CHAPTER VII.

IMAGINATION.

SECTION I.- THE NATURE OF THIS FACULTY.

THE next faculty of which we propose to treat is the Imagination. It is the power by which, from simple conceptions already existing in the mind, we form complex wholes or images. Thus, the painter, selecting several beautiful scenes from various landscapes which he has observed, forms them into a single picture. The novelist unites the elements of several characters which he has observed in the conception of his hero.

It is manifest that some form of abstraction must, by necessity, precede the exercise of imagination. Were we not able to analyze the concrete, and contemplate its several parts separate from each other, we could never unite them at will, so as to form an original image. The parts must be mentally severed before they can be reünited in a new conception. It is this power of reuniting the several elements of a conception at will, that is, properly, imagination. Imagination may then be designated the power of combination.

There is, however, a difference in the manner in which the power of combination receives and modifies the materials derived from abstraction. In treating of abstraction I attempted to show that it included three acts; first, analy

sis, by which the qualities of a concrete object are separated from each other; second, generalization, by which these simple elements of an individual become a general abstract idea; and, third, combination, by which these last are united in a complex conception, representing not an individual but a class. The act by which we form classes, may, perhaps, more properly be called conception than imagination.

The act of imagination proper, differs from that act by which we form classes. In the first place, the mode of abstraction in the two cases is unlike. In forming conceptions of classes we first separate qualities from each other. In collecting the elements for a picture in the imagination, we separate not qualities so much as parts. Again; before we can proceed to form classes, we must first generalize our individual abstractions, and thus form general abstract ideas. In imagination proper we do not generalize, but at once unite the ideas of individual parts which we have previously separated from each other. In the third place, the result is dissimilar. In the one case we form a notion of a class, meaning no particular individual; in the other, we form a notion of an individual, which is the more perfect in proportion to its distinct individuality.

The difference between these cases may be illustrated by a familiar example. Suppose that a physiologist were attempting to form a scientific conception of an animal, say, for instance, of a horse. He would examine the first specimen with all the accuracy in his power, taking note specially of all the qualities of its external appearance and internal structure. He would, in the second place, examine other specimens, taking note of each particular quality as before. These qualities would then not belong to one specimen, but to them all, or would become general abstract ideas. He would next distinguish those that were constant

from those which were variable, uniting the constant into a single conception, and rejecting the others as valueless. This conception thus formed would represent the class, and would correspond to the word horse, whenever he or other physiologists used it.

But, were an artist required to paint the charger of a commander-in-chief on a battle-field, he would proceed in a very different manner. Observing several horses, he would perceive one remarkable for the beauty of its head. The body of another, and the neck of a third are distinguished for elegance of form and symmetry of proportions. Without any act of generalization, he would unite such of these several parts as he chose into one image, which he would transfer to the canvas. This picture would not be the representation of a class, but of an individual. The object of the painter would be, not to form an image which should stand for all horses, but a picture of a more beautiful horse than had ever existed, thus making this representation to stand out by itself, distinguished from every other that had ever been conceived.

Imagination proper is, therefore, the power of forming not general conceptions, designating classes, but particular images representing individuals. It is the power by which we form pictures in the mind of some object or event. Hence, it would seem that those writers have erred who state that this act of the mind closely resembles the process of reasoning. The two acts are really remarkably unlike. The materials used in the reasoning process are always propositions, that is, affirmations respecting genera and species. The imagination, on the contrary, employs conceptions of separate parts, which it combines into an individual whole. The process which they employ is dissimilar; the one forming syllogisms, the other uniting elements. The result at which they arrive is different. The one ends in

a proposition affirming a predicate of a subject; the other ends in a picture affirming nothing. The one asserts a truth, the other presents a conception. That the most gifted men are frequently endowed with both of these powers in a high degree, and that the possession of both is necessary to great intellectual efforts, is granted; but this no more proves them to be either identical or similar, than the necessity of reason and memory to intellectual effort proves these faculties identical.

If we examine the several acts of this faculty, we may, I think, observe a difference between them. We have the power to originate images or pictures for ourselves, and we have the power to form them as they are presented to us in language. The former may be called active, and the latter passive imagination. The active I believe always includes the passive power, but the passive does not always include the active. Thus we frequently observe persons, who delight in poetry and romance, who are utterly incapable of creating a scene or composing a stanza. They can form the pictures dictated by language, but are destitute of the power of original combination. Even this secondary and inferior form of imagination is possessed in different degrees. Every one in the habit of giving instruction, especially when description is necessary, must have been convinced of the great difference of individuals in this respect. Some persons create a picture for themselves as soon as it is presented in language. Others form it with difficulty, after repeated trials; and at last we are uncertain whether the conception in our own mind is the same as that awakened in the mind of another. It is on this power, chiefly, that the love of poetry and fiction depends. Hence, we frequently find persons of good sense and strong judgment, who never manifest any taste for imaginative writing. This type of character is most frequently observed in those who have not com

menced their education until late in life. The imagination is most active in youth, and if it remain undeveloped until the period of youth be past, it rarely attains its full power or its natural proportions.

The active power of imagining is bestowed with still greater diversity. Some men are poets by nature. Hence the maxim, poeta nascitur non fit,- a poet is formed by nature, not by education. Men endowed with a creative imagination are continually perceiving analogies, forming comparisons, and originating scenes of beauty or grandeur, out of all that they observe and all that they remember. Johnson was sitting one evening by the side of a table, on which two candles were burning. The conversation turned on Thomson. "Thomson," said he, "could not see those two candles without forming a poetical image out of them." On the other hand, we are told of a celebrated mathematician, who, after reading the Paradise Lost, laid down the book in disgust, with the significant question, "What does it prove?" In the one case, the imagination had been exclusively cultivated; in the other, the reasoning power. The one had been accustomed to form pictures, the other demonstrations. Neither could have been interested in the labors of the other. Both would probably have derived advantages from a more generous and universal cultivation of their intellectual powers.

This distinction leads us to observe a mistake, frequently made, respecting the mode of cultivating the imagination. Young persons sometimes spend their time in reading fiction, and tell us that their object is to improve this power of the mind. This kind of reading produces an effect, but not the effect intended. It improves nothing but the passive power of the imagination; that is, it enables us the more readily to conceive of scenes presented to us by language. It cannot enable us to create scenes for ourselves.