Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind (Vol. 1 of 3)

We have seen that the series of pulses of the vibrating air, – if vibration, or a series of pulses be necessary to sound, – must produce a series of changes in the sensorial organ, which produce no corresponding affection of the mind, till, at last, a state of the organ is produced, which is attended with sensation. This, and this only, can be meant, when we speak of vibration as the antecedent of sound, – a series of organic changes, and, after this series, an affection of the mind. In such circumstances, it is certainly more probable, that the organ thus affected with a series of progressive changes, does not pass instantly from the greatest change to the state in which it was originally, before the first pulse, but that it retains this state, for a time, however, short, or, at least, passes through some series of states, in its gradual return, so that, if a new vibration be excited by the pulse of any sounding body, before the organ of hearing have returned to its original state, the effect may be supposed to be different from that which it would have been, if the same vibration had been primarily communicated to the organ, in its state of rest, or in that state, which, from our want of a better word, may be termed its state of rest.

The phenomena most analogous to these vibratory affections of the ear, as depending on successive impulses, are unquestionably the phenomena of titillation, or rather, to express what is so familiar and simple, by a more homely and appropriate word, the phenomena of tickling. In this, the great circumstance distinguishing musical feeling, is to be found, that the feeling arises not from the separate impressions, but from their successions or co-existence. When the palm of the hand is gently tickled, as the finger passes rapidly and repeatedly over the palm, the parts first affected are again affected with various degrees of pressure, as the ear, in melody, is successively affected by repeated varieties of vibration; and various parts of the organ of touch exist, at the same moment, in various states, forming one joint result of sensation, as, in harmony, various vibrations of the organ of hearing co-exist, and blend together in one mingled delight. To produce tickling, a certain rapidity of succession is necessary; for, if the parts, first affected, have returned to their original state, before other parts begin to be affected, or themselves to be affected again, the slow motion, it is evident, may be continued, for any length of time, without any effect, different from that of simple pressure. The quicker, then, the return of the parts may be to their original state, the less will be the titillation; and, it is very probably, a difference in this quickness of return, which constitutes the difference of ticklishness, so remarkable in different individuals, who feel, equally, the light pressure of each separate touch. That there is a difference of ticklishness, in different persons, you all know; some being easily excited even to convulsive laughter, by slight motions, that scarcely produce any effect in others, beyond that of the simple primary sensation of touch. A person who is ticklish, and a person who is not ticklish, agree in receiving this first tactual sensation; but they differ afterwards, in this respect, that when the same slight impulse is rapidly repeated, on the same surface, it produces a livelier effect than before, in the one, but not in the other. The organ of the one who is not ticklish is in the same state, or nearly in the same state, when it receives the second, third, and fourth impression, as when it received the first, and no peculiar excitement, therefore, is produced. The organ of the other, more susceptible, or more tenacious of the affection produced, has not returned to its original state, when the rapid impression is repeated, and is, therefore, at every new impression, affected in a different manner.

Proceeding on the analogy of these phenomena, – of mere tickling, with which I may suppose you to be all acquainted, – an analogy which, striking as it is in many circumstances, I readily own, does not justify more than conjecture in the case to which I would apply it, – I conceive it to be, at least, not absolutely impossible, since a diversity of some kind, there must be, that in those who receive no pleasure from music, as in those who are not ticklish, there is a rapid return of the nervous organ, after each separate affection, to its original state; that each separate touch or pressure in the one case, and each separate tone in the other case, produces its particular effect, – that effect which it would have produced in all, if unaccompanied by any other tone in music, or slight pressure in tickling, – but that a succession of these produces no effect different from that which each would have produced singly. A certain interval is necessary for distinct hearing in every case; and, before this interval has passed, the auditory nerves, in this case, may be imagined to be again quiescent, or nearly quiescent.

I need not add, that, in an inquiry of this sort, all which is necessary, is to account for the mere original defect of pleasure; since, if the relations of notes, as reciprocally high or low, never gave any delight, the ear, having no object of interest in these successions, would soon habitually neglect them, and at length cease altogether to distinguish them, attending only to the verbal meaning of sounds, and not to their tone; in the same manner, as we pay little attention to another relative difference of voices as more or less loud, unless when the difference is very considerable, and not in those common differences of intensity which distinguish every voice in conversation from every other voice, – or as, after living long in a province, the dialect of which is distinguished by any accentual peculiarities, we at last become unconscious of these, and hear the words, as it were, stripped of their peculiarity of tone. In what is termed the cultivation of a musical ear, however, we have not an analogy merely, but a direct proof of this influence of habit. That the ear may be improved by cultivation, or, in other words, by nice attention to the differences of musical sound, every one knows; and if this attention can enable us, even in mature life, to distinguish sounds as different in themselves, which, but for the habitual attention, we should have regarded as the same, it may well be supposed, that continued inattention, from earliest infancy, may render us insensible of musical relations still more obvious and precise, than those which we have thus only learned to distinguish; or, which is the same thing, that continued attention from infancy to slight musical differences of sound, – an attention which may be regarded as the natural effect of pleasure received, – may render us capable of distinguishing tones as very dissimilar, the differences of which, however obvious at present, we should scarcely, but for such original attentive discrimination, have been able to detect. What, in comparison, the refined musical ear of a performer, – almost every hour, and every moment, of whose life has been spent amid sounds, is to a common musical ear, that common musical ear may be to those in whom this discriminating skill seems to be wholly or nearly defective. The refined musician, – who, but for the long practice of his art, would have shared that incapacity which now excites his wonder, – is astonished, that persons of common ear do not distinguish the nice differences which appear to him almost as remarkable as those differences which they are capable of perceiving; and the person of common musical ear only does the same thing, when he is astonished that the less refined differences, remarked by himself, are not obviously distinguishable by all mankind, or, at least, by all who have no deafness to incapacitate them from hearing the separate sounds. The discrimination in both has depended on previous attention, which has necessarily been greater in one case than in the other; and what attention can we suppose to have been originally given, if from the cause which I have ventured to state as a possible one in persons without musical ear, no pleasure had originally been felt by them in any sequence of notes as successive, and the whole value of sound been to them the meaning of which it was symbolically representative, which, accordingly, they have learned to discriminate in every case, as accurately as others.

“Untwisting all the chains, that tieThe hidden soul of harmony,” —

I might follow out this speculation at much greater length; but I have already dwelt too long on what is at best a conjecture, and what, perhaps, even as a mere conjecture, is founded only on a slight analogy.

After the examination of the phenomena of Smell, Taste, and Hearing, which are peculiarly simple, I proceed to the consideration of Senses, which afford phenomena that are more complicated, or, at least, which seem more complicated, as considered in the mature state of the mind; when the sensations that arise from one set of organs, by frequent co-existence with sensations that arise from affections of other sets of organs, are, as it were, blended with them in one compound perception, and so permanently modified forever after, that it is difficult in all cases, and in many cases perhaps impossible, to form any accurate notion of the sensations as they existed in their original elementary state.

Since, of the two senses of Sight and Touch, that of Sight, – as far, at least, as we are able, by intellectual analysis at present to discover its original sensations, – is more simple, and more analogous to the senses before considered, I should be inclined, on these accounts, to proceed to the consideration of it, previously to any inquiry into the sense of Touch. But this order, though unquestionably the more regular, if we had to consider only the original sensations of each organ, would be attended with great inconvenience in considering their subsequent modified sensations; since those of Vision depend, in a very great degree, on the prior affections of Touch, with the nature of which, therefore, it is necessary for you to be acquainted in the first place. I am aware, indeed, that, in considering even Touch, I may sometimes find it necessary to refer, for illustration to the phenomena of Vision, though these have not been considered by us, and must, therefore, for the time, be taken upon trust. But when phenomena are at all complicated, such occasional anticipations are absolutely unavoidable. Sensation, indeed, says Aristotle, is a straight line, while intellect is a circle, – Αἴσθησις γραμμὴ, νοῦς κύκλος, – or to use the paraphrastic translation of Cudworth, in his treatise on Immutable Morality, “Sense is of that which is without. Sense wholly gazes and gads abroad; and, therefore, doth not know and comprehend its object, because it is different from it. Sense is a line, the mind is a circle. Sense is like a line, which is the flux of a point running out from itself; but intellect like a circle, that keeps within itself.”82 That sense is not a circle is, indeed, true, since it terminates in a point; but far from being a straight line, it is one of the most perplexing of curves, and is crossed and cut by so many other curves, – into many of which it flows, and unites with them completely, – that when we arrive at the extremity of the line, it is almost impossible for us to determine with accuracy what curve it is, which, in the strange confusion of our diagram, we have been attempting to trace from its initial point.

I proceed, then, to the consideration of the phenomena of the sense of

TOUCH

If priority of sensation alone were to be regarded, the sense of touch might deserve to be considered in the first place; as it must have been exercised long before birth, and is probably the very feeling with which sentient life commences. The act of birth, in relation to the mind of the little stranger, who is thus painfully ushered into the wide scene of the world, is a series of feelings, of this class; and the first feeling which awaits him, on his entrance, – in the change of temperature to which he is exposed, – is still to be referred to the same organ. It is at this most important moment of existence, when one dark and solitary life of months, of which no vestige is afterwards to remain in the memory, is finished, and a new life of many years, – a life of sunshine and society, – is just beginning, that, in the figurative language of the author, whom I am about to quote to you, Pain, the companion of human life, receives him on the first step of his journey, and embraces him in his iron arms.

“Primas tactus agit partes, primusque minutæLaxat iter cæcum turbæ, recipitque ruentem.Non idem huic modus est qui fratribus; amplius illeImperium affectat senior, penitusque medullis,Viceribusque habitat totis, pellisque recentemFunditur in telam, et late per stamina vivit.Necdum etiam matris puer eluctatus ab alvoMultiplices solvit tunicas, et vincula rupit;Sopitus molli somno, tepidoque liquoreCircumfusus adhuc; tactus tamen aura lacessitJamdudum levior sensus, animamque reclusit.Idque magis, simul ac solitum blandamque caloremFrigore mutavit cœli, quod verberat acriImpete inassuetos artus; tum sævior adstat,Humanæque comes vitæ Dolor excipit; illeCunctantem frustra et tremulo multa ore querentemCorripit invadens, ferreisque amplectitur ulnis.”83

It is at this moment, so painful to himself, that he is affording to another bosom, perhaps the purest delight of which our nature is capable, and has already kindled, in a heart, of the existence of which he is as ignorant, as of the love which he excites in it, that warmth of affection, which is never, but in the grave, to be cold to him, and to which, in the many miseries that may await him, – in sorrow, in sickness, in poverty, – and perhaps too in the penitence of guilt itself, – when there is no other eye, to whose kindness he can venture to look, he is still to turn with the confidence, that he has yet, even on earth, one friend, who will not abandon him, – and who will still think of that innocent being, whose eye, before it was conscious of light, seemed to look to her for the love and protection, which were ready to receive him.

LECTURE XXII

ON THE FEELINGS ASCRIBED TO THE SENSE OF TOUCH, – AND ANALYSIS OF THESE FEELINGS

In my Last Lecture, Gentlemen, I finished the remarks which I had to offer, on our sense of hearing; and in the conclusion of it, had begun the consideration of a very important order of our feelings, those which belong to the sense of touch.

Of these, I may mention, in the first place, the sensations of heat and cold, – sensations that arise from affections of our nerves of touch, or at least from affections of nerves, which, as equally diffused and intermingled with them, it is impossible to distinguish from those which constitute our organ of touch, the same wide surface rendering us sensible, as it were, at every point of warmth as of pressure.

I have also remarked to you, how little analogy there is of our sensations of warmth, to the other sensations commonly ascribed to this organ; and the great difference of the feelings, has led some physiologists to believe, that the organs of sensations so different, must themselves be different. But even though the sensations were as dissimilar as is supposed, there is no reason a priori to believe, – and to experience, it is evident, that, in this case, we cannot appeal, so as to derive from it any ground for believing, – that sensations, which are very different, must arise from affections of different organs. As far, indeed, as we can safely appeal to experience, in this very case, there are sensations which we never hesitate in referring to our tactual nerves, as different from the more common sensations ascribed to touch, as the sensation of warmth itself. I allude to the pain of puncture or laceration of the skin. Indeed, if the brain be ultimately the great organ of all our sensations, it is evident that we must refer to affections of one sensorial organ, not the various feelings of touch only, but, with them the still greater variety of feelings, that constitute our sensations of smell, taste, sound, and colour.

But are we indeed sure, that there truly is that great dissimilarity supposed, or may not our belief of it arise from our reference to touch of sensations that truly do not belong to it? Such, at least, is the opinion, to which, I think, a nicer analysis will lead us. The primary original feelings, which we owe to our mere organ of touch, I consider as of a kind, all of which are far more analogous to the sensations of warmth, or of pain on puncture, than to the perceptions of form and hardness, which are generally regarded as tangible. Before entering on the analysis, however, it will be necessary to consider, what are the sensations which we are supposed to owe to this organ.

The sensations of heat and cold, – as received from our organ of touch, – we may almost lay out of account in our analytical inquiry. It is unnecessary to dwell on them, or even to repeat, in application to them, the argument, which has been already applied more than once to the sensations before considered. It is quite evident, that, in classing our warmth or chillness, as a sensation, – and not as a feeling that has arisen spontaneously in the mind, – we are influenced by that experience, which has previously given us the belief of objects external, – at least, of our own corporeal frame, – and that, if we had been unsusceptible of any other sensations, than those of heat and cold, we should as little have believed these to arise directly from a corporeal cause, as any of our feelings of joy or sorrow. The same remark may be applied to the painful sensations of puncture and laceration.

It is only to the other more important information ascribed to the sense of touch, therefore, that our attention is to be directed.

By touch, we are commonly said to be made acquainted with extension, magnitude, divisibility, figure, motion, solidity, liquidity, viscidity, hardness, softness, roughness, smoothness. These terms, I readily allow, are very convenient for expressing notions of certain forms or states of bodies, that are easily distinguishable. But, though specifically distinguishable, they admit generically of very considerable reduction and simplification. Hardness and softness, for example, are expressive only of greater or less resistance, – roughness is irregularity of resistance, when there are intervals between the points that resist, or when some of these points project beyond others, – smoothness is complete uniformity of resistance, – liquidity, viscidity, are expressive of certain degrees of yieldingness to our effort, which solidity excludes, unless when the effort employed is violent. All, in short, I repeat, are only different species or degrees of that which we term resistance, whatever it may be, which impedes our continued effort, and impedes it variously as the substances without are themselves various. Such is one order, then, of the feelings commonly ascribed to the sense which we are at present considering.

To proceed to the other supposed tangible qualities, before included in our enumeration, —figure is the boundary of extension, as magnitude is that which it comprehends; and divisibility, if we consider the apparent continuity of the parts which we divide, is only extension under another name. If we except motion, therefore, which is not permanent, but accidental, – and the knowledge of which is evidently secondary to the knowledge which we acquire of our organs of sense, before which the objects are said to move, and secondary in a much more important sense, as resulting not from any direct immediate organic state of one particular moment, but from a comparison of sensations past and present, – all the information, which we are supposed to receive primarily and directly from touch, relates to modifications of resistance and extension.

Though it is to the sense of touch, however, that the origin of the knowledge of these is generally ascribed, I am inclined to think, in opposition to this opinion, that in both cases, the reference is wrongly made, – that if we had the sense of touch only, we should not be sensible of resistance, nor, I conceive, even of extension, – and that we seem to perceive the varieties of extension and resistance immediately by touch only, because the simple original tactual feeling has become representative of these, in the same manner, and for the same reason, as we seem to perceive the varieties of distance immediately by the eye. The sense of touch has unquestionably, like all our other senses, its own peculiar feelings, though, for the simple original feelings, attached to the affections of this most extensive of organs, we have unfortunately no name, but that which is applied in popular, and even in philosophic language, to all the affections of the mind. Our joy or grief, hope or fear, love or hate, I before remarked, we term feelings, as readily and frequently, as we use this term to express our sensations of touch; and that, which, however restricted in its original meaning, is now the common name of our mental affections of every class, has, by this extension, unfortunately, become a very unfit one, for distinguishing a limited order of those affections.

Whatever be the term, which we may use, however, there is, and must be, a sensation peculiar to touch, without regard to the extent or quantity of the surface impressed, – as there is, in colour, a sensation peculiar to vision, without regard to the extent of the portion of the retina on which the light may have fallen. Every physical point of our organ of touch, when existing in a certain state, is capable of inducing in the mind a peculiar feeling, though no other physical point of the organ were affected, – as every physical point of the retina, though but a single ray of light were admitted to the eye, is capable of inducing in the mind a peculiar affection of vision; and when many such physical points are affected together, by some impressing surface, the form of which we think that we discover immediately by touch, it is from experience only that we can learn the vicinity of the physical points of our own tactual surface thus impressed, and consequently the continued extension of the object which impresses them. Before we have so much knowledge of external things, as to know even that we have any bodily organs whatever, – and it is of this state of absolute ignorance alone that we must think, as often as we speculate on the information which our senses separately afford, – when we know as little of our bodily frame, as of that material universe, of which we know nothing, we cannot, by the very terms of this supposition, know that different points of our organ of touch are affected in a certain manner, – that these points are contiguous to each other – and that the mass affecting these contiguous points must consequently itself be composed of points, that are, in like manner, contiguous. We know nothing of our organs – we know nothing of any external masses – but a certain feeling is excited in our mind; and it is this simple feeling alone, whatever it may be, which constitutes the direct elementary sensation of touch, though this simple elementary sensation, like many other sensations, may afterwards be so blended with other feelings, as to become significant of them, and even to seem to involve them, as if originally and necessarily coexisting.

It is impossible for us at present, indeed, to have a body impressed on us, without the immediate notion of something external and extended, – as it is impossible for one, whose sight is perfect, to open his eyes, in the light of day, without perceiving, as it were immediately, the long line of variegated landscape, in the scenery before him: – the one impossibility is exactly equal to the other; yet we know, in the case of vision, that all which we immediately perceive, at the very moment, when our eyes seem to comprehend the worlds of half infinity, in the hemisphere on Which we gaze, is a small expanse of light, – if even, which I greatly doubt, there truly be, in our original perceptions of this sense, so much of extension, as is implied in the smallest possible expanse. In touch, in like manner, I conceive, that the immediate sensation, though, like colour, it may now seem inseparable from extension and outness, – if, on the authority of Berkeley, I may venture to use that barbarous but expressive term, – was, like colour, originally distinct from them, – that, by the mere original sensations of this organ, in short, we could as little know the existence of an impressing body, as, by the mere original sensations of vision, we could learn that such a body existed at the extremity of the room in which we sit.