not perceive it; if it be greater, it is not all seen in one direction. If these observations be admitted, it will follow, that without the faculty of memory, we could have had no perception of visible figure.1 1 [I have been accused of overlooking, in the preceding chapter, a very important distinction between Voluntary and Involuntary attention. In some cases, it is said, attention attaches itself spontaneously to its object. In others it requires a painful effort to keep it steady,-nay, when we will to fix it on one subject, we find it perpetually wandering to another. The fact on which the criticism is founded must unquestionably be admitted, but the conclusion drawn from it is nevertheless erroneous. It proceeds on a vague use of the words voluntary and involuntary. These words, as well as the substantive will, are often but very inaccurately employed to express a general purpose or intention, as well as that state of mind which is the immediate antecedent of action. Thus, if I resolve to keep my eyes steadily open, I may, according to common modes of speech, be said to will to keep them open, and if, in consequence of some sudden alarm, I should depart from my purpose, the winking of my eyelids may be said to be involuntary. And yet in strict philosophical propriety, the winking of my eyelids is an act purely voluntary; an operation which I will to perform, in consequence of the effect which my alarm has to banish my general purpose or resolution from my mind. The case is perfectly parallel with respect to attention. When I am anxious to attend to a particular subject, I am apt to say that I will to attend to it, and when I forget my purpose, that my inattention is involuntary; whereas the fact is, that the unintended distraction, like the unin tended winking of the eyelids, was the effect of a particular volition of the mind, exerted in consequence of a momentary forgetfulness of my general purpose. Indeed, to those who are at all accustomed to precision in the use of language, the phrase involuntary attention must appear a manifest contradiction in terms.] CHAPTER III. OF CONCEPTION. By Conception, I mean that power of the mind which enables it to form a notion of an absent object of perception, or of a sensation which it has formerly felt. I do not contend that this is exclusively the proper meaning of the word, but I think that the faculty which I have now defined deserves to be distinguished by an appropriated name. When Conception is often confounded with other powers. a painter makes a picture of a friend who is absent or dead, he is commonly said to paint from memory; and the expression is sufficiently correct for common conversation. But in an analysis of the mind, there is ground for a distinction. The power of conception enables him to make the features of his friend an object of thought, so as to copy the resemblance; the power of memory recognises these features as a former object of perception. Every act of memory includes an idea of the past: conception implies no idea of time whatever.1 According to this view of the matter, the word conception corresponds to what was called by the schoolmen simple apprehension; with this difference only, that they included under this name our apprehension of general propositions; whereas I should wish to limit the application of the word conception to our sensations and the objects of our perceptions. Dr. Reid, in his Inquiry, substitutes the word conception instead of the 1 Shakespeare calls this power "the mind's eye." "Hamlet.-My father! methinks I see my father. Hamlet. In my mind's eye, Horatio."-Act i. Scene 4. simple apprehension of the schools, and employs it in the same extensive signification. I think it may contribute to make our ideas more distinct, to restrict its meaning;-and for such a restriction, we have the authority of philosophers in a case perfectly analogous. In ordinary language, we apply the same word perception to the knowledge which we have by our senses of external objects, and to our knowledge of speculative truth; and yet an author would be justly censured, who should treat of these two operations of the mind under the same article of perception. I apprehend there is as wide a difference between the conception of a truth, and the conception of an absent object of sense, as between the perception of a tree, and the perception of a mathematical theorem. I have, therefore, taken the liberty to distinguish also the two former operations of the mind; and under the article of conception, shall confine myself to that faculty whose province it is to enable us to form a notion of our past sensations, or of the objects of sense that we have formerly perceived. Conception is frequently used as synonymous with imagination. Dr. Reid says, that "imagination, in its proper sense, signifies a lively conception of objects of sight." "This is a talent (he remarks) of importance to poets and orators, and deserves a proper name, on account of its connexion with their arts.” He adds, "that imagination is distinguished from conception, as a part from a whole.” I shall not inquire, at present, into the proper English meaning of the words conception and imagination. In a study such as this, so far removed from the common purposes of speech, some latitude may perhaps be allowed in the use of words; provided only we define accurately those we employ, and adhere to our own definitions. The business of conception, according to the account I have given of it, is to present us with an exact transcript of what we have felt or perceived. But we have, moreover, a power of modifying our conceptions, by combining the parts of different ones together, so as to form new wholes of our own creation. I shall employ the word imagination to express this power; VOL. II. K and I apprehend that this is the proper sense of the word, if imagination be the power which gives birth to the productions of the poet and the painter. This is not a simple faculty of the mind. It presupposes abstraction, to separate from each other qualities and circumstances which have been perceived in conjunction; and also judgment and taste, to direct us in forming the combinations. If they are made wholly at random, they are proofs of insanity.1 The first remarkable fact which strikes us with respect to conception is, that we can conceive the objects of some senses much more easily than those of others. Thus we can conceive an absent visible object, such as a building that is familiar to us, much more easily than a particular sound, a particular taste, or a particular pain, which we have formerly felt. It is probable, however, that this power might be improved in the case of some of our senses. Few people, I believe, are able to form a very distinct conception of sounds; and yet it is certain that, by practice, a person may acquire a power of amusing himself with reading written music. And in the case of poetical numbers, it is universally known that a reader may enjoy the harmony of the verse, without articulating the words, even in a whisper. In such cases, I take for granted that our pleasure arises from a very strong conception of the sounds which we have been accustomed to associate with particular written characters. The peculiarity in the case of visible objects seems to arise from this, that when we think of a sound or of a taste, the object of our conception is one single detached sensation; whereas every visible object is complex, and the conception which we form of it as a whole is aided by the association of In common discourse, we often use the phrase of thinking upon an object, to express what I here call the conception of it. In the following passage, Shakespeare uses the former of these phrases, and the words imagination and apprehension as synonymous with each other: "Who can hold a fire in his hand, ideas. To perceive the force of this observation, it is necessary to recollect what was formerly said on the subject of attention. As we cannot at one instant attend to every point of the picture of an object on the retina, so I apprehend we cannot at one instant form a conception of the whole of any visible object, but that our conception of the object as a whole is the result of many conceptions. The association of ideas connects the different parts together, and presents them to the mind in their proper arrangement, and the various relations which these parts bear to one another in point of situation, contribute greatly to strengthen the associations. It is some confirmation of this theory, that it is more easy to remember a succession of sounds, than any particular sound which we have heard detached and unconnected. The power of conceiving visible objects, like all other powers that depend on the association of ideas, may be wonderfully improved by habit. A person accustomed to drawing retains a much more perfect notion of a building or of a landscape which he has seen, than one who has never practised that art. A portrait painter traces the form of the human body from memory, with as little exertion of attention as he employs in writing the letters which compose his name. In the power of conceiving colours, too, there are striking differences among individuals; and, indeed, I am inclined to suspect that, in the greater number of instances, the supposed defects of sight in this respect ought to be ascribed rather to a defect in the power of conception. One thing is certain, that we often see men who are perfectly sensible of the difference between two colours when they are presented to them, who cannot give names to these colours with confidence when they see them apart, and are perhaps apt to confound the one with the other. Such men, it should seem, feel the sensation of colour like other men when the object is present, but are incapable (probably in consequence of some early habit of inattention) to conceive the sensation distinctly when the object is removed. Without this power of conception it is evidently impossible for them, however lively their sensations may be, to give a name |