different degrees in which it is possessed, men are commonly enabled to add to their power, are vulgarly known. Power, like wealth, becomes itself a sort of primary affection. The association with it of acts of ours as causes of its increase, constitutes the state of mind called the Motive.

This Motive receives the name of Ambition; and that name is so applied pretty generally; though its {268} original and more appropriate application seems to be, to great acquisitions of power, or additions made to great acquisitions.

The same duplicity of meaning, which we have so often remarked, meets us here. In whatever sense Ambition is the name of the Motive, it is also a name of the Disposition.

The term "Love of Power," which we have found to be the name of the Affection, is also applied to the two other states of mind, the Motive, and the Disposition. The three, therefore, Affection, Motive, Disposition, are commonly confounded.

Dignity is a more vague term than even Power; including a still greater number of undefined particulars. But to understand sufficiently the three states of mind which it contributes to form, no further enumeration of those particulars is necessary. The idea of Dignity, as cause, associated with the idea of pleasures as effect, constitutes the state of mind called Affection. The state of mind called affection associated with the idea of an act of ours as cause of the cause, is the state of mind called the Motive. And a facility of being acted upon by the motive, is the Disposition.

We have only one name, "Love of Dignity," for all the three.

We have seen that the value of Wealth, Power, and Dignity, is greatly enhanced, by their comparative amount; that is, the degree in which they are possessed by us, compared with the degree in which they are possessed by others.

We have seen in what manner this comparison generates certain affections, which have received the {269} names of Pride, on the one hand, Contempt, on the other; Humility, on the one hand, Respect, Admiration, on the other. We have now to shew in what manner this comparison generates both Motives, and Dispositions.

As it is not only of value to me to have more Wealth, Power, and Dignity; but of additional value to have more than other men; the surpassing of other men becomes, thus, a cause of Pleasure; and hence the idea of this surpassing, associated with the ideas of my own acts, as the cause, becomes a Motive.

We may endeavour to surpass other men, by either of two ways; by adding to our own Wealth, Power, Dignity; or, by abstracting from theirs.

When only the acts which add to our advantages enter into the Motive, it is called Emulation. When those which abstract from the advantages of another enter into it, it is called Envy.

Emulation is sometimes the name of the Disposition, as well as of the Motive. Ambition, however, is very often used as the name of the Disposition corresponding to the Motive, Emulation.

Envy, is the name both of the Disposition and the Motive. It has the appearance also of being the name of the corresponding Affection; or of the state of consciousness arising from the comparison of another man's greater, with our own less advantages. This, however, is only Humility. It is never Envy, but when the Motive to reduce them is felt. It may be a Motive without effect, being counteracted by other motives. And it is this state in which it assumes the appearance of an Affection.

In these instances, the same end is attainable by {270} two sets of means; the one virtuous; the other vicious. The man who takes the virtuous course, that is, obeys the virtuous motive, is the man who has formed the habit of associating his idea of the good to be derived from surpassing others, with the acts which lead to the increase of his own advantages. The man who takes the vicious course, is the man who has formed the habit of associating with his idea of the benefit of surpassing others, the acts, by which their advantages are diminished.

This a case of the greatest importance, in Education, and Ethics.

We now come to the explanation of that important class of Motives which arise from the contemplation of our FELLOW-CREATURES, as the cause of our Pleasures, and Pains.

With respect to our Fellow-creatures, a distinction must be carefully observed. They are sources to us of Pleasure or Pain, in two ways; either by their STATES; or, by their Actions. Their ACTIONS give birth to a set of Associations of the greatest importance, which remain to be considered under a Head by themselves. What the Affections are, which are generated by the association of our pains and pleasures, with the STATES of our Fellow-creatures, taken individually, or in groups, we have recently examined. We have now only to shew, and for this a few words will suffice, what are the Motives, generated by the association of acts of ours with those STATES; acts contemplated as causes of such alterations in the States as render them to a greater or less degree causes of our pleasures or pains.

1. What the state of my Friend is, as respects both {271} his outward circumstances and his inward disposition, which renders him, more or less, a source, to me, of pleasure on the one hand, or pain on the other, it is not necessary, after what has been said, any further to illustrate. When alterations can be effected in that state by my actions, of a kind to render my Friend more a cause of Pleasure to me, or less a cause of Pain, the association takes place of my pleasures as effect with such alterations as cause of those pleasures, and with my own acts, as cause of those alterations.

The MOTIVE, therefore, exists. And when a facility of forming this association, in other words, a readiness of obeying the MOTIVE, is contracted, the Disposition exists.

It is important to observe, that the word, Friendship, has all that equivocation, or variety of meaning, which we have detected in other words expressing our states of mind towards the causes of our pleasures or pains. It is, at once, the name of the AFFECTION, the name of the MOTIVE, and the name of the DISPOSITION.

2. We have seen what the State of any one of our fellow-creatures is, which so associates with it the ideas of our own pains and pleasures, as to make him an object of Kindness. It is easy to see in what manner the ideas of our own acts are so joined to those associations, as to constitute Motives. When the idea of additions to the pleasures of a man, calls up the idea of additions to our pleasures; the idea of a diminution of his pains, the idea of a diminution of our pains; and when to this is added the idea of our own acts as cause of those additions and diminutions, the association exists which we call MOTIVE.

{272} The motive, which we are now considering, though in most men, owing to a bad education, in which so important an association has been neglected, it is too feeble, not to give way to any of the stronger propensities of our nature, is, nevertheless, from the constancy of its action, a powerful agent in human life, and the cause of no small portion of all the happiness which exists in the world.

A readiness to be acted upon by this MOTIVE; a main object of good Education; constitutes the DISPOSITION.

The AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, the DISPOSITION, have all but one name. Each is denominated Kindness. When the more immediate effect is the removal of pain, we use the term Compassion; which is, in like manner, a name of the affection, the motive, and the disposition.

3. The State of the group, denominated a Family, is a copious source of pain, or pleasure, to the members of it. We have explained, above, the associations which constitute the Family Affections. The formation of the Motives it is now easy to trace.

To take the principal case, that of the Parent; The pleasurable associations which he has with the pleasures, and removal of the pains, of his child, joined with the idea of his own acts, as cause of those pleasures and removals, constitute a MOTIVE, the importance of which we daily observe. Notwithstanding the defects of the parental associations, under such a state of Education and Morals as ours, no other source of generosity in Human Nature produces uniformly so large a portion of its proper effects.

It is not necessary to explain in what manner the affections, either of the child towards the parent, or of {273} brothers and sisters towards each other, become motives. That such motives often exist, and in great strength; and that no small portion of human happiness is derived from them, is matter of experience.

We have no appropriate name for either the AFFECTION, or the MOTIVE, or the DISPOSITION, in the case, either of the parent toward the child, or of the child toward the Parent, or of the children among themselves. We are under the necessity of forming circumlocutory names, by aid of the general term Love. We say the Love of Family; the Love of a Parent toward his offspring; the Love to one another of brothers and sisters. And these are names, at once, of the AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION. So imperfectly have some of the most interesting and important of our states of consciousness been distinguished.

4. The idea of our Country is associated, as in some sort their cause, with a great portion of all the pleasures which we enjoy. And the difference of the states, in which it may be placed, makes a prodigious difference in the amount of pleasures, which we derive from it. When actions of ours, therefore, can influence the state of our country, we associate the idea of those acts as causes, with the pleasurable results as effects, and hence the MOTIVE exists.

To individuals of the great body of the people, wholly in most countries deprived of power, their country can seldom present itself in the light of a motive, because with few acts of theirs as cause, can they associate a benefit to their country as the Effect. Their exertions in repelling from it the invasion of a destructive enemy, or freeing it from the power of a {274} mischievous government, are the principal exceptions to this general rule.

The way in which the idea of Country becomes a Motive to a man whose actions are more widely operative, may thus be conceived. In the prosperity of his country, is included a portion of his own prosperity, and of that of all the individuals who are objects of his affection. Such actions of his, therefore, as are calculated to add to the prosperity of his country, are associated with all the agreeable trains, which additions to the prosperity of himself, and of all those with whom he has any sympathies, imply.

There are cases, though rare, in which this motive has existed in extraordinary force; in which men have been found capable of sacrificing every thing for their country. This happens most readily in times of great excitement; that is, when public opinion holds out a great reward; and when the object rather is, to ward off some great calamity, than to obtain an accession of good.

{275} It is important to observe, that this motive tends different ways, according to the different positions of the individual. Where the inhabitants of a country are divided into classes, a Ruling Class, and a Subject Class, the members of the Ruling Class have hardly any sympathies, except with one another; in other words, have agreeable associations with the pleasures, and removal of the pains, of hardly any persons, but those who belong to the same class. In this class are contained, their Parents, their Brothers and Sisters, their Sons and Daughters, their Companions, whether Male or Female, and their Friends: the manners of this class, are to them the only agreeable manners; the morals of this class the only virtue. It hence appears, that the principal part of the associations, which make the idea of country an AFFECTION, are, in their case, connected exclusively with the good of their own class. When their own acts, as causes, are associated with accessions to this good, as effects, the Motive created is that of benefit to the class. Patriotism, in their case, means, literally, 1st, Affection for their own class; 2ndly, The Motive to benefit that class; and 3rdly, A readiness to obey that Motive.

It is to be observed, that Patriotism is the only {276} name provided for all the three states of the agreeable trains connected with the idea of country, the AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION,--and that it is commonly used in a laudatory sense; to mark an unusual degree of the Affection, the Motive, or the Disposition.

It follows, from what has been said, that there can be no real Patriotism, no pointing of the Affection, the Motive, and Disposition, steadily to the good of the whole, without preference of any particular part; except, either in men of elevated minds and affections, in whom the larger associations, generated by a good Education, control the narrow associations, growing out of a particular position; or, in men whose position is such as to give them pleasurable associations chiefly with individuals of the general mass, whose good has this happy quality, that it is always identified with that of the community at large.

5. The group, called a Party, or Class, generates associations, which have produced great, we may say terrible, effects, in human life; and which thence deserve a great degree of attention. The associations, of which the AFFECTION consists, and by which the interest of the class comes to be identified, as it were, with the interest of the individual, have been already pointed out. From this the generation of the MOTIVE is easily traced.

When the interests of the class are contemplated as capable, either of receiving increase, or of being preserved from diminution, by the acts of the class, collectively, or individually; that is, when the increase, or the preservation from diminution, is associated, as {277} effect, with acts of the class, collectively, or individually, as cause, the MOTIVE exists.

When a readiness to obey this MOTIVE; that is, a facility of forming the associations which constitute the MOTIVE exists, the corresponding DISPOSITION exists.

There are no appropriate names for these states of consciousness. We make, by the usual forced service of the word Love, a name for necessary occasions. A nobleman says, he has a Love for his Order; and that term, Love of his Order, is the name for all the three states, the AFFECTION, the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION.

The Clergy have invented a name for their own case. It is Love of the Church. This means, the love of the interests of the class; of the Wealth, Power, and Dignity, of the Clergy. The term Love of the Church has the usual variety of meaning. It is the name not only of the AFFECTION, but also of the MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION.

It is moreover a name well contrived for the purposes of the class; because it is calculated to keep the real character of the associations out of sight.

6. The aggregate, included under the comprehensive term Mankind, is in so many ways associated with our pains and pleasures, that the interest of each individual appears, in some degree, bound up in the interest of the race. Any act of ours, then, by which the interest of the race can be promoted, is associated in our minds with our own interest; and becomes a motive. A readiness to act upon this MOTIVE, is the DISPOSITION and the AFFECTION, the {278} MOTIVE, and the DISPOSITION, have but one name, Love of Mankind.

This motive operates feebly, and is easily overruled by other motives, in the great majority of men. A very general idea, such as that of Mankind, is an indistinct idea; and no strong association is formed with it, except by the means of Education. In the common run of men, the narrow sympathies, alone, act with any considerable force. Such men can sympathize with this individual, and the other individual, with their own Family, or their own class. But to sympathize with mankind at large, or even with the body of the people in their own country, exceeds the bounds of their contracted affections.

Large Classes, which cannot be the object of our Senses, become steady subjects of contemplation, only through the medium of General Terms. Applied, in comprehensive, and important Propositions, General Terms call forth associations of the most interesting nature; and to men, who are in the habit of so applying them, become the source of an affection, powerful enough to control every other propensity of their nature. It is only by a Philosophical Education, that men are early trained to the use of General Terms, and comprehensive Propositions; and have the means of forming those associations, on which the most ennobling of all the states of Human Consciousness depends.

{280} CHAPTER XXIII.

THE ACTS OF OUR FELLOW-CREATURES, WHICH ARE CAUSES OF OUR PAINS AND PLEASURES, CONTEMPLATED AS CONSEQUENTS OF OUR OWN ACTS.

WE are now in a condition to explain the Phenomena, which have been classed under the titles of Moral Sense, Moral Faculty, Sense of Right and Wrong, Moral Affection, Love of Virtue, and so on, which are all names of similar import.

We have already remarked, that, of all the Causes of our Pleasures and Pains, none are to be compared in point of magnitude, with the actions of ourselves, and our Fellow-creatures. From this class of causes, a far greater amount of Pleasures and Pains proceed, than from all other causes taken together. It follows, that these causes are objects of intense affection to us; either favourable, if they are the cause of Pleasure; or unfavourable, if they are the cause of Pain.

The actions from which men derive advantage have all been classed under four Titles; Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Beneficence.

We apply the names Prudent, Brave, Just, {281} Beneficent, both to our own acts, and to the acts of other men.

When those names are applied to our own acts, the first two, Prudent and Brave, express acts which are useful to ourselves, in the first instance; the latter two, Just, and Beneficent, express acts, which are useful to others, in the first instance.

When we apply the same names, not to our own acts, but to the acts of other men, the first two, Prudent and Brave, express acts which are useful to them in the first instance; the latter two, Just and Beneficent, express acts which are useful to others, in the first instance.

It is further to be remarked, that those acts of ours, which are primarily useful to ourselves, are secondarily useful to others; and those which are primarily useful to others, are secondarily useful to ourselves. Thus, it is by our own Prudence and Fortitude, that we are best enabled to do acts of Justice and Beneficence to others. And it is by acts of Justice and Beneficence to others, that we best dispose them to do similar acts to us.

Again, in the case of other men, the acts which are primarily useful to themselves, their Prudence, their Fortitude, are secondarily useful to others, as by them they are the better enabled to be always just and beneficent; and the acts by which they are primarily useful to others, their Justice, their Beneficence, are secondarily useful to themselves, as disposing others the more to be just and beneficent toward them.

We have two sets of associations, therefore, with the acts which are thus named; one set of associations {282} with them, when they are considered as our own acts; another set of associations with them, when they are considered as the acts of other men.

1. When they are considered as our own acts; in other words, when we consider our own Prudence, Bravery, Justice, and Beneficence, we have associations with them of the following kind. With our own acts of Prudence and Bravery, we associate good to ourselves; that is, either Pleasure, or the cause of Pleasure, as the immediate consequent. Acts of PRUDENCE, for example, are divided into two sorts; the sort productive of good, and the sort preventive of evil. All acts which add to our Wealth, Power, and Dignity, or any one of them, so far as they produce this effect without counterbalancing evil, may be called acts of Prudence. Thus, incessant Labour, by all those to whom it is necessary for subsistence, or for reputation, is a course of Prudence. Prudence, however, in its common acceptation, is more employed to denote the acts by which we avoid evils, than those by which we obtain good; those by which we reject present pleasures when followed by pains which overbalance them, and by which we endure present pains when they prevent the following of greater pains, or secure the following of pleasures which overbalance them.

It thus appears, that, for the most perfect performance of acts of prudence, the greatest measure of knowledge is required. It is the choice made, among all the innumerable acts within our power, of those, the consequences of which, when the pleasurable and painful are balanced against one another, constitute the greatest amount of good. To this is requisite a {283} knowledge of all the train of consequences, which each act can produce; that is, a knowledge of the qualities of almost every thing, animate and inanimate, with which we are surrounded; and a judgment, constantly upon the alert, to draw correct conclusions from what we know.

When we perform acts of COURAGE or FORTITUDE, the chance of Evil, that is, danger, is incurred for the sake of a preponderant good. If the good were not something more than a balance for the chance of Evil, the consequences of the act would not be a balance of good, but of evil. It would, therefore, be an immoral, not a moral, act; and would have no title to the name of Courage.

Of various considerations that might be adduced, by far the most pertinent is the following. Courage, as a virtue esteemed and extolled in all ages, involves a certain amount of self-sacrifice. If it were limited to the control of the state of fear, so as to enable one never to fail in the pursuit of one's own interest, by giving way to unreasonable alarms, it would be respected as a manifestation of strength, but it would not receive the warm admiration that we usually bestow upon courageous men. The nobility of courage is its devotedness. The courageous soldier is not he that maintains a post of apparent danger unmoved, knowing there is no real danger; which would be the prudent man's courage. Something very different is exacted in return for the epithet "a brave man."--B.]

Knowledge is, therefore, as necessary to the exercise of this virtue as to that of Prudence. Courage, in fact, is but a species of the acts of Prudence: a class selected for distinction by a particular name; that class, in which evils, of great magnitude, or rather of a particular description, are to be hazarded, for the sake of a preponderant good. But how is the {284} amount of the good, or of the evil, to be ascertained, but by that power of tracing the consequences of acts, for which the greatest knowledge, and the most accurate judgment, are required?

When, with the ideas of our acts of Prudence, and acts of Courage, past, and future, have been associated, sufficiently often, the classes of benefits which are the consequences of them, the Ideas of those acts are no longer SIMPLE IDEAS, INDIFFERENT IDEAS; they are PLEASURABLE IDEAS; that is, AFFECTIONS.

The MOTIVE, in this case, presents a peculiarity, which requires attention. In the case of the Love of Wealth, Power, or Dignity, the Love of Individuals, the Love of Family, and all other causes of our Pleasures, we have uniformly found the Affection to be one thing, the Motive another. The Affection consisted of the association of the idea of the object as Cause, with that of our Pleasures as Effect. The Motive consisted of the association of the idea of the object, as cause, with that of our pleasures, as effect, and the idea of an act of ours, as cause of that cause. When it is an act of our own, however, which is the cause of our Pleasure, there is no act of ours to be associated as cause of that cause. The {285} ideas of the act, and its consequences, are the Motive. The MOTIVE, therefore, and the AFFECTION, are in this case the same.

The next two classes of acts are those to which the names, Justice, and Beneficence, have been applied. Taken together, they are the names of all those acts of a man, by which he does good to others. Out of these, the name Justice selects a particular class, and all the rest are Beneficence.

Men, in society, have found it essential, for mutual benefit, that the powers of Individuals, over the general causes of good, should be fixed by certain rules; that is, Laws. Acts done in conformity with those rules are called Just Acts; and, when duly considered, they are seen to include the main portion of acts of beneficence in general; of those acts of ours, the immediate object of which is the good of others. To the performance of a certain portion of the acts of Justice, our Fellow-creatures compel us, by annexing penalties to the non-performance of them. A large portion, however, remain to be performed without compulsion.

Our Beneficent acts are either causes of pleasure to others immediately, or causes of the causes of their pleasures. The act of him who gives a cup of water to the thirsty traveller in the Desert, may be said to be cause of the pleasure of the Traveller. The act of him who instructs the Traveller, before he proceeds on his journey, where in the Desert water is to be found, is the cause of the cause of his Pleasure. To speak generally, all acts of ours, by which increase is imparted to the Wealth, Power, and Dignity of another person, and to the favourable disposition of {286} other persons towards him; or by which diminution of those advantages is prevented, are acts of Beneficence towards him.

It is easy to trace in what manner the ideas of those acts become Affections. In the first place, we have associations of pleasure with all the pleasurable feelings of a Fellow-creature. We have associations of pleasure, therefore, with those acts of ours which yield him pleasure. In the second place, those are the acts which procure to us one of the most highly valued of all the sources of our pleasures, the favourable Disposition of our Fellow-men. With our acts of Justice and Beneficence, therefore, we have associations of all the pleasures which the favourable disposition of other men towards us is calculated to produce. By those associations, the Idea of our own beneficent acts is no longer an INDIFFERENT IDEA; it becomes a PLEASURABLE IDEA, that is, an AFFECTION.

That "we have associations of pleasure with all the pleasurable feelings of a Fellow-creature" is true in a great many instances. By the law of association, the signs of happiness tend to suggest the happy feelings themselves, and even to induce these to some extent upon the beholder. The sight of happy beings is a positive contribution to our own happiness; the obverse fact being equally well marked. We are delighted with the playful gambols of animals, and of children, and with the pleased expression of our fellow-creatures generally. On this ground, we have an interest in conferring happiness upon all our associates, and upon every one whose signs of pleasure and of displeasure come under our notice. Hence, in the absence of other motives, we are disposed to be the authors of pleasure, rather than of pain, wherever we go. Our first impulse towards a stranger would always be, from this consideration, to confer some benefit or perform some agreeable act. From this origin, there flows a considerable fraction of the generosity and the courtesy of human beings.

But the tendency is thwarted, and often extinguished, by other powerful impulses of the mind. There are two principal counteractives,--Rivalry in interests generally, and the Love of Power.

If the expression of pleasure manifested by any sentient being, is procured at our expense, we fail to realise the happy feelings; we are, on the contrary, pained and embittered by the display. Now this is a fact of very frequent occurrence in all conditions of human beings; and, to the extent of its occurrence, it mars the strength and purity of the association.

The Love of Power works in the same direction. It not only reconciles the mind to displays of pain, but it may render these a delight and luxury. Being an emotion little checked in ordinary human beings, it provides a considerable share of gratification, through the infliction of pain. This, therefore, is a second interference with the law that would connect the signs of happiness with a thrill of pleasure in the beholder. One can easily suppose, and one frequently finds, the emotion of power in such a pitch of development as to make the pleasure of seeing happy beings the exception, and not the rule.

So much for the first of the two motives in the text. The second,--the procuring of reciprocal benefits by benefits conferred,--is everything that a motive can be. We are all our lives engaged in working out good for ourselves, and if, by doing good to others, we obtain a corresponding measure of our own advantage, we employ that instrumentality. But then the prospect must be clear; the instrument must be a promising one. Now there are some situations wherein we have a reasonable security of a return. When there is a legal guarantee, as in bargains, and in covenanted services, we are (as a rule) ready to fulfil our own share. Also, in very little things, such as the courtesies of civilised society, we contribute our part willingly; we are nearly sure of a full return for the trifling nature of the service. But there are multitudes of cases where (as we suppose) there would be no adequate return, or no return at all; all of which interfere with the growth of the association between benefits conferred and pleasure to ourselves.

It is not necessary, in order to the pleasure of benevolence, that the return should be either in kind, or in flattery. If we can only obtain love for our benefits, we think them well bestowed. A great many benefits are conferred with no other view; and the appreciation of the extent of this motive is necessary to do justice to the author's theory of the derivation of Benevolence from Prudence.

It does not admit of question, that if all the services that each person is disposed to bestow, were fairly requited in kind, in praise, or in love, the motive to seek the good of others would have an overpowering strength of association, such as the author assigns to it. The finishing stroke, in all cases of strong and unremitted association,--the transfer to the means of the feeling originally due to the end, and even the sinking of the end out of view,--would be a sure result of the operation. But so partial, as human beings are now constituted, is the operation of the principle; so seldom are people satisfied, that they have the full equivalent of benefits imparted;--that, unless in select instances, there is as much of mistrust as of confidence and hope, in the reciprocation of services of any great magnitude. Of course, people will differ greatly in their estimate of this fact; but on no reasonable and candid calculation, is the association strong enough to account for the intensity and diffusion of disinterested impulses as actually found among mankind.--B.]

{287} Pleasurable ideas, as effects, associated with acts of our own as the cause, constitute the MOTIVE, as well as the AFFECTION. The reason of this, we have just stated, and need not repeat.

We have now seen by what associations both AFFECTION, and MOTIVE are created, in the case of our own acts of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence. The DISPOSITION, as in all other cases, consists in a facility, from habit, of performing the associations; in other words, a readiness of obeying the Motive.

In each of the cases, the Affection, the Motive, and the Disposition, have the same name. Thus, Prudence is the name of the Affection, and Motive, and also of the Disposition, to acts of Prudence; so is Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence, each in regard to its own class of acts.

Beside the four specific names, Prudence, Fortitude, {288} Justice, and Beneficence, we have a Generical Name, which includes them all. VIRTUE is the name of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence, all taken together. It is also, like the name of each of the species included under it, at once the name of the Affection, the Motive, and the Disposition. The man who has the Disposition toward all the four, Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Beneficence, in full strength; that is, who has acquired, from habit, the facility of {289} associating with those acts the pleasures which result from them, in other words, a habit of obeying the motives, is perfectly virtuous.

It requires the most perfect education to create those associations adequately, in other words, to give the motives such power within us, that, when counteracted by other motives, they may always prevail. Under the present imperfect state of education, it is rather by their constant action, than their force, that they produce the very considerable effects, of which we see that they are the causes. In few men, are they a {290} match for any of the more potent motives; and, in most men, they give way, habitually, whenever they are opposed by any other motive even of moderate strength. There are so many occasions, however, in every part of our lives, for acts of virtue, when other motives do not intervene, that we may still ascribe to the motives of virtue, feeble as they generally are, a large portion of the happiness which we observe in the world.

2. Having considered the associations which each of us has with the ideas of his own acts of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence, it remains that we consider the associations which each of us has with other men's acts of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Beneficence.

We have already observed, that the Prudence of other men is primarily useful to themselves, secondarily useful to others. A man who is to a certain degree imprudent, deprives himself of the power of being useful either to himself or to others. As we have agreeable associations with acts which produce pleasure to others, so we have agreeable associations with the cause of such acts, the power of producing them; and, of course, disagreeable associations with the acts which deprive a man of the means of doing good to others, and warding off evil from himself. It is not necessary to enter into a more minute analysis to show in what manner our Idea of another man's Prudence becomes a Pleasurable Idea, in other words, an AFFECTION.

We next proceed to the case of Fortitude, Courage. We have seen that Fortitude is the name of that class of acts, in which a good is aimed at by the risk of a {291} great evil. There is a grand class of cases in which the good aimed at is not the peculiar good of the Individual or Individuals by whom the act, or series of acts, is performed, but a good common to others, to a whole People; as, for example, when another hostile People is encountered and overcome. Of course, in such a case, we have a strong association of our own pleasures, or exemption from pains, with other men's courage, whether we are sharing with them in the danger, or exempted from it by their acts. This association is such as to constitute, and we know by experience does constitute, a very strong AFFECTION. Even when the good sought by the act of courage is only the good of the individual, we have a sufficient association with it of pleasurable ideas to constitute it an AFFECTION. We have, first of all, an agreeable association with the balance of good which the act is calculated to produce to the actor. And next we have a very powerful association of pleasure with the state of mind in which the Idea of a great evil is controlled by the Idea of a greater good. When the motive exists to do us good in a man who has such a mind, he will not be deterred by the prospect of an inadequate evil. When we encounter danger in company with such a man, we shall not be exposed to greater danger by his deserting us.

As other men's acts of Justice and Beneficence are directly beneficial to them who are the objects of them, it is impossible that every man should not have pleasurable associations, first with the acts of Justice and Beneficence of the men, whose sphere of action extends to himself, and then with the acts of Justice and Beneficence of all men. And as the benefits which {292} spring from such actions are very great, the AFFECTION, generated by association of the Ideas of those Benefits, is proportionally strong.

Of all the MOTIVES, competent to our nature, those belonging to this class are by far the most important. As there is nothing in which I am so deeply interested, as that the acts of men, which regard myself immediately, should be acts of Justice and Beneficence, and those which regard themselves immediately, should be acts of Prudence and Fortitude, it follows, that I have an interest, proportionally deep, in all those acts of my own, which operate as causes of those acts in other people.

Of acts of other men, which are useful to us, a great number can be bought by wealth, or commanded by power, or elicited by dignity. The mode of the operation of those causes has already been explained, and the motives into the composition of which they enter, form a different class. The acts of beneficence, of justice, of fortitude, and of prudence, performed by other men in our behalf, are, to a vast extent, such as can neither be bought, nor commanded. What means have we of increasing to the utmost, the number of those acts; diminishing to the utmost, the number of those of an opposite tendency?

Those means are of two sorts: 1st, Similar actions on our part; 2dly, The manifestation on our part, of the disposition to perform similar actions.

1. It is interesting here to observe, by what a potent call we are summoned to Virtue. Of all that we enjoy, more is derived from those acts of other men, on which we bestow the name VIRTUE, than from any other cause. Our own virtue is the principal {293} cause why other men reciprocate the acts of virtue towards us. With the idea of our own acts of virtue, there are naturally associated the ideas of all the immense advantages we derive from the virtuous acts of our Fellow-creatures. When this association is formed in due strength, which it is the main business of a good education to effect, the motive of virtue becomes paramount in the human breast.

2. We strongly act upon other men, when we manifest on our parts, a disposition to perform acts in their favour, in consequence of the acts performed by them in favour of others. This disposition we manifest, when we praise those acts; or, as we otherwise phrase it, when we declare our approbation, or admiration, of them.

It is to be observed, that all our names for those acts;--Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Beneficence, Virtue; are names of Praise. They are names, not merely of the acts, but of the acts associated with the ideas of the benefits resulting from them; and further associated with the idea of those acts of ours, which are the causes of such acts; acts of similar utility on our part to the Authors of the acts which are useful to us.

Praise, also, is extensive in its operation. The acts of any individual can afford a retribution for the virtuous acts of a very small number of men. His Praise can extend to all men; and its effects are most important. Not only does it indicate the affection of him who is the author of it, toward him who is the object; but it points out him who is the object of it, to all other men, as the proper object of a similar affection in them. This indication has some tendency {294} to propagate the favourable affection or disposition towards the object of the applause; but it has a much greater tendency to propagate the praise; and when praise is sounded from many lips, that is, when a disposition is expressed by many persons favourable to the man who has been the author of the applauded acts, a number of acts in his favour are the natural consequence.

That we have pleasurable associations of great potency, with this manifestation of the favourable disposition of others towards us, is matter of common and constant experience. It is called, in its more remarkable states, the LOVE OF FAME, and is known to operate as one of the most powerful motives in our nature. One of its cases is a remarkable exemplification of that high degree of association, which has been already explained, and to which we have frequently had occasion to advert, in explaining other phenomena; the degree which constitutes belief, and which gives to that belief, even when momentary, and instantly overruled by other associations, a powerful effect on our actions.

Not only that Praise of us, which is diffused in our lives, and from which agreeable consequences may arise to us, is delightful, by the associated ideas of the pleasures resulting from it; but that Praise, which we are never to hear, which will be diffused only when we are dead, and from which no actual effects can ever accrue to us, is often an object of intense affection, and acts as one of the most powerful motives in our nature.

The habit which we form, in the case of immediate praise, of associating the idea of the praise with the {295} idea of pleasurable consequences to ourselves, is so strong, that the idea of pleasurable consequences to ourselves becomes altogether inseparable from the idea of our Praise. It is one of those cases in which the one Idea never can exist without the other. The belief, thus engendered, is of course encountered immediately by other belief, that we shall be incapable of profiting by any consequences, which posthumous fame can produce: as the fear, that is, the belief of ghosts, in a man passing through a churchyard at midnight, may be immediately encountered by his settled, habitual belief that ghosts have no existence; and yet his terror, not only remains for a time, but is constantly renewed, as often as he is placed in circumstances with which he has been accustomed to associate the existence of ghosts.

{296} The operation of Dispraise is similar, to prevent the performance of acts contrary to Justice, Beneficence, Fortitude, and Prudence. Dispraise is the manifestation of a Disposition, unfavourable to the object of it, a disposition to abstain from acts useful to him, not to abstain from acts hurtful to him. It is not necessary to point out the associations formed in this case. It is a matter of common and constant experience, that we have associations of painful consequences, with the idea of the unfavourable disposition of our fellow-creatures, associations which constitute some of the most painful feelings of our nature. This it is, which is commonly expressed by the terms loss of reputation, loss of character, disgrace, infamy. In some instances, the Association rises to that remarkable case, which we have had frequent occasions of observing; when the means become a more important object than the end, the cause, than the effect. It not unfrequently happens, that the idea of the unfavourable sentiments of mankind, becomes more intolerable than all the consequences which could result from {297} them; and men make their escape from life, in order to escape from the tormenting idea of certain consequences, which, at most, would only diminish the advantages of living. Nor is the Idea of posthumous Disgrace, less operative than that of posthumous Fame, and from the same species of association. In men, in whom the associations which constitute the pain of disgrace are strong; though not sufficiently strong to restrain them from deeds which incur the execration of mankind, the thought of what they have done is agonizing. Along with it, constantly rises up, before them, the idea of the condemnatory countenance, the condemnatory sentiment, the retributive acts, of every human being the idea of whom is presented to them. They are never at rest. The Idea of the horrid Deed or Deeds becomes associated with almost every point of their consciousness. At every moment, it rises up in their minds, and along with it the {298} overwhelming train of ideas, with which it is connected. In its more awful cases, this state of mind is called Remorse; and is generally regarded as the most perfect state of suffering to which a human Being is exposed.

The same considerations account for that remarkable phenomenon of our nature, eloquently described, but not explained, by Adam Smith, that, in minds happily trained, the love of Praiseworthiness, the dread of Blameworthiness, is a stronger feeling, than the love of actual Praise, the Dread of actual Blame. It is one of those cases, in which, by the power of the association, the secondary feeling becomes more powerful than the primary. In all men, the idea of praise, as consequent, is associated with the idea of certain acts of theirs, as antecedent; the idea of blame, as consequent, with the idea of certain acts of theirs, as antecedent. This association constitutes what we call the feeling, or notion, or sentiment, or idea (for it goes by all those names), of Praiseworthiness, and Blameworthiness. The anticipation, in the one case, is delightful; in the other painful. The association {299} exists in different men, in all possible degrees of strength. In some men it exists in so great a degree of strength, that not only, the pleasure of immediate praise, the pain of immediate blame, but every other feeling of their nature, is subdued by it.

The case is perfectly analogous to that of the love of posthumous praise, the dread of posthumous blame, and is a still more important principle of action, as it has reference, not to what is, or to what shall be, but to what ought to be, the sentiments of mankind.

Such, then, are the AFFECTIONS which we bear toward the just, the beneficent, the courageous, the prudent acts of other men, and the contrary; that is, such are the associations we have with them of pleasurable or painful consequences. Such also are the MOTIVES; that is, the feelings generated by the association of certain acts of ours, as cause, with the virtuous acts of other men, as their effects.

Of those MOTIVES, that which involves the acts of praising and blaming, is in constant and strong {300} operation. It is from the great use made of those acts in the Education of children, and even in the rude management of them in the nursery, that praise and blame acquire the influence in most cases, the ascendancy in some, which they are seen to exercise over us. It is this sensibility to praise and blame, in other words, the associations we have with them, which gives its effect to what is called POPULAR OPINION, or the POPULAR SANCTION, and, when the acts of Justice, Beneficence, Fortitude, and Prudence of other men are the objects of it, the MORAL SANCTION; Popular Opinion, being a phrase which expresses the Praise or Blame which the people bestow; and the Sanction being the good or evil consequences which men are accustomed to associate with that praise or blame.

In the present state of Education, the Praise and Blame of most men are very erroneously bestowed, with great precipitation, commonly in excess upon small occasions, with little regard to its justice; blame being very often inflicted where applause is due, and applause lavished where blame ought to be bestowed. When Education is good, no point of morality will be reckoned of more importance than the distribution of Praise and Blame; no act will be considered more immoral than the misapplication of them. They are the great instruments we possess for ensuring moral acts on the part of our Fellow-creatures; and when we squander away, or prostitute those great causes of virtue, and thereby deprive them of a great part of their useful tendency, we do what in us lies to lessen the quantity of Virtue, and thence of Felicity, in the world.

The MOTIVES, which are generated by the {301} association of our own acts of Justice and Beneficence as cause with other men's acts of Justice and Beneficence as effects, are subject, unhappily, to strong counteraction; because it rarely happens that we can perform acts of Justice and Beneficence without more or less sacrifice to ourselves. The association, at the same time, is strong, in all men. All men have the daily experience, that their own acts of Justice, and Beneficence, dispose other men to be Beneficent to them; their own acts of injustice and malevolence, dispose other men to bring evil (which in this case they call punishment) upon them; and to abstain from doing them good. This experience is of course followed by the usual association between cause and effect. The man who does acts of Justice and Beneficence, anticipates the favourable disposition of mankind, as their natural effect; and this association is his belief, or conviction, or sense (he calls it by all those names), of deserving the favourable sentiments of mankind. The man, on the other hand, who performs acts which are unjust and hurtful to others, anticipates the unfavourable and hostile sentiments of mankind, as the natural consequents of his acts; in other words, has the belief, or conviction, or sense (for the association in this case also has these various names), of deserving, not well, but ill, at the hands of other men.

There are no men, however vicious, in whom those associations do not produce constant and numerous effects. When they have not been happily cultivated, and when the counteracting associations, of which we just now made mention, have been allowed to acquire a mischievous strength; acts in opposition to them {302} are, occasionally, but, even in the worst men, no more than occasionally, produced.

This anticipation of the hostile, or benevolent sentiments of mankind, as the natural effects of actions of a certain description on our part, is the foundation of that remarkable association of which we had very recently occasion to make mention, the association which Dr. Smith has called the love of Praiseworthiness, and which is sometimes found to be much more powerful than the love of actual Praise.

The DISPOSITION which corresponds to those MOTIVES, or the facility of forming the associations which constitute them, is the result of habit in this as in all other cases.

The AFFECTION, in this case, has the name of Moral approbation and Disapprobation. The same is the only name we have for the MOTIVE. It is also the only name we have for the DISPOSITION. The terms Moral Sense; Sense of Right and Wrong; Love of Virtue, and Hatred of Vice, are sometimes used as synonymous terms; but they are not equally appropriate. Virtue, as we have seen, is a name which is given to each of the three, the Affection, the Motive, the Disposition; Morality is a name which is applied with similar latitude.

The sufficiency of an analysis is less easily tested in mental phenomena, than in physical phenomena. The chief reason is that, in the mind, we cannot make exact numerical estimates; and, therefore, cannot show, by castings up a sum, that the assigned constituents of a compound exactly amount to the total. The several constituents put down may be actually present, without our being sure whether they are the whole. Hence the Deductive verification, so valuable in physical science, does not carry with it the same precision, in mental science.

To evade this source of uncertainty we are thrown back upon the Experimental Canons, or the Four Methods. We know by these, that if an analysis is good, there must be present in each instance of the phenomenon the causes assigned, one or more; and should one exist in a low degree, or be entirely wanting, the others must have a compensating intensity. If, on the other hand, the whole of the causes have not been assigned, there will, almost inevitably, occur instances, either without the causes stated, or with these in an obviously insufficient amount.

The following facts and considerations render doubtful the completeness of the author's explanation of the Moral Sentiment.

The affirmation in the text is that not merely the self-regarding virtue--Prudence, but also the two great social virtues--Justice and Beneficence, are developed from associations with our own personal interest. In other words, they grow up exactly by the same course as the virtue of Prudence; they are strong as that happens to be strong, and weak as that happens to be weak; the most prudent man being the most just and beneficent man. This inference can be avoided only by drawing some distinction between the interested associations entering into prudence, and the interested associations entering into justice and beneficence; but no such distinction {304} is drawn in the foregoing chapter, at least in such a way as to meet the difficulty thus suggested.

Now, on an appeal to the facts, we find that the virtue of prudence is not uniformly concomitant with the virtues of justice and beneficence; that, on the contrary, except in the more highly cultivated moral natures, they are frequently manifested in the inverse proportion. A human being, by cherishing interested associations, does not as a matter of course attain to either justice or beneficence. Even the most far-sighted prudence, as regards self, would not develop the whole virtue of justice, nor the whole virtue of beneficence. On the other hand, beneficence is often abundant and pronounced in cases where interested associations with self have been very slightly cultivated.

The illustration of this generic discrepancy, between the author's theory and the more obvious facts, might be extended. There is, however, another mode of proceeding, perhaps more decisive; that is, to show that the mind contains sources of the moral sentiment besides the associations with self-interest.

It does not appear easy, at first sight, to establish the existence of purely disinterested impulses in our mental constitution; the admixture of self being so seldom unequivocally absent from human conduct. Still, if these impulses do exist, there will probably be found instances where they are manifested in convincing isolation.

Perhaps the desired isolation is most readily afforded in some of the familiar forms of Pity. There are instances, no doubt, where pity may have a selfish motive, as when we compassionate the sufferings of parents, friends, and benefactors. But, in other instances, it arises not only without any selfish bearing, but in opposition to powerful associations of interest. The pity that we often extend to enemies and to criminals is a case in point. Even when the punishment of wrong-doers is bound up with our strongest interests, the spectacle of their sufferings often moves us to remit the punishment necessary for our own protection. Now, with beings made up of purely {305} interested considerations, the argumentum ad misericordiam, under those circumstances, would be void of effect.

Another example is furnished by those acts of lavish generosity and charity that perhaps ruin the giver, and do harm to the recipient. If one's moral education were exclusively conducted through the building up of associations with self, by what class of associating links is this impulse generated?

It is no less difficult to account for the actions of men wholly devoted to philanthropy, like Howard. So very small is the result to self from the labours and sacrifices of such men, that we are unable to account for their motives without assuming an independent source of disinterested affections. The difficulty is greatly increased in the case of minds little cultivated, as in the heroic devotion of the common soldier.

Observation of children reveals a specific power in the spectacle of misery or suffering to awaken pity and generous sympathies. The effective impulse to sympathy has little to do with a prudential education, or with the following out of self-interest in its associations with the welfare of others. The patriotic orator never trusts wholly to interested motives; he does not omit these; but he expects much from the lively description of suffering and misery to people generally; and if the picture comes home to the experience of his hearers, they will be moved by it, on account of each other, as well as on account of their separate selves.

From such facts as these, it is admissible to lay down, as a general law, that the sight of misery in others prompts us, irrespective of our own interest, to enter into, and to relieve, that misery. This is the essential fact of Sympathy.

The principle thus announced is not an ultimate law of the mind. It may be brought under a still higher law, of which some notice will be taken afterwards (see note on the Will, chap. XXIV.), namely, the tendency of every idea to act itself out, to become an actuality, not with a view to bring pleasure or to ward off pain--which is the proper description of the will--but from an independent prompting of the mind that often makes us throw away pleasure and embrace pain. The full {306} exposition of this principle would add greatly to the evidence for pure disinterested impulses, by showing that the fact described operates in a much wider sphere than the moral sentiment.

On a survey of the different theories of the mental origin of Benevolent impulses, we may reduce them under the following heads.

1. They have been ascribed to direct and immediate self-interest, either from the return of benefits in kind, or from the pleasure of praise and flattery. This is substantially the position of Mandeville.

2. It is said we are so constituted that the sight of misery is a pain to us; and that we work to rid ourselves of that pain, as we should work to assuage thirst, to banish toothache, or to escape reproach. This view was held by Hobbes. It is forcibly brought in in the following anecdote recorded of him by Aubrey (Lives II. p. 623).

"One time, I remember, goeing in the Strand, a poor and infirme old man begged his almes; he beholding him with eies of pitty and compassion, putt his hand in his pocket, and gave him 6d.; Sayd a divine [Dr. Jaspar Mayne] that stood by, 'Would you have done this, if it had not been Christ's Command?' 'Yea,' sayd he: 'Why?' quoth the other; 'Because,' sayd he, 'I was in paine to consider the miserable condition of the old man; and now my almes, giving him some relief, doth also ease me.'"

There is a certain amount of truth in this statement; and taking the fact by itself, we might find some difficulty in drawing the line between a volition moved by our own pain, and the acting out of the idea of pain in favour of the sufferer. The best reply, perhaps, is to compare the amount of pain incurred and of pleasure remitted or sacrificed by the sympathiser, with the utmost value fairly ascribable to his own mental pain. The pain of misery witnessed is frequent and habitual, and although it has a certain depressing effect upon the mind, yet we should generally bear it much more easily than the pains of self-sacrifice it often incites us to.

{307} 3. We may be endowed with a positive susceptibility to pleasure from acts of kindness to others; so that in doing good, we are still moved in exact proportion to our own gratification. This expresses very nearly Bentham's view of Disinterestedness; which, however, equally with the foregoing, comes short of the facts. Supposing some such pleasure to exist, no one could show that in degree it fully corresponds to the effects prompted by benevolent impulse.

4. Habits of acting in favour of others may be formed to such an extent, that our virtuous actions, begun under our own pleasures and pains, may at last cease to have any reference to those pleasures and pains. Here, also, the appeal is to an undeniable fact of our mental constitution. Actions that begin as proper voluntary actions--on the spur of pleasure and pain--often pass into a mechanical routine, and are persisted in even when they thwart our pleasures. Any one placed for a number of years in a position of danger, and habituated to troublesome precautions, is almost sure to keep up the same routine, after the occasion has ceased; mothers are liable to this unreasonable continuance of solicitude about their children. The application of the fact to moral education is of great moment. If the young are initiated betimes into a regard to the feelings and interests of others, they will grow up with a sort of mechanical unquestioning tendency towards the same line of conduct.

These are the four different modes of stating the origin of disinterested conduct, apart from the assumption of a source of purely disinterested impulses in the constitution of the mind. Such a source has been indicated above, in what may be called the power of the "fixed idea," having its seat in the region of the intellect, and operating to thwart the proper voluntary impulses, which are instigated by our pleasures and pains.--B.]

The exhaustive treatment of this subject would require a length and abundance of discussion disproportioned to the compass and purposes of a treatise like the present, which was intended to expound what the author believed to be the real mode of formation of our complex states of consciousness, but not to say all that may and ought to be said in refutation of other views of the subject. There are, however, some important parts of the author's own theory, which are not stated in this work, but in a subsequent one, of a highly polemical character, the "Fragment on Mackintosh:" and it may be both instructive and interesting to the reader to find the statement here. I therefore subjoin the passages containing it.

"Nature makes no classes. Nature makes individuals. Classes are made by men; and rarely with such marks as determine certainly what is to be included in them.

{310} "Men make classifications, as they do everything else, for some end. Now, for what end was it that men, out of their innumerable acts, selected a class, to which they gave the name of moral, and another class, to which they gave the name of immoral? What was the motive of this act? What its final cause?

"Assuredly the answer to this question is the first step, though Sir James saw it not, towards the solution of his two questions, comprehending the whole of ethical science; first, what makes an act to be moral? and secondly, what are the sentiments with which we regard it?

"We may also be assured, that it was some very obvious interest which recommended this classification; for it was performed, in a certain rough way, in the very rudest states of society.

"Farther, we may easily see how, even in very rude states, men were led to it, by little less than necessity. Every day of their lives they had experience of acts, some of which were agreeable, or the cause of what was agreeable, to them; others disagreeable, or the cause of what was disagreeable to them, in all possible degrees.

"They had no stronger interest than to obtain the repetition of the one sort, and to prevent the repetition of the other.

"The acts in which they were thus interested were of two sorts; first, those to which the actor was led by a natural interest of his own; secondly, those to which the actor was not led by any interest of his own. About the first sort there was not occasion for any particular concern. They were pretty sure to take place, without any stimulus from without. The second sort, on the contrary, were not likely to take place, unless an interest was artificially created, sufficiently strong to induce the actor to perform them.

"And here we clearly perceive the origin of that important case of classification . . . . the classification of acts as moral and immoral. The acts, which it was important to other men that each individual should perform, but in which the individual had not a sufficient interest to secure the {311} performance of them, were constituted one class. The acts, which it was important to other men that each individual should abstain from, but in regard to which he had not a personal interest sufficiently strong to secure his abstaining from them, were constituted another class. The first class were distinguished by the name moral acts; the second by the name immoral.

"The interest which men had in securing the performance of the one set of acts, the non-performance of the other, led them by a sort of necessity to think of the means. They had to create an interest, which the actor would not otherwise have, in the performance of the one sort, the non-performance of the other. And in proceeding to this end, they could not easily miss their way. They had two powers applicable to the purpose. They had a certain quantity of good at their disposal; and they had a certain quantity of evil. If they could apply the good in such a manner as to afford a motive both for the performance and non-performance which they desired, or the evil, in such a manner as to afford a motive against the performance and non-performance which they wished to prevent, their end was attained.

"And this is the scheme which they adopted; and which, in every situation, they have invariably pursued. The whole business of the moral sentiments, moral approbation, and disapprobation, has this for its object, the distribution of the good and evil we have at command, for the production of acts of the useful sort, the prevention of acts of the contrary sort. Can there be a nobler object?

"But though men have been thus always right in their general aim, their proceedings have been cruelly defective in the detail; witness the consequence,--the paucity of good acts, the frequency of bad acts, which there is in the world.

"A portion of acts having been thus classed into good and bad; and the utility having been perceived of creating motives to incite to the one, and restrain from the other, a sub-classification was introduced. One portion of these acts was such, that the good and evil available for their production {312} and prevention, could be applied by the community in its conjunct capacity. Another portion was such, that the good and evil available could be applied only by individuals in their individual capacity. The first portion was placed under the control of what is called law; the other remained under the control of the moral sentiments; that is, the distribution of good and evil, made by individuals in their individual capacity.

"No sooner was the class made, than the rule followed. Moral acts are to be performed; immoral acts are to be abstained from.

"Beside this the general rule, there was needed, for more precise direction, particular rules.

"We must remember the fundamental condition, that all rules of action must be preceded by a corresponding classification of actions. All moral rules, *comprehended in the great moral rule, must relate to a class of actions comprehended within the grand class, constituted and marked by the term moral. This is the case with grand classes in general. They are subdivided into minor classes, each of the minor classes being a portion of the larger. Thus, the grand class of acts called moral has been divided into certain convenient portions, or sub-classes, and marked by particular names. Just, Beneficent, Brave, Prudent, Temperate; to each of which classes belongs its appropriate rule that men should be just, that they should be beneficent, and so on . . . . .

"In the performance of our duties two sets of cases may be distinguished. There is one set in which a direct estimate of the good of the particular act is inevitable; and the man acts immorally who acts without making it. There are other cases in which it is not necessary.

"The first are those, which have in them so much of singularity, as to prevent their coming within the limits of any established class. In such cases a man has but one guide; he must consider the consequences, or act not as a moral, or rational agent at all.

{313} "The second are cases of such ordinary and frequent occurrence as to be distinguished into classes. And everybody knows . . . that when a class of acts are performed regularly and frequently, they are at last performed by habit; in other words, the idea of the act and the performance of it follow so easily and speedily that they seem to cohere, and to be but one operation. It is only necessary to recall some of the more familiar instances, to see the mode of this formation. In playing on a musical instrument, every note, at first, is found by an effort. Afterwards, the proper choice is made so rapidly as to appear as if made by a mechanical process in which the mind has no concern. The same is the case with moral acts. When they have been performed with frequency and uniformity, for a sufficient length of time, a habit is generated . . . . .

"When a man acts from habit, he does not act without reflection. He only acts with a very rapid reflection. In no class of acts does a man begin to act by habit. He begins without habit; and acquires the habit by frequency of acting. The consideration, on which the act is founded, and the act itself, form a sequence. And it is obvious from the familiar cases of music and of speaking, that it is a sequence at first not very easily performed. By every repetition, however, it becomes easier. The consideration occurs with less effort; the action follows with less effort; they take place with greater and greater rapidity, till they seem blended. To say, that this is acting without reflection, is only ignorance, for it is thus seen to be a case of acting by reflection so easily and rapidly, that the reflection and the act cannot be distinguished from one another . . . . . .

"Since moral acts are not performed at first by habit, but each upon the consideration which recommends it; upon what considerations, we may be asked, do moral acts begin to be performed?

"The question has two meanings, and it is necessary to reply to both. It may be asked, upon what consideration the men of our own age and country, for example, at first {314} and before a habit is formed, perform moral acts? Or, it may be asked, upon what consideration did men originally perform moral acts?

"To the first of these questions every one can reply from his own memory and observation. We perform moral acts at first, from authority. Our parents tell us that we ought to do this, ought not to do that. They are anxious that we should obey their precepts. They have two sets of influences, with which to work upon us; praise and blame; reward and punishment. All the acts which they say we ought to do, are praised in the highest degree, all those which they say we ought not to do, are blamed in the highest degree. In this manner, the ideas of praise and blame become associated with certain classes of acts, at a very early age, so closely, that they cannot easily be disjoined, No sooner does the idea of the act occur than the idea of praise springs up along with it, and clings to it. And generally these associations exert a predominant influence during the whole of life.

"Our parents not only praise certain kinds of acts, blame other kinds; but they praise us when we perform those of the one sort, blame us when we perform those of the other. In this manner other associations are formed. The idea of ourselves performing certain acts is associated with the idea of our being praised, performing certain other acts with the idea of our being blamed, so closely that the ideas become at last indissoluble. In this association consist the very important complex ideas of praise-worthiness, and blame-worthiness. An act which is praiseworthy, is an act with the idea of which the idea of praise is indissolubly joined; an agent who is praiseworthy is an agent with the idea of whom the idea of praise is indissolubly joined. And in the converse case, that of blame-worthiness, the formation of the idea is similar.

"Many powerful circumstances come in aid of these important associations, at an early age. We find, that not only our parents act in this manner, but all other parents. {315} We find that grown people act in this manner, not only towards children, but towards one another. The associations, therefore, are unbroken, general, and all-comprehending.

"Our parents administer not only praise and blame, to induce us to perform acts of one sort, abstain from acts of another sort, but also rewards and punishments. They do so directly; and, further, they forward all our inclinations in the one case, baulk them in the other. So does everybody else. We find our comforts excessively abridged by other people, when we act in one way, enlarged when we act in another way. Hence another most important class of associations; that of an increase of well-being from the good will of our fellow-creatures, if we perform acts of one sort, of an increase of misery from their ill-will, if we perform those of another sort.

"In this manner it is that men, born in the social state, acquire the habits of moral acting, and certain affections connected with it, before they are capable of reflecting upon the grounds which recommend the acts either to praise or blame. Nearly at this point the greater part of them remain, continuing to perform moral acts and to abstain from the contrary, chiefly from the habits they have acquired, and the authority upon which they originally acted; though it is not possible that any man should come to the years and blessing of reason, without perceiving, at least in an indistinct and general way, the advantage which mankind derive from their acting towards one another in one way, rather than another.

"We come now to the second question, viz. what are the considerations upon which men originally performed moral acts? The answer to this question is substantially contained in the explanation already given of the classification of acts as moral and immoral.

"When men began to mark the distinction between acts, and were prompted to praise one class, blame another, they did so, either because the one sort benefited, the other hurt them; or for some other reason. If for the first reason, the case is perfectly intelligible. The men had a motive {316} which they understood, and which was adequate to the end. If it was not on account of utility that men classed some acts as moral, others as immoral, on what other account was it?

"To this question, an answer, consisting of anything but words, has never been returned.

"It has been said, that there is a beauty, and a deformity, in moral and immoral acts, which recommended them to the distinctions they have met with.

"It is obvious to reply to this hypothesis, that the mind of a savage, that is, a mind in the state in which the minds of all men were, when they began to classify their acts, was not likely to be much affected by the ideal something called the beauty of acts. To receive pain or pleasure from an act, to obtain, or be deprived of, the means of enjoyment by an act; to like the acts and the actors, whence the good proceeded, dislike those whence the evil proceeded; all these were things which they understood.

"But we must endeavour to get a little nearer to the bottom of this affair.

"In truth, the term beauty, as applied to acts, is just as unintelligible to the philosopher, as to the savage. Is the beauty of an act one thing; the morality of it another? Or are they two names for the same thing? If they are two things, what is the beauty, distinct from the morality? If they are the same thing, what is the use of the name morality? It only tends to confusion.

"But this is not all. The beautiful is that which excites in us the emotion of beauty, a state of mind with which we are acquainted by experience. This state of mind has been successfully analysed, and shewn to consist of a train of pleasurable ideas, awakened in us by the beautiful object.

"But is it in this way only that we are concerned in moral acts? Do we value them for nothing, but as we value a picture, or a piece of music, for the pleasure of looking at them, or hearing them? Everybody knows the contrary. Acts are objects of importance to us, on account of their {317} consequences, and nothing else. This constitutes a radical distinction between them and the things called beautiful. Acts are hurtful or beneficial, moral or immoral, virtuous or vicious. But it is only an abuse of language, to call them beautiful or ugly.

"That it is jargon, the slightest reflection is sufficient to evince; for what is the beauty of an act, detached from its consequences? We shall be told, perhaps, that the beauty of an act was never supposed to be detached from its consequences. The beauty consists in the consequences. I am contented with the answer. But observe to what it binds you. The consequences of acts are the good or evil they do. According to you, therefore, the beauty of acts is either the utility of them, or it is nothing at all;--a beautiful ground on which to dispute with us, that acts are classed as moral, not on account of their utility, but on account of their beauty.

"It will be easily seen, from what has been said, that they who ascribe the classification of acts, as moral, and immoral, to a certain taste, an agreeable or disagreeable sentiment which they excite (among whom are included the Scottish professors Hutcheson, and Brown, and David Hume himself, though on his part with wonderful inconsistency)--hold the same theory with those who say, that beauty is the source of the classification of moral acts. Things are classed as beautiful, or deformed, on account of a certain taste, or inward sentiment. If acts are classed in the same way, on account of a certain taste or inward sentiment, they deserve to be classed under the names beautiful, and deformed; otherwise not.

"I hope it is not necessary for me to go minutely into the exposure of the other varieties of jargon, by which it has been endeavoured to account for the classification of acts, as moral and immoral. 'Fitness' is one of them. Acts are approved on account of their fitness. When fitness is hunted down, it is brought to bay exactly at the place where beauty was. Fitness is either the goodness of the consequences, or it is nothing at all.

{318} "The same is the case with 'Right Reason,' or 'Moral Reason.' An act according to moral reason, is an act, the consequences of which are good. Moral reason, therefore, is another name, and not a bad name, for the principle of utility."

The following passage from another part of the same work, is also very much to the purpose.

"The terms moral and immoral were applied by men, primarily, not to their own acts, but the acts of other men. Those acts, the effects of which they observed to be beneficial, they desired should be performed. To make them be performed, they, among other things they did, affixed to them marks of their applause; they called them, good, moral, well-deserving; and behaved accordingly.

"Such is the source of the moral approbation we bestow on the acts of other men. The source of that which we bestow on our own is twofold. First, every man's beneficial acts, like those of every other man, form part of that system of beneficial acting, in which he, in common with all other men, finds his account. Secondly, he strongly associates with his own beneficial acts, both that approbation of other men, which is of so much importance to him, and that approbation which he bestows on other men's beneficial acts.

"It is also easy to shew what takes place in the mind of a man, before he performs an act, which he morally approves or condemns.

"What is called the approbation of an act not yet performed, is only the idea of future approbation: and it is not excited by the act itself; it is excited by the idea of the act. The idea of approbation or disapprobation is excited by the idea of an act, because the approbation would be excited by the act itself. But what excites moral approbation or disapprobation of an act, is neither the act itself, nor the motive of the act; but the consequences of the act, good or evil, and their being within the intention of the agent.

{319} "Let us put a case. A man with a starving wife and family is detected wiring a hare on my premises. What happens? I call up the idea of sending him to prison. I call up the ideas of the consequences of that act, the misery of the helpless creatures whom his labour supported; their agonizing feelings, their corporal wants, their hunger, cold, their destitution of hope, their despair: I call up the ideas of the man himself in jail, the sinking of heart which attends incarceration; the dreadful thought of his family deprived of his support; his association with vicious characters; the natural consequences,--his future profligacy, the consequent profligacy of his ill-fated children, and hence the permanent wretchedness and ruin of them all. I next have the idea of my own intending all these consequences. And only then am I in a condition to perform, as Sir James says, the 'operation of conscience.' I perform it. But in this case, it is, to use another of his expressions, 'defeated.' Notwithstanding the moral disapprobation, which the idea of such intended consequences excites in me, I perform the act.

"Here, at all events, any one may see, that conscience, and the motive of the act, are not the same, but opposed to one another. The motive of the act, is the pleasure of having hares; not in itself a thing anywise bad. The only thing bad is the producing so much misery to others, for securing that pleasure to myself.

"The state of the case, then, is manifest. The act of which I have the idea, has two sets of consequences; one set pleasurable, another hurtful. I feel an aversion to produce the hurtful consequences. I feel a desire to produce the pleasurable. The one prevails over the other. . . . .

". . . Nothing in an act is voluntary but the consequences that are intended. The idea of good consequences intended, is the pleasurable feeling of moral approbation; the idea of bad consequences intended is the painful feeling of moral disapprobation. The very term voluntary, therefore, applied to an act which produces good or evil consequences, {320} expresses the antecedence of moral approbation or disapprobation."

I will quote one short passage more, in correction of the very vulgar error, that to analyse our disinterested affections and resolve them into associations with the ideas of our own elementary pleasures and pains, is to deny their reality.

"Sir James must mean, if he means anything, that to trace up the motive affections of human nature to pain and pleasure, is to make personal advantage the only motive. This is to affirm, that he who analyses any of the complicated phenomena of human nature, and points out the circumstances of their formation, puts an end to them.

"Sir James was totally ignorant of this part of human nature. Gratitude remains gratitude, resentment remains resentment, generosity generosity in the mind of him who feels them, after analysis, the same as before. The man who can trace them to their elements does not cease to feel them, as much as the man who never thought about the matter. And whatever effects they produce, as motives, in the mind of the man who never thought about the matter, they produce equally, in the minds of those who have analysed them the most minutely.

"They are constituent parts of human nature. How we are actuated, when we feel them, is matter of experience, which every one knows within himself. Their action is what it is, whether they are simple or compound. Does a complex motive cease to be a motive whenever it is discovered to be complex? The analysis of the active principles leaves the nature of them untouched. To be able to assert, that a philosopher, who finds some of the active principles of human nature to be compound and traces them to their origin, does on that account exclude them from human nature, and deny their efficiency as constituent parts of that nature, discovers a total incapacity of thinking upon these subjects. When Newton discovered that a white ray of {321} light is not simple but compound, did he for that reason exclude it from the denomination of light, and deny that it produced its effects, with respect to our perception, as if it were of the same nature with the elementary rays of which it is composed?"

II.

The reluctance of many persons to receive as correct this analysis of the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation, though a reluctance founded more on feeling than on reasoning, is accustomed to justify itself intellectually, by alleging the total unlikeness of those states of mind to the elementary one, from which, according to the theory, they are compounded. But this is no more than what is observed in every similar case. When a complex feeling is generated out of elements very numerous and various, and in a corresponding degree indeterminate and vague, but so blended together by a close association, the effect of a long series of experiences, as to have become inseparable, the resulting feeling always seems not only very unlike any one of the elements composing it, but very unlike the sum of those elements. The pleasure of acquiring, or of consciously possessing, a sum of money (supposed not to be desired for application to some specific purpose,) is a feeling, to our consciousness, very different from the pleasure of protection against hunger and cold, the pleasure of ease and rest from labour, the pleasure of receiving consideration from our fellow-creatures, and the other miscellaneous pleasures, the association with which is admitted to be the real and only source of the pleasure of possessing money. In the case, then, of the moral sentiments, we have, on the one hand, a vera causa or set of causes, having a positive tendency to generate a sentiment, of love for certain actions, and of aversion for certain others; and on the other hand, those sentiments of love and aversion, actually produced. This coincidence between the sentiments and a {322} power adequate to produce them, goes far towards proving causation. That the sentiments are not obviously like the causes, is no reason for postulating the existence of another cause, in the shape of an original principle of our nature.

In a case, however, of so great interest and importance, a rigid adherence to the canons of inductive proof must be insisted on. Those who dispute the theory are entitled to demand that it shall conform strictly to the general law of cause and effect, which is, that the effect shall occur with the cause, shall not occur without the cause, and shall bear some proportion to the cause. Unless it can be shewn that when the effect is not produced, the cause is either absent, or counteracted by some more powerful agency; and unless, when there is any marked difference in the effect, a difference can be shewn in the cause, sufficient to account for it; the theory must give way, or at least, cannot be considered as proved.

The principal case in which the effect is absent, notwithstanding the apparent presence of the cause assigned for it, is anticipated by the author, and provided for after his manner, in the first of the passages quoted from the Fragment on Mackintosh. There are actions (he observes) as beneficial as any others, which yet do not excite the moral sentiment of approbation; but it is because the spontaneous motives to those beneficial acts are in general sufficient: as to eat when we are hungry, or to do a service for which we are to be amply paid. There are, again, actions of a very hurtful character, but such that the spontaneous motives for abstaining from them may be relied on, without any artificial addition: such, in general, are acts destructive of one's own life or property. But even in these cases the hurtful acts may become objects of moral reprobation, when, in any particular case, the natural deterrents prove insufficient for preventing them.

The author seems to think that the difference here pointed out, is explained by the fact that the moral sentiment is in the one case needed, in the other not needed, for producing the useful or averting the hurtful act; that, in short, we are {323} made to have the feeling, by a foresight that our having it will operate usefully on the conduct of our fellow-creatures. I cannot accept this explanation. It seems to me to explain everything about the usual feelings, except the feelings themselves. It explains praise and blame, because these may be administered with the express design of influencing conduct. It explains reward and punishment, and every other distinction which we make in our behaviour between what we desire to encourage, and what we are anxious to check. But these things we might do from a deliberate policy, without having any moral feeling in our minds at all. When there is a moral feeling in our minds, our praise or blame is usually the simple expression of that feeling, rather than an instrument purposely employed for an end. We may give expression to the feeling without really having it, in the belief that our praise or blame will have a salutary effect; but no anticipation of salutary effects from our feeling will ever avail to give us the feeling itself: except indeed, what may be said of every other mental feeling--that we may talk ourselves into it; that the habitual use of the modes of speech that are associated with it, has some tendency to call up the feeling in the speaker himself, and a great tendency to engender it in other people.

I apprehend, however, that there is another, and more adequate reason why the feeling of moral approbation is usually absent in the case of actions (or forbearances) for which there are sufficient motives without it. These actions are done, and are seen to be done, by everybody alike. The pleasant associations derived from their usefulness merge, therefore, in our feelings towards human life and towards our fellow-creatures generally, and do not give rise to any special association of pleasure with given individuals. But when we find that a certain person does beneficial acts which the general experience of life did not warrant us in counting upon--acts which would not have been done by everybody, or even by most people, in his place; we associate the pleasure which the benefit gives us, with the character and disposition of that individual, and with the act, conceived as proceeding {324} from that specially beneficent disposition. And obversely, if a person acts in a manner from which we suffer, but which is such as we should expect from most other people in a parallel case, the associations which his acts create in our minds are associations with human life, or with mankind in general; but if the acts, besides being of a hurtful kind, betoken a disposition in the agent, more hurtful than we are accustomed to look for in average men, we associate the injury with that very man, and with that very disposition, and have the feeling of moral disapprobation and repugnance.

There is, as already intimated, another condition which those who hold the Association theory of the moral sentiments are bound to fulfil. The class of feelings called moral embraces several varieties, materially different in their character. Wherever this difference manifests itself, the theory must be required to shew that there is a corresponding difference in the antecedents. If pleasurable or painful associations are the generating cause, those associations must differ in some proportion to the difference which exists in what they generate.

The principal case in point is the case of what is called Duty, or Obligation. It will probably be admitted that beneficial acts, when done because they are beneficial, excite in us favourable sentiments towards the agent, for which the utility or beneficial tendency of the actions is sufficient to account. But it is only some, not all, of these beneficial acts, that we regard as duties; as acts which the agent, or we ourselves if we are the persons concerned, are bound to do. This feeling of duty or obligation, it is contended, is a very different state of mind from mere liking for the action and good will to the agent. The association theory may account for the two last, but not for the former.

I have examined this question in the concluding chapter of a short treatise entitled "Utilitarianism." The subject of the chapter is "the connexion between Justice and Utility." I have there endeavoured to shew what the association is, which exists in the case of what we regard as a duty, but does not {325} exist in the case of what we merely regard as useful, and which gives to the feeling in the former case the strength, the gravity, and pungency, which in the other case it has not.

I believe that the element in the association, which gives this distinguishing character to the feeling, and which constitutes the difference of the antecedents in the two cases, is the idea of Punishment. I mean the association with punishment, not the expectation of it.

No case can be pointed out in which we consider anything as a duty, and any act or omission as immoral or wrong, without regarding the person who commits the wrong and violates the duty as a fit object of punishment. We think that the general good requires that he should be punished, if not by the law, by the displeasure and ill offices of his fellow-creatures: we at any rate feel indignant with him, that is, it would give us pleasure that he should suffer for his misconduct, even if there are preponderant reasons of another kind against inflicting the suffering. This feeling of indignation, or resentment, is, I conceive, a case of the animal impulse (I call it animal because it is common to us with the other animals) to defend our own life or possessions, or the persons whom we care for, against actual or threatened attack. All conduct which we class as wrong or criminal is, or we suppose it to be, an attack upon some vital interest of ourselves or of those we care for, (a category which may include the public, or the whole human race): conduct which, if allowed to be repeated, would destroy or impair the security and comfort of our lives. We are prompted to defend these paramount interests by repelling the attack, and guarding against its renewal; and our earliest experience gives us a feeling, which acts with the rapidity of an instinct, that the most direct and efficacious protection is retaliation. We are therefore prompted to retaliate by inflicting pain on the person who has inflicted or tried to inflict it upon ourselves. We endeavour, as far as possible, that our social institutions shall render us this service. We are gratified when, by that or other means, the pain is inflicted, and dissatisfied if from any cause it is not. This {326} strong association of the idea of punishment, and the desire for its infliction, with the idea of the act which has hurt us, is not in itself a moral sentiment; but it appears to me to be the element which is present when we have the feelings of obligation and of injury, and which mainly distinguishes them from simple distaste or dislike for any thing in the conduct of another that is disagreeable to us; that distinguishes, for instance, our feeling towards the person who steals our goods, from our feeling towards him who offends our senses by smoking tobacco. This impulse to self-defence by the retaliatory infliction of pain, only becomes a moral sentiment, when it is united with a conviction that the infliction of punishment in such a case is conformable to the general good, and when the impulse is not allowed to carry us beyond the point at which that conviction ends. For further illustration I must refer to the little Treatise already mentioned.--Ed.]

{327} CHAPTER XXIV.

THE WILL.

WE have now considered the class of sensations, called Pleasurable, and Painful. We have also considered the Ideas of those sensations, or that revival of them which is capable of taking place, when the outward action upon the senses is removed. The Idea of the pleasurable sensation, and the Desire of it; the Idea of the painful sensation, and the Aversion to it; are respectively names for one and the same state of consciousness.

We have also considered the Ideas of the Causes of our Pleasurable and Painful sensations. We have found that those Ideas are never Ideas of the Causes separately; but Ideas both of the causes and of their effects, inseparably joined by association. They are not, therefore, indifferent Ideas; they are always either pleasurable or painful; being complex Ideas, to a great degree composed of the Ideas of pleasurable and painful sensations.

As the simple Idea of a pleasurable or painful sensation, is a DESIRE or an AVERSION; so the complex Idea, composed of the Ideas of a Cause of pleasurable or painful sensations, and its effects, is called an {328} AFFECTION; which receives different names, according as it is modified by different circumstances; of time, for example, past or future; and if future, certainly or uncertainly, future.

We next observed, that our own acts were very often the cause of the causes of our pleasures, and of the prevention of our pains. The Idea of an action of our own, as cause, strongly associated with the Idea of a pleasure as its effect, we found to be a state of mind peculiarly important; because it excites to action. In what manner this state of mind gives birth to action, is the question which we now have to resolve.

The object of the Inquiry is, to find out, what that peculiar state of mind or consciousness is, by which action is preceded. From all men it receives the same name. It is called the Will, by every body; and by every body this Will is understood to be a state of mind or consciousness; but how formed, or wherein consisting, is variously and vehemently disputed.

Much of the confusion of Ideas which has darkened this controversy arose from the misconception, so long universal, respecting the Idea of a Cause. The will was invariably, and justly, assumed as the cause of the action; but unhappily there was always assumed as a part of the Idea of this cause, an item, which is found to be altogether imaginary. In the sequence of events called Cause and Effect, men were not contented with the Cause and the Effect; they imagined a third thing, called Force or Power, which was not the cause, but something emanating from the cause, and the true and immediate cause of the {329} Effect. This illusion has been minutely examined, as we have already remarked, by a late Philosopher; by whom it has been proved, beyond the reach of contradiction, that the power of any cause is nothing different from the cause. A cause, and the power of a cause, are not two things, but two names for the same thing. With the Idea of Cause is always united the Idea of Effect. It is one of the cases of inseparable conjunction. The Idea of the Cause as existing, is irresistibly followed by the Idea of the Effect as existing. Not only does the one Idea always follow the other; but it is not in our power to prevent their following. Now the Idea of any thing as existing, when that idea forces itself upon us, and cannot be resisted, is that which we call Belief. In all this, however, there is nothing but the idea of an Antecedent and a Consequent, and a fixed order of Association. Our object, therefore, in this Inquiry will be completely attained if we discover which is the real state of mind which immediately precedes an action.

The actions of a human being may be divided into two sorts: I. Those which are called the actions of his Body; II. Those which are called the actions of his mind. We shall endeavour to ascertain what are the antecedents of both, and shall begin with the Body.

I. The actions of the Body are all of one sort. They consist essentially of that action of certain fibres, which is called contraction. The object of this part of our Inquiry, therefore, is to ascertain what are the states of mind which immediately precede a fibrous contraction.

{330} We can show that muscular or fibrous contractions follow, 1st, Sensations; 2dly, Ideas: and we can also shew, that in a vast proportion of those cases, the sequence is invariable; in other words, that the Sensation, or Idea, is the cause of the contraction.

1. It is no part of our present business to adduce what has been discovered by physiologists in tracing the physical antecedents of a contracting muscle. The mental antecedent is the object of our inquiry; and whether a physical link, or more than one physical link, intervenes between it and the contraction, alters not the question as to the state of the mental cause; nor the fact as to the ultimate effect. Facts are abundant, to prove, that the nerves are the immediate instrument of contraction; and also that the effect produced by the mental state is first upon the nerves, and only through the nerves upon the muscle. A paralytic limb, is a limb, the movement of which is not consequent upon that mental state which is usually followed by such a movement. But a paralytic limb is only a limb, the nerves of which are deprived of their usual power by a disorder in that part of the brain in which they originate.

Innumerable facts are capable of being adduced, to prove that sensation is a cause of muscular action. There is, however, little necessity to be tedious with the proof; because there will be little difficulty in assenting to the proposition.

The distinction, which we formerly drew, between those sensations which we have by what is called the external senses, in other words, on the surface of our body, and those (numerous, not individually only, but also in their species or kinds), which we have in {331} the internal parts of our bodies, it is here peculiarly necessary to remember, and strongly to remark. The muscles themselves are internal parts of the body. The feelings in the muscles are one species of those internal sensations. And, in general, as it is easy to conceive, the internal sensations are a leading cause of such actions as take place in the internal organs of the Body.

Many of the instances which the author goes on to enumerate, of muscular action excited by sensation, are, in all probability, cases of this description. The muscular action is directly excited by the physical irritation of the nerves, and any sensation which accompanies it is not its cause, but a simultaneous effect.--Ed.]

Some of the external cases are remarkably familiar and precise. A pungent odour enters the nostrils; first, a certain sensation follows, and immediately after, the violent action of a great number of muscles, called Sneezing. In drinking, a drop of water sometimes enters the larynx; it produces a certain sensation, immediately followed by the action of certain muscles, from which we have the very painful feeling of suffocation. There is a very remarkable exemplification of the same law, in the case of the sensation {332} of light. The Pupil of the Eye contracts or dilates, according as a greater or less degree of light falls upon the retina. The eyelids are in perpetual motion in consequence of sensations to which we do not attend. The painful sensation pervading the body, when we plunge into cold water, produces so much action in the muscles, that we sob and respire in a convulsive manner. The lachrymal glands are moved to action, by certain effluvia, as those of onions, by smoke, and various gases, and even by certain states of the air, so as to shed tears abundantly. The action of food is similar upon the salivary glands; and of heat and cold upon the skin, the one opening, the other contracting its pores.

In respect to a great number of the contractions of muscles, which take place in consequence of impressions on the surface of our bodies, the evidence is not so precise; because, though contractions are originally performed by sensation, they are afterwards and more habitually performed by Ideas. We shall be able, therefore, to speak of them more instructively, when more familiar with the sequence consisting of Ideas antecedent, and the contraction of muscles consequent.

The action of the internal organs in consequence of internal sensations, is proved by many familiar, as well as by many interesting phenomena. The action of coughing, than which none more familiar, is the highest evidence. The sensation here, is not one of those which are neglected and obscure. A violent action of the muscles is its immediate consequence. Hiccup is also produced by a sensation in the stomach; and affords evidence definite and decisive. Vomiting is another very instructive case. We {333} know that it is the ultimate effect of something which produces disagreeable sensations in the stomach. The sensation, indeed, in this case, is not so well distinguished from others, nor so precisely known, as in the case of coughing. We know, however, its general character, and we know well the violent contraction of muscles, which is the consequence of it. In connexion with this, we may notice the peculiar sensations in the Uterus, which produce the muscular actions of Parturition; some of the most violent belonging to the human frame. The sensations, which are the cause of cramps, are commonly obscure. It is the Effect which engages all our attention. There is no doubt, however, that it is by an internal sensation, that this very painful effect is produced. A greater proportion of those painful muscular actions called spasms, are the effect of sensations; though Ideas, also, appear to be concerned in the production of those which become frequent. One very remarkable case, which is named the Locked Jaw, is often the result of a pain produced by an external wound.

Not any of our bodily functions is more important than Respiration. It is a very extensive action of muscles habitually performed by sensation merely. The sensations, however, escape our attention to such a degree, that we lose the power of attending to them. And it is only by the effort we are capable of to stop Respiration, when a painful sensation after a time renders the action of the muscles irresistible, that we get a sort of conjectural knowledge of what the ordinary sensation is.

There are some most important cases of the action of our internal organs, in consequence of sensation, in {334} which, from the habitual neglect of that which never calls for our attention, both cause and effect, to our ordinary perception, are alike unknown. That the heart is a part of the body endowed with sensation, is abundantly known, as often as, by a departure from its habitual state, it becomes the seat of sensations other than the habitual sensations, to which, from habit of inattention to them, we have lost the power of attending. The blood cannot flow into the heart, without a sensation of the heart. The contraction of the heart is the consequence of that sensation; thence the circulation of the blood; thence respiration, and all the trains, both of sensations, and of actions, which constitute the general working of the human machine. In truth, the actions of the alimentary canal, necessary to keep up the supply of the blood and the actions of the circulating system, which impart their action to most of the assimilating and secreting organs of the human body, all taking place in sensitive parts, all, of course, attended by sensation, and all produced by sensation, constitute a system of internal sensations, numerous beyond what it is easy to conceive,--some pleasurable, some painful,--and of all possible modifications of pain and pleasure; but to which, singly, the habit of inattention is so complete, that it amounts to inability of attending to them.

When they are very extensively of a pleasurable, or very extensively of a painful kind, they produce a general state, which often calls our attention; but for which, as it is a vague, indeterminate feeling, we have only vague, indeterminate names: we call it a {335} state of comfort or discomfort; of cheerfulness, or gloom; high spirits, or low spirits; and so on. The incessant motion of the blood, in so many sensitive tubes, in every part of the body, constitutes a system of sensations pervading the whole frame; as the contact of the air produces a system of sensations, pervading every part of the surface of our bodies, but to which our habit of inattention is so complete, that we are equally incapable of attending to them as we are of attending to the sensations produced in our arteries and veins, by the motion of the blood, and in the secreting and absorbing vessels when excited to action.[10*]

We are rather more attentive, perhaps, to the general states produced by the extensive diffusion of pleasurable or painful sensations in the alimentary canal, than in the channels of the blood, and perhaps we sometimes confound them. To some of the feelings in the upper part of the canal we attend sufficiently to distinguish them; the feeling called nausea, for example, in its numerous modifications. To those in the other parts, unless they amount to acute pain, we never attend, till they are so extensively diffused, as to constitute a state, to which we assign the terms, Comfort, Discomfort, or some other {336} of the vague names, by which a state made up of an indefinite number of painful or pleasurable sensations is usually denominated. Yet we know that actions of great importance are the result of those unnoticed sensations; the secretion of the gastric juice; the secretion of the bile; the separation of the nutritive from the innutritive part of the food; the operation of the lacteal and lymphatic vessels, and that extraordinary motion called the peristaltic, which aids in carrying on the contents of the bowels to the place of their discharge. It is probable, that the pleasurable states of the alimentary canal are commonly joined, or synchronous, with pleasurable states of the channels of the blood; and the painful states, the same. That the healthy, or unhealthy state of the one, accompanies that of the other, we know. And that certain diseased states of the circulating system, are accompanied with that general state of feeling, called discomfort, or wretchedness, which implies the wide diffusion of painful sensations throughout the system, is but too well known to all who have experienced any modification of the febrile state; nor can it be doubted, that the joyous state of perfect health, in which we feel delight in our being, and our whole frame seems to be a source of pleasure to us, is in a great degree produced by the innumerable unnoticed and unnoticeable sensations, produced by the motion and contact of the blood, in every part of our frame.

We seem authorized, therefore, by the fullest Evidence, to assume that Sensation, is the mental cause, whatever the physical links, of a great proportion of the muscular contractions of our frame; and that {337} among those so produced are found some of the most constant, the most remarkable, and the most important, of that grand class of corporeal phenomena.

2. To prove that Ideas, as well as Sensations, are the cause of muscular actions, it is necessary to make choice of cases, in which the Idea is in no danger of being confounded with that state of mind called the Will. And hardly any case will answer this condition, except some of those which are held to be involuntary, for the Idea itself never can be very clearly distinguished from the Will.

The Winking of the Eyelids, when a person moves his hand rapidly close to the eyes of another person, is a familiar case of an action of the muscles, which we cannot prevent. The idea is that of pain, from the contact of the hand with the eye. A sudden sensation of pain in the eye makes the eyelid close. This is the case, already examined, of contraction by sensation. When this has been performed, a number of times, the idea of pain in the eye, and the idea of the contraction of the muscles, that is, of the sensations contained in the contraction of the muscles, become associated together, so strongly, that the one can never exist without the other. The next step of the process is, that the contraction follows upon the Idea, in the same manner as it followed upon the sensation. This is not a matter of conjecture, it is matter of fact. It is an experienced event. We do not undertake to say, what physical links are between the Idea and the contraction, any more than between the sensation and the contraction. The Idea is the last part of the mental operation. And as the Idea and the sensation are feelings so nearly alike, there is {338} no difficulty in believing that like effects proceed from like causes.

The origin of the sensation, and the origin of the Idea seem to be different. The sensation originates in the extremity of the nerves at some particular part of the body. Something, we know not what, happens at the extremity of those nerves; something, we know not what, is conveyed along the nerves to the brain; and then sensation exists. From the brain, in its state of sensation, something, we know not what, is conveyed along the nerves to the contracting muscle, and the contraction takes place. Also, from the Brain, in its state of Ideation, if I may here, for the sake of the analogy with sensation, use a word of my own coining, something is conveyed along the nerves to the contracting muscle, and the contraction takes place. The sensation does not originate in the Brain; the Idea does. But if the state of the Brain when it has a sensation, and when it has the idea of that sensation, be, as we may {339} naturally suppose, very nearly the same; and if the state of the Brain is a necessary link in the chain of antecedents and consequents which terminates in the contracted muscle, the effect is so far accounted for.

Yawning is a familiar case of contraction, produced by sensation. We yawn without intending it; we know that we yawn in consequence of an antecedent state of feeling, of which, from never attending to it particularly, we have no distinct Idea; but which we recognise sufficiently as the antecedent of the act. This act, however, we also know is frequently the effect of Ideas. If we see another person yawn, it rarely happens that we do not yawn along with him. The act of yawning is so strongly associated with the idea of the feelings which precede it, that the sight of the act by another person calls up in us strongly the idea of the precedent feelings. The Idea exists, and as the contraction was the effect of the sensation, so is it also of the Idea.

The same is the account to be rendered of the infectious power of convulsions. In assemblies of men and women, especially under such a state of excitement (religious enthusiasm, for instance) as implies the strong association of certain trains of Ideas, if one person is attacked with convulsions, it commonly happens that others are attacked, and frequently great numbers. That this is a case of Ideas is certain; because nothing is conveyed to the spectators from a person convulsed, but the sight of the person; and the sight can do nothing but excite associated Ideas. The associated Ideas exist: the convulsions follow.

Laughter is a curious phenomenon of human nature. The analysis of it is not here required. It {340} will be easily recognised as a remarkable instance of the production of muscular action by Ideas. We laugh, either when certain ideas are suggested to us by others, or when they proceed from our own associations. In either case, the Ideas exist; the Laughter follows.

Sobbing and weeping, in grief, afford a similar instance. What we call grief, is the existence of certain trains of Ideas. The Ideas exist: the weeping follows.

The swallowing of the saliva affords a good experiment. If a friend assures you that you cannot refrain, for the space of a minute, from this act, and you are tempted to try, you are almost sure to fail. By the attention fixed on the act, the ideas of the feelings, which precede the act, are so strongly called up by association, that the act follows of course.

There are many acts of familiar occurrence to shew, that those actions of our organs which are the most {341} habitually produced by sensations, are capable of being strongly modified by Ideas. The effect of Fear, for example, on the action of the heart, is known to be very remarkable. So it is on the action of the bowels, of the kidneys, and of the skin. One of its effects is perspiration; another, paleness: another, cold.[11*]

The cases which we have just adduced, of yawning, and contagious convulsions, may be regarded as belonging to an extensive class; which obtains the general name of Imitation. There is more or less of a propensity to Imitation in all men, that is, to perform the act which we see another man performing. In most children the propensity is very strong; and {342} to it they owe much of the celerity with which they make certain acquirements; to that of imitating sounds, for example, the celerity with which they learn to speak. The propensity to imitate musical sounds so adheres to persons of a musical ear, even in mature age, that they can scarcely forbear humming every tune which they hear. Children learn to stutter and to squint, from imitation of their companions. We know how universally it happens that young persons acquire the manner and the air of those with whom they habitually live. These are cases not only of action, but of habits of action, produced by the agency of Ideas. It requires only cases of strong association to produce analogous effects, at all periods of life. "When we see a stroke," says Mr. Smith, "aimed and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another person, we naturally shrink and draw back our own leg, or our own arm. The mob, when they are gazing at a dancer on the slack rope, naturally writhe and twist, and balance their own bodies as they see him do. Persons of delicate fibres and a weak constitution of body, complain, that in looking on the sores and ulcers which are exposed by beggars in the streets, they are apt to feel an itching or uneasy sensation in the correspondent part of their own bodies. Men of the most robust make, observe, that in looking upon sore eyes, they often feel a very sensible soreness in their own." There are few persons who do not put on a cheerful countenance, upon the sight of the cheerful countenances of their friends; still fewer whose countenance is not made sorrowful by sight of the sorrowful countenances of their friends. It is well known, that Tears are contagious; and upon {343} this some well-known rules for the countenance both of the orator and the actor are prescribed. It is not necessary further to accumulate instances of this description; nor further to enter into the analysis of them, than to remark, that the action, the idea of which is conveyed to us by what we thus hear or see, calls up, by association, the idea of the feelings which precede the action. The Idea of the feelings exists, and the action follows.

There is a case of the action of the muscles which requires particular attention; that in which we learn to make use of them; in which we acquire what we call command over them only by degrees. There is more or less, probably, of this process in all the sorts of muscular action which are not performed originally by sensation; and the process seems to be longer or shorter according as the number of muscles, which must act together in order to the production of the effect, is greater or less. We know how slowly the child acquires the power of so balancing his body as to hold it erect. To this Effect the action of a great number of muscles is required. Yet, before the age at which reflection begins, the power is so completely acquired, that the mental process escapes our attention. To be erect, seems the posture into which our body puts itself of its own accord. There are circumstances, however, in which we become distinctly conscious of the powerful effort, which is required for that purpose, though, from its being habitual, we are in ordinary circumstances wholly insensible of it. If we allow sleep to come upon us, while we are in an erect posture, so far, that the ideas which maintain the muscular action begin to give way, we have {344} immediately the sensation of falling, and a strong perception of the effort required to keep the body erect.

We observe how slowly the child learns to perform, with the requisite precision, the contractions on which the operation of walking depends. And every man can remember the difficulty with which he has learned to perform any new combination of contractions. Whoever has learned to dance, knows how imperfectly, till after a multitude of repetitions, he performed the simplest steps. Whoever has been drilled, as they call it; that is, trained to perform with the firelock the acts required of the soldier, knows with what difficulty, each of them, however simple, was originally performed.

There is another very familiar instance, that of learning to write. Most men can remember, when they began this process, how imperfectly the hand obeyed them; and how awkwardly they made even the simple strokes. Every man can make the experiment with his left hand. After the habit of performing with the right hand is completely attained, he is almost unable to form a letter with the left. The cases of this incapacity of the left hand to perform the acts which we perform habitually with the right are innumerable; and afford decisive illustration of the great fact which is now the subject of our attention. To perform the contractions of a number of muscles, the contractions of all of which must be combined in the action, the idea whereon each of the contractions depends must previously exist, and in the requisite order. That is to say, a certain association of Ideas must be performed. But we know, that no new {345} association of Ideas is easily or steadily performed. This is the effect of Repetition. As soon as the association of the ideas is completely established by repetition, the process, both bodily and mental, goes on with ease; and where the habit is great, with so much ease, as even to escape attention. The process of learning to play on a musical instrument is slow and difficult. By habit the associations become so close, that an expert performer can execute the most difficult pieces, and carry on another and even an intricate process of thought at the same time.

How slowly, and with how much difficulty do children acquire command over the organs of speech? And how totally without effort on our part in after life does the sound appear immediately to cling to the Idea of the word? Yet, in learning the new sounds of a foreign language we become abundantly sensible of the difficulty, sometimes altogether insurmountable, of performing the precise combination of contractions which a particular sound requires.

It seems to be established, therefore, by an ample induction, that muscular actions follow ideas, as invariable antecedent and consequent, in other words, as cause and effect; that whenever we have obtained a command over the ideas, we have also obtained a command over the motions; and that we cannot perform associate contractions of several muscles, till we have established by repetition, the ready association of the Ideas.

I believe that nothing more need be said for the establishing of these truths. I shall adduce a few more instances, chiefly with the view to familiarize my readers with the mode of applying to this {346} interesting class of facts, the principles with which they are now fully acquainted.

There is no part of the body with the use of which we are so perfectly familiar as the hand. There are no actions, of the sort at least to which we are attentive, the repetition of which is so incessant. Of course, the associations of the ideas corresponding to the associate contractions of the muscles which produce the various movements or actions of the hand, are formed in the most perfect manner; and we never have the Ideas, as antecedent, without the movement as consequent. This inseparable connexion between the Ideas, and the contractions, which we call the Power of the Will, is gradually formed. At first the hand of the infant is moved by sensations. If the inside of the hand is touched, so at least as to make the sensation considerable, the fingers bend; and perform more or less of the act of grasping. Here is a train of events. First, the sensation of touch, from the application of the external object; next, an influence from the seat of the sensation in the brain, transmitted along the nerves of certain muscles; then the contraction of the muscles, with the various sensations which the action upon those organs, and the action excited in them, imply. When the sensation has been often repeated, in conjunction with its effect, the Idea of the sensation becomes familiar and distinct; and capable of producing many of the effects which the sensation itself produces. It is also closely associated with the idea of the motion, and all its accompanying sensations as the effect; and the chain of antecedents and consequents proceeds in uninterrupted order.

{347} As similar instances of motions, at first produced by sensations, afterwards by ides, we may adduce the remarkable cases of the sphincters of the bladder and anus. At first, children perform their evacuations, as they sneeze and cough, when the sensations excite them. Afterwards, they learn, but by slow degrees, to bring them under the command of ideas. There is no case, however, which affords more decisive evidence of the power of ideas over the actions of particular parts, than those which are called Amatory; because the effects, which are produced by the Ideas, cannot be produced by the will.

There is another set of cases, which deserve attention; those in which the ideas which are followed by the action of certain muscles, acquire associations with other sensations or Ideas which call them up, and thence give action to the muscles, upon very inconvenient occasions. A woman who has accustomed herself to scream out, upon every sudden idea of the slightest danger, cannot abstain from screaming. The awkward motions, for which some, even eminent, men have been remarkable, Dr. Johnson, for instance, are completely explained by this principle. The ideas, whence the motions proceed, have become associated, in ways which can seldom be traced, with sensations, or ideas of frequent recurrence. And hence are the motions frequently produced.

There are equally remarkable cases, in which the associations, necessary to produce the idea on which the muscular actions depend, are prevented by other associations more powerful. Men admitted to the presence of a great personage have found themselves wholly unable to articulate a word. The Ideas of {348} Power and Dignity, with all their associates of terror and of hope, were called up in such irresistible association by the presence of him who was clothed with them; that the ideas necessary to the articulation of words were excluded, and the power of speaking was lost.

We have now established, by an ample Induction, that the action of muscles follows, as an effect its cause; first, upon sensations; secondly, upon Ideas. The language which Professor Stewart has applied to a similar case, is perfectly applicable here. "It may, indeed, be said, that these observations only prove the possibility, that our muscular contractions may be all performed by sensations and Ideas. But, if this be admitted, nothing more can well be required; for, surely, if these phenomena are clearly explicable, from the known and acknowledged laws of the human mind, it would be unphilosophical to devise a new principle, on purpose to account for them."[12*]

I believe, indeed, that this conclusion is not at variance with the common belief upon the subject. It appears to me to be not inconsistent with the language of the advocates for what is called the Freedom of the Will, to admit, that the action of the muscle takes place in consequence of the Idea; and that our power of willing consists in the power of calling into existence the appropriate Idea; that the power of the will is not immediate over the muscle, but over the Idea.

The following observations of Dr. Reid, though not remarkable for their precision, seem fully to justify this Inference.

{349} "First, every act of will must have an object. He that wills, must will something; and that which he wills is called the object of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking of something, nor remember without remembering something, so neither can he will without willing something. Every act of will, therefore, must have an object; and the person who wills must have some conception, more or less distinct of what he wills.

"A second observation is, that the immediate object of will must be some action of our own."

There are two assertions here which demand our attention; 1, that what is willed is an action of our own; 2, that to such will a conception, that is, an Idea, more or less distinct, of this action of ours, is indispensable.

He adduces some particulars, in illustration, which impart something more of precision to his meaning.

"A healthy child, some hours after its birth, feels the sensation of hunger, and, if applied to the breast, sucks and swallows its food very perfectly. We have no reason to think, that before it ever sucked, it has any conception of that complex operation, or how it is performed. It cannot, therefore, with propriety, be said that it wills to suck." It appears, from this example, that the muscular actions, which are performed by Sensation, Dr. Reid distinguishes from those, which he calls voluntary; that he denominates voluntary, those only which are performed by Ideas. It also appears fully, from the example, that the Idea of the action willed, which he considers the foundation of volition, must, in all cases, be subsequent to the performance of the act by Sensation; in other {350} words, that the idea cannot exist but in consequence of the sensation.

What has yet been advanced, however, is not a full explanation of the subject. For, after it is admitted that the motion of the muscles is, in all cases, the immediate effect of the appropriate Idea, there is still one class which all men agree to call involuntary; another which many contend are voluntary. It now remains that we inquire wherein the difference consists.

There is one point which is established by the mere statement, and which goes a certain way towards the solution of the question. Since the action of the muscles follows upon the existence of the Idea, whatever calls up the Idea produces the action. The Question, then, may be resolved into these two: In what manner is the Idea called up in cases called involuntary? In what manner is it called up in those called voluntary?

In the cases called not voluntary, I doubt not, it will be easily admitted, that the Idea is raised in the way of ordinary association, by a preceding Sensation, or Idea. In the yawning which proceeds from the sight of another person yawning, the idea is called up by a Sensation. In the laughter which is excited either by ideas suggested to us from without, or ideas which spring up in our associated trains, the idea which is proximate to the muscular action is, of course, called up by an Idea.

There appears no circumstance by which the cases called voluntary are distinguished from the involuntary, except that in the voluntary there exists a Desire. Shedding tears at the hearing of a tragic story, we do not desire to weep: laughing at the recital {351} of a comic story, we do not desire to laugh. But when we elevate the arm to ward off a blow, we desire to lift the arm; when we turn the head to look at some attractive object, we desire to move the head. I believe that no case of voluntary action can be mentioned, in which it would not be an appropriate expression, to call the action desired.

We have already examined the meaning of the word Desire. We have seen that it is applied to pleasurable sensations; to exemption from painful sensations; and to the causes of them. We have also seen, and to the present purpose this is a point of great importance, that when the word desire is applied, to the cause of a sensation, or of an exemption from a sensation, it is employed in a figurative, or metaphorical, not in a direct sense. Few of our actions can be called pleasurable sensations; or exemption from painful; in propriety of language perhaps none. Our actions are causes of those two classes of events; and on that account are called, but only in a metaphorical sense, objects of desire.

In a voluntary action, then, we recognise two Ideas; first, the idea of the sensation or exemption, which two, for shortness, we shall call by one name, Pleasure; secondly, the idea of an action of our own as the cause of the pleasure. It is also easy to see how the Idea of a pleasure should excite the Idea of the action which is the cause of it; and how, when the Idea exists, the action should follow.

{352} We have seen, that the idea of a pleasure, as effect, associated with the Idea of an act of our own, as its cause, is one of the cases of motive. In the preceding paragraph it seems also to be one of the cases of will. It may then be asked, if the will is, or is not, anything different from the motive?

The course pursued by the mind in devising and executing a train of means for the accomplishment of an end, has been often described. The End; that is, the advantage or pleasure desired; is the first thing in the contemplation of the mind; the step nearest to the end in the process of attainment, is the second; the step immediately preceding that is the third; and so on, to the step at which the process of execution must begin. Thus, suppose the pleasure of living in a handsome house is the end; the apartments, and furniture, and accommodations of such a mansion is the nearest step; the one immediately preceding that is the building and furnishing it; the one preceding that, the employing an architect and upholsterer; the one preceding that, the finding the money. Such is the order in which the mind proceeds from the primary conception of the End through the requisite series of means. The order of execution is directly the reverse. It begins where the other ends, and ends where the other begins. If the person we have supposed proceeds to the execution of his plan, his first step is, to find the money, his next to provide the architect, and so on from step to step, till he places himself in the pleasurable situation he originally contemplated.

There is this double operation in what we may call the formation and execution of motives. The first association starts from the pleasure. The idea of the {353} pleasure is associated with its immediate cause, that cause with its cause, and so on, till it reaches that act of ours which is the opposite end of the train. The process may stop here, and in that case the motive does not excite to action. If it excites to action, the process is exactly reversed. In the first process of association, the pleasure was the first link in the chain, the action the last; in the second process, the action is the first, the pleasure the last. When the first process only is performed, the association is called MOTIVE. When the second is performed it is called WILL.

A difficulty, however, presents itself. The first process terminates in an Idea of the action. The second process commences with an idea of the action. The Idea of the action is thus excited twice. But the first time it is not followed by the action; the second time it is. How is this to be reconciled with the supposed constancy of connexion between the muscular action and the Idea which produces it? The difficulty is solved by observing, that the phrase, "Idea of the action," has two meanings. There are two Ideas, very different from one another, to both of which we give the name, "Idea of the action." Of these Ideas, one is the outward appearance of the action, and is always a very obvious Idea. The other is the copy of those internal sensations which originally called the muscles into action, to which, from habit of not attending to them, we have lost the power of attending. This last is by no means an obvious Idea. And the mind passes from it so quickly, intent upon the action which is its result, that it is almost always swallowed up in the mass of association. It constitutes, in fact, one of the most remarkable {354} instances of that class of links in a chain, which, how important soever to the existence of the chain, are passed over so rapidly, that the existence of them is hardly ever recognised.

This last Idea alone, is that upon which the contraction of the muscle is consequent. In the process of association which we call the motive, as described above, the first of the two above-mentioned ideas of the action, that of its outward appearance, is the idea excited. If the association stops there, the motive is inoperative; if the association does not stop there, but the idea of the outward appearance of the action, calls up that other, the idea of the internal feelings of the action, the motive is then operative, and we are said TO WILL.

If we are asked, how an Idea, as that of the outward appearance of an act, should at one time excite an idea, as that of the internal feelings of the act, at another time not excite it, we can only refer to the laws of association, as far as they have been ascertained. We know there are certain cases of association, so strong, that the one Idea never exists without calling up the other. We know there are other cases in which an Idea sometimes does, and sometimes does not, call up such or such an Idea. Sometimes it is easy to trace the cause of this variety; sometimes difficult.

The doctrine of Hartley on the Will may be summed up in the following propositions. 1. All our voluntary movements were originally automatic: meaning by automatic, involuntary, and excited directly by sensations. 2. When a sensation has the power of exciting a given muscular action, the idea of that sensation, if sufficiently vivid, will excite it likewise. 3. The idea of the sensation which excites an automatic action of the muscles, persists during the action, and becomes associated with it by contiguity, in such a manner as to be itself, in its turn, excited by any vividly recalled idea of the muscular act. 4. The following is what takes place in voluntary motion. The idea of the end we desire, excites by association the idea of the muscular act which would procure it for us. The idea of this muscular act excites, by association, the idea of the sensation which originally excited the same muscular action automatically. And lastly, the idea of this sensation excites the action, as the sensation itself would have done. 5. These associations being formed gradually, and progressively strengthened by repetition, this gives us the explanation of the gradual and slow process whereby we gain what is called command of our muscles; i.e. the process by which the actions, originally produced automatically by sensations, come to be produced, and at last, to be easily and rapidly produced, by the ideas of the different pleasurable ends to which those muscular actions are the means. 6. In this chain of association, as is so often the case in chains of association, the links which are no otherwise interesting to us than by introducing other links, gradually drop out of consciousness, being, after many repetitions, either forgotten as soon as felt, or altogether thrown out; the latter being the supposition which Hartley apparently favours. The link that consists in the idea of the internal sensations which excited the muscular action when it was still automatic, being the least interesting part of the whole series, is probably the first which we cease to be aware of. When the succession of the ideas has become, by frequent repetition, extremely prompt, rapid, and certain, another link tends to disappear, namely, the ideas of the muscular feelings that accompany the act. A practised player, for example, on a keyed instrument, becomes less and less conscious of the motions of his fingers, until there at last remains nothing in his consciousness to shew that the muscular acts do not arise without any intermediate links, from the purpose, i.e. the idea in his mind, which made him begin playing. At this stage the muscular motion, which, from automatic, had become voluntary, has become, from voluntary, what, in Hartley's phraseology, is called secondarily automatic; and it seems to be his opinion that the ideas which have disappeared from consciousness, or at all events from memory, have not been (as maintained by Stewart) called up, and immediately afterwards forgotten, but have ceased to be called up; being, as it were, leapt over by the rapidity with which the succeeding links rush into consciousness.

This theory, as we have seen, is adopted, and more fully worked out, by the author of the Analysis. He proves, by many examples, that sensations excite muscular actions; that ideas excite muscular actions; and that, when a sensation has power to excite a particular muscular action, the idea of the sensation tends to do the same. It is true that many, if not most, of what he presents as instances of muscular action excited by sensations, are cases in which both the sensation and the muscular action are probably joint effects of a physical cause, a stimulus acting on the nerves. This misapprehension by the author reaches its extreme point when he declares traumatic tetanus to be produced not by the wound but by the pain of the wound; and cramps to be produced by sensations, instead of merely producing them. But the error is quite immaterial to the theory of the Will; the two suppositions being equivalent, as a foundation for the power which the idea of the muscular sensation acquires over the muscular action. Whether the sensation is the cause of the automatic action, or its effect, or a joint effect of the cause which produces it--on all these hypotheses the sensation and the action are conjoined in such a manner, as to form so close an association by contiguity that the idea of the sensation becomes capable of exciting the action. This being conceded, it follows, by the ordinary laws of association, that whatever recals the idea of the sensation, tends, through the idea, to produce the action.

Now, there is nothing so closely associated with the idea of the muscular sensation, as the idea of the muscular act itself, such as it appears to outward observation. Whatever, therefore, calls up strongly the idea of the act, is likely to call up the idea of the accompanying muscular sensation, and so produce the act. But the idea of the act is called up strongly by anything which makes us desire to perform it; that is, by an association between it as a means, and any coveted pleasure as an end. The act is thus produced by our desire of the end; that is (according to the author's theory of desire) by our idea of the end, when pleasurable; which, if an end, it must be. The pleasurable association may be carried over from the ultimate end to the idea of the muscular act, through any number of intermediate links, consisting of the successive operations, probably in themselves indifferent, by which the end has to be compassed; but this transfer is strictly conformable to the laws of association. When the pleasurable association has reached the muscular act itself, and has caused it to be desired, the series of effects terminates in the production of the act. What has now been described is, in the opinion of the author, the whole of what takes place in any voluntary action of the muscles. At the close of the chapter we shall consider whether there is any part of the facts, for which this theory does not sufficiently account.--Ed.]

{355} II. But even when it is admitted that all muscular contraction is the effect of association, in the way we have described, there are other {356} phenomena to be accounted for. We may still be reasonably called upon to explain the power which the mind appears to possess over its associations. There is a {357} distinction in the trains of the mind which is observed by every body. Some trains, as those in dreams, in delirium, in frenzy, are supposed to proceed according {358} to the established laws of association without any direction from the mind. Other trains; a piece of reasoning, for example; any process of thought, directed to an end; are considered as wholly under the guidance of the mind. The guidance of the mind is but another name for the will. And thus it is inferred that the will is not association, but something which controuls association.

We now proceed to the solution of this difficulty. It can be supposed that the will controuls association, in only one of two ways; either, by calling up an Idea, independently of association; or, by making an Idea call up, not the Idea which would follow it spontaneously, but some other Idea.

The first supposition, that an Idea can be called up by the will, is relinquished by the common consent of philosophers.

We cannot will without willing something; and in willing we must have an Idea of the thing willed. If we will an Idea, therefore, we must have the Idea. The Idea does not remain to be called up. It is called up already. To say that we will to have an Idea, when we already have it, is a mere absurdity.

{359} The second supposition is, that will can prevent an Idea from calling up one idea, make it call up another; prevent its calling up the Idea which would have followed it spontaneously, make it call up the Idea which the mind is in quest of.

The first question is, how the will, or the mind willing, can prevent an Idea from calling up another. We know that this is wholly impossible in all those cases in which the association is strong. We cannot think of colour without thinking of extension; we cannot think of the word bread without thinking of its meaning. It can be supposed that we have such power in those cases only in which an Idea has not an inseparable association with the idea in question, but only such an association with it as it has with many others. But how is it that we can hinder an idea which has those associations, from calling up any of the ideas with which it is associated? How can we foresee which of those ideas it will call up? And, if we do foresee that it will call up the idea which we desire to avoid, it follows that the Idea is already in our mind. There seems, therefore, the same incongruity in the supposition that the will can directly prevent, as that it can directly produce, an idea.

If the mind, then, possesses any power over its trains, it seems to be confined to its power of making {360} an idea call up other ideas than those which it would spontaneously excite. And if it possesses this power, it possesses that also of excluding ideas which would otherwise exist; since a new train of associations must take its origin from the state of consciousness thus produced. It is, therefore, in this, if in any thing, that the power of willing consists.

We are, however, immediately encountered by the question. If the mind cannot will an Idea, what power does it possess of introducing any idea into a train, but such as comes of its own accord? If it has the idea, it is in the train already. If it has it not, what can it do in order to obtain it? There is the existing train; but how can that be made any thing but what it is; or have any associations but those which are already established?

In cases where language is too imperfect to ensure the conveyance of definite ideas, there is an advantage in particular instances. There are two familiar processes, which are commonly adduced as examples of the power which the mind exercises over its trains. The one is, the endeavour to recollect something we do not remember. The other is, the process of attention.

When anything is remembered, the idea of the thing is always in the mind along with certain associations. In recollection, therefore, the object is attained by the excitement of this idea. Sometimes the effort which we make is successful; sometimes it is not. We are said to will to recollect; but this is obviously an improper expression. To recollect is to call up an Idea. But this, as we have seen already, is not within the province of will. When it is said {361} that we will to recollect, the meaning only is, that we desire to recollect.

But it is also to be inquired, what here is the meaning of the word Desire. We have seen that it is a term applied to Pleasure, or the Cause of Pleasure. The idea, in this instance, which the mind is in quest of, is desired. But why desired? As Pleasure; or the Cause of Pleasure? As Cause, we may reply, in all instances. The idea is wanted for some purpose or end. In that End the pleasure is involved.

The End is thus a pleasurable, that is, an interesting, Idea. But it is in the character of interesting ideas, to dwell in the mind. The meaning is, that they are easily called up by other ideas; and, thus, that there is a perpetual recurrence of them. A young man in love, is said to be engrossed with the idea of his mistress. No sooner has her idea suggested another idea, that is, given place to it, than her idea is again suggested by another, and so on, continually. The man, who is to be executed to-morrow, can think of nothing but the terrible event which is approaching. It can be banished, hardly for an instant. Every thing serves to recall it: and along with it a rush of ideas of the most painful description. There is no law of association more remarkable than that of the rapidity with which pleasurable and painful ideas call up trains of great complexity, and the facility with which they themselves are excited by almost every idea which enters the mind.

When we endeavour, therefore, to recollect any thing, the pleasurable idea, the purpose or end, predominates in the mind, and gives birth to those {362} associations, which are called the effort of recollection. The idea sought after, is sought as a means to this end. Till that idea is recalled, the Idea of the end, that is, an unsatisfied desire, exists, and calls up one circumstance after another, more or less connected with the Idea which is sought after. If these circumstances do not recall the idea; the feeling of unsatisfied desire still continues. The feeling of unsatisfied desire, accompanying successive cases of association, constitutes the feeling to which we give the name of effort of recollection. And the Idea of the End, perpetually calling up the idea of the absence of what is wanted, as the means to that end, and hence calling up in close association every circumstance connected with that unknown something, constitutes the feeling which we call casting about, for the unknown Idea. I believe that this is a full, though summary account of the mental process, or succession of ideas, which takes place when we endeavour to recall a forgotten idea.

The other process, through which the mind is supposed to influence its trains, is Attention. We seem to have the power of attending, or not attending to any object; by which is meant, that we can Will to attend to it, or not to attend. By attending to an object, we give it the opportunity of exciting all the ideas with which it is associated. By not attending to it we deprive it of more or less of that opportunity. And if the will has this power over every idea in a train, it has thence a power, which may be called unlimited, over the train.

What remains, therefore, to complete this inquiry, is, to point out the real process, on which the name {363} ATTENTION is in this manner bestowed. The exposition has been substantially given by preceding writers. But it is desirable, if it be in our power, to set forth the several steps of the process a little more distinctly than has hitherto been done.

At first sight, the objects of attention seem to be infinite. When traced to their sources, however, it is found, that they are of two species only. We attend to Sensations; we attend to Ideas; and there is no other object of our attention.

For the present purpose, it is peculiarly necessary to bear in mind the important distinction we have already noticed, between the class of indifferent sensations, and the class of pleasurable or painful, which we may call, by one name, interesting, sensations. Uninteresting sensations are never, for their own sakes, an object of attention. If ever they become objects of attention, it is when they are considered as causes, or signs, of interesting sensations.

A painful or a pleasurable sensation is a peculiar state of mind. A man knows it, only by having it; and it is impossible that by words he can convey his feeling to others. The effort, however, to convey the idea of it, has given occasion to various forms of expression, all of which are greatly imperfect. The state of mind under a pleasurable or painful sensation is such, that we say, the sensation engrosses the mind; but this really means no more than that it is a painful or pleasurable sensation; and that such a sensation is a state of mind very different from an indifferent sensation. The phrase, engrossing the mind, is sometimes exchanged for the word Attention. A pleasurable or painful sensation is said to fix the {364} Attention of the Mind. But if any man tries to satisfy himself what it is to have a painful sensation, and what it is to attend to it, he will find little means of distinguishing them. Having a pleasurable or painful sensation, and attending to it, seem not to be two things, but one and the same thing. The feeling a pain is attending to it; and attending to it is feeling it. The feeling is not one thing, the attention another; the feeling and the attention are the same thing.

An objector may appeal to certain cases, in which one sensation of the pleasurable or painful kind seems to be swallowed up, as it were, by another. Thus, in the agony of the gout, or toothache, the uneasiness of some local cutaneous inflammation is hardly perceived. The case here is that of two uneasy sensations, one slight; the other intense. According to the supposition, that attention is but a name given to the having of an interesting sensation, what ought to happen in this case is that precisely which does happen. The stronger sensation is, the stronger attention. And that the feebler sensation merges itself in the stronger, and is lost in it, is matter of common and obvious experience. Thus we are every instant, as long as we are awake, shutting and opening our eyelids. We are, therefore, alternately in light and darkness. But as the light is the stronger sensation of the two, we have the sensation of light without interruption. Thus, too, if a stick ignited at one end is rapidly turned round in a circle, though it is obvious that the ignited object is at only one part of the circle at a time, and all the other parts are in darkness, the circle, nevertheless, assumes the {365} appearance of being wholly ignited. There is not a more striking exemplification of this law than what is exhibited by the comparison of our sleeping and waking thoughts. In dreams, when our trains are composed of Ideas, unmixed with sensations, the Ideas have so much vividness as to be taken for sensations. In our waking trains, sensations and ideas are mixed together; but as each sensation introduces many ideas, however numerous the sensations may be, the ideas are many times more numerous. Yet such is the effect of the more vivid to obscure the less vivid feeling, that our day does not appear a day of ideas, but a day of sensations.

There are cases in which the effect which is thus produced by a stronger sensation with respect to a weaker, or by sensations with respect to ideas, is also produced by one idea with respect to another. Innumerable cases can be adduced to prove, and, {366} indeed, it forms one of the great features of what we call the intellectual nature of man, that Ideas, by their accumulation, are capable of acquiring a power, superior to that of sensations, both as pleasure and as pain. The pleasures of Taste, the pleasures of Intellectual exertion, the pleasures of Virtue, acquire when duly cultivated, a power of controlling the solicitations of appetite, and are esteemed a more valuable constituent of happiness than all that sense can immediately bestow.

On the power of ideas, as the stronger feelings, to swallow up sensations, in the same manner as stronger sensations swallow up the weaker, some decisive experiments have been made. The wretches who, nearly a century ago, were made tools of in France, under the title of convulsionnaires, to carry on the purposes of Fanaticism, were so placed under the dominion of certain ideas, being persons of weak intellects and strong imagination, and operated upon by men skilled in the ways of perverting feeble understandings, that the ideas became feelings far more potent than the sensations; and when the bodies of the frenzied creatures were subjected to operations calculated to produce the most intense sufferings, they denied that they felt any thing, and by the whole of their demeanour confirmed, as far as it could confirm, the truth of their asseverations. That men in the ardour of battle receive wounds of a serious nature, without being aware of them, till after a considerable lapse of time, is testified upon unsuspicious evidence.

These instances, therefore, it is manifest, form no objection to our conclusion, that the attending to an {367} interesting sensation, and the having the sensation, are but two names for the same thing.

We have now to consider, what it is, to attend to an indifferent sensation. The force of the word indifferent implies, that an indifferent sensation is not an object of attention on its own account. If it were an object of attention on its own account, it would not be indifferent. If it is regarded, however, as the cause, or the sign, of an interesting sensation, we are already acquainted with the process which takes place. The idea of the interesting sensation is immediately associated with it; the state of consciousness then is not an indifferent sensation merely; it is a sensation and an idea, in union. The idea besides is an interesting idea, that of a pain or pleasure.

The union of an interesting idea, with an indifferent sensation, makes a compound state of consciousness which, as a whole, is interesting. As the having an interesting sensation, and the attending to it, are but two names for the same thing; the having a sensation rendered interesting by association, and the attending to it, cannot be regarded as two different things. In the first case, attention is merely a sensation of a particular kind; in the second, it is merely an association of a particular kind.

We have now to shew what takes place, when the attention, to use the common language, is not directed to Sensations but Ideas.

Ideas are, like sensations, of two kinds. They are either interesting, or not interesting. We need not repeat what has been so often said respecting the origin and composition of those two classes of Ideas, and the cause of their difference.

{368} An indifferent idea, like an indifferent sensation, is, in itself, not an object of attention. If it were an object of attention, it would not be indifferent; in other words, it would be interesting. In fact, it is in the very import of the word attention, that the object of it is interesting. And if an object is interesting it must be so, either in itself, or by association.

As we found that the having an interesting sensation, and the attending to that sensation, were not two distinguishable states of consciousness, but one and the same state of consciousness, let us now observe, as carefully as we can, whether the having an interesting idea is a state of consciousness, which can be distinguished from attending to it, or whether they are not merely two names for the same thing. When the young man, in love, has the idea of the woman, who is the object of his affections, is not attention merely another word for the peculiar nature of the Idea? In like manner in the mind of the man, who is to be executed to-morrow, the idea of the terrible event before him, is an idea in the very essence of which attention is involved. Attention is but another name for the interesting character of the idea.

If there are any cases to which an objector's appeal can be made, they will be found, upon examination, to resemble those which we considered in the case of sensation, and which we found to be nothing more than instances of the prevalence of a stronger feeling over a weaker; stronger, either by its nature, or the peculiar circumstances of the moment. We shall not, therefore, stay to propound and explain them.

{369} It only remains to expound the case in which an indifferent Idea becomes interesting by association. It cannot do so in any other way, than those in which it appeared that an indifferent sensation becomes interesting. It may be considered as the cause, or the sign, of some interesting state of consciousness. When that which is interesting becomes associated with that which is uninteresting, so as to form one compound state of consciousness, the whole is interesting. An idea, in itself indifferent, associated with interesting ideas, becomes part of a new compound which, as a whole, is interesting: and an interesting idea existing, and an interesting idea attended to, are only two names for the same thing.

In the case of Ideas, then, as in the case of sensations, attention to an interesting Idea, is merely having it; attention to an indifferent idea, is merely associating with it some idea that is interesting.

As far then, as ATTENTION gives us power over the trains of our ideas, it is not Will which gives it to us, but the occurrence of interesting sensations, or ideas.

There is not any of the phenomena, which are usually appealed to as the great manifestations of the power of the mind over its trains, which this mode of exposition does not satisfactorily account for. We may take as a sufficient exemplification of them all, the composition of a Discourse upon any important topic. The operation of the mind upon such an occasion seems to consist in a perpetual selection; that is, in the exercise of an uninterrupted power over {370} the trains of association. There is no doubt that it consists of that peculiar class of associations, to which we give the names, of selection, and power.

In composing a Discourse, a man has some end in view. It is for the attainment of this end, that the Discourse is undertaken. If every thing in the discourse tends to the accomplishment of the end, the Discourse is said to be coherent, appropriate, consistent. If there are many things in it which have no tendency, or but little tendency, to the accomplishment of the end, the discourse is said to be rambling, and incoherent.

This is a case, the exposition of which corresponds very much with that which we have already explained; the endeavour to recollect a forgotten Idea. In that case, the existence of an interesting idea calls up a variety of circumstances, that is, a variety of ideas; and it very often happens, that the idea which is sought for, is called up among them.

In this case, what the seeker has occasion for, is a single Idea; a single idea accomplishes the end he has in view. In the case of the composer of a discourse a great many ideas are wanted. His end cannot be attained by one or a few. But his proceeding is precisely of the same kind in regard to his many Ideas, as that of the man who desires to recollect in regard to his single Idea. He knows there are a number of ideas, connected with the end he has in view, which he can employ for his purpose, provided he can call them up. How they are called up, after the practice we have had in those solutions, requires but little explanation. The end in view is an interesting Idea. It is, at the time, the prevalent Idea. {371} It is that by which the man is stimulated to action. This idea calls up by association many ideas and trains of ideas. Of these a large proportion pass, and are not made use of. Others are detained and employed. This detaining and employing is all that needs to be explained. It is the same sort of result as the recognition of the forgotten Idea, in the case of recollection.

The forgotten Idea is an Idea associated, as cause, with the end to be obtained by it, as its effect. The same is the case with the ideas which the composer of a discourse selects out of the multitudes, which the continual suggestions of the interesting Idea by which he is actuated, that of his end, bring before him. The greater number are not associated with the idea of his end as cause and effect. Some among them are. These immediately suggest the use to be made of them; and thence, by the regular chains of association, the operations take place.

It is from these explanations, also, easy to see what constitutes the difference between the man who composes a coherent, and the man who composes a rambling discourse. In the man who composes the coherent discourse, the main Idea, that of the end in view, predominates, and controls the association, in every part of the process. It is not only the grand suggesting principle, which sets trains of the ideas connected with itself in motion; but it is the grand selecting principle. As ideas rise in the train, this interesting and predominating idea stands ready to be associated as effect with every idea in the train which can operate as cause; it so associates itself with no other; and therefore no wrong selection is made. {372} If, however, it does not thus predominate in the mind of the composer of the discourse, as his exclusive end; if it gives way at every turn to some other end; as the idea of applause from some lively jest, from some gaudy description, from some florid thought, the selection is made so far upon other principles, and the object of the discourse is forgotten.

But how is this act of will excited, and in what does it consist? On this point the author's analysis is conclusive, and admirable. The act, like other voluntary acts, is excited by a motive; by the desire of some end, that is, of something pleasurable; (including in the word pleasurable, as the author does, exemption from pain). What happens is, that, the idea on which we are said to fix our attention not being of itself sufficiently pleasurable to fix it spontaneously, we form an association between it and another pleasurable idea, and the result then is that the attention is fixed. This is the true account of all that we do when we fix our attention voluntarily; there is no other possible means of fixing it. It thus appears, that the fixing of attention by an act of will depends on the same law, as the fixing it by the natural pleasantness or painfulness of the idea. Of itself the idea is not pleasant or painful, or not sufficiently so to fix the attention; but if it were considerably more pleasant or painful than it is, it would do so. It becomes considerably more pleasurable by being associated with the motive--that is, by a fresh association of pleasure with it--and the attention is fixed. This explanation seems complete.

It may be said, however, by an objector, that this accounts only for the case in which the voluntary attention flows easy and unimpeded, almost as if it were spontaneous; when the mere perception that the idea is connected with our purpose--with the pleasurable end which suggested the train of thought, at once and without difficulty produces that exclusive occupation of the mind with it, which is called fixing the attention. But it often happens that the mere perception of its connexion with our purpose is not sufficient: the mind still wanders from the thought: and there is then required a supplementary force of will, in aid of association; an effort, which expends energy, and is often both painful and exhausting.

Let us examine, then, what takes place in this case. The association of the thought with the pleasurable end in view, is sufficient to influence the attention, but not sufficient to command it. The will, therefore, has to be called in, to heighten the effect. But in this case, as in every case, the will is called into action by a motive. The motive, like all other motives, is a desire. The desire must be either the same desire which was already felt, but made more effectual than before, or another desire superadded to the first. The former case presupposes the latter: for the desire which was not sufficient to fix the attention firmly on that which is the means to its fulfilment, cannot be sufficient to call forth the voluntary effort necessary for fixing it: some other desire must come to its assistance. What, then, is this other desire? The question is not difficult. The present is one of the complex cases, in which we desire a different state of our own desires. By supposition, we do not care enough for the immediate end, that is the idea of it is not sufficiently pleasurable, or the idea of its frustration sufficiently painful, to exert the force of association required. But we are dissatisfied with this infirmity of our desires: we wish that we cared more for the end; we think that it would be better for us if either this particular end, or our ends generally, had greater command over our thoughts and actions than they have. There is thus called up, by our sense of the insufficiency of our attention in the particular case, the idea of another desirable end--greater vigour and certainty in our mental operations. That idea superadds itself to the idea of the immediate end, and this reinforcement of the associating power at last suffices to fix the attention. Or (which is the same thing in effect) the painful idea is called up, of being unable to fix our attention, and being in consequence thwarted generally in our designs; and this pain operates, in the same manner as a pleasure, in fixing our attention upon the thought which, if duly attended to, will relieve us from the oppressive consciousness.

It will be asked, whence come the sense of laborious effort, and the subsequent feeling of fatigue, which are experienced when the attention does not fix itself spontaneously, but is fixed with more or less difficulty by a voluntary act? I conceive them to be consequences of the prolongation of the state designated by the author, in the text, as a state of unsatisfied desire. That state, whatever view the psychologist takes of it, is a condition of the brain and nerves, having physiological consequences of great importance, and drawing largely on that stock of what we call nervous energy, any unusual expenditure or deficiency of which produces the feeling of exhaustion. The waste of energy, and the subsequent exhaustion, are greatest when the desire seems continually on the point of obtaining its gratification, but the gratification constantly eludes it. And this is what actually happens in the case supposed. The attention continually fastens on the idea which we desire to attend to, but, from the insufficient strength of the pleasurable or painful association, again deserts it; and the incessant alternation of hope and disappointment produces, as in other cases, the nervous disturbance which we call the sense of effort, and which is physiologically followed by the sensations of nervous exhaustion. It is probable that whatever is not muscular in the feeling which we call a sense of effort, is the physical effect produced by a more than usual expenditure of nervous force: which, reduced to its elements, means a more than usually rapid disintegration and waste of nervous substance.

Let me here remark, that the recognition, by the author of the Analysis, of a peculiar state of consciousness called a state of unsatisfied desire, conflicts with his doctrine that desire is nothing but the idea of the desired pleasure as future. In what sense is it possible to speak of an unsatisfied idea? If even we insert the omitted element of Belief, and resolve desire not into the mere idea, but into the expectation of a pleasure; though we might rationally speak of an unsatisfied expectation, it would only mean an expectation not fulfilled, in other words, an expectation of pleasure not followed by the pleasure; an expectation followed by a mere negation. How a pleasant idea, followed, not by a pain, but by nothing at all, is converted into a pain, the pain of unsatisfied desire, remains to be explained: and the author has not pointed out any associations which account for it. If it be said that the expectation is perpetually renewed and perpetually disappointed, this is true, but does not account for more than a continual alternation between a pleasant idea and no idea at all. That an element of pain should enter into unsatisfied desire, is a fact not explained by the author's theory; and it stands as evidence that there is in a desire something inherently distinct from either an idea or an expectation.--Ed.]

{373} I cannot deem it necessary, after the training which we now have had, to give these expositions in more {374} minute detail. But it seems to be proper to notice, in a few words, the explanation which they afford of {375} the phenomena which are usually named the power or want of power over the train of the ideas--in a still {376} more important instance than the composition of a discourse, that of the conduct of life. Some men are distinguished for a steady direction of their actions, through the course of their lives, to some general end, or ends. One man attaches himself to the cultivation of his mind; another, to the accumulation of wealth; another, to the acquisition of fame. There are other men whose lives appear to be a perpetual fluctuation. They either shift from one great end to another perpetually; or, in their trains, the great ends appear to have no ascendancy over the little. There are men who seem to have a different end of their actions, every day they rise from their beds. The men, in whose minds the great purposes of life seem to have no greater ascendancy than the minor objects, are called frivolous men. It sometimes happens, that a {377} man who chooses a frivolous end is steady in the pursuit of it. The common case, however, is that no one frivolous end acquires a steady ascendancy; and the man is in a state of perpetual fluctuation.

The solution of these phenomena is obvious. When the idea of any of the great purposes of life exists habitually in controlling strength, it performs the same function in regard to the selection of actions, which the Idea of the end or purpose of the Discourse performs in regard to ideas, in the case of the man who is composing it. Out of the whole number of ideas, which present themselves to him, the idea of his End associates itself with those which can operate as causes of its attainment; and this association is followed by all the other associations which produce the employment of the Ideas. In like manner, when {378} the great purposes of life are established into predominating ideas, they associate themselves strongly with the ideas of those actions which contribute to their attainment; and those associations are followed by all the other associations, which produce their adoption.

The interpretation which belongs to the phrases, when we hear of men who have, and men who have not, their ideas and actions under command, is, that the one set of men have certain leading ideas, called purposes, so established, as to maintain a control over both their Ideas and their actions; the other set have not ideas so formed as to exercise this ascendancy. That man may be justly said to have the greatest command over his ideas, whose associations with the grand sources of felicity are the most numerous and strong. When the grand sources of felicity are formed into the leading and governing ideas, each in its due and relative strength. Education has then performed its most perfect work; and thus the individual becomes, to the greatest degree, the source of utility to others, and of happiness to himself.

In regard, then, to that state of mind which precedes action, we seem to have ascertained the following indisputable facts: That actions are, in some instances, preceded by mere sensations; that, in other instances, they are preceded by ideas; that, in all cases in which the action is said to be Willed, it is desired, as a means to an end; or, in more accurate language, is associated, as cause, with pleasure as effect: that the idea of the outward appearance of the action, thus excited by association, excites, in the same way, the idea of the internal feelings, which are {379} the immediate antecedent of the action, and then the action takes place; that whatever power we may possess over the actions of our muscles, must be derived from our power over our associations; and that this power over our associations, when fully analysed, means nothing more than the power of certain interesting Ideas, originating in interesting sensations, and formed into strength by association.

It seems, that as the author has had to admit as an ultimate fact, the distinction between those of our sensations which we call pleasures and those which we call pains, considered as states of our passive sensibility, so also he would be compelled to admit, as a fact unreached by his explanations, a difference between the two in their relation to our active faculty; an attraction in the one case, and a repulsion in the other. That is, he must admit that the association of a pleasurable or painful idea (at all events when accompanied by a feeling of expectation) with a muscular act, has a specific tendency to excite the act when the idea is that of a pleasure, but, when it is the idea of a pain, has a specific tendency to prevent that act, and to excite the acts that are associated with the negation of the pain. This is precisely what we mean when we say that pleasure is desired, that pain is an object of aversion, and the absence of pain an object of desire. These facts are of course admitted by the author: and he admits them even as ultimate: but, with his characteristic dislike to multiply the number of ultimate facts, he merges them in the admitted ultimate fact of the difference between pleasure and pain. It is chiefly in cases of this sort--in leading him to identify two ultimate facts with one another, that his love of simplification, in itself a feeling highly worthy of a philosopher, seems to {381} mislead him. Even if we consent to admit that the desire of a pleasure is one and the same thing with the idea of a pleasure, and aversion to a pain is the same thing with the idea of a pain--it remains true that the difference which we passively feel, between the consciousness of a pleasure; and that of a pain, is one fact, and our being stirred to seek the one and avoid the other is another fact; and it is just this second fact that distinguishes a mere idea of something as future, from a desire or aversion. It is this conscious or unconscious reference to action, which distinguishes the desire of a pleasure from the idea of it. Desire, in short, is the initiatory stage of volition. The author might indeed say, that this seeking of the sensation is involved in the very fact of conceiving it as pleasant; but this, when looked into, only means that the two things are inseparable; not that they are, or that they can ever be thought of, as identical; as one and the same thing.

It appears, then, that there is a law of voluntary action, the most important one of all, which the author's explanations do not attempt to reach. Yet there is no necessity for accepting that law as ultimate. A theory resolving it into laws still more fundamental, has been propounded by Mr. Bain in his writings, and a masterly statement of it will be found in the succeeding note. If, as I expect, this theory makes good its footing, Mr. Bain will be the first psychologist who has succeeded in effecting a complete and correct analysis of the Will.

In the same note will be found an analysis of the case of an idée fixe--the most striking case of which, is that of a terrific idea, exceptionally drawing the active power into the direction which leads towards the dreaded catastrophe, instead of, as usual, into the opposite direction. This peculiar case obliges us to acknowledge the coexistence of two different modes in which action may be excited. There is the normal agency of the ideas of a pleasure and a pain, the one determining an action towards the pleasure, the other an action away from the pain; and there is the general power of an extremely strong association of any kind, to make the action follow the idea. {382} The reason why the determination of action towards a pain by the idea of the pain is only exceptional, is, that in order to produce it, the general power of a strong association to excite action towards the fact which it recals, has to overcome the specific tendency of a painful association to repel action from that fact. But the intensity of the painful idea may be so great, and the association of the act with it so strong, as to overpower this repulsive force by a greater attractive force: and it is then that we find the painful idea operating on action in a mode contrary to the specific property which is characteristic of it, and which it usually obeys.

It has been suggested, that the intensity with which the mind sometimes fixes upon a frightful idea, may operate by paralysing for the time being the usual voluntary efforts to avoid pain, and so allowing the natural impulse to act on a predominant idea to come into play.--Ed.]

Of the facts brought forward in illustration of voluntary movement, some are more properly referable to other parts of the mental system.

First. Such actions as sneezing, coughing, contraction of the pupil of the eye, hiccup, parturition, lock-jaw, respiration, the movements of the heart, the peristaltic movements of the intestines,--all which are stated to be movements prompted by sensation,--are nearly, if not altogether, involuntary. They are more usually termed Reflex Actions. In a certain number, sensation is present, but is not essential; as in coughing, sneezing, parturition. In others, for example, the movements of the heart and the intestines, there is no sensation; the assumption made in the text, that the blood cannot flow into the heart without being accompanied with sensation, is incorrect.

These actions are interesting to study in connexion with the will, but rather in the way of contrast than of similarity. {383} There is probably a deep community in the foundations of the two classes of movements; but, in their more obvious aspect, and for all psychological purposes, they are opposed. It is common to apply to the Reflex class the name "involuntary."

Secondly. The movements in yawning, laughter, sobbing; the altered action of the heart, the bowels, the kidneys, the skin, in Fear,--are allied with sensations or feelings; but they are not correctly classed with the Will; in fact, some of them are performed through involuntary muscles. A different view must be taken of these effects. They are the inseparable physical accompaniments of feeling; the physical side or counterpart of the mental fact; in their absence the feeling itself would not exist. Fear would not be fear, if the emotional state were not attended with a series of physical effects, partly of movement, partly of altered secretions. These physical accompaniments supply the appearances known to all men as the expression of feeling; which although to a great degree made up of movements, is totally distinct from the voluntary promptings of the feelings. The smile that accompanies a pleasure tasted is one thing: the activity inspired to prolong the enjoyment is another thing. The two kinds of movement are frequently mingled; thus, in acute pains, the cries and contortions of feature are the embodiment of the feeling; the gestures and movements of the body, may be partly expression, but are also attempts to obtain relief. Expression in its purity is well seen in a shock of surprise; a state which being often entirely neutral as regards pleasure or pain, has no voluntary prompting whatsoever. Every feeling has a certain definite physical embodiment with much or with little outward display; this belongs to the feeling as such; it is a phenomenon of feeling or emotion, and not of volition.

Thirdly. The operation of Ideas, in such instances as involuntary imitation, contagious convulsions, the influence of the imagination,--is a genuine source of actions, but is yet to be distinguished from the Will. When the idea of a certain medicine produces the very same effect as the medicine actually applied, when a person yawning makes the beholder yawn, {384} or when, standing on the brink of a precipice, one is tempted to jump down,--there is no intervention of the will properly so called; on the contrary, there may be a conflict between the influence of the idea and the true volitional promptings. The characteristic feature of the voluntary activity is to follow pleasure and to retreat from pain; some of the tendencies growing out of an idea are in the direction of pain.

This, in many respects remarkable, phenomenon is better assigned to the Intellectual part of our nature, although it has consequences on our actions. When a sensation passes into an idea, it still retains, in a diminished form, many of its characteristic properties. The sensation of a savoury morsel in the mouth is accompanied with a gush of saliva; the corresponding idea in any way aroused, as when just commencing to eat, induces the very same flow, expressed by the phrase "the mouth watering." The mode of interpreting the phenomenon is the announcement of a pregnant law of the mind (two-sided like the mind itself), that the idea is embodied in the same tracks as the sensation, although commonly in a weaker form. There is a standing mental determination, whereby all ideas tend to work themselves out into full actuality; a power that the will and other influences are constantly employed in checking. The sight of a person yawning gives the idea of the act; and the idea, unless counteracted, brings forth the reality. The sight of a precipice gives very forcibly the idea of something falling headlong down, and that idea possesses the mind of the spectator so strongly that but for a restraining volition, he would act it out in his own person.

By far the most interesting application of the law is to explain the workings of Sympathy, in the form of purely beneficent disinterested impulses. Allusion has already been made to the law, in this peculiar aspect, in a former note (Chap. XXIII. p. 302).

These three great classes of phenomena being withdrawn from the region of the Will, the remaining facts mentioned in the text can be viewed in a clearer light.

1. It is justly stated that the Will is an extensive and {385} laborious acquisition, pursued, especially at the commencement, in the midst of considerable difficulties.

2. In the mature will, the immediate antecedent of a voluntary act is an idea of the thing to be done. This is true, but not the precise, nor the whole truth.

3. The author's mode of viewing the influence of Attention points to the really fundamental and typical fact of the Will. He says, Attention is merely another name for the engrossing effect of a pleasurable or a painful sensation. "Having a pleasurable or painful sensation, and attending to it, seem not to be two things, but one and the same thing." That is to say, there is a power in pleasure as such, and in pain as such, to stimulate action or movement with reference to the pleasure or the pain. This is the nearest approach that is made in the text to a statement of the law of voluntary action.

The law has been differently expressed. Locke said, the will moves to the greatest uneasiness, which is no doubt the fact. Still, by a wider induction, we obtain a more comprehensive, as well as more accurate, generalization.

If we observe one of the most familiar instances of voluntary action--the process of eating, for example, we find that what happens is as follows:--The contact of the food with the tongue and palate stimulates, by an immediate impulse, all the movements of mastication and swallowing (in its first stage), and the further movements for placing more food in the mouth. We find that the intensity of the stimulation is in proportion to the degree of the pleasurable excitement, being highest at the commencement, and sinking gradually in the approach to satiety. There is no fact that can be produced more exactly typifying the primary action of the will. A tasted pleasure, everywhere, at all times, from the beginning to the close of life, is an immediate inducement to activity. Coming out of a chilling atmosphere into a place of genial warmth, our energy is at once aroused to follow the cue. The striking up of a band attracts and detains all listeners susceptible to the charm. There is, in such instances, no intermediate process of reflection, deliberation, or resolution; a {386} simple, an indivisible, link unites a burst of pleasure and a burst of activity following up the pleasure.

Reverting to the first example, the act of eating, we may detect another phase of the voluntary sequences. Suppose a morsel, admitted in good faith, to disclose a very bad taste, say the taste of soot; what is the immediate, unreflecting, response? The first effect is a collapse and suspension of all the masticating movements. From the earliest infancy, this consequence would be shown. There commonly succeeds, and often with great rapidity, a second effect, which we shall consider under another head--the energetic discharge of the morsel from the mouth; but long before children are capable of the second act, they fall into the first--the suspension of the activity at the time.

On extending our survey to the analogous cases, we are enabled to announce this also, as a typical situation of the Will, namely:--That, as pleasure furthers activity in its own direction, pain arrests activity in its own direction. Turning a street corner, we encounter suddenly a bitter wintry blast; we feel at once an arrest upon our movements. An ill odour, a painful contact, a grating noise, a disagreeable spectacle, have all the same immediate efficacy. The proper, the direct consequent of an incursion of pain, is suspended activity. Not only is this second law conformable to observation, it is the implication, the obverse, of the previous law connecting pleasure with increased activity.

The apparent exceptions to the second law need to be adverted to. The most obvious is the exciting effect of a smarting sensation, as the stroke of a whip. A light, smarting, pungent, stimulus, amounting to pain, quickens the general activity of the system for the time; while a more severe blow operates according to the general principle, and suspends activity. To quicken an animal's pace, the light smart is often the best application; to arrest an access of action, there must be greater severity. The excitement of an acute smart is due not to the pain of it, but to the mere shock imparted to the nerves; if a similar intensity of nervous shock were also a {387} cause of pleasure, the stimulating effect would be far greater, and more prolonged; for the element of pain, in the case of the painful smart, destroys the activity in the second stage, when the nervous excitement has subsided. Any one walking at a certain pace, and suddenly jolted, is momentarily awakened to a higher pitch of nervous excitement; but goes on, after the shock, at a slackened pace. An acute smart has thus a twofold efficacy; it is both a temporary stimulant of activity, and a cause of reduced energy on the whole, according to the second law of the Will.

Another apparent exception is the vehemence manifested in escaping from pain; a mode of activity almost indistinguishably mixed up with the writhings and contortions of a creature under suffering, in other words, with the physical embodiments of the state of pain. The sudden excitement just adverted to also enters into the complex effect; being brought out at the first moment of the infliction, and at every new twinge in fitful modes of suffering. This energetic activity for escape is a distinct aspect of voluntary power. It is Locke's typical form of the Will, but is here regarded as secondary or circuitous, and not as the primitive situation.

Thirdly. We must now then consider expressly the influence of pain in stimulating action for alleviation or escape, as when we draw back from anything that pains or offends us. To call the pain the direct stimulant in this situation, would be to connect pain and pleasure equally with the exaltation of our energies; which would be a contradiction, or else would tend to show that there is no casual connexion between pleasure or pain and our active exertions. The real motive force of pain, however, is not the state of suffering, but the relief; and relief from pain is another form of pleasure. That pleasure stimulates, that pain depresses, that alleviation of pain stimulates, are all one and the same phenomenon--statements of the same law.

There are two stages in the operation of pain. The first is, when under a present pain, something happens to give us relief; in which case, we experience on the instant, a burst of {388} physical elation, exactly as from a sudden access of pleasure. In exposure to a cold wind, we have the depression accompanying a massive pain; in coming gradually under shelter, we feel buoyed and elated, our movements are quickened, and we follow the lead with growing energy. Every one has experienced the stimulus of success, and the damping effect of failure; although, practically viewed, the success should dispense with the newborn energy, and the failure should bring about an increase of exertion. It takes a mind of unusual strength, to resist these natural tendencies.

In the second stage, pain is found acting as a stimulant, without present alleviation, and therefore without the benefit of the law of pleasure. How is this? The answer is, that the idea of the relief is the operative circumstance. The pedestrian exposed to a freezing wind is urged to an accelerated pace, by the secondary or derived impulse, growing out of the idea or anticipation of relief through a certain amount of exertion. That this idea is the real source of the new strength, is attested by the known facts and circumstances of the situation. A sufferer, having no idea, prospect, or hope of alleviation, flags and succumbs, in accordance with the proper tendency of pain; the stimulation of the active powers does not follow the degree of the misery, but the openings of a better lot. What was noted above as the strength of mind that induces a successful man to refrain from pushing on still farther, and an unsuccessful man to struggle the more, means the firm possession of an idea, to oppose the power of the present,--under success, an idea of moderation, and, under misery, an idea of relief to supply the active spur that the situation restrains. We call a man strong-minded, if he resists the pressure of the actual in favour of an ideal. This is the highest manifestation of energy of will. It owes its merit, and even its meaning, to the fact that a present pleasure inflames and a present pain quenches the activities; and that, to counterwork these tendencies, there must be a strong conception of ideal pain in the one case, and of ideal pleasure in the other; which is the same law of the mind in another form. We {389} cannot remain quiescent under a vivid and growing pleasure, unless by the prospect of pain in the distance; nor do we rouse up under pain without some idea of relief, that is, pleasure in the distance.

No general law of the mind is more thoroughly confirmed by the experience of human actions than the principle now stated in its three several aspects. There is, as has been seen, something to be accounted for, in the lively stimulus under acute smarts; there is, also, an obverse of this fact, in certain forms of pleasure (as gentle warmth) which are lulling and soporific; but these are the consequence of another law of the mind, in some degree complicating the phenomena, without disproving the main law of the Will.

Possibly, this principle, wide as it is, may be subsumed under a still wider:--namely, a principle connecting pleasure with nutrition, or the supply of vital power and stimulus, and, by implication, pain with the abatement or loss of vital energy; from which the law of the will would be a consequence. The attempt to resolve it so is highly interesting; but, in the psychological explanation of the will, we may be satisfied, for the present, to start from the less imposing, but well-grounded generality now given. At the same time, it will be found that, having once caught a glimpse of the higher law, we cannot avoid occasionally falling into the language suggested by it; so suitable does it often appear to the expression of the facts.

With regard to one great aspect of voluntary action,--our being moved to pleasure and from pain, the law is the full and precise summary. The element of the will remaining unexplained, is the selection of the proper movements in each case; as when we start up and walk in the direction of a pleasing sound. The rendering an account of this selective adaptation is the theory of the growth or development of the will.

In the delicate and difficult enquiry as to the manner of first attaining the voluntary command of the movements, the law of the will, just expounded, must still be referred to. But taken by itself, that law does not explain the beginnings of the will. It accounts for the keeping up of a movement {390} bringing pleasure, and the dropping of a movement bringing pain, but it does not account for the ability to single out, and set a-going, movements calculated to enhance pleasure and subdue pain, actual or distant. There is not, within its compass, any specifying or selective faculty.

The complete explanation of the Will demands a reference to two other laws of the mind. The first is the Spontaneous beginning of Movements; the second, the Retentive or Associative process constituting the basis of all our acquisitions.

By the Spontaneity of Movement is meant the tendency of human beings, and of animals generally, to begin acting without the express stimulus of sensation from without, and by virtue of the fund of power residing in the active organs themselves. By means of nourishment, the animal is disposed to pass into movement, from the mere abundance of the motor energy in the nerve centres and in the muscles. A large proportion of the activity of the more active creatures,--as the human species (especially the young), quadrupeds, birds, fishes, and insects,--is due to the presence of an active machinery provided with superabundance of motive power. Apart from the stimulus of sensation, from the wants and the pleasures of the animal, there is a necessity for the active organs to put forth their activity. The energy is greatly heightened,--often doubled or tripled, by the stimulation of the senses, and, after a certain education, by the influence of ideas; but it is far from remaining in abeyance till operated upon by stimulants from without or from within.

Besides summing up a large amount of the activity familiar to us in the life of human beings, and of animals, this Spontaneity has a special importance as a starting-point for the will. We have seen that the difficulty unprovided for by the law of pleasure and pain, is the singling out, or commencing, of the suitable movements. The utmost that the law can ensure is to retain or continue them, when once commenced. Now, the tendency to spontaneous action applies to all the voluntary members--locomotive organs, trunk, head, jaw, {391} tongue, mouth, eyes, voice, &c. There is, at the outset, no rule or order for the spontaneous outburst, except the physical condition of each organ, including the nervous connexions. The animal, in its exuberant phase, after nourishment and rest, may become active at any point; it may run, gesticulate, chew, gaze, cry out; or having expended itself in any one direction, it may fall into other regions of activity where the force is still abundant.

One or two instances must here suffice to indicate the process of attaining the selective faculty of the will, through Spontaneity, joined with the law of pleasure and pain. In the maturity of the will, we have the power of following with the eyes a moving object, partly by revolving the eye-balls, and partly by turning the head. An infant has no such power. The manner of arriving at it is open to observation, and is typical of the less obvious cases. Suppose the child to have its gaze fixed upon a light, or some other appearance of a stimulating kind. The physical effect of the stimulus, always conjoined with the mental effect, is an increase of energy (by the primary law of the will), which would manifest itself in quickening and retaining the child's gaze; there is displayed a more energetic strain of the attention than had existed when the eyes found nothing to impart a special charm. Suppose next that the light is withdrawn, by being moved to one side. The loss of the stimulus instantly works as a depression; the heightened strain of attention collapses. Still, the child is not reduced to absolute quiescence; it has an internal fund of energy, independent of casual stimulations; the flowing out of this energy consists in a series of movements for the most part at random. It may happen, that one of these chance movements is a rotation of the eyes, or of the head, in the exact direction of the pleasing object, and therefore tending to recover the illumination. Instantly, there is a burst of heightened energy, according to the law of pleasure; and the movement accidentally commenced is persistently stimulated so long as the pleasure of the spectacle grows or continues. The concurrence is fortuitous; the prolongation of it is not fortuitous, {392} but follows the law of the will--the abiding by whatever movement is giving pleasure.

The completing step is due to the Retentive or plastic power of the mind. An association is begun between the optical effect of a light retreating from the full gaze to the right or to the left, and the muscular movements that enable the eye to follow it. After a certain number of similar chance coincidences, this bond of association is rendered firm enough to ensure the movement at once when the sensation is present; and one of the many thousand links constituting the mature will is thereby forged. The very same course of proceeding is followed in a host of other instances.

The beginnings of Imitation are also highly illustrative of the process. There is no trace of imitative power during the first months of infancy. The rise and progress of the power may be visibly discerned by any observer; and perhaps the best example for the purpose is Speech. In the beginnings of this extensive acquirement, the basis is most obviously the infant's spontaneous articulations; these must be waited for by the instructor, who can only foster and maintain them when they come. The law of the will provides for the fostering part of the process. The child is, in all probability, gratified by the sound of its voice, when it gives forth any new sound, and so is stimulated to keep up the vocal exertion. Next in efficacy is the catching up and repeating of the sound by others, which is an addition to the pleasing stimulus. Under the two-fold agency, there is opportunity for an association to grow up between the vocal impulse and the sensation of the sound heard; which association is ultimately the medium of bringing on the articulation whenever it is desired.

The other cases of Imitation describe the same routine. The movements are initiated by random spontaneity; and when they arise, they are accompanied by a sensible impression on the eye, or on the ear; the concurrences, being regular and uniform, are at length contiguously associated; the muscular exertion of lifting the hand is connected with the visible picture of a lifted hand. At a certain stage, the association {393} may be brought to operate in the inverted order,--the sensations first, the movement next,--which is the whole fact of Imitation.

A numerous class of voluntary links consists in obeying the word of command, or in following verbal directions. This, as will be admitted, can be nothing but association. It is an association that would not be attainable without the spontaneous commencement. A child, or an animal, must perform a certain action, proprio motu, in the first instance; the name is then uttered in company with it; this being done repeatedly, a connexion is made whereby the word can induce or single out the movement.

In the training of animals, a hastening process is resorted to, which well exemplifies the difficulties in the early education of the will. In breaking a horse, the whip and the curb form the earliest instrumentality. The animal must still commence moving of its own accord. The business is to guide the spontaneity into definite channels, in consistency with the law of the will, and to connect all the various desired movements with language and signs, by whose means they can always be brought into play. When the colt under discipline is moving in the desired pace, it is allowed to go on without molestation or hindrance; when it deviates in any way, it is made to feel the pain of the whip or other check; this, by the law of pain, abates the existing movements; and if the abatement is the thing sought, the end is gained. The application may, however, be such as to quicken the movements by the smarting stimulus; an effect both exceptional and uncertain, and of use as causing a diversion of pace, out of which may come the movement desired. The surest agency of control, however, in the early and crude stage of the will, is the abatement of an excessive or a wrong movement by a decidedly painful check, such as the operation of the curb, which by pressing severely on a sensitive surface, is a certain means of depression; whereas, the light, irritating smart of the whip operates by a spasmodic uncertain stimulation. It is by the tendency of pain to put an arrest upon the wrong movement. {394} and of the relief from pain to indicate the right movement, that the trainer secures the obedience of the animal; he, at the same time, familiarizing its ear with the sounds that are to signify the various paces and movements. The spontaneous commencement is essential under all circumstances; according as this spontaneity is, from the first, ready, vigorous, and various, is the facility in attaining and cementing the initial links of voluntary command.

It will now be apparent that the immediate antecedent of a voluntary act is not solely the idea of the action to be performed. The successive upbuilding of the voluntary associations developes a series of phases, under which the direct antecedent is transformed into various shapes. The sensation of hunger may be the sole antecedent in prompting an animal to the search for food; the painful sensation is coupled at a very early stage with the sight and the idea of food. When a child first attains the power of lifting a sweet morsel to its mouth, the antecedent of the voluntary act is the sight of the morsel coupled with the remembrance of the sweetness. A farther advance takes place by associating the ultimate object with intermediate actions, as when the child learns to entreat what it wants from other persons. The stage that first brings in an idea of the moving members themselves is Imitation; in imitating by sight, the antecedent is the view of the parts moved. Through this medium, we pass to what is popularly considered the type of voluntary control, the moving from a wish to move. I will to raise the arm, and the act follows; the antecedent is the idea of the raised arm (together with some feeling to be gratified by the act). In the highest developments of voluntary acquisition, there is another case, also of frequent occurrence; namely, where the intellectual antecedent is the idea of the work to be done; as, for example, in the act of washing the hands, where we do not think of the movements to be gone through, but of a certain appearance to be produced.

In Chapter X., on Memory, it is remarked:--'When we {395} are said to will, there must be in the mind what is willed.' But the idea of what is immediately willed, with reference to the same ultimate end, may assume all the variations above described. To gain a pleasure or free ourselves from a pain, we may employ different instrumentalities; and the explanation of the will should comprehend them all.--B.]

{396} CHAPTER XXV.

INTENTION.

THE word "intend," the concrete, seems to be employed on two occasions. 1. We are said to intend, or not to intend, certain actions of our own. 2. And we are said to intend, or not to intend, certain consequences of our own actions.

We have to examine what is the state of mind which the word designates on each of those occasions.

1. We are said to intend only a future action. When the action is immediate, we are not said to INTEND, but to WILL it; an action intended, is an action of ours contemplated as future, or certainly to be.

We have minutely analysed, on a former occasion, the state of mind which exists, when events, other than actions of our own, are contemplated as future. An association, from prior habit, exists, between antecedent and consequent, in a series of events; an association, such, that we cannot think of one of the events as existing, without thinking of the others as existing; that is, without anticipating their existence.

{397} That this process is involved in anticipating that peculiar event, called an action of our own, cannot be doubted. The only question is, what are the circumstances from which it derives its peculiar character.

Something peculiar is imparted to it, from the very circumstance of its being an action of our own. In anticipating an action of our own, we necessarily anticipate the mental processes, which are its antecedents. Among these we necessarily anticipate what is called the act of willing. In such anticipations, the association is of that intimate character, which constitutes belief. In anticipating an action of our own, therefore, we contemplate the act as certainly future: that is, we believe that we shall will it. But to look forward through a certain train of antecedents and consequents, the concluding part of which is a certain act, which we shall then will, and then do, is a process which apparently involves in it all that is meant by what, in this class of cases, we call Intention.

It may still, however, be objected, that the explanation thus presented, recognises, in the state of mind in question, only the ideas involved in the process called willing, with the idea of the action, and the belief that the action will take place; but that there seems to be something more than the present existence of ideas and belief, in that state of mind which we call intending, which seems to partake of the nature of willing at the moment of its existence.

There is something here of the customary illusions of language. The word "intend" is an active verb. And, wherever we use an active verb, we have {398} the association of activity and of willing, involved in it.

That there can be nothing of willing in the case, is abundantly certain; since the will relates only to immediate acts.

It may, however, be objected, that though there is nothing of willing in the case, there is nevertheless a determination or purpose to will. A man may say, I not only believe that I shall act so and so, but I am determined that I shall act so and so.

In this objection, the words "determine," and "determination," are still but substitutes for "intend," and "intention." At most, they only mark a degree of strength in the intention. There is another expression, however, which deserves notice. A man may not only resolve to do a thing, but he may promise to do it. And the promises of men form a very important class of their actions.

After all, a Promise is in its very essence merely the Declaration of an Intention. If it be asserted that it is not only the declaration of an intention, but the declaration that nothing shall occur to hinder that intention of its effect; what is this but the declaration of another intention; the intention not to frustrate an existing intention? But this second intention is included in the first. The very existence of an intention implies the absence of any counter intention.

Why is it that a man intends? For the same reason, of course, that he wills. In willing, a certain act is contemplated as a cause of pleasure; an immediate act, and an immediate pleasure. In intending, a certain future act is contemplated as cause of a future {399} pleasure. The idea of the pleasure and its cause, united by association, constitute the motive. In this act of anticipation, the sequence, consisting of motive as cause, action as effect, is indissoluble. In our supposed state of intention, the motive is presented to the mind as about to exist at the time in contemplation; the idea of the act as existing irresistibly follows. An act of our own anticipated by irresistible association, when the motive is immediate, is willed; when the motive is future, is intended. Intention is the strong anticipation of a future will. But every thing which strengthens the motive, that is, associates the idea of the act with that of a greater amount of good arising from it, increases the certainty of the act. A promise to perform the act strengthens the motive; in some cases exceedingly. As it is of great consequence to men in general, that promises should be performed, they take care to reward the performing of promises, to punish the non-performing of them, with their favour in the one case, their disfavour in the other. When the favour and disfavour of mankind are general, and strong, to a certain degree, they amount to the highest of all punishments, and all rewards. A promise, then, which is the declaration of an intention, greatly strengthens the certainty of the act, by greatly adding to the force of the motive.

2. The next case of the meaning of Intention is of easy explanation. When we will, or when we intend, an action, we either foresee, or do not foresee, certain of its consequences. In what associations the act of foreseeing or anticipating consists, we need not again explain. The question, whether a man did {400} or did not foresee certain consequents of his acts, is of great importance in certain cases of judicature, because upon this circumstance depends the propriety of a less or greater degree of punishment, perhaps the propriety or impropriety of punishing at all.

A person administers to another person a medicine. It turns out to be poison. The person whose act the administration was, believing the drug to be salubrious, not hurtful, anticipated good consequences; in other words, intended the benefit of the patient; intending, and anticipating, here, being only two names for the same thing. He did not foresee the evil consequences; and this we commonly express by saying he did not intend them. If the person who administered the drug, instead of believing it to be a proper medicine, and anticipating from it salutary effects, knew it to be poison, anticipating from it destructive effects, he would be said to intend those effects.

It thus appears, that when a man, having certain consequences of an act in view, proceeds to the performance of the act, the having in view, or anticipating, receives, in these circumstances, the name of intention. It is a case of anticipation, anticipation in peculiar circumstances, and is marked by a peculiar name.

The consequence of an act may be such, that the person had no reason to anticipate them, or could not possibly anticipate them; or they may be such, that, though actually not foreseen, they might, with more or less of care, have been foreseen. These are questions respecting the nature of one solitary act. {401} They are what in law are called questions of fact. The exact determination of them is essential to the right decision of the judge in the particular case; but any further consideration of them is not within the province of this inquiry.

Intention, when the word is used in reference to our future conduct, is well characterized by the author as "the strong anticipation of a future will." It is an unfaltering present belief that we shall hereafter will a particular act, or a particular course of action. There may be, over and above this belief, an intention "that nothing shall occur to hinder that intention of its effect;" "the intention not to frustrate an existing intention." The author thinks that "this second intention is included in the first:" but it is not necessarily so. It is the first intention, fortified by some additional motive which creates a special desire that this particular desire and intention should continue. It is another case of what the author never recognizes, the desire of a desire.

Intention, when we are said to intend the consequences of our actions, means the foresight, or expectation of those consequences; which is a totally different thing from desiring them. The particular consequences in question, though foreseen may be disagreeable to us: the act may be done for the sake of other consequences. Intention, and motive, are two very different things. But it is the intention, that is, the foresight of consequences, which constitutes the moral rightness or wrongness of the act. Which among the many consequences of a crime, are those, foresight of which constitutes guilt, and non-foresight entitles to acquittal, depends on the particular nature of the case. We may say generally, that it is the hurtful consequences. When the question arises judicially, we must say it is the consequences which the law intended to prevent. Reverting to the author's illustration; a person who gives a drug to a patient, who dies in consequence, is not guilty (at least of intentional crime) if he expected good consequences, or no consequences at all, from its administration. He is guilty, if he expected that the consequence would be death; because that was the consequence which the legislator intended to prevent. He is guilty, even if he thought that the death of the patient would be a good to the world: because, though the law did not intend to prevent good to the world, it did intend to prevent persons from killing one another. Judged by a moral instead of a legal standard, the man may be innocent; or guilty of a different offence, that of not using his thinking faculty with sufficient calmness and impartiality, to perceive that in such a case as that of taking life, the general presumption of pernicious consequences ought to outweigh a particular person's opinion that preponderant good consequences would be produced in the particular instance.--Ed.]

{402} Thus, then, the Exposition of the Human Mind, as far as the imperfection of the execution may allow the accomplishment to be predicated of the attempt, may be regarded as brought to its close. The phenomena which characterize man as a thinking Being, have been brought forward, have been carefully resolved into their component elements, and traced to certain general and undisputed laws. I should call this the THEORY of the Human Mind, if I could hope that the word would be understood in its original and literal meaning, that is, VIEWING or OBSERVING, AND CORRECTLY RECORDING THE MATTERS OBSERVED. This is the task, the execution of which {403} has been endeavoured throughout the preceding pages. But, unhappily, the word Theory has been perverted to denote an operation very different from this, an operation by which VIEWING--OBSERVING--is superseded; an operation which essentially consists in SUPPOSING, AND SETTING DOWN MATTERS SUPPOSED AS MATTERS OBSERVED. Theory, in fact, has been confounded with Hypothesis; and it is probably vain to think of restoring it to its proper signification.

If, however, the Theoretical, or Expository part of the Doctrine of the Human Mind were perfected; another great branch, the Practical (which, to be rationally founded, must be founded on the Theoretical) would still remain. This subject, it appears, might be conveniently treated in three Books:

I. The Book of Logic; containing the Practical Rules for conducting the mind in its search after Truth:

II. The Book of Ethics; or the Book of Rules for regulating the actions of human beings, so as to deduce from them the greatest amount of good, both to the actor himself, and to his fellow-creatures at large:

III. The Book of Education; or the Book of Rules, for training the Individual to the greatest excellence of his nature; that is, to the highest possible state of efficiency (ability and will included), as cause of good to himself, and to his species.

THE END.

LONDON:

SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,

COVENT GARDEN.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note

All editions of this text were published in two volumes. This file has combined them. The only consequential change to the original material is that the Contents pages for Volume 2 are repeated immediately after the Contents of Volume 1.

Footnotes James Mill's text had a few footnotes, indicated by single asterisks. His later commentators' work was printed as footnotes, numbered consecutively through each volume (though there is no note 36 in