are false. Works of this character help to spread the popular contagion which makes the artist a curious and distinct species.
Professor Prescott's cardinal blunder arises from his misunderstanding of the intentions of scientific inquiry. He is continually asking why instead of how. Science is not called upon to explain anything; its purpose is the description and correlation of sense-impressions—no more and no less—and the validity of its investigations depends upon its close adherence to mental processes which are observable. The only excuse for the extension of psychology beyond the bounds of observation is to establish ideal concepts which will provide a progressive working basis for the classification of facts. In most cases when the scientist attempts to rationalize conscious phenomena by a pilgrimage into the uncharted hinterland of dreams, he becomes a dreary metaphysician. The loose thinking of The Poetic Mind is the result of the author's departure from the solid ground of perceptual experience.
The autogeny of art is destined, I fear, to remain enigmatical. But there is no reason to despair on this account: it is not necessary to explain why a man writes poetry. Here the psychologist throws up the sponge, and must be content to examine the processes of composition. Many theories have been advanced: the peculiar brain-habit of the poet; the determining tendencies which sharpen his feelings and render him microscopically sensitive to visual impressions; Aristotle's catharsis; the unruly optative complex; the religious urge; the social impetus; the crying demand for spiritual communication; and so on. These theories are valuable, but they belong to aesthetic criticism rather than to pure science. In the last analysis it is never really possible to find the sources of poetic inspiration. Professor Prescott is always on the hunt for significant stimuli; he accepts without reservation the artist’s word, and devotes a considerable part of his book to the testimony of poets. Now poets have much to say that is vital and illuminating, but as scientific witnesses they are generally unreliable. They are inclined to attribute their powers to arcane sources, to indulge in incoherent symbols, to add colour and mystery to honest toil by insistence on the fantastic dream-motif. Professor Prescott believes in dreams; he has abundant evidence, but it is tenuous and unconvincing.
Is there any legitimate reason why the author of a book on poetry should transcend the limits of perceptual experience? Very little.
