intellectual physics, without the necessity of performing some sort
of analysis, by which we reduce to simpler elements, some complex
feeling that seems to us virtually to involve them. In the mind of
man, all is in a state of constant and ever-varying complexity, and
a single sentiment may be the slow result of innumerable feelings.
There is not a single pleasure, or pain, or thought, or emotion, that
may not,--by the influence of that associating principle, which is
afterwards to come under our consideration,--be so connected with
_other_ pleasures, or pains, or thoughts, or emotions, as to form
with them, forever after, an union the most intimate. The complex,
or seemingly complex, phenomena of thought, which result from the
constant operation of this principle of the mind, it is the labour of
the _intellectual inquirer_ to _analyze_, as it is the labour of the
_chemist_ to reduce the compound bodies, on which he operates, however
close and intimate their combination may be, to their constituent
elements. The process, and the instruments by which the analyses are
carried on, are, indeed, as different as matter is from mind,--cumbrous
as matter, in the one case,--in the other, simple and spiritual as
mind itself. The aggregates of matter we analyze by the use of other
matter, adding substance after substance, and varying manipulation
after manipulation;--the complex mental phenomena we analyze virtually
by mere reflection; the same individual mind being the subject of
analysis, the instrument of analysis, and the analysing inquirer.
When I speak, however, of the union of separate thoughts and feelings
in one complex sentiment or emotion, and of the analytic power of
reflection or reason, it must not be conceived, that I use these
words in a sense precisely the same as when they are applied to
matter. A mass of matter, as we have seen, is, in truth, not _one_
body merely, but a _multitude_ of contiguous bodies; all of which, at
the time, may be considered as having a separate existence, and as
placed together more by accidental apposition, than by any essential
union;--and _analysis_ is nothing more than what its etymology denotes,
a _loosening_ of these from each other. In strictness of language,
this composition and analysis cannot take place in _mind_. Even the
most complex feeling is still only _one_ feeling; for we cannot divide
the states or affections of our mind into separate self-existing
fractions, as we can divide a compound mass of matter into masses,
which are separate and self-existing,--nor distinguish _half_ a joy or
sorrow from a _whole_ joy or sorrow. The conception of gold, and the
conception of a mountain, may separately arise, and may be followed
by the conception of a golden mountain; which may be said to be a
compound of the two, in the sense in which I use that word, to express
merely, that what is thus termed compound or complex is the result
of certain previous feelings, to which, as if existing together, it
is felt to have the virtual relation of equality, or the relation
which a whole bears to the parts that are comprehended in it. But
the conception of a _golden mountain_ is still as much _one_ state
or feeling of one simple mind, as either of the separate conceptions
of gold and of a mountain which preceded it. In cases of this kind,
indeed, it is the very nature of the resulting feeling to seem to us
thus complex; and we are led, by the very constitution of our mind
itself, to consider what we term a complex idea, as equivalent to the
separate ideas from which it results, or as comprehensive of them,--as
being truly to our conception--though to our conception only--and,
therefore, only virtually or relatively to us the inquirers--the same,
as if it were composed of the separate feelings _co-existing_, as the
elements of a body co-exist in space.
It is this feeling of the relation of certain states of mind to
certain other states of mind, which solves the whole mystery of
mental analysis, that seemed at first so inexplicable,--the virtual
_decomposition_, in our thought, of what is by its very nature,
_indivisible_. The mind, indeed, it must be allowed, is absolutely
simple in all its states; every separate state or affection of it must
therefore, be absolutely simple; but in certain cases, in which a
feeling is the result of other feelings preceding it, it is its very
nature to appear to involve the union of those preceding feelings;
and to distinguish the separate sensations, or thoughts, or emotions,
of which, on reflection, it thus seems to be comprehensive, is to
perform an intellectual process, which, though not a real analysis,
is an analysis at least relatively to our conception. It may still,
indeed, be said with truth, that the different feelings,--the states or
affections of mind which we term _complex_,--are absolutely _simple_
and _indivisible_, as much as the feelings or affections of mind which
we term simple. Of this there can be no doubt. But the complexity with
which alone we are concerned is not _absolute_ but _relative_,--a
seeming complexity, which is involved in the very feeling of relation
of every sort. That we are thus impressed with certain feelings
of relation of conceptions to conceptions, no one can doubt who
knows, that all science has its origin in these very feelings; and
equivalence, or equality, is one of those relations, which, from its
very constitution, it would be as impossible for the mind in certain
circumstances, not to feel, as it would be impossible for it, in
certain other circumstances, not to have those simple feelings which
it compares. With perfect organs of vision, and in the full light of
day, it is not possible for us to look on a tree, or a rock, without
perceiving it; but it is not more possible for us to form a conception
of two trees, without regarding this state of mind, simple though
it truly is, when absolutely considered as virtually involving, or
as equal to, two of those separate feelings, which constituted the
conception of a single tree.
On this mere feeling of virtual equivalence, is founded all the
demonstration of those sciences, which claim the glory of being
peculiarly demonstrative; our equations and proportions of abstract
number and quantity involving continually this analytic valuation of
notions, as reciprocally proportional. Our conception of an angle of
forty-five degrees is _one_ state or affection of mind,--one state
of one simple indivisible substance;--such, too, is our conception
of a right angle. Our notion of _four_ or _eight_ is as much _one_
affection of mind, as our notion of a simple unit. But, in reflecting
on the separate states of mind which constitute these notions, we are
impressed with certain relations which they seem, to us, reciprocally
to bear, and we consider the angle of forty-five degrees as equal to
half the angle of ninety degrees, and our notion of eight as involving
or equal to two of four. If one state of mind, which constitutes
the notion of a certain abstract number or quantity, had not been
considered in this sort of virtual comprehensiveness, as bearing the
relation of equality, or proportion, to other states of mind, which
constitute other abstract notions of the same species, mathematics
would not merely have lost their certainty, but there could not, in
truth, have been any such science as mathematics.
The _intellectual analysis_, which appears to me to constitute
so important a part of the science of mind, is nothing more than
the successive developement, in application to the various mental
phenomena, of this feeling of equivalence, or comprehensiveness, which
is not confined to the mathematical notions of number and quantity,
(though, from the greater simplicity of these, _their_ equality or
proportion may be more accurately distinguished,) but extends to every
thought and feeling which we regard as complex, that is to say, to
almost every thought and feeling of which the mind is susceptible. We
compare virtue with virtue, talent with talent, not, indeed, with the
same precision, but certainly in the same manner, and with the same
feeling of proportion, as we compare intellectually one angle with
another; and we ask what ideas are involved in our complex notions of
religion and government, with as strong a feeling that a number of
ideas are virtually involved or comprehended in them, as when we ask,
how often the square of two is repeated in the cube of six.
Analysis, then, in the Science of Mind, you will perceive, is founded
wholly on the feeling of relation which one state of mind seems to
us to bear to other states of mind, as comprehensive of them; but,
while this seeming complexity is felt, it is the same thing to our
analysis, as if the complexity, instead of being virtual and relative
only, were absolute and real. It may be objected to the application of
the term _analysis_ to the Science of Mind, that it is a term which,
its etymology shews, as I have already admitted, to be borrowed from
matter, and to convey, as applied to the mind, a notion in some degree
different from its etymological sense. But this is an objection which
may be urged, with at least equal force, against every term, or almost
every term, of our science. In our want of a peculiar metaphysical
language, we are obliged in this, as in every other case, to borrow
a metaphysical language from the material world; and we are very
naturally led to speak of mental composition and analysis, since to the
mind which feels the relation of equivalence or comprehensiveness, it
is precisely the same thing as if our ideas and emotions, that result
from former ideas and emotions, and are felt by us as if involving
these in one complex whole, could be actually divided into the separate
elements which appear to us thus virtually or relatively to be
comprehended in them.
It is from having neglected this branch of the physical investigation
of the mind,--by far the more important of the two,--and having fixed
their attention solely on the successions of its phenomena, that some
philosophers have been led to disparage the science as fruitless of
discovery, and even to deride the pretensions or the hopes of those who
do not consider it as absolutely exhausted;--I will not say now merely,
in the present improved state of the science, but as not exhausted
almost before philosophy began, in the rude consciousness of the
rudest savage, who saw, and remembered, and compared, and hoped, and
feared; and must, therefore, it is said, have known what it is to see,
and remember, and compare, and hope, and fear.
If the phenomena of the mind were to be regarded merely as
successive,--which is one only of the two lights in which they may
be physically viewed,--it might, indeed, be said, with a little
more appearance of truth, that this mere succession must be as
familiar to the unreflecting mind as to the mind of the philosopher;
though, even in this limited sense, the remark is far from being
accurate. But the phenomena have other relations, as well as those of
succession,--relations which are not involved in the mere consciousness
of the moment, but are discoverable by reflection only,--and to the
knowledge of which, therefore, addition after addition may be made by
every new generation of reflecting inquirers. From the very instant
of its first existence, the mind is constantly exhibiting phenomena
more and more complex,--sensations, thoughts, emotions, all mingling
together, and almost every feeling modifying, in some greater or less
degree, the feelings that succeed it;--and as, in chemistry, it often
happens, that the qualities of the separate ingredients of a compound
body are not recognizable by us, in the apparently different qualities
of the compound itself,--so, in this spontaneous _chemistry_ of the
_mind_, the compound sentiment, that results from the association of
former feelings, has, in many cases, on first consideration, so little
resemblance to these constituents of it, as formerly existing in their
elementary state, that it requires the most attentive reflection to
separate, and evolve distinctly to others, the assemblages which even
a few years may have produced. Indeed, so complex are the mental
phenomena, and so difficult of analysis,--even in those most common
cases, which may be said to be familiar to all,--that it is truly
wonderful that the difficulty of this analysis, and the field of
inquiry which this very difficulty opens, should not have occurred to
the disparagers of intellectual discovery, and made them feel, that
what _they_ were not able to explain could not be so well known to
all mankind as to be absolutely incapable of additional illustration.
The _savage_, they will tell us, is conscious of what he feels in
loving his country, as well as the sage; but, does he know as well, or
can even the sage himself inform us with precision, what the various
_elementary_ feelings have been, that have successively modified,
or rather, that have constituted this local attachment? The peasant,
indeed, may have the feeling of beauty, like the artist who produces
it, or the speculative inquirer, who analyses this very complex
emotion--
“Ask the swain,
Who journeys homeward, from a summer day's
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils
And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds,
O'er all the western sky? Full soon, I ween,
His rude expression, and untutor'd airs,
Beyond the power of language, will unfold
The form of Beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely, how commanding!”[38]
But the mere emotion which beauty produces, is not the knowledge of
the simpler feelings that have composed or modified it; and though the
pleasure and admiration were to continue exactly the same, the peasant
would surely have learned something, if he could be made to understand,
that beauty was more than the form and colour which his eye perceived.
What is thus true of beauty as differently understood by the peasant
and the philosopher, is true, in like manner, of all the other complex
mental phenomena. It would, indeed, be as reasonable to affirm, that,
because we all move our limbs, we are all equally acquainted with the
physiology of muscular motion; or, to take a case still more exactly
appropriate, that we know all the sublimest truths of arithmetic
and geometry, because we know all the numbers and figures of the
mere relations of which these are the science,--as that we are all
acquainted with the physiology of the mind, and the number of elements
which enter into our various feelings, because we all perceive, and
remember, and love, and hate. It is, it will be allowed, chiefly, or
perhaps, wholly, as it is _analytical_, that the science of mind admits
of _discovery_; but, as a science of analysis, in which new relations
are continually felt on reflection, it presents us with a field of
discovery as rich, and, I may say, almost as inexhaustible in wonders,
as that of the universe without.
“It is thus,” I have elsewhere remarked, “even in phenomena, which
seem so simple as scarcely to have admitted combination, what wonders
have been developed by scientific inquiry! Perception itself, that
primary function of the mind, which was surely the same before Berkeley
examined the laws of vision as at present, is now regarded by us very
differently, in relation to the most important of its organs; and it
would not be easy to find, amid all the brilliant discoveries of modern
chemistry, and even in the whole range of the physics of matter, a
proposition more completely revolting to popular belief, than that,
which it is now the general faith of philosophers, that the sense of
sight, which seems to bring the farthest hills of the most extended
landscape, and the very boundlessness of space before our view, is,
of itself, incapable of shewing us a single line of longitudinal
distance.”[39]
If, as has been strongly affirmed, the science of mind be a science
that is, by its very nature, insusceptible of improvement by discovery,
it must have been so, before the time of Berkeley as now, and it might
have been a sufficient answer to all the arguments which he adduced in
support of his theory of vision, that the phenomena which he boasted to
have analysed, were only the common and familiar phenomena of a sense
that had been exercised by all mankind.
“The vulgar,” I have said, “would gaze with astonishment, were they
to perceive an electrician inflame gunpowder with an icicle; but they
would not be less confounded by those dazzling subtleties with which
metaphysicians would persuade them, that the very actions which they
feel to be benevolent and disinterested, had their source in the same
principle of selfishness, which makes man a knave or a tyrant. That
this particular doctrine is false, is of no consequence; the whole
theory of our moral sentiment presents results which are nearly as
wonderful; and, indeed, the falseness of any metaphysical doctrine,
if rightly considered, is itself one of the strongest proofs that the
science of mind is a science which admits of discovery; for, if all men
had equal knowledge of all the relations of all the phenomena of their
mind, no one could advance an opinion on the subject, with real belief
of it, which another could discover to be erroneous. In the different
stages of the growth of a passion, what a variety of appearances does
it assume; and how difficult is it often to trace, in the confusion
and complication of the paroxysm, those calm and simple emotions, in
which, in many cases, it originated!--The love of domestic praise, and
of the parental smile of approbation, which gave excellence to the
first efforts of the child, may expand, with little variation, into the
love of honest and honourable fame; or, in more unhappy circumstances,
may shoot out from its natural direction, into all the guilt and
madness of atrocious ambition;--and can it truly be maintained, or even
supposed, for a moment, that all this fine shadowing of feelings into
feelings, is known as much to the rudest and most ignorant of mankind,
as it is to the profoundest intellectual inquirer? How different is
the passion of the miser, as viewed by himself, by the vulgar, and
by philosophers! He is conscious, however, only of the accuracy of
his reasonings on the probabilities of future poverty, of a love
of economy, and of temperance, and certain too of strict and rigid
justice. To common observers, he is only a lover of money. They content
themselves with the passion, in its mature state; and it would not be
easy to convince them, that the most self-denying avarice involves as
its essence, or at least originally involved, the love of those very
pleasures and accommodations, which are now sacrificed to it without
the least apparent reluctance.”[40]
“This light and darkness, in our chaos join'd,
What shall divide? The God within the mind.”
There is, indeed, a chaos, in the mind. But there is a spirit of
inquiry, which is forever moving over it, slowly separating all its
mingled elements. It is only when these are separated, that the
philosophy of mind can be complete, and incapable of further discovery.
To say that it is now complete, because it has in it every thing
which can be the subject of analysis, is as absurd, as it would be to
suppose that the ancient chaos, when it contained merely the elements
of things, before the spirit of God moved upon the waters of the abyss,
was already that world of life, and order, and beauty, which it was
after to become.
The difficulty which arises in the physical investigation of the mind,
from the apparent simplification of those thoughts and feelings which,
on more attentive reflection, are felt to be as if compounded of many
other thoughts and feelings, that have previously existed together,
or in immediate succession, is similar to the difficulty which we
experience in the physics of matter, from the imperfection of our
senses, that allows us to perceive masses only, not their elemental
parts, and thus leads us to consider as _simple_ bodies, what a single
new experiment may prove to be composed of _various_ elements.
In the _intellectual_ world, the slow progress of discovery arises,
in like manner, from the obstacles which our feeble power of
discrimination presents to our mental analysis. But, in mind, as well
as in matter, it must be remembered, that it is to this very feebleness
of our discriminating powers, the whole analytic science owes its
origin. If we could distinguish instantly and clearly in our complex
phenomena of thought, their constituent elements--if, for example, in
that single and apparently simple emotion, which we feel, on the sight
of _beauty_, as it lives before us, or in the contemplation of that
ideal beauty, which is reflected from works of art, we could discover,
as it were, in a single glance, all the innumerable feelings, which,
perhaps, from the first moment of life, have been conspiring together,
and blending in the production of it--we should then feel as little
interest in our _theories of taste_, as in a case formerly supposed,
we should have done in our theories of combustion, if the most minute
changes that take place in combustion had been at all times distinctly
visible. The mysteries of our intellect, the “altæ penetralia mentis,”
would then lie for ever open to us; and what was said poetically of
Hobbes, in the beautiful verses addressed to him on his work _De Natura
Hominis_, would be applicable to all mankind, not poetically, but in
the strictness of philosophic truth.
“Quæ magna cœli mœnia, et tractus maris,
Terræque fines, siquid aut ultra est, capit,
Mens ipsa tandem capitur; Omnia hactenus
Quæ nosse potuit, nota jam primum est sibi.
“Consultor audax, et Promethei potens
Facinoris animi! quis tibi dedit deus
Hæc intueri sæculis longe abdita,
Oculosque luce tinxit ambrosia tuos?
Tu mentis omnis, at tuæ nulla est capax.
Hoc laude solus fruere: divinum est opus
Animam creare; proximum huic, ostendere.
“Hic cerno levia affectuum vestigia,
Gracilesque Sensus lineas; video quibus
Vehantur alis blanduli Cupidines,
Quibusque stimulis urgeant Iræ graves,
Hic et Dolores et Voluptates suos
Produnt recessus; ipsi nec Timor latet.”
FOOTNOTES:
[37] Ep. i. v. 61-68. Works, vol. III. p. 5, 6.
[38] Pleasures of Imagination, Book III. v. 526-535.
[39] Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect, 2d edition, p. 32,
33.
[40] Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect, 2d edition, p.
26-30. with some alterations and exclusions.
LECTURE XI.
APPLICATION OF THE LAWS OF PHYSICAL INQUIRY, TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND,
CONCLUDED.--ON CONSCIOUSNESS, AND ON MENTAL IDENTITY.
In my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I considered, very fully, the
two species of inquiry which the philosophy of _mind_ admits in
exact analogy to the two species of inquiry in the philosophy of
_matter_,--the consideration of the mental phenomena, as _successive_,
and therefore susceptible of arrangement in the order of their
succession, as causes and effects,--and the consideration of them as
_complex_, and therefore susceptible of analysis. I stated to you, that
it was chiefly, if not wholly, in this latter view, as analytical,
that I conceived the philosophy of mind to be a science of progressive
discovery; though, as a science of analogy, it has not merely produced
results, as astonishing, perhaps, in some cases, as any of those which
the analysis of matter has exhibited, but presents still a field of
inquiry, that may be considered as inexhaustible; since the mind cannot
exist, without forming continually new combinations, that modify its
subsequent affections, and vary, therefore, the products, which it is
the labour of our intellectual analysis to reduce to their original
elements.