We have shown that, independently of a revelation, we have no sources of knowledge except the intuitions reasoning and experience. Hereafter we will, as is often done, include the two first in the term reason.
We have seen what knowledge has been furnished by human experience as to the nature of mind and the laws of the present system in which it is placed. We will now inquire as to the teachings of reason and experience in regard to the future.
As to the question of the existence of the soul after the dissolution of the body, we have only one of the intuitive truths for our guide, viz., "things will continue as they are and have been till there is evidence of a cause for change," or, in other words, things will continue according to past experience till there is some evidence to the contrary.
It has been the uniform experience of mankind that the human mind passes through various states of existence extremely different in nature and continuance. The first state is that in which the mind seems to have no susceptibilities but of sensation, and to be utterly destitute of all the properties of a rational intellect. By a slow and gradual process, new and successive powers seem to be called into existence, and what seemed among the lowest grades of animal existence becomes the glory and lord of this lower world. Yet, in the full exercise of all the faculties of a rational and moral nature, there is a perpetual recurrence of periods in which all evidences of the existence of such faculties cease. In a profound sleep, or in a deep swoon, no proof of rational existence remains either to the being thus affected or to the observers of this phenomenon. As the extreme of old age approaches, the glories of the mind begin to fade away, until man sometimes passes into a state of second childhood. There are times, also, when changes in the material system derange all the power of intellect, and sometimes reduce what was once a rational mind to a state of entire fatuity, and then, again, the mental powers are restored.
The experience of mankind, then, on this subject is this: that the mind is an existence which passes through multiplied and very great changes without being destroyed. The soul continues to exist after changes as great as death, and in many respects similar to it, such, for example, as the event of birth, and of sleep, and we have never known a mind destroyed by such changes. The argument, then, is, that as things will be in agreement with past experience, the soul will continue to go through other changes without being destroyed, unless there is some reason to the contrary.
There can be no reason found to the contrary, for there is no evidence that the event called death is any thing more than a separation of the spirit from its material envelope, nor is there any evidence against the supposition that it may be an event which introduces the mind into a more perfect state of existence.
It appears that losing various parts of the body does not at all affect the operations of mind; that by the perpetual changes that are taking place in the body, every particle of it, after a course of years, is dissevered from its connection with the spirit, and is supplied by other matter. The soul is thus proved to be so connected with a material body that it may lose the whole of it by a slow process without being the least injured, and therefore we have the evidence of experience that it may be separated from the body without any detriment to its powers and faculties.
Analogy also leads to the supposition that death is only a change which introduces the intellectual being into a more perfect mode of existence; for, in past experience, those changes most resembling death, which are not accidental, but according to the ordinary course of nature, are means of renewing and invigorating mental powers. Thus sleep, the emblem of death, is succeeded by renewed powers of activity and consciousness.
The changes of other animals which most resemble death furnish another analogy. The humble worm rolls itself up in its temporary tomb, and, after a short slumber, bursts forth to new life, clothed in more brilliant dyes, endued with more active capacities, and prepared to secure enjoyments before unknown. Reasoning from past experience, then, we should infer the continued existence of the mind after death.
By the same method we arrive at the doctrine of the immortality of the soul. We know that the soul does now exist. We know of no cause that will destroy it. Therefore we infer that it will forever continue to exist.
Whether this argument is satisfactory or not, without a revelation this is all the evidence we have of the soul's continued existence after death, and of the immortality of the soul.
It is the same intuitive truth which (without a revelation) alone furnishes aid in regard to the future destiny of man.
We assume that things are to be in agreement with past experience unless there is evidence to the contrary. No such evidence can be found. What, then, does the past history of our race teach us to expect from the future? These are the most important deductions:
We are to continue under the same laws of the system already established. We are to have the same susceptibilities to pleasure and pain, the same intellect to guide us, the same power of volition to decide our own courses.
We are to be parts of a social system in which every member suffers not only for his own violations of law, but for the sins of others.
The great law of this system is to be forever sustained—the law of SACRIFICE. Every being is to sacrifice the lesser for the greater good in all his individual concerns, and, in regard to the commonwealth, the lesser good of the individual is to be sacrificed to the greater good of the many. In all this, also, reference is to be had to the interests of the future as much as to those of the present, and all violations of this great law are to involve the established penalties.
This system of law is to be administered as it has been in the past. No pity for ignorance, no sympathy for the suffering, will ever suspend the natural penalties for wrong-doing. Obedience, exact, constant, and persevering, is to be the only mode of securing the rewards and escaping the penalties of this system.
Again, mankind, as a race, are to continue to progress, until at some period a certain portion will arrive at the entire and perfect obedience to law which, at the present stage of being, no one has ever yet attained.
But, on the other hand, this progress will be attended with the hopeless and perpetual ruin of multitudes who, as individuals, take a retrograde course, and grow more and more guilty and miserable, while continued existence will serve only to render obedience to law more improbable.
But from this loss to individuals will result protective and purifying influences to the commonwealth, so that thus good will constantly be educed from evil.
Again, the influences that are to secure the advance of the race to perfect obedience are to be, knowledge of laws, fear of penalties, hope of rewards, and love and gratitude toward those who may prove teachers, benefactors, and self-sacrificing friends. These have been the modes in past experience in this world, and therefore we infer them for the future.
We have shown that, in regard to our Creator, his character and designs, without a revelation, we have nothing to guide us but the intuitive truths, and the deductions obtained by their aid from human experience.
We will now inquire as to the amount of knowledge to be secured from these sources.
By the aid of the first intuitive truth, we arrive at the knowledge of some great First Cause or causes, existing without beginning, who created the universe of matter and mind; yet, as has been shown, we are not, by this first principle, enabled to infer any thing as to the unity or plurality of such cause or causes. For aught that this intuitive truth indicates, there may have been a plurality of eternal and self-existent minds, who acted in unity at the creation of all things. Neither can we, by the aid of this truth, arrive at any conclusion as to the character and designs of the author or authors of all created things.
It is by the aid of the fourth intuitive truth that we deduce whatever can be known of the character and designs of the Creator.
This truth teaches us that "design is evidence of an intelligent cause, and that the nature of a design proves the intention and character of the author."
The works of Nature, both of mind and matter, are full of evidence of design, and from this we infer that the Creator is an intelligent cause.
The infinite variety and extent of creation are evidences of the wonderful power of their Author. The fact that all the contrivances of matter and mind are clearly designed to produce enjoyment, while pain is merely the result of a violation of laws which, if obeyed, would secure only happiness—this is evidence of the benevolence of the Creator.
The skill with which all things are formed and combined to secure the ends designed are proofs of the wisdom of the Creator.
Thus, by aid of the fourth intuitive truth, and the world of mind and matter around us, we obtain the result that the Author of Nature is powerful, benevolent, and wise.
But in regard to the use of the word power, as applied to the Creator, one distinction is important. There are things which are contradictory and impossible in the nature of things, so that no one can conceive of them as possible. Thus, to create and not to create at the same time, or to make a mind that is a free agent and at the same time not a free agent, but controlled in volitions by fixed causation as matter is—these and many other things are contradictions or impossibilities.
Now when we say that the Creator can not do these things, we do not limit his power, for almighty power signifies simply and only a power to do all things that are not contradictions and thus absurdities.
This being premised, we are obliged to infer from the history of our race that the Creator, in regard to the existence of evil, is limited either in power, or in benevolence, or in the nature of things.
We arrive at this conclusion thus: We see that evils and suffering, multitudinous and terrific, do exist, and have existed in all ages. In reference to this, only these suppositions are conceivable: the first is, that the Creator is perfectly benevolent, and that a better system, with all the existing good and none of the evil, is conceivable and possible in the nature of things, yet that he had not the power to produce and sustain it.
The second supposition is, that the Creator has the power to produce and sustain a wiser and better system, in which there shall be all the good and none of the evil in the existing one, and yet that he would not do it. This either involves the supposition of a purely malignant being, who enjoys witnessing needless and awful suffering, and prefers it to happiness, or of one who is, like human beings, of a mixed character, and allows evil to exist when self-denying efforts might prevent it.
All the minds of whom we have had any knowledge, although, where their own ease and pleasure are not to be sacrificed, they prefer to make others around them happy, yet ever exhibit a selfish spirit. They all show that they think and plan more for their own private enjoyment than for the general happiness, and thus, to a greater or less extent, are selfish. Reasoning from experience, then, we should infer that the Creator might be of the same character.
The third supposition is, that the Creator has instituted the best system possible in the nature of things, so that there is and will be the MOST POSSIBLE GOOD WITH THE LEAST POSSIBLE EVIL.
We come, then, to the inquiry as to the end or design of the Creator in forming the universe of mind and matter.
To answer this, we must again refer to the fourth intuitive truth, viz., "the nature of a contrivance is proof of the intention or design of the author."
This position is illustrated in many cases in common life. If we find a contrivance which moves the air toward a fire and thus increases the flame, we infer that the author intended to produce this result. If we find a contrivance to show the time of day, such as a sun-dial or clock, we can not help believing that the author intended to secure this end.
Moreover, when we find a curious machine, where every part is arranged on a given design, we naturally inquire how it must be worked to produce the intended result. It may have wheels that, if turned one way, produce the end designed, but, if turned another way, produce exactly the opposite effect.
For example, if the wheels of a mill are arranged aright, or as the author designed, they will grind flour or weave cotton; but if arranged and worked contrary to the design of the author, they will break themselves to pieces and destroy all things around them.
Two inquiries, then, are to be made in reference to the design of the Creator. The first is, What was the end or design for which he made all things? and the second is, What is the right and true method by which this design can be secured?
We shall assume, and attempt to prove in what follows, that the design and ultimate end of the Creator in all his works is to produce the greatest possible happiness with the least possible evil.
Afterward will be exhibited the true and right method for securing this end, so far as we can learn it by reason and experience without a revelation.
In pursuing this plan, the first step will be to exhibit the constitution and laws of mind, as the chief and most wonderful exhibition of the grand design of its Author.
We are now to commence an examination of the various powers and operations of the human mind, for the purpose of illustrating the grand aim of the Author in the creation of all things.
In pursuing this course, it is needful, first, to refer to the apparent diversities in systems of mental philosophy, for the purpose of justifying the classification and the terms to be employed hereafter.
There is nothing more hackneyed than the complaints against metaphysics as abstruse, difficult of comprehension, and unpractical, while the various writers on this science seem more or less divided into opposing schools. Notwithstanding this, there are reasons for maintaining a real agreement in all systems of mental philosophy, at least in essentials, and the following considerations lead to such a conclusion:
In the first place, the nature of the subject investigated would necessarily tend to such a result; for that subject is the human mind, not in its specific peculiarities, but in those generic phenomena which are common to all minds; just as the natural philosopher investigates those properties of matter which are common to a class, and not the specific peculiarities that distinguish individual masses or particles. Now, as those who direct their investigations to mental phenomena are all drawing a picture from the same pattern, it is properly inferred that in the main outlines there must be a general resemblance.
Another reason for this conclusion is the mode of investigation pursued. It is simply observing, first, the phenomena of our own minds, and then comparing them with those of other minds as exhibited in looks, words, and actions, and thus educing generic resemblances and specific differences. It is the generic resemblances only that constitute the faculties and laws of mind which are to be described, classified, and named.
Another reason for inferring such an agreement of systems is the fact, not only that all human minds have common phenomena, but that they have provided themselves with terms to express them, so that they succeed in so far understanding each other as to make comparisons of their mental experience.
The same agreement may be inferred, also, when we consider that mental philosophy treats, not of new ideas, or new combinations of ideas, but of knowledge which is already in the mind. The process to be pursued, then, involves a reference to what we have ourselves experienced; it is an examination of our own feelings, thoughts, and volitions. These are subjects of which we are competent judges, and in regard to which we can be certain as to what is correct or incorrect, more than we can be in reference to any other kind of knowledge.
From these considerations, it is inferred that all systems of mental philosophy will resemble each other just so far as they are true, and that the difference must be mainly in modes of presenting the subject. Inasmuch as writers on mental science are drawing a picture of those experiences of their own minds which are common to the whole race, they must in the main resemble each other, though some may be more imperfect, vague, and disconnected than others.
It may be useful to indicate the causes which have combined to produce perplexity and apparent diversities among writers on mental science.
The first cause is the want of an accurate medium of communication by which one mind can compare its experience with the experience of other minds. In natural science, when the philosopher instructs in reference to the properties of matter, all the terms employed can be made definite by appeals to the senses. For example, if it is not understood what is meant by a pungent smell, such a smell can be produced, and then there is a perfectly clear idea of what is meant by the term. But in mental science, when the term reason or the term understanding is employed, no such perfect and definite mode is at command to illustrate the meaning.
On the contrary, in this science, a single term is often used with various meanings, each use, however, including some common idea, while the extent or limitation in every case is to be determined by the connection. For example, the term heart is used sometimes to signify the chief organ of physical life, sometimes it signifies the mind itself. In a more limited use it denotes the feelings, and in a still more restricted sense it expresses the leading interest of the mind. This involves a constant process of reasoning to decide the meaning of the term.
Another perplexity in mental science has arisen from an unwarrantable use of terms by writers. In some instances new distinctions in mental analysis have been originated, and then terms have been used to express these distinctions which never before were employed in this limited sense. Of course, in reading their works, the mind is confused by meeting terms that in common use recall one signification, when the writer employs them in another.
In other cases, such writers have formed new classifications of mental phenomena, and employed new terms to express them, and thus an impression is made that something new has been discovered, or a new system evolved. For example, Brown arranges the intellectual operations of mind in but two general classes, and calls them simple suggestion and relative suggestion. But his work, in this respect, presents only a new classification and new terms, but no new ideas.
Another difficulty in mental science has arisen from the fact that many writers on this subject have failed in accurate analysis of the phenomena of mind, and, of course, have not succeeded in conveying clear and distinct ideas to their readers. For example, some metaphysicians have never discriminated between desire and choice, but have written as if they were the same thing. Thus they have affirmed things which were true in reference to one of these mental acts, and false in regard to the other. This has produced mistiness of apprehension or false conceptions in their readers. Some understand the writer one way and dispute his positions, others understand him another way and defend them, because what he says is true of one act and false of the other, while both acts are spoken of as one and the same.
Meantime the great mass of readers have never been accustomed to any accurate analysis, or even to any fixed observation of their own mental states. They are, therefore, unprepared to detect these defects in the writers on mental science, and are easily confused and perplexed.
Another difficulty has arisen from false ideas as to the origin and proper use of words. In most minds an impression has been generated that there is an inherent meaning belonging to the words of a language. They do not consider that in the formation of language the ideas come first, and that the words are only conventional signs which men agree in using to express these ideas. Writers often speak of words which by long usage have been connected with certain ideas, as if they ought not to be so employed. They do not consider that the fact that men have used a word for a given idea, and understand each other, is the very thing which establishes its proper use and meaning.
If, then, in all time and in all nations, mankind have classified and given names to their mental states, the classification and the names are true and proper, and no philosopher should claim that these are incorrect. The object of language is to enable men to communicate their ideas, and that language is best which enables them to do it the most extensively and the most accurately.
It is maintained, then, that there is a system of mental philosophy which is understood by all mankind; that there are words in common use by which it can be clearly and definitely described and expressed, either by single terms or by circumlocution; that it is recognized in the Bible; and that, substantially, it is the system taught by all writers on mental science, some teaching one portion and some another. It is maintained, also, that no such writer has taught any thing of any importance that is true which can not be translated into the language of common life, so as to be readily comprehended even by persons of ordinary capacity and education.
There is no difficulty in leading any mind of ordinary capacity to notice the several classes of mental operations introduced in this work, and in all nations and languages these facts are recognized and terms are provided to express them.
Some persons object to speaking of any mental phenomena as states of mind, because it is claimed that the mind is active in all. Thus sensations are claimed to be acts of mind instead of passive states caused by material objects. In regard to this and various other objections urged against this mode of classification and nomenclature, it may be remarked that the thing aimed at is simply, by means of a description, to point out what is meant. When this is understood, it does not change our idea to give it a name. We know by our own experience what it is to have a sensation, and calling it a state or an act does not alter our idea of the fact.
In using words, all we have to do is to convey our meaning, either by description or illustration, and when we have done this, to select a word to express it; and that word is best for this purpose which would recall this meaning to the greatest number of persons who have previously used it in this sense.
For this reason, it is most proper to use terms employed in common life to express the phenomena treated of in mental science, instead of instituting new terms, which, to most persons, have never had the intended ideas connected with them.
This method is adopted in the following pages; but it is important to remember that, while these words are used both in common life and by metaphysical writers with the meaning here indicated, they are often used with other significations. Thus the word to perceive is used not only to signify the act of gaining ideas by the senses, but any act of mind in noticing truths of any kind, either mental or external. So to conceive and to perceive are often used interchangeably as meaning the same thing.
But this does not render it necessary to seek any new terms to express these ideas. All that is needful is to indicate that in classing and describing mental phenomena we restrict ourselves to one exact and uniform use of these terms, and this use is indicated in the description or definition given.
We now proceed to the classification and description of the mental powers.
Not only all writers on mental science, but the most common writers and speakers, recognize a general division of mental operations, which is expressed by the terms intellect, feeling, and choice. We think, we feel, and we choose. Even the young child learns to comprehend these three grand divisions of the mental phenomena.
To this most general division, in this work, are applied the terms the intellectual powers, the susceptibilities, and the will. These terms are selected because they are the most common ones.
Under the general class of intellectual powers are arranged the following specific powers of mind:
Sensation, Perception, Conception, Memory, Imagination, Judgment, Abstraction, Attention, and Association.
Sensation is a state of mind produced by material objects acting on the senses.
Thus, when light, which is considered as one kind of matter, affects the eye, the sensation of sight is produced. When the perfume of a rose, which is another species of matter, affects the nostrils, the sensation of smell is produced. When a bell or some musical instrument causes the air to vibrate on the drum of the ear, it causes the sensation of sound. When any sapid body is applied to the tongue, the sensation of taste is caused. When the hand, or any part of the body, comes in contact with another body, the sensation of touch is produced.
Thus it appears that the five senses are the organs of sensation, and that through their instrumentality material things operate upon the mind.
Perception is a sensation attended by the belief of a cause, and it is this additional circumstance alone which distinguishes perception from sensation.
If a person were asleep, and should suffer from the prick of a pin, or be disturbed by an unpleasant sound, these would be mere sensations, because the mind would not ascribe them to any cause. But if the person should waken, these sensations would immediately become perceptions, because they would be attended by the belief of some cause.
Conception is a state of mind similar to perception, and differs from it in being less vivid, and in not being produced through the medium of the senses.
When we look at a tree, we have a perception of this object. But the mind can also have an idea of this tree when removed from the sight, though the idea is not so vivid and distinct, nor have the senses any agency in producing it. The perfume of a rose, also, occasions another sensation; but when the rose is removed, so as not to affect the senses, we can still have a conception of its perfume. The conception differs from the perception only in being less vivid, and in not being caused by a material object acting on the senses.
Memory is either a conception or a perception, which is attended with a feeling of its resemblance to a past state of mind. It is this feeling of resemblance that is the only circumstance which distinguishes memory from conception.
Thus we may conceive of a tree without recognizing it as the particular idea of any tree we may have seen before; but if this is accompanied by a feeling of the resemblance of this idea to the one we always have when we see the tree that shadows the paternal roof, this conception becomes memory. If we conceive the form of a man without recognizing the resemblance of this idea to the perceptions we have when we see any particular man, this is a simple act of conception; but if we recognize in this object of conception the features of a dear friend, this act then becomes memory. Again, if we conceive of certain events and circumstances attending them without recognizing this combination as ever having existed in past experience, they are mere conceptions; but if we recognize in them the events and circumstances of past experience, conception becomes memory.
Imagination is the power which the mind possesses of arranging our conceptions in new combinations. We can conceive objects as united together of which we never conceived before as thus united.
Thus, when we read the description of some picturesque scene in nature, the mind immediately groups together mountains, trees, brooks, cottages, and glens, forming a new combination of conceptions different from any scene we ever witnessed or conceived before. All the objects thus combined are conceptions; the act of arranging them is an act of the imagination.
Judgment is the power which the mind possesses of noticing relations. A relation is an idea obtained by observing one thing in connection with another. Thus, when we perceive one thing to be longer than another, one thing to be on another, or one thing to belong to another—in all these cases the mind notices relations, or exercises the faculty of judgment. Thus, also, when we compare any action with the rule of duty in order to decide whether it is right or wrong, we exercise the same faculty. This act always is necessarily preceded by the comparison of one thing with another, in order to notice the relations.
Abstraction is the power of noticing certain parts or qualities of any object, as distinct from other parts or qualities. Thus, when we notice the length of a bridge without attending to the breadth or color, or when we notice the height of a man without thinking of his character, we exercise the faculty of abstraction.
Attention is the direction of the mind to any particular object or quality, from the interest which is felt in it, or in something connected with it. The degree of attention is always proportioned to the degree of interest felt in the object.
Association is the power possessed by the mind of recalling ideas in the connections and relations in which they have existed in past experience. For example, when any two objects, such as a house and a tree, have often been observed together, the idea of one will ordinarily be attended by that of the other. If two events have often been united together in regard to the time of their occurrence, such, for example, as thunder and lightning, the idea of one will usually be attended by the other.
In this work, the aim is to introduce no more of mental analysis than is needed for its main object. What is here introduced is not claimed as a complete presentation of all the mental phenomena.
As there is no distinction between sensation and perception except in the fact that one is attended with the belief of a cause and the other is not, they will be treated of together.
The mind of man is an immaterial existence, confined in its operations by the body it inhabits, and depending upon the construction and modifications of this envelope for much of its happiness or suffering.
The exercise of the imagination, when the eyes are closed and the body at rest, will probably give us the best idea of what is the nature of spiritual existence when disconnected with matter. It is one of the offices of our bodily system to retain the spirit in its operations in one particular place, so that ordinarily it can have direct communion with no other mind which is not in the same place. Whether this is the case with mere spiritual existence is a question for conjecture, and not for any rational decision.
While the spirit of man is resident in its material frame, it is furnished with facilities of communication with other minds, and with organs which fit it to receive suffering or enjoyment from the material objects by which it is surrounded. These organs of communication are the several senses. They consist of expansions of the substance of which the brain is formed, which, descending to the body through the spinal bone of the back, are thence sent out in thousands of ramifications over the whole system. Those branches which enter the eyes, and are spread over the interior back part of this organ, are called the optic nerve. Whenever the particles of light enter the eye, they strike the optic nerve, and produce the sensation which is called sight. Those branches which are spread over the tongue are the organ of taste. Those that are extended through the cavities of the nostrils are called the olfactory nerves. When the small particles of matter that escape from odoriferous bodies come in contact with these nerves, they produce the sensation of smell.
The nerves that constitute the organ of hearing are extended over the cavity of the ear behind the tympanum, or ear-drum. This cavity is filled with a liquid, and when the drum of the ear is caused to vibrate by the air which is set in motion by sonorous bodies, it produces undulations of this liquid upon these nerves, and thus the sensation of sound is produced. By the expansion of other nerves, the sense of feeling is extended all over the body, excepting the nails and the hair. It is by the action of matter, in its different forms, on these several senses, that the mind obtains ideas, and that ideas are imparted from one mind to another.
Perception never takes place unless some material object makes an impression upon one of the senses. In the case of the eye, the ear, and the nostrils, the object which is regarded as the cause of the sensation does not come immediately in contact with the organs of sense. When we see a body, we consider it as the cause of that perception; but it is not the body that comes in contact with the organ of sight, but merely the particles of light reflected from that body. In the case of smell, the fragrant body is regarded as the cause of the sensation; but that which acts on the sense is the material particles of perfume which flow from that body.
Thus, also, with hearing. We consider the sonorous body as the cause; but the sensation is produced through the medium of the air, which affects the drum of the ear. But in the case of taste and touch, the body which is regarded by the mind as the cause must come in contact with the nerves of the tongue or the body to produce the sensation.
The sense of smell is one which greatly conduces to the preservation, the comfort, and the happiness of man. It is a continual aid to him in detecting polluted atmosphere or unhealthy food. The direct enjoyment it affords is probably less in amount than that derived from any of the other senses; yet, were we deprived of all the enjoyment gained through this source, we should probably find the privation much greater than we at first might imagine. When we walk forth among the beauties of nature, the fresh perfumes that send forth their incense are sources both of immediate and succeeding gratification. The beautiful images of nature which rise to the mind in our imaginative hours, would lose many of their obscure but charming associations were the fields stripped of the fragrance of their greens and the flowers of their sweet perfumes. Nature would appear to have lost that moving spirit of life which now ever rides upon the evening zephyrs and the summer breeze. As it is, as we walk abroad, all nature seems to send forth its welcome, while to its Maker's praise
When a sapid body is applied to the organ of taste, two sensations are produced, one of touch and one of taste. We are conscious of the difference of these sensations when we apply a body to the tongue which has taste, and then immediately one which has not. It is probable, however, that the same set of nerves serve both purposes.
It is one of the numberless evidences of the benevolence of our Creator that the process which is necessary for the preservation of life, and which depends upon the voluntary activity of every human being, should be connected with a sense which affords such gratification that the duty is sought as a pleasure. Were mankind led to seek food merely in the exercise of reason for the purpose of preserving life, multitudes, through carelessness and forgetfulness, would be perpetually neglecting that regular supply without which the animal system would become deranged and enfeebled. By the present constitution of the body, the gratification of this sense is an object of desire, and thus we are continually reminded of our duty, and led to it as a source of enjoyment.
Nor is it the gratification of this sense which is the only source of enjoyment connected with it. The regular periods for repast bring around the social board those united to each other by the tenderest ties of kindred and affection. These become seasons of cheerful hilarity and relaxation, seasons of cessation from daily cares, seasons for the interchange of kind feelings and intellectual stores; and while the mere gratification of sense is one source of pleasure, to this is often added the "feast of reason and the flow of soul."
The effect on the best feelings in thus assembling to participate in common blessings is scarcely ever appreciated. Did every individual of our race retire to secrecy and solitude to satisfy the cravings of nature, how much would the sum of human happiness be diminished! But thus has our benevolent Creator contrived that one source of enjoyment should serve as an occasion for introducing many more.
The sense of hearing is one more connected with the intellectual and moral powers of man than either taste or smell, as it is through the medium of this organ that both music and speech operate on the human mind. We can form some imperfect estimate of the amount of happiness derived from this sense by imagining the condition of mankind were they at once and forever deprived of this source of improvement and enjoyment. The voice of sympathy, friendship, and love would be hushed. The eloquence of the forum, the debates of the Legislature, the instructions of the pulpit, would cease. The music of nature—its sighing winds and dashing waters—would be stilled, and the warbling of the groves would charm no more. The sound of pipe, and harp, and solemn harmonies of voice would never again waken the soul to thrilling and nameless emotions. Where now ten thousand sounds of active life, or cheerful hum of business, or music of language and song charm and animate the soul, man would walk forth in silence and solitude.
The operation of mere sound, disconnected with the ideas which are often conveyed by it, is a subject of curious speculation. Sounds differ from each other in quality, pitch, force, and in length. The difference in tone may be illustrated by the sounds of a clarionet compared with the sound of a bell or of the human voice. Every instrument and every human voice has each a peculiar tone by which it is distinguished from all others. The difference in pitch is shown by sounding a low and a high note in succession on an instrument. The difference in force is exhibited by singing or speaking loud or soft.
There are certain sounds that in themselves are either agreeable or disagreeable from their tone alone. Thus the sound of a flute is agreeable, and that of the filing of a saw is disagreeable. Sounds also are agreeable according as they succeed each other.
Melody is a succession of agreeable tones arranged in some regular order as it respects their duration and succession. Some melodies are much more agreeable to the ear than others. Some melodies produce a plaintive state of mind, others exhilarate, and this without regard to any thing except the nature of the sounds and their succession. Thus a very young infant, by a certain succession of musical tones, can be made either to weep in sorrow or smile with joy.
Harmony is a certain combination of sounds which are agreeable to the ear; and it is found that the mind can be much more powerfully affected by a combination of harmonious sounds than by any melody. The effect of music on certain minds is very powerful, often awakening strange and indescribable emotions. It has been, therefore, much employed both to heighten social, patriotic, and devotional feeling.
There is probably nothing which produces stronger and more abiding associations in the mind than musical sounds. As an example of this may be mentioned the national air which is sung by the Swiss in their native valleys. It is said that when they become wanderers in foreign lands, so strongly will this wild music recall the scenes of their childhood and youth, their native skies, their towering mountains and romantic glens, with all the strong local attachments that gather around such objects, that their heart sickens with longing desires to return. And so much was this the case with the Swiss of the French armies, that Bonaparte forbade this air being played among his troops. The Marseilles Hymn, which was chanted in the scenes of the French Revolution, was said to have been perfectly electrifying, and to have produced more effect than all the eloquence of orators or machinations of statesmen.
The mind seems to acquire by experience only the power of determining the place whence sounds originate. It is probable that, at first, sounds seem to originate within the ear of the person who hears; and, even after long experience, cases have been known, when a person suddenly waked from sleep imagined the throbbing of his own heart was a knocking at the door. But observation and experience soon teach us the direction and the distance of sounds. The art of the ventriloquist consists in nothing but the power which a nice and accurate ear gives him of distinguishing the difference between sounds when near or far off, and of imitating them.
The sense of touch is not confined to one particular organ, but is extended over the whole system, both externally and internally. It is in the hands, however, especially at the ends of the fingers, that this sense is most acute and most employed. We acquire many more ideas by the aid of this sense than by either hearing, smell, or taste. By these last we become acquainted with only one particular quality in a body, either of taste, smell, or sound; but by means of the touch we learn such qualities as heat and cold, roughness and smoothness, hardness and softness, figure, solidity, and extension.
It is supposed that it is by this sense that we gain the idea of something external, or without ourselves. The sensation of smell would seem to be within, as an act or emotion of the soul itself. Thus also with hearing, which, being produced within the ear by the undulating air, would seem to originate within. Thus also with sensations within the eye. But when the limbs begin to move and to come in contact with outward objects, and also in contact with various parts of the body, the mind gains an idea of the existence of some outward object. This is probably the first sense by which any idea of existence is wakened in the mind. As one sense after another is called into action, the mind continually gains new ideas, and then begins its operations of comparing, abstracting, reasoning, and willing.
It is by the sense of touch that we gain our ideas of resistance and extension. In the class of ideas included under the head of ideas of resistance may be placed those of solidity, liquidity, hardness, softness, viscidity, roughness, and smoothness; these all being different names for different modes of resistance to the muscles of the hands, arms, or fingers, when applied to the bodies which have these qualities. These ideas are not gained by simple contact; their existence depends upon the contraction or expansion of the muscles, which are the organs of motion and resistance in the human body.
We may suppose the infant to gain these ideas by a process somewhat similar to this: He first moves his arms by instinct, without any knowledge of the effects to follow. By this movement he gains certain ideas of the simple contractions and extension of his muscles, and learns also that by his own will he can exercise his muscles in this manner. At length he attempts to move his arm in a manner to which he has become familiar, and some object intervenes, and motion is prevented, while all his wonted muscular efforts are vain. Thus arises in his mind a new idea, of resistance, in addition to the sensations of touch and of motion, which had before been experienced.
The ideas of different degrees of this resistance are gained by repeated experience, and when age furnishes the ability to understand language, the names of hardness, softness, roughness, and the like, are given to these ideas. In the use of his muscles, also, the infant must first acquire its ideas of extension and figure; for it must be where resistance to muscular effort ceases that he must feel that the cause ceases to exist. The little being extends his hand—an object intervenes which interrupts his muscular motions; he grasps this object, and wherever this feeling of resistance exists, there he feels that the cause of it exists, and that after he has passed certain limits it does not exist.
Figure is defined as the limits of extension, and, of course, it can be seen that ideas of figure can only be gained by thus finding the limits of extension. It has formerly been supposed that ideas of extension and figure were gained by the eye, but later experiments and discussions show that the sense of feeling, including muscular motion, is the medium by which these ideas are first gained, and that afterward the eye, by the principle of association, acquires the power of distinguishing figure and distance.
There is much enjoyment resulting from the sense of touch in many ways, a large portion of which is almost unnoticed. Much also included under the term comfort results from this sense. Much of that which is agreeable in clothing and in objects around us is of this nature. Besides this, there are many endearments of friendship and affection that gain expression only through this medium.