CONCERNING THE CAUSES OF THE DECREASE OR INCREASE OF OUR SENSUOUS PERCEPTIONS IN DEGREE.

§23. Our sensuous perceptions are increased in degree, 1, by contrast; 2, by novelty; 3, by change, and 4, by intensification. Contrast. Contrast is the putting aside of each other, under one and the same conception, sensuous representations which are averse to each other; whereby our attention is called into play. It is thus distinguished from contradiction, which is the connecting of two opposite conceptions. A well-cultivated piece of land in a desert elevates our perception of the former by the mere contrast. The noise and splendor of a court, or be it only of a large city, when compared with the quiet, simple, and yet contented life of a farmer; or a house with a thatched roof, but its rooms commodious and tasteful: such contrasts delight our eye; and we love to linger over them, since they strengthen our

senses.

Poverty and haughtiness, however; or the gorgeous jewelry of a lady. whose washing is none of the cleanest; or, as in the case of a late Polish noble, tables groaning under luxuries and served by numerous waiters, wearing wooden shoes; such things are not in contrast but in contradiction to each other, and one sensuous perception destroys or weakens the other, because it tries to unite opposites under one and the same conception; and this is impossible.

Still there is also a way of effecting a comic contrast, and of uttering an evident contradiction with the tone of truth, or placing before an audience something evidently contemptible in the language of praise, for the sole purpose of making the absurdity more deeply felt-as, for instance, FIELDING in Jonathan Wild, or BLUMAUER in his travestied Eneid-and thus for example, to make a jolly parody of a heart-breaking novel like Clarissa, with a view of strengthening the senses by freeing them from conflicts, wherein false and dangerous conceptions have involved them.

Novelty. The new, which includes the rare and the hitherto concealed, revives attention, because it involves a further acquisition; hence our sensuous perception increases by it in strength, whereas everyday, habitual occurrences deaden attention. This does not include, however, the discovery, inspection or public exhibition of subjects of antiquity-such as we might have supposed,

according to the natural course of things, to have long since been destroyed by the tooth of time. To sit upon a piece of the wall of an old Roman theatre (in Verona or Nismes), to have under one's hands the house-furniture of that people, discovered after so many years in Herculaneum from under the lava which had buried it, to be able to exhibit a coin of the Macedonian kings, or a gem of ancient sculpture, &c.: all this arouses the senses of a connoisseur to profound attention. An inclination to acquire some knowledge, merely on account of its novelty, variety, and hidden qualities, is called curiosity. This inclination, although it mere ly plays with perceptions, and has otherwise no interest in its object, deserves no censure, provided it is not extended to spying out matters which are of interest only to others. But so far as the mere sensuous impression is concerned, each morning comes to us new, and by the newness of its sensations makes all the images of our senses (unless the latter are really sickly) clearer and more vivid, than they usually are in the morning.

Change.-Monotony a perfect sameness in our sensationsresults at the end in their atony (a growing tired on the part of our attentiveness to its condition) and then our sensuous percep tion grows dim. Change refreshes our senses, but a sermon read off in the self-same tone, whether shrieking or moderate, puts a whole congregation to sleep. Work and rest, city and country life; in our social intercourse, conversation and play; in solitude amusement, whether by means of novels or poetry, or philosophy and mathematics: such changes strengthen the mind. It is the same vital force which stirs the consciousness of our sensations, but its various organs relieve each other in their activity. Hence it is easier to converse for some time while walking, since the muscles of the leg, in this case, take rest one after the other, than to remain standing stiff in one and the same place, in which case the muscles have to work without rest for a while. Hence also does it happen that traveling has so great a charm; it is a pity however, that with people of leisure it leaves a blank (atony) behind, as the result of the monotony of home life.

It is true that nature herself has ordered things already beforehand in such a manner, that pain enters uncalled between pleasurable sensations, such as entertain the senses, and by this entrance makes life interesting. But to allow pain purposely to intervene merely for the sake of change, and thus to hurt one's self, to have ourselves waked up merely to feel the pleasure of

renewed dropping off to sleep, or, as in Fielding's novel, "Tom Jones," where the publisher of that book added a final part to it after the author's death, to introduce, for the sake of variety, the element of jealousy after the wedding (wherewith that novel originally closed) is absurd; for to make a state of things worse than it is does not increase the interest which the senses take in it, even in a tragedy. For an ending is not variety. Intensification to a Climax. A continuous series of successive sensuous perceptions, which differ in degree, and of which the succeeding one is always more intense than the one preceding, has a maximum of intensity (intensio), to approach which is reviving, whereas to pass beyond it is exhausting (remissio). But the point which separates both conditions, is the completion (maximum) of the sensation, and is followed as its result, by impassivity and hence lifelessness.

If we desire to keep our sensuous faculty alive, we must not begin with strong sensations-for they make us insensitive to those that follow-but rather deprive ourselves of them at first, or take them in short measure, in order to be able to ascend always higher. The preacher begins in his introduction with a cool exposition addressed to the understanding, which points to the taking to heart of a conception of duty, and afterwards introduces into the analysis of his text a moral interest, finishing in the application with exciting all the motives of a human soul through all the sensations, which can give emphasis to that interest.

Young man! deprive thyself of the satisfaction of thy senses-gayety, luxury, love, &c.-though thou doest it not with the stoical purpose of becoming able to do without them, but with the refined Epicurean purpose of having constantly in view an ever-increasing enjoyment. This stinginess in regard to the capital of thy vital senses, makes thee truly richer through the postponement of enjoyment, even though thou shouldst have renounced the use thereof, for the greatest part, at the end of thy life. The consciousness of having the enjoyment in thy power is, like all that is ideal, more fruitful and far-reaching than all that which satisfies the senses, and which by thus being itself used up at the same time with that satisfaction, is taken off from the sum of the whole.

NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.

The Relationship of Politeness, Justice, and Religion.

The relation of man to man is three-fold, and may be considered as politeness, justice and love-the latter being also expressed by charity, kindness, or religion. It may not be amiss to seek a profounder reason than any we are accustomed to associate with the ordinary use of these words, and to clear up our beliefs on these fundamental subjects, by considering the real nature of these three ideas. We shall find that they each have a different standpoint from which the duty of man to man is regarded.

Politeness looks at man wholly from the ideal side, and is the expression of what is due the ideal man, not the expression of any one man's opinion of his fellow man. It consists of conventional forms which are its laws as agreed upon by society. Politeness then recog

nizes no shortcomings, is responsible for none. Within its limits it looks upon all men as equally noble, and ironically supposes that the ideal and real are one and the same in every individual, and treats him accordingly. Politeness has no moral quality beyond the obligation to know and use the forms which are accepted in the society in which one lives. To many an honest soul there seems, in treating all men with equal courtesy, to be something akin to a kind of unfairness which he would like to rectify if he could. From this view rudeness and plain speaking, that much be-praised vulgarity, have the air of virtues. But at the bottom of this feeling there is a misapprehension of the limits of courtesy. Politeness does not demand that we shall treat all alike, the common acquaintance as cordially as the dearest friend, nor are we called upon to indicate in our manners our private opinions of the people whom we meet. It is a mistake to suppose that politeness requires the obliteration of all differences in esteem and affection; it but recognizes certain conventionalities of behavior as due from man as man to the ideal whom it supposes in every man. These conventionalities are not a matter of honesty or dishonesty, but are the forms of ideal behavior of ideal

men.

But to be polite, although an important, is by no means the whole duty of man. Justice is broader because it sees both the ideal and real man. It does not refuse to see the defects, but on the coutrary takes full account of them. The peculiarity of the standpoint of justice is that it also recognizes responsibility. It says to every man, "You ought to be this, the ideal, but in fact you are thus, that is full of faults," and justice holds him responsible for the difference. It says, "You are a free agent, these sins of yours are the result of your own free choice." Justice is blind only to the weakness of human nature and takes no account of temptation, but looks upon every man as absolutely responsible for his deeds, as if it were really pos

are.

sible for him to be the ideal man. Hence justice consistently returns "the deed to the doer." Natural justice, or rather the justice of nature gives him back the consequences, if he breaks natural laws. Put your hand in the fire and it will burn, no matter how innocent you The institutions of human justice are not so stern, but they have the same principle at bottom. The law recognizes no extenuating circumstances but tries the criminal on the facts of his action, condemns him to what it considers an equivalent punishment upon the presumption that he is a free agent, and holds him responsible for his choice. After justice is satisfied his fellow man may then recommend mercy, the governor may pardon, but this is the kindness of individuals, the State as State cannot change its sentence. It is this recognition of weakness in the provision for pardon which marks the difference between man's justice and the inexorable justice of

nature.

It is evident from this view that justice is the right of authority, but not the right of man to man. The punishment of individual by individual cannot be allowed, because from its nature such punishment would have a personal element in it. Divested of this personal end and administered by the State, punishment is justice, otherwise it is only vengeance. Man must not be allowed to avenge his injuries, but must seek redress through the law which takes away the personal element entirely and elevates his injury to the dignity of a violation of abstract right.

Love is both broader and higher than either justice or politeness. Like the one it recognizes the ideal, like the other it sees in contrast the real man, but unlike either its only desire is to cure and make whole. The divine love offers pardon with tender recognition of the weakness of the human nature as well as the strength of the godlike nature in man. Justice recognizes no restoration to harmony with broken law and demands full expiation. Religion, which is the relation of man to God, consoles the suffering and forgives the sinner. Repentance restores the fallen soul to purity, although it does not take away the just consequences of sin. The words "reconciliation to God" have this precious meaning, and religion offers the only reconciliation.

Human charity recognizes the brotherhood of man no matter how fallen from its high estate, disguised in sin and misfortune. Its charitable institutions are the glory of the modern world. The more civilized and prosperous a community, the more generous its recognition of the claims of poverty, sickness, and suffering of all kinds. Society is emulating the divine love and "blessing them which hate and despitefully use it" when it makes its prisons to be reformatory institutions. In providing a refuge for the old and infirm it is Christlike, saying "come unto me all ye who are heavy laden and I will give you rest." Religion, the love of man for God, and charity, the love of man for man, are the highest forms of the spiritual life which Christ taught when he said: A new law bring I unto you, that ye love God with all your soul, and your neighbor as yourself.

ST. LOUIS, April, 1877.

E. S. M.