On Certain Present Phenomena of the Imagination [pp. 159-168]

ON CERTAIN PHENOMENA OF THE IMATGINATION.
nation works alone, but under the strong and
unbroken direction of the inductive reason-the
world of pure mathematics.
I do not know that I can find a better turning
point than this for the consideration of the method
by which the mind frees itself from the tyranny
of the images it receives, and asserts its own consciousness and liberty. In the morbid conditions
already noticed, it is by painful and fitful efforts
that the disorderly impressions are met, while in
the normal and healthy nature the images take
of themselves a certain form, and ask for organization and control. There is a thought of Immanuel Kant's which I have tried to concentrate
in a distich:
Two things I contemplate with ceaseless awe The stars of heaven, and man's sense of law.
And in this we may well speculate how much,
in all probability, the inward phenomenon owes
to the external. The character of the movements
of the heavenly bodies, in connection with times
and seasons, must have gone far to impress on
the susceptible mind of early man the sense of
something beyond succession, and of a recurrence beyond accident or even arbitrary will. At
any rate, it is by the action of law that the images
are contained, arranged, and applied; and it is
Where and when that influence ceases that danger and disease begin. It is conceivable that the
senses themselves may be limitations of perceptions, which without them would be infinite, but
no such theory is necessary to explain the value
of the subordination of the images we receive
through the senses to some comprehensive law,
whether it result in moral or social order, or in
the knowledge of the phenomena of the universe,
which we designate Science, or in the arrangement of form and color which is comprised under
the name of Art, or in the combination of images
and language which is signified by Poetry. Where
the imagination has these legitimate outlets and
employments, the peril of its unhealthy uses is
largely diminished, and any notion of essential
difference between science and art in this aspect
arises from an entirely false estimate of both.
Science is not the result of calculation alone, but
of a synthesis which can not be attained without
an act of the imagination as positive as could be
the composition of a picture or a poem. It is
thus that the appearance of a great mathematician or natural philosopher is as rare as that of
a great poet. Art, again, must conform to the
laws, among the thousands of currents considered
by students of sound, or color, or language-to
be anything but a confused and unintelligible
fragment; and it is in the application of these
laws that it finds its greatest satisfaction. No
pleasure in scientific discovery can exceed the
delight and astonishment with which a youth discovers in himself an artistic or poetic capability:
it is pathetically amusing to see how he conceives
that he is a new phenomenon which the universe
is bound to,recognize. Thus, too, the scenes
which in nature are commonplace become supernatural when he transfers them to paper or canvas, and the thought to which when in prose he
would attach no importance becomes something
divine when married to the music of more or less
harmonious words. The young musical genius
swims in an ocean of illimitable sounds, and possibly may have actual nervous sensations of his
own, beyond the usual perceptions, just as to
those without a musical ear all music itself is unintelligible. If to this contentment of the individual imagination in art may be added the necessity, for the production of any solid or important work, not only in our day but in all historical
record, of the combination of genius with those
very qualities of industry, accuracy, and perseverance, that are required for success in the ordinary walks of life, it will follow that there are
positive as well as negative advantages in the
possession and use of artistic powers.
But, because the faculty of clothing the images that invade or possess the mind in beautiful
forms, attractive sounds, or delightful words, is
not always accompanied by an equally balanced
judgment or harmonious life, it is often assumed
that the strength or fertility of the imagination is
the cause of the deficient conduct of affairs, or
the moral error-a conclusion not only unjust,
but untrue. As a single example, which from
the familiarity of the names may bring my meaning home to you, I would take a group of poets,
whose characters are present to all your recollections: Cowper, Coleridge, Shelley, Byron. Now,
Cowper, speaking of his inability to put the terrible religious despair that possessed him into
words, says: "You may tell me, perhaps, that I
have written upon these subjects in verse, and
may, therefore, if I please, in prose. But there
is a difference. The search after poetical expression, the rhyme, the numbers, are all affairs of
some difficulty; they amuse, indeed, but are not
to be attained without study, and engross perhaps a larger share of the attention than the subject itself. Verse is my favorite occupation, and
what I compose in that way I reserve for my own
use hereafter." His poetry was in truth the salvation of his reason. Coleridge said if he had
not had two shelves in his mind, on one of which
he could put his imagination and the other his
daily life, his mind would have gone altogether.
Shelley, in whose nature the tenderest and most
noble intents were mixed with the most unruly
and unhappy practice, was ever rising out of the
moral confusion as his art developed, and but for
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