A remarkable piece of natural scenery, composed of mountains, woods,

rivers, lakes, ocean, flocks, herds, cultivated fields, gay

cottages, and splendid palaces, of which I had a lively recollection

many years ago, presents itself to me now very much faded: in other

words, a great variety of the circumstances, which make up the

detail and minute features of the scene, were formerly remembered by

me, but are now forgotten. And how forgotten? The manner is obvious.

The greater features, which I still remember, had formerly the power

of calling up the smaller along with them, and the whole scene was

revived; the association gradually declining, the great objects have

no longer the power to excite the idea of the small; and they are

therefore gone from me for ever.

There are things of which I have so entirely lost the recollection,

that it never can be revived. The meaning is, that the associations

which were formed between the ideas of them, and other ideas, are so

completely dissolved, that none of my present ideas has the power of

exciting them.

It is observable, that sensations have a stronger power to excite

recollections than is possessed by {333} ideas.[92] A man, after an

absence of many years, revisits the scenes of his infancy: a variety

of circumstances crowd into his memory, which, but for the scene

before him, would never have been remembered again. These are the

circumstances between which, and the perception of the pristine

objects, the association is not yet dissolved. There are other

circumstances, without number, which (the association being

completely dissolved) not even that perception can revive, and which

never can be remembered more.

[Bain's footnote 92: This is for no other reason than the superior

intensity or impressiveness of the actual as compared with the

ideal. Although as a rule, the sensation has a greater hold of the

mind, than the corresponding idea, there are exceptions. An idea may

sometimes be accompanied with an intensity of mental occupation and

excitement, surpassing the reality: what we have looked at with

indifference when it occurred, may take on an extraordinary

importance in the retrospect; in which case its power of

resuscitating collateral circumstances will be far greater than the

power of the original sensation.--_B._]

We have seen that there are two cases of memory; that in which

sensations are remembered, and that in which ideas.

It is said, that there are men, who, by often telling a mendacious

story as true, come at last to believe it to be true. When this

happens, the fact is, that a case of the memory of _ideas_, comes to

be mistaken for a case of the memory of _sensations_.

How did the man know at first that it was a fictitious story; and

how did he afterwards lose that knowledge?

He knew, at first, by certain associations; he lost his knowledge,

by losing those associations, and {334} acquiring others in their

stead. When he first told the story, the circumstances related

called up to turn the idea of himself fabricating the story. This

was the memory of the fabrication. In repeating the story as real,

the idea of himself fabricating the story is hurried over rapidly;

the idea of himself as actor in the story is dwelt upon with great

emphasis. In continued repetitions, the first circumstance being

attended to as little as possible, the association of it grows

weaker and weaker; the other circumstance engrossing the attention,

the association of it grows stronger and stronger; till the weaker

is at last wholly overpowered by the stronger, and ceases to have

any effect.

In delirium, madness, and dreams, men believe that what they only

imagine, they hear, see, and do. This so far agrees with the case of

forgetfulness, just explained, that, in both, there is a mistake of

ideas for sensations; but, in the case of memory, it is a mistake of

past ideas for past sensations; in delirium, madness, and dreaming,

it is a mistake of present ideas for present sensations.

How men in sound memory distinguish the ideas remembered, from

sensations remembered, and know that the one is not the other, seems

to be accounted for by the difference of the things themselves. A

sensation is different from an idea, only because it is felt to be

different; and being felt to be different, and known to be

different, are not two things, but one and the same thing. I have a

sensation; I have an idea: if these two are distinguishable in the

having, it is likely that the copy of the sensation should be

distinguishable from the revival of the idea, when they are both

brought up by association; just as when I {335} have two

distinguishable sensations, one, for example, of red, and another of

black, the copies of them, when brought up by association, are

distinguishable. Besides, the accompaniments of a sensation are

always generically different from those of an idea; of course, the

associations are generically different. The accompaniments of a

sensation, are all the simultaneous objects of sensation, together

with all those which, to a certain extent, both preceded and

followed it. The accompaniments of an idea are not the simultaneous

objects of sensation, but other ideas; namely, the neighbouring

parts, antecedent and consequent, of the mental train. A sensation,

therefore, called up by association, and an idea called up by

association, are distinguished both by the difference of the two

feelings, and the difference of the associated circumstances.

It is observable, that the idea of a sensation called up by

association, and recognised as the idea of a sensation, is of course

a remembrance. The recognition consists in that highly complex idea,

consisting of three principal ingredients: 1, the point of

consciousness called the remembering self; 2, the point of

consciousness called the percipient self; 3, the successive states

of consciousness which filled up the interval, between these two

points.

An _idea_ called up by association is not necessarily a remembrance;

it is only a remembrance when recognised as having been an idea

before. And it is recognised as having been an idea before, by the

association of that idea, which connects the self of the present

moment with the self of the past moment, the remembering self with

the conceiving self: in other {336} words, the complex idea is made

up of those two selfs and the intermediate states of consciousness.

Another distinction is here suggested between the memory of a

sensation and the memory of an idea. The complex idea, which needs

to be associated with a mere simple idea, to make it memory, is not

the same in the two cases. There is a specific difference. The self

which is at the antecedent end of the associated train, (in the case

of sensation,) is the sentient self; that is, seeing or hearing; the

self at the antecedent end of the associated train, (in the case of

ideas,) is not the sentient self, but the conceptive self, self

having an idea. But myself percipient, and my self imagining or

conceiving, are two very different states of consciousness: of

course the ideas of these states of consciousness, or these states

revived by association, are very different ideas.

The simplest of all cases of memory is that of a sensation

immediately past. I have one sensation, and another sensation; call

them A and B; and I recognise them as successive. Every man has

experience of the fact, and is familiar with it. But not every man

can tell what it involves.

When a sensation ceases, it is as completely gone, as if it had

never existed.[93] It is, in a certain sense, {337} revived again in

its idea. But that idea must be called into existence by something

with which it is associated. In my two sensations, supposed above,

the one antecedent, the other consequent, how do I recognise the

succession; if the first is gone, before the coming of the second?

It is evident that it must be by memory. And how by memory? The

preceding developments seem to make the process clear. The

consciousness of the present moment calls up the idea of the

consciousness of the preceding moment. The consciousness of the

present moment is not absolutely simple; for, whether I have a

sensation or idea, the idea of what I call Myself is always

inseparably combined with it. The consciousness, then, of the second

of the two moments in the case supposed, is the sensation combined

with the idea of Myself, which compound I call "Myself Sentient."

This "Self Sentient," in other words sensation B, combined with the

idea of self, calls up the idea of sensation A combined with the

idea of self. This we call MEMORY; and, there being no intermediate

link, _immediate_ MEMORY. Suppose that, instead of two sensations,

there had been three, A, B, C. In order {338} to remember A, it is

necessary to step over B. The consciousness of the third moment,

namely, "sensation C, united with the idea of self," calls up the

idea of "sensation A, united with the idea of self," and along with

this the intermediate state of consciousness, "B, with the constant

concomitant self." If the intermediate state, B, were not included,

the sensation A would appear to have immediately preceded sensation

C, and the memory would be inaccurate.

[Bain's footnote 93: This is a statement that should be qualified.

Looking to the change of outward situation, we may say that the

difference between the present reality, and the idea of it when

past, is total and vast: the wide prospect before the eyes at one

moment is gone, annihilated, non-existent. But looking at the mental

process, we must use more moderate language. The mind does not adapt

itself to the new situation with the same rapidity. If one is very

much impressed with a picture, one maintains the rapt attitude for a

little time, after the picture is withdrawn, and only by degrees

loses the hold in favour of the next thing presented to the view. It

is possible for us to resist the solicitation of the actual scene,

and to be absorbed to the full measure of actuality by something no

longer actual. The immediate past may still divide the empire with

the present. The psychological transition follows a different law

from the objective transition: a circumstance in no small degree

involved in the subtle question of our mental continuity or personal

identity.--_B._]

We have thus carried the analysis of Memory to a certain point. We

have found the association to consist of three parts; the

remembering self; the remembered self; and the train which

intervened. Of these three parts, the last has been fully expounded.

The recalling of the successive states of consciousness, which

composed the intervening train, is an ordinary case of association.

The other parts, _the two selfs_, at the two extremities of this

train, require further consideration. The self, at the first end, is

the remembered self; the _self which had a sensation, or an idea_.

The idea of this self, therefore, consists of two parts: of self,

and a sensation, or an idea. The last-mentioned part of this

combination, the sensation or idea, needs no explanation; the first,

that which is called self, does. The self at the other extremity of

the chain of consciousness, is the _remembering self_. Remembering

is associating. The idea of this self, then, is the combination of

self with the idea of associating. And here, too, associating needs

no explanation; it is the other part of the combination that does.

The analysis, then, of SELF, or the account of what is included in

that state of consciousness commonly {339} called the _idea of

personal identity_, is still wanting to the complete developement of

Memory.

Philosophers tell us also, that the idea of _Time_ is included in

every act of MEMORY; and again, that it is from MEMORY we obtain our

idea of _Time_: thus asserting that the idea of _Time_ must precede

MEMORY, and that MEMORY must precede the idea of _Time_. These

contradicting propositions imply that the idea of Time in the minds

of those who make them, is a very confused idea. Nevertheless, as

there can be no memory without the idea called Time, the exposition

of that idea, likewise, is necessary to the full understanding of

Memory.

The idea of personal IDENTITY, and the idea of TIME, two very

remarkable states of consciousness, will be very carefully examined

hereafter. But for the more ready understanding of what is necessary

to be adduced in expounding those complicated cases of association,

some other phenomena of the mind will first be explained.

What is to be understood by that BELIEF which is said to accompany

MEMORY, will be seen in the next chapter, where all the different

cases of belief will be resolved into their elements.[94]

[Editor's footnote 94: The only difficulty about Memory, when once

the laws of Association are understood, is the difference between it

and Imagination; but this is a difference which will probably long

continue to perplex philosophers. The author finds in Memory,

besides the idea of the fact remembered, two other ideas: "the idea

of my present self, the remembering self, and the idea of my past

self, the remembered or witnessing self:" and a supposed rapid

repetition in thought, of the whole of the impressions which I

received between the time remembered and the {340} time of

remembering. But (apart from the question whether we really do

repeat in thought, however summarily, all this series) explaining

memory by Self seems very like explaining a thing by the thing. For

what notion of Self can we have, apart from Memory? The fact of

remembering, i.e. of having an idea combined with the belief that

the corresponding sensation was actually felt by me, seems to be the

very elementary fact of Self, the origin and foundation of the idea;

presupposed in our having the very complex notion of a Self, which

is here introduced to explain it. As, however, the author admits

that the phenomenon of Belief, and the notions of Time and of

Personal Identity, must be taken into account in order to give a

complete explanation of Memory, any further remarks had better be

deferred until these subjects have been regularly brought under our

consideration.--_Ed._]

{341} CHAPTER XI.

BELIEF.

"Cette recherche peut infiniment contribuer aux progrès de l'art de

raisonner; elle le peut seule développer jusques dans ses premiers

principes. En effet, nous ne découvrirons pas une manière sûre de

conduire constamment nos pensées; si nous ne savons pas comment

elles se sont formées."--_Condillac_, _Traité des Sensations_, p.

460.

IT is not easy to treat of MEMORY, BELIEF, and JUDGMENT, separately.

For, in the rude and unskilful manner in which naming has been

performed, the states of consciousness, marked by those terms, are

not separate and distinct.

Part of that which is named by MEMORY is included under the term

BELIEF; and part of that which is named by JUDGMENT, is also

included under the name BELIEF. BELIEF, therefore, instead of having

a distinct province to itself, encroaches on the provinces both of

MEMORY, and JUDGMENT; from which great confusion has arisen.

I take MEMORY first, and JUDGMENT last, from no other principle of

arrangement, than facility of {342} exposition; and I have in this

way found it convenient to treat of JUDGMENT as a case of

BELIEF.[95]

[Editor's footnote 95: How is it possible to treat of Belief without

including in it Memory and Judgment? Memory is a case of belief. In

what does Memory differ from Imagination, except in the belief that

what it represents did really take place? Judgment, in its popular

acceptation, is Belief resulting from deliberate examination, in

other words, Belief grounded on evidence: while in its philosophical

sense it is coextensive, if not synonymous, with Belief itself. I do

not know how it is possible to distinguish a judgment from any other

process of the mind, except by its being an act of belief.--_Ed._]

We begin as usual with the simplest cases. These are, the case of a

simple sensation, and the case of a simple idea. When we have a

sensation, we BELIEVE that we have it; when we have an idea, we

BELIEVE that we have it.

But, to have a sensation, and to believe that we have it, are not

distinguishable things. When I say "I have a sensation," and say,

"I believe that I have it," I do not express two states of

consciousness, but one and the same state. A sensation is a feeling;

but a feeling, and the belief of it are the same thing. The

observation applies equally to ideas. When I say I have the idea of

the sun, I express the same thing exactly, as when I say, that I

believe I have it. The feeling is one, the names, only, are two.[96]

[97]

[Bain's footnote 96: In the case of a present reality, belief has no

place; it can be introduced only by a fiction or a figure. The

believing state comes into operation when something thought of is

still remote, and attainable by an intermediate exertion. The fact

"I see the sun" is full fruition: the fact that I can see the sun by

going out of doors affords scope for belief or disbelief.--_B._]

[Editor's footnote 97: The difference between Mr. Bain and the

author is but in language and classification. It is necessary for

the reader of the Analysis to remember, that the author uses the

word Belief as the most general term for every species of conviction

or assurance; the assurance of what is before our eyes, as well as

of that which we only remember or expect; of what we know by direct

perception, as well as of what we accept on the evidence of

testimony or of reasoning: all this we are convinced or persuaded

of; all this, in the author's language, we believe. Mr. Bain, on the

other hand, like Sir William Hamilton and many others, restricts the

term to those cases of conviction which are short of direct

intuition.--_Ed._]

{343} It may be alleged that, when I say "I have a sensation,"

I express the simple feeling, as derived from the outward sense;

but that when I say "I believe I have a sensation," I express two

things, the simple sensation, and the association with it, of that

remarkable idea, the idea of myself. The association, however, is

the same in both cases. As I never have the sensation of an object,

the sight, for example, of a rose, without associating with it, the

idea of position, and also that of unity; nor the _idea_ of such an

object, without the same association; so I never have a sensation,

nor the idea of that sensation, without associating with it, the

idea of myself. And in both cases, the associations are of that

remarkable class, which we have denominated inseparable. It is not

in our power to prevent them. Whensoever the perception of the

object exists, the idea of its position is sure to exist along with

it; whensoever one of my sensations exists, the idea of myself

exists along with {344} it; whensoever one of my _ideas_ exists, the

idea of myself is sure to exist along with it.

In the case, then, of a present sensation, and that of a present

idea; the sensation, and the belief of the sensation; the idea, and

the belief of the idea, are not two things; they are, in each case,

one and the same thing; a single thing, with a double name.

The several cases of Belief may be considered under three heads:

I., Belief in events, real existences; II., Belief in testimony; and

III., Belief in the truth of propositions. We shall consider them in

their order; and first, Belief in events, real existences.

I. This is subdivided into three distinct cases: 1, Belief in

present events; 2, Belief in past events; 3, Belief in future

events.

1. Belief in present events, again, is divided into two cases:

1, Belief in immediate existences present to my senses; 2, Belief in

immediate existences not present to my senses.

Belief in existences present to my senses, includes, for one

element, belief in my sensations; and belief in my sensations, as we

have just observed, is only another name for having the sensations.

But belief in the external objects, is not simply belief in my

present sensations; it is this, and something more. The something

more, is now the object of our inquiry. I see, for example, a rose:

my sensation is a sensation of sight: that of a certain modification

of light; but my belief of the rose is not this; it is this, and

much more.

Besides the sensation of colour, I have, for one thing, the belief

of a certain distance, at which I see {345} the rose; and that of a

certain figure, consisting of leaves disposed in a certain form.

I believe that I see this distance and form; in other words, perceive

it by the eye, as immediately as I perceive the colour. Now this

last part of the process has been explained by various philosophers.

There is no dispute, or uncertainty, about the matter. All men

admit, that this, one of the most remarkable of all cases of belief,

is wholly resolvable into association.[98] It is acknowledged, that,

by the sense of sight, we receive no sensation but that of a certain

modification of light. It is equally proved, that the sensations

from which our ideas of distance and figure are derived, are

sensations of the muscular actions and touch. How, then, is the

Belief generated, that we see extension and figure, as well as

colour? After the experience the learner has now had in tracing the

rapid combinations of the mind, this presents but little difficulty.

He knows, that when we are receiving through the muscles and the

touch, the sensations which yield us the idea of extension and

figure, we are receiving the sensations of sight at the same time,

from the same objects. The sensations of sight, therefore, are {346}

associated with the ideas of these tactile and muscular sensations;

and associated in the most perfect possible manner; because the

conjunction is almost invariable, and of incessant occurrence,

during the whole period of life. We are perpetually feeling, and

seeing, the same objects, at the same time; so much so, that our

lives may be said to consist of those sensations in union; to

consist, at least to a far greater degree, of this, than of any one

other state of consciousness.

[Editor's footnote 98: "All men admit." Certainly not all men;

though, at the time when the author wrote, it might be said, with

some plausibility, all psychologists. Unfortunately this can no

longer be said: Mr. Samuel Bailey has demanded a rehearing of the

question, and has pronounced a strong and reasoned opinion on the

contrary side; and his example has been followed by several other

writers: but without, in my opinion, at all weakening the position

which since the publication of Berkeley's Essay on Vision, had been

almost unanimously maintained by philosophers.--_Ed._]

This intensity of association, we know, produces two effects. One,

is to blend the associated feelings so intimately together, that

they no longer appear many, but one feeling. The other is, to render

the combination inseparable; so that if one of the feelings exist,

the others necessarily exist along with it.

The case of association which we are now considering, brings to view

another circumstance, of some importance in tracing the effects of

this great law of our nature. It is this: that in any associated

cluster, the idea of sight is almost always the prevalent part. The

visible idea is that which takes the lead, as it were; and serves as

the suggesting principle to the rest. So it happens in the

combination of the sensations of colour, with those of extension and

figure: the visible idea stands foremost; and calls up the rest. It

calls them up also with such intensity, that both the remarkable

cases of association are exemplified. Whenever we have the sensation

of colour, we cannot avoid having the ideas of distance, of

extension, and figure, along with it; nor can we avoid having them

in such intimate union with the ocular sensation, that they appear

to be that sensation itself. {347} This is the whole of what is ever

supposed to be in the case. Of no phenomenon of the human mind is

the developement more complete or more important. Our belief that we

see the shape, and size, and distance of the object we look at, is

as perfect as belief in any instance can be. But this belief is

nothing more than a case of very close association.

The case of belief by association, any one may illustrate further,

for himself, by recollecting some of the commonest cases of optical

deception. If we look at a landscape with the naked eye, we believe

the several objects before us, the men, the animals, the trees, the

houses, the hills, to be at certain distances. If we next look at

them through a telescope, they seem as if they were brought near; we

have the distinct belief of their proximity, and though a belief

immediately corrected by accompanying reflection, it is not only

belief, but a belief that we can by no means shake off. We can,

after this, invert the telescope, and then we cannot help believing,

that the nearest objects are removed to a distance. Now what is it

that the telescope performs in these two instances? It modifies in a

certain manner the rays of light to the eye. The rays, proceeding

from the objects, are so distributed on the eye, as they would be if

the distance of the objects was less, or greater. Instantly we have

the belief that it is less or greater; because, the sensation of the

eye, by means of the glass, is made to resemble that which it

receives, when objects are seen at a smaller or greater distance;

and each of the sensations calls up that idea of distance which is

habitually associated with it.

We have thus far proceeded, with some certainty, {348} in detecting

the component parts of that which we call our "belief in the

existence of external objects." We have taken account of the

sensation from which is derived the visible idea, of the sensations

from which are derived the ideas of position, extension, and figure;

and we have explained the intimate combination of those two sets of

ideas by association. But these, though the leading sensations and

ideas, are not the only ones. There are, besides, the sensations

from which we derive the idea of resistance, in all its

modifications, from that of air, to that of adamant. There are also

sensations which are not common to all objects, but peculiar to

some; as smell, peculiar to odorous bodies; taste, to sapid; and

sound, to sonorous ones.

Now, though the most remarkable case of the associations among those

feelings, is that between colour, and extension and figure, they are

all blended by association into one idea; which, though in reality a

cluster of ideas, affects us in the same manner as if it were a

single idea; an idea, the parts of which we detect by an analysis,

which it requires some training to be able to make.

With the colour of the rose, the size and figure of the rose,--which

are the predominant ideas,--I associate the idea of that

modification of hardness and softness, which belongs to the rose;

its degree of resistance, in short; also its smell, and its taste.

These associations have been formed, as other associations are, by

repetition. I have had so uniformly the sight, along with the

handling, these, along with the smell, and the taste--of the rose,

that they are always called up together, and in the closest

combination.

{349} Now then let us ask, what we mean, when we affirm, that the

rose exists. In this meaning are undoubtedly included the above

sensations, in a certain order. I see the rose on the garden wall,

and I affirm that it exists: that is, along with my present

sensation, the sight of the rose, I have the ideas of a certain

order of other sensations. These are, first, the idea of distance,

that is, the idea of the feelings involved in the act of going to

the rose: after this, the idea of the feelings in handling it; then

in smelling, then in tasting it; all springing up by association

with the sight of the rose. It is said, we believe we should have

these sensations. That is, we have the idea of these sensations

inseparably united one with the other, and inseparably united with

the idea of ourselves as having them. That this alone constitutes

belief, in the remarkable case of the association of extension and

figure with the sensations of sight, has already been seen; that

this alone constitutes it, in many other remarkable cases, will be

seen as we proceed; and in no case can it be shewn, that any thing

more is included in it.

In my belief, then, of the existence of an object, there is included

the belief, that, in such and such circumstances, I should have such

and such sensations. Is there any thing more? It will be answered

immediately, yes: for that, along with belief in my sensations as

the _effect_, there is belief of something as the _cause_; and that

to the _cause_, not to the _effect_, the name object is

appropriated.

This is a case of Belief, which deserves the greatest possible

attention. It is acknowledged, on all hands, that we know nothing of

objects; but the sensations {350} we have from them. There is a

cause, however, of those sensations, and to that we give the name

object: or, rather, there is a cluster of causes, corresponding with

the cluster of sensations. Thus, when I see, and handle, and smell,

and taste the rose, there is a cause of the sensation red, a cause

of the sensation soft, a cause of the sensation round, a cause of

the smell, and a cause of the taste; and all these causes are united

in the rose. But what is the rose, beside the colour, the form, and

so on? Not knowing what it is, but supposing it to be something, we

invent a name to stand for it. We call it a _substratum_. This

substratum, when closely examined, is not distinguishable from

Cause. It is the cause of the qualities; that is, the cause of the

causes of our sensations. The association, then, is this. To each of

the sensations we have from a particular object, we annex in our

imagination, a cause; and to these several causes we annex a cause,

common to all, and mark it with the name substratum.

This curious case of association we now proceed to develop. The word

cause, means the antecedent of a consequent, where the connection is

constant. This has been established on such perfect evidence, that

it is a received principle of philosophy. More of the evidence of

this important principle will appear as we go on. Here we shall take

the proposition for granted.

Not only are we, during the whole period of our lives, witnesses of

an incessant train of events; that is, of antecedents and

consequents, between which, for the greater part, the order is

constant; but these constant conjunctions are, of all things in the

world, what we are {351} the most deeply interested in observing;

for, on the knowledge of them, all our power of obtaining good and

avoiding evil depends. From this, it necessarily follows, that

between none of our ideas is the association more intimate and

intense, than between antecedent and consequent, in the order of

events. Whenever we perceive an event, the mind instantly flies to

its antecedent. I hear words in the street; _event_: some one, of

course, is making them; _antecedent_. My house is broken, and my

goods are gone; _event_: a thief has taken them; _antecedent_. This

is that remarkable case of association, in which the combination is

_inseparable_; a case of so much importance in explaining some of

the more mysterious phenomena of thought. Other instances of this

remarkable phenomenon, to which we have already had occasion to

advert, are, the sight of an object, and the ideas of its distance,

its extension, and figure; the idea of colour, and the idea of

extension; the idea of an object, and the idea of position and

unity; the idea of one of my sensations, and the idea of myself. In

no instance is this inseparable association more perfect, or its

consequences more important, than in that between an event, and its

antecedent. We cannot think of the one without thinking of the

other. The two ideas are forced upon us at the same time; and by no

effort of ours can they be disjoined. So necessarily, from the first

moment of experience, are we employed in observing the constant

conjunctions of events; and so deeply are we interested, in looking

out for, and knowing the constant antecedent of every event, that

the association becomes part of our being. The perception, or the

idea, of an event, instantly brings up {352} the idea of its

constant antecedent; definite and clear, if the antecedent is known;

and indefinite and obscure, if it is unknown. Still, the idea of an

event, of a change, without the idea of its cause, is impossible.

That a cause means, and can mean nothing to the human mind, but

constant antecedent, is no longer a point in dispute.[99]

[Editor's footnote 99: Here again the author takes too sanguine a

view of the amount of agreement hitherto attained among metaphysical

philosophers. "That a cause means, and can mean, nothing to the

human mind but constant antecedent" is so far from being "no longer

a point in dispute" that it is denied with vehemence by a large

numerical majority of philosophers; and its denial is perhaps the

principal badge of one of the two schools which at this, as at most

other times, bisect the philosophical world--the intuitional school

and the experiential--_Ed._]

Of this remarkable case of association, that which we call "Our

Belief in External Objects" is one of the most remarkable instances.

Of the sensations, of sight, of handling, of smell, of taste, which

I have from a rose, each is an event; with each of those events, I

associate the idea of a constant antecedent, a cause; that cause

unknown, but furnished with a name, by which it may be spoken of,

namely, quality; the quality of red, the cause of the sensation red;

the qualities of consistence, extension and figure, the causes of

the sensations of handling; the qualities of smell and taste, the

causes of the sensations of smell and taste. Such is one part of the

process of association in this case. Another is that by which the

ideas of those sensations are so intimately united, as to appear not

several ideas, but one idea, the idea of a rose. We have now two

steps of association; that {353} of the several sensations into one

idea; that of the several sensations each with a separate cause. But

we do not stop here; for, as in a train of events, consisting of

several links, A, B, C, D, and so on, though C is the antecedent or

cause of D, it is itself the consequent or effect of B; and in all

cases, when we have found the cause of any particular event, we have

still to find out what was the cause of that cause. In this manner,

when our habit of association has carried us from our sensations to

the causes of them, the same habit carries us still farther.

As each of our sensations must have a cause, to which, as unknown,

we give the name quality; so each of those qualities must have a

cause. And as the ideas of a number of sensations, concomitant in a

certain way, are combined into a single idea; as that of rose, that

of apple; the unity, which is thus given to the effects, is of

course transferred to the supposed causes, called qualities: they

are referred to a common cause. To this supposed cause of supposed

causes, we give a name; and that name is the word _Substratum_.

It is obvious, that there is no reason for stopping at this

_Substratum_; for, as the sensation suggested the quality, the

quality the substratum, the substratum as properly leads to another

antecedent, another substratum, and so on, from substratum to

substratum, without end. These inseparable associations, however,

rarely go beyond a single step, hardly ever beyond two. The

Barbarian, in accounting for the support of the earth, placed it on

the back of a great elephant, and the great elephant on the back of

a great tortoise; but neither himself, nor those whom he {354}

instructed, were carried by their habits of association any

farther.[100]

[Editor's footnote 100: It is a question worth considering, why that

demand for a cause of everything, which has led to the invention of

so many fabulous or fictitious causes, so generally stops short at

the first step, without going on to imagine a cause of the cause.

But this is quite in the ordinary course of human proceedings. It is

no more than we should expect, that these frivolous speculations

should be subject to the same limitations as reasonable ones. Even

in the region of positive facts in the explaining of phenomena by

real, not imaginary, causes--the first semblance of an explanation

generally suffices to satisfy the curiosity which prompts the

inquiry. The things men first care to inquire about are those which

meet their senses, and among which they live; of these they feel

curious as to the origin, and look out for a cause, even if it be

but an abstraction. But the cause once found, or imagined, and the

familiar fact no longer perplexing them with the feeling of an

unsolved enigma, they do not, unless unusually possessed by the

speculative spirit, occupy their minds with the unfamiliar

antecedent sufficiently to be troubled respecting it with any of the

corresponding perplexity.--_Ed._]

Such appear to be the elements included in our belief of the

existence of objects acting on our senses. We have next to unfold

the case of belief in the present existence of objects not acting on

our senses.

Of this Belief, there are two cases: 1, Belief in the existence of

objects, which we have not perceived; 2, Belief in the existence of

objects, which we have perceived.

The first of these, is a case of the Belief in testimony; which is

to be explained hereafter. What we are to examine at the present

moment, then, is, our Belief in the existence of objects, which,

though not {355} now present to our senses, have been so at a

previous time. Thus, I believe in the present existence of St.

Paul's, which I saw this morning.

In tracing the elements of this Belief, it is obvious in the first

place, that in so far as it is founded on my past sensations, memory

is concerned in it. But Memory relates to _past_ events, Belief in

which, is to be considered under a following head. This part of the

development, therefore, we postpone.

But, beside Memory, what other element is concerned in it? There is

evidently an anticipation of the future. In believing that St.

Paul's exists, I believe, that whenever I am in the same situation,

in which I had perception of it before, I shall have perception of

it again. But this Belief in future events, is also a case, which

remains to be considered under a subsequent head. This, therefore,

is another part of the development, which must be postponed.

I not only believe, that I shall see St. Paul's, when I am again in

St. Paul's Churchyard; but I believe, I should see it if I were in

St. Paul's Churchyard this instant. This, too, is also a case, of

the anticipation of the future from the past, and will come to be

considered under the subsequent head already referred to.

Besides these cases, the only one which remains to be considered,

is, my Belief that, if any creature whose senses are analogous to my

own, is now in St. Paul's Churchyard, it has the present sensation

of that edifice.

My belief in the sensations of other creatures, is wholly derived

from my experience of my own sensations. The question is, How it is

derived. That {356} it is an inference from similitude, will not be

denied. But what is an inference from similitude?

I have no direct knowledge of any feelings but my own. How is it,

then, that I proceed?

There are certain things which I consider as marks or signs of

sensations in other creatures. The Belief follows the signs, and

with a force, not exceeded in my other instance. But the

interpretation of signs is wholly a case of association, as the

extraordinary phenomena of language abundantly testify.[101] And

whenever the association, between the sign and the {357} thing

signified, is sufficiently strong to become inseparable, it is

belief. Thus, rude and ignorant people, to whom the existence of but

one language is known, believe the name by which they have always

called an object to belong to it naturally, as much as its shape,

its colour, or its smell.[10*] Thus the perceptions of sight, mere

signs of distance, magnitude, and figure, are followed by belief of

the sight of them. And it is remarked, with philosophical accuracy,

by Condillac, that if our constitution had been such, as to give us,

instead of a different modification of sight, a different

modification of smell, with each variety of distance, extension, and

figure, we should have smelt distance, extension and figure, in the

same manner as, by the actual conformation of our organs, we see

them. Nor can we doubt the truth of the ingenious observation of

Diderot, that if we had seen, and heard, and tasted, and smelt, at

the ends of our fingers, in the same manner as we feel, we should

have believed our mind to be in the fingers, as we now believe it to

be in the head.

[Bain's footnote 101: This is true in by far the greater number of

instances. Nevertheless, there are some of the signs of feeling that

have an intrinsic efficacy, on very manifest grounds. While the

meanings of the smile and the frown could have been reversed, if the

association had been the other way, there is an obvious suitability

in the harsh stunning tones of the voice to signify anger and to

inspire dread, and a like suitability in the gentle tones to convey

affection and kindly feeling. We might have contracted the opposing

associations, had the facts been so arranged, just as in times of

peace, we associate joy with deafening salvos of artillery; and as

loud, sharp-pealing laughter serves in the expression of agreeable

feeling. But there is a gain of effect when the signs employed are

such as to chime in, by intrinsic efficacy, with the associated

meanings. On this coincidence depend the refinements of elocution,

oratory, and stage display.--_B._

[The fact here brought to notice by Mr. Bain is, that certain of the

natural expressions of emotion have a kind of analogy to the

emotions they express, which makes an opening for an instinctive

interpretation of them, independently of experience. But if this be

so (and there can be little doubt that it is so) the suggestion

takes place by resemblance, and therefore still by

association.--_Ed._]]

[Mill's footnote 10: "It has been very justly remarked, that if all

men had uniformly spoken the same language, in every part of the

world, it would be difficult for us not to think [believe] that

there is a natural connexion of our ideas, and the words which we

use to denote them."--_Brown_, _Lectures_, ii. p. 80. 2d ed.]

The process of our Belief in this case, then, is evidently, as

follows. Our sensations are inseparably associated with the idea of

our bodies. A man cannot think of his body without thinking of it as

sensitive. As he cannot think of his own body without thinking of it

as sensitive, so he cannot think of another man's {358} body, which

is like it, without thinking of it as sensitive. It is evident that

the association of sensitiveness is more close with certain parts of

the complex idea, our bodies, than with other parts; because the

association equally follows the idea of horse, of dog, of fowl, and

even of fish, and insect: and it will be found, I think, that there

is nothing with which it is so peculiarly united as the idea of

spontaneous motion. What is the reason we do not believe there is

any sensation in the most curiously-organized vegetable; while we

uniformly believe there is in the polypus, and the microscopic

insect? Nothing whatsoever can be discovered, but a strong

association which exists in the one case, and is wanting in the

other. And this is one of the most decisive of all experiments to

prove the real nature of Belief.

As, then, our belief in the sensations of other creatures is derived

wholly from the inseparable association between our own sensations

and the idea of our own bodies, it is apparent that the case in

which I believe other creatures to be immediately percipient of

objects, of which I believe that I myself should be percipient if I

were so situated as they are, resolves itself ultimately into this

particular case of my belief in certain conditional sensations of my

own. This, again, as we have seen above, resolves itself into that

other important law of Belief, which we are shortly to consider, the

anticipation of the future from the past.

2. It comes next in order, that we notice our Belief in past

existences; that is, our present belief, that something had a

present existence at a previous time.

Much of the development of this case is included in the expositions

already afforded. Our present {359} belief, means, for one thing, a

present idea; our present belief of an existence, the idea of

something existing. Of what associations the idea of something

existing consists, we have just ascertained. Our present belief of a

past existence, then, consists of our present idea of something

existing, and the assignment of it to a previous time.

There are two cases of this assignment; one, in which the thing in

question had been the object of our senses; another, in which it had

not been the object of our senses.

When the thing, the existence of which we assign to a previous time,

had been the object of our senses, and when the time to which we

assign it is the time when it had so been the object of our senses,

the whole is Memory. In this case, Memory, and Belief, are but two

names for the same thing. Memory is, in fact, a case of Belief.

Belief is a general word. Memory is one of the species included

under it. Memory is the belief of a past existence, as Sensation is

the belief of a present existence. When I say, that I remember the

burning of Drury-Lane Theatre; the _remembering_ the event, and

_believing_ the event, are not distinguishable feelings, they are

one and the same feeling, which we have two ways of naming. The

associations included in Memory we have already endeavoured to

trace. It is a case of that indissoluble connexion of ideas which we

have found in the preceding article to constitute belief in present

existences. When I remember the burning of Drury-Lane Theatre, what

happens? We can mark the following parts of the process. First, the

idea of that event is called up by association; in other words, the

copies of the {360} sensations I then had, closely combined by

association. Next, the idea of the sensations calls up the idea of

myself as sentient; and that, so instantly and forcibly, that it is

altogether out of my power to separate them. But when the idea of a

sensation forces upon me, whether I will or no, the idea of myself

as that of which it was the sensation, I remember the sensation. It

is in this process that memory consists; and the memory is the

Belief. No obscurity rests on any part of this process, except the

idea of _self_, which is reserved for future analysis. The fact, in

the mean time, is indisputable; that, when the idea of a sensation,

which I have formerly had, is revived in me by association, if it

calls up in close association the idea of myself, there is memory;

if it does not call up that idea, there is not memory; if it calls

up the idea of myself, it calls up the idea of that train of states

of consciousness which constitutes the thread of my existence; if it

does not call up the idea of myself, it does not call up the idea of

that train, but some other idea. A sensation remembered, then, is a

sensation placed, by association, as the consequent of one feeling

and the antecedent of another, in that train of feelings which

constitute the existence of a conscious being. All this will be more

evident, when what is included in the notion of Personal Identity is

fully evolved.

The case of Belief in past existences which have not been the object

of our senses, resolves itself into the belief, either of testimony,

or of the uniformity of the laws of nature; both of which will,

after a few intervening expositions, be fully explained.

3. The process which we denote by the words, {361} "Belief in future

events," deserves, on account of its importance, to be very

carefully considered. That it is a complex process, will very

speedily appear. Our endeavour shall be to resolve it into its

elements; in doing which, we shall see whether it consists wholly of

the elements with which we have now become familiar, or whether it

is necessary to admit the existence of something else.

I believe that, to-morrow, the light of day will be spread over

England; that the tide will ebb and flow at London-bridge; that men,

and houses, and waggons, and carriages, will be seen in the streets

of this metropolis; that ships will sail, and coaches arrive; that

shops will be opened for their customers, manufactories for their

workmen, and that the Exchange will, at a certain hour, be crowded

with merchants. Now, in all this, what is involved?

First of all, in the Belief of any future event, there is, of

course, involved the idea of the event. It will be immediately

understood, from what has been already adduced, that there can be

no Belief in any existence, without an idea of that existence. If

I believe in the light of day to-morrow, I must have an idea of it;

if I believe in the flux and reflux of the water at London-bridge,

I must have ideas of those several objects; and so of all other

things.

In the next place; as it has already been shewn, that we cannot call

up any idea by willing it; and that none of our ideas comes into

existence but by association; the idea which forms the fundamental

part of Belief is produced by association. Ideas and association,

then, are necessary parts of belief.

{362} But there can be no idea of the future; because, strictly

speaking, the future is a nonentity. Of nothing there can be no

idea. It is true we can have an idea of that which never existed,

and which we do not suppose ever will exist, as of a centaur; but

this is a composition of the ideas of things which have existed. We

can conceive a sea of milk, because we have seen a sea, and milk; a

mountain of gold, because we have seen a mountain, and gold. In the

same manner we proceed with what we call the future. The ideas which

I have recently enumerated as parts of my belief of to-morrow; the

light of day, the throng in the streets, the motion of the tide at

London-bridge, are all ideas of the past. The general fact, indeed,

is not a matter of dispute. Our idea of the future, and our idea of

the past, is the same; with this difference, that it is accompanied

with retrospection in the one case, anticipation in the other. What

retrospection is, we have already examined. It is Memory. What

Anticipation is, we are now to inquire; and to that end it is

necessary to recall, distinctly, some important facts which we have

already established.

The fundamental law of association is, that when two things have

been frequently found together, we never perceive or think of the

one without thinking of the other. If the visible idea of a rose

occurs to me, the idea of its smell occurs along with it; if the

idea of the sound of a drum occurs to me, the visible idea of that

instrument occurs along with it.

Of these habitual conjunctions, there is none with which we are more

incessantly occupied, from the {363} first moment of our existence

to the last, and in which we are more deeply interested, than that

of antecedent and consequent. Of course there is none between the

ideas of which the association is more intimate and intense.

In fact, our whole lives are but a series of changes; that is, of

antecedents and consequents. The conjunction, therefore, is

incessant; and, of course, the union of the ideas perfectly

inseparable. We can no more have the idea of an event without having

the ideas of its antecedent and *its consequents, than we can have

the idea and not have it at the same time. It is utterly impossible

for me to have the visible idea of a rose, without the idea of its

having grown from the ground, which is its antecedent; it is utterly

impossible for me to have the idea of it without the ideas of its

consistence, its smell, its gravity, and so on, which are its

consequents.

Of the numerous antecedents and consequents, forming the matter of

our experience, some are constant, some are not. Of course the

strength of the association follows the frequency. The crow is seen

flying as frequently from east to west, as from west to east; from

north to south, as from south to north; there is, therefore, no

association between the flight of the crow and any particular

direction. Not so with the motion of a stone let go in the air: that

takes one direction constantly. The order of antecedent and

consequent is here invariable. The association of the ideas,

therefore, is fixed and inseparable. I can no more have the idea of

a stone let go in the air, and not have the idea of its dropping to

the {364} ground, than I can have the idea of the stone, and not

have it, at the same time.[102]

[Editor's footnote 102: The theory maintained so powerfully and with

such high intellectual resources by the author, that Belief is but

an inseparable association, will be examined at length in a note at

the end of the chapter. Meanwhile let it be remarked, that the case

of supposed inseparable association given in this passage, requires

to be qualified in the statement. We cannot, indeed, think of a

stone let go in the air, without having the idea of its falling; but

this association is not so strictly inseparable as to disable us

from having the contrary idea. There are analogies in our experience

which enable us without difficulty to form the imagination of a

stone suspended in the air. The case appears to be one in which we

can conceive both opposites, falling and not falling; the

incompatible images not, of course, combining, but alternating in

the mind. Which of the two carries belief with it, depends on what

is termed Evidence.--_Ed._]

Where the sequence of two events is merely casual, it passes

speedily away from the mind; because it is not associated with the

idea of any thing in which we are interested. The things in which we

are interested, are the immediate antecedents of our pleasures and

pains, and the ideas of them are all inseparably associated with

constant conjunctions. The association of the ideas of a constant

antecedent and consequent, therefore, has both causes of strength,

the interesting nature of the ideas, and the frequency of

conjunction, both at their greatest height. It follows, that it

should be the most potent and inseparable of all the combinations in

the mind of man.

As we are thus incessantly, and thus intensely, occupied with cases

of constant conjunction, while cases of casual conjunction pass

slightly over the mind, and {365} quickly vanish from our

consciousness, every event calls up the idea of a constant

antecedent. The association is so strong, that the combination is

necessary and irresistible. It often enough, indeed, happens, that

we do not know the constant antecedent of an event. But never does

it fail to call up the idea of such an antecedent; and so

inseparably, that we can as little have and not have the idea of an

event, as we can have the idea of it, and not have the idea of an

inseparable antecedent along with it.--Ignorant, sometimes, of the

constant antecedents of such and such events, we find them out by

subsequent inquiry. Those cases of successful investigation still

further strengthen the association. All that we call good, and all

that we call evil, depend so entirely upon those constant

conjunctions, that we are necessarily under the strongest stimulus

to find them out, and to trace them with greater and greater

accuracy. Thus we very often find a constancy of sequence, in which

we acquiesce for a while; but after a time discover, that though

constant, indeed, it is not immediate; for, that between the event

and supposed antecedent, several antecedents intervene. At first we

regard the ignition of the gunpowder, as the immediate antecedent of

the motion of the ball. Better instructed, we find that a curious

process intervenes. The constancy of the sequence is always more

certain, the more nearly immediate the antecedent is. And so

frequent is our detection of antecedents, more immediate than those

which we have just observed, that an association is formed between

the idea of every antecedent, and that of another antecedent, as yet

unknown, intermediate between it and the consequent which we {366}

know. In no sequence do we ever feel satisfied that we have

discovered all. We see a spark ignite the gunpowder, we see one

billiard-ball impel another. Though we consider these as constant

antecedents and consequents, the idea of something intermediate is

irresistibly conjoined. To this, though wholly unknown, we annex a

name, that we may be able to speak of it. The name we have invented

for this purpose is POWER. Thus, we conceive that it is not the

spark which ignites the gunpowder, but the _power_ of the spark; it

is not one billiard-ball that moves the other, but the _power_ of

the ball. The Power, in this case, is a _supposed_ consequent of the

moving ball, and antecedent of the moved; and so in all other cases.

But the idea of an event does not call up the idea of its constant

antecedent in closer and more intense association, than it calls up

that of its consequent or consequents. I cannot have the idea of

water, without the idea of its mobility, its weight, and other

obvious properties. I cannot have the idea of rhubarb, without the

idea of its nauseous taste, and other familiar properties. I cannot

have the idea of the stroke of a sword upon the head of a man,

without the idea of a wound inflicted on his head. I cannot have the

idea of my falling from a ship into the middle of the sea, without

the idea of my being drowned. I cannot have the idea of my falling

from the top of a high tower, without having the idea of my being

killed by the fall. If I have the first idea, the second forces

itself upon me. The union has in it all that I mark by the word

necessity; a sequence, constant, immediate, and inevitable.

This great law of our nature shews to us {367} immediately in what

manner our idea of the future is generated. Night has regularly been

followed by morning. The idea of night is followed by that of

morning; the idea of morning is followed by that of the events of

the morning, the gradual increase of light, the occupations of men,

the movements of animals and objects, and all their several

successions from morning till night. This is the idea of to-morrow;

to this succeeds another to-morrow; and an indefinite number of

these to-morrows makes up the complex idea of futurity.

But I am told, that we have not only the idea of to-morrow, but the

belief of to-morrow; and I am asked what that belief is. I answer,

that you have not only the idea of to-morrow, but have it

_inseparably_. It will also appear, that wherever the name belief is

applied, there is a case of the indissoluble association of ideas.

It will further appear, that, in instances without number, the name

belief is applied to a mere case of indissoluble association; and no

instance can be adduced in which any thing besides an indissoluble

association can be shewn in belief.[103] It would seem {368} to

follow from this, with abundant evidence, that the whole of my

notion of to-morrow, belief included, is nothing but a case of the

inevitable sequence of ideas.

[Bain's footnote 103: The case that is most thoroughly opposed to

the theory of indissoluble association is our belief in the

Uniformity of Nature. Our overweening tendency to anticipate the

future from the past is shown prior to all association; the first

effect of experience is to abridge and modify a strong primitive

urgency. There is, no doubt, a certain stage when association

co-operates to justify the believing state. After our headlong

instinct has, by a series of reverses, been humbled and toned down,

and after we have discovered that the uniformity, at first imposed

by the mind upon everything, applies to some things and not to

others, we are confirmed by our experience in the cases where the

uniformity prevails; and the intellectual growth of association

counts for a small part of the believing impetus. Still, the

efficacy of experience is perhaps negative rather than positive; it

saves, in certain cases, the primitive force of anticipation from

the attacks made upon it in the other cases where it is contradicted

by the facts. It does not make belief, it conserves a pre-existing

belief. (See Note at the end of the chapter.)--_B._]

This, however, is a part of our constitution, of so much importance,

that it must be scrutinized with more than ordinary minuteness.

Our first assertion was, that in every instance of belief, there is

indissoluble association of the ideas. We shall confine our

examples, for the present, to that case of belief which is more

immediately under our examination; belief in the future. I believe,

that if I put my finger in the flame of the candle, I shall feel the

pain of burning. I believe, that if a stone is dropped in the air,

it will fall to the ground. It is evident that in these cases, the

belief consists in uniting two events, the antecedent, and the

consequent. There are in it, therefore, two ideas, that of the

antecedent, and that of the consequent, and the union of those

ideas. The previous illustrations have abundantly shewn us, in what

manner the two ideas are united by association, and _indissolubly_

united. _These_ ingredients in the belief are all indisputable. That

there is any _other_ cannot be shewn.

{369} Our second assertion was, that cases of indissoluble

association, admitted by all men to be this, and nothing more, are

acknowledged as Belief. The facts (which any one may call to

recollection), in proof of this assertion, deserve the greatest

attention; they shew the mode of investigating some of the most

latent combinations of the human mind.

No fact is more instructive, in this respect, than one, which more

than once we have had occasion to make use of; the association of

the ideas of distance, extension, and figure, with the sensations of

sight. I open my eyes; I see the tables, and chairs, the floor, the

door, the walls of my room, and the books ranged upon the walls;

some of these things at one distance, some at another; some of one

shape and size, some of another. My belief is, that I see all those

particulars. Yet the fact is, that I see nothing but certain

modifications of light;[104] and that all my belief of seeing the

distance, the size, and figure of those several objects, is nothing

but the close and _inseparable_ association of the ideas of other

senses. There is no room for even a surmise that there is any thing

in this case but the immediate blending of the ideas of one sense

with the sensations of another, derived from the constant

concomitance of the sensations themselves.

[Bain's footnote 104: More guardedly--'I am affected by certain

modifications of light.' The word 'see' carries with it too much

meaning for the case put. There is also the omission, previously

remarked on, to take into account the mental elements due to the

movements of the eye--visible forms, magnitudes, and

movements.--_B._]

The case of hearing is perfectly analogous, though {370} not so

exact. I am in the dark; I hear the voice of one man, and say he is

behind me; of another, and say he is before me; of another, he is on

my right hand; another, on my left. I hear the sound of a carriage,

and say, it is at one distance; the sound of a trumpet, and say, it

is at another. In these cases I believe, not only that I hear a

sound, but the sound of a man's voice, the sound of a carriage, the

sound of a trumpet. Yet no one imagines that my belief is any thing,

in these cases, but the close association of the sounds with the

ideas of the objects. I believe, not only that I hear the sound of a

man's voice, but that I hear it behind me, or before me; on my right

hand, or on my left; at this distance, or at that. The indisputable

fact, in the mean time, is, that I hear only a modification of

sound, and that the position and distance, which I believe I hear,

are nothing but ideas of other senses, closely associated with those

modifications of sound. That this state of consciousness, the result

of an immediate irresistible association, is identical with the

state which we name belief, is proved by a very remarkable

experiment, the deception produced by ventriloquism. A man acquires

the art of forming that peculiar modification of sound, which would

come from this or that position, different from the position he is

in; in other words, the sound which is associated, not with the idea

of the position he is in, but that of another position. The sound is

heard; the association takes place; we cannot help believing that

the sound proceeds from a certain place, though we know, that is,

immediately recognize, that it proceeds from another.

We must not be afraid of tediousness, while we {371} adduce

instances in superabundance, to prove that in dissoluble association

(in one remarkable class of its cases, which, on account of their

vast importance, it is found expedient to distinguish by a

particular name) is that state of consciousness, to which we have

given the name of BELIEF.

We are all of us familiar with that particular feeling, which is

produced, when we have turned ourselves round with velocity several

times. We BELIEVE that the world is turning round.

The sound of bells, opposed by the wind, appears to be farther off.

A person speaking through a trumpet appears to be nearer. Our

experience is, that sounds decrease by distance. A sound is

decreased by opposition of the wind; the idea of distance is

associated; and the association being inseparable, it is belief. A

sound is increased by issuing from a trumpet, the idea of proximity

is associated, and the association being indissoluble, it is belief.

In passing, on board of ship, another ship at sea, we believe that

she has all the motion, we none: though we may be sailing rapidly

before the wind, she making hardly any progress against it.

When we have been making a journey in a stage coach, or a voyage in

a ship, we believe, for some time after leaving the vehicle, that

still we are feeling its motion; more especially just as we are

falling asleep.

Nobody doubts, that these, and similar cases of belief, which are

very numerous, are all to be resolved into pure association. What

the associations are, we leave to be traced by the learner; so many

repetitions of the same process, though a useful exercise to him,

would be very tedious here.

{372} The Belief which takes place in Dreaming merits great

attention in this part of our inquiry. No belief is stronger than

that which we experience in dreaming. Our belief of some of the

frightful objects, which occur to us, is such, as to extort from us

loud cries; and to throw us into such tremors and bodily agitations,

as the greatest real dangers would fail in producing. Not less

intense is our belief in the pleasurable objects which occur to us

in dreams; nor are the agitations which they produce in our bodies

much less surprising. Yet there is hardly any difference of opinion

about the real nature of the phenomena which occur in dreaming. That

our dreams are mere currents of ideas, following one another by

association; not controlled, as in our waking hours, by sensations

and will; is the substance of every theory of dreaming. The belief,

therefore, which occurs in dreaming, is merely a case of

association; and hence it follows that nothing more is necessary to

account for Belief.

There is not a more decisive instance of the identity of Belief and

Association, than the dread of ghosts, felt in the dark, by persons

who possess, in its greatest strength, the habitual disbelief of

their existence. That dread implies belief, and an uncontrollable

belief, we need not stay to prove. When the persons of whom we speak

feel the dread of ghosts in the dark, the meaning is, that the idea

of ghost is irresistibly called up by the sensation of darkness.

There is here, indisputably, a case of indissoluble association; nor

can it be shewn that there is anything else. In the dark, when this

strong association is produced, there {373} is the belief; not in

the dark, when the association is not produced, there is no

belief.[105]

[Bain's footnote 105: The efficacy of association is not correctly

explained in this instance. The influence of Terror on belief is

unquestionably great; but the operation is more complicated than the

description given of it in the text. Terror, in the first place, is

a depressing passion, and as such impairs the tone of mind suited to

the anticipation of coming good, or in the obverse, increases the

tendency to anticipate coming evil. In the next place, it is the

state most liable to a morbid fixed idea of evil, calamity, or

danger. Thirdly, we have learned in the course of our lives to

expect numerous possible calamities; and are maintained in serenity

only by seeing clearly a good way before us, so as to be sure that

none of these possible evils are approaching. Darkness extinguishes

for the time our assuring fore-sight, and thus, by removing a

counteractive, leaves us a prey to all the demons of mischief.

Fourthly, the emotion of Terror has its corresponding imaginations,

into which are taken up with avidity all the suggestions of danger

that have ever been made to us, including ghosts, hobgoblins, and

other agents of calamity, when we have not natural vigour or express

training to set them at nought.

The mere fact communicated to us, on a few occasions, that ghosts

appear in the dark, and sometimes perform dreadful deeds, would not

by force of association alone produce all that un-nerving effect

which children and weak or superstitious persons are liable to when,

at night, exposed in a lonely place, or passing a churchyard.--_B._]

Few men, except those who are accustomed to it, could walk on the

ridge of a high house without falling down. Yet the same men could

walk with perfect security, on similar footing, placed on the

ground. What is the interpretation of this contrariety? Fear, we are

told, is that which makes the {374} inexperienced person fall. But

fear implies belief. There is nothing, however, in the case, but the

intense association of the idea of his falling, with his sight of

the position in which he is placed. In some persons this idea is so

easily excited, that they cannot look down from even a very moderate

height, without feeling giddy, as they call it; that is, without

having the apprehension; in other words, the belief, of

falling.[11*]

[Mill's footnote 11: The same account, in substance, of some of the

last of these phenomena, is given by Dr. Brown; and it may aid the

conceptions of the learner, to observe the different modes of

exposition used by two different writers.

"There can be no question, that he who travels in the same carriage,

with the same external appearances of every kind by which a robber

could be tempted or terrified, will be in equal danger of attack,

whether he carry with him little of which he can be plundered, or

such a booty as would impoverish him if it were lost. But there can

be no question also, that though the probabilities of danger be the

same, the fear of attack would, in these two cases, be very

different; that, in the one case, he would laugh at the ridiculous

terror of any one who journeyed with him, and expressed much alarm

at the approach of evening; and that, in the other case, his own eye

would watch suspiciously every horseman who approached, and would

feel a sort of relief when he observed him pass carelessly and

quietly along at a considerable distance behind.

"That the fear, as a mere emotion, should be more intense, according

to the greatness of the object, might indeed be expected; and if

this were all, there would be nothing wonderful in the state of mind

which I have now described. But there is not merely a greater

intensity of fear, there is, in spite of reflection, a greater

belief of probability of attack. There is fear, in short, and fear

to which we readily yield, when otherwise all fear would have seemed

absurd. The reason of this it will perhaps not be difficult for you

to discover, if you remember the explanations formerly given by me,

of some analogous phenomena. The loss of what is valuable in itself,

is of course a great affliction. The slightest possibility of such

an evil makes the evil itself occur to us, as an object of

conception, though not at first, perhaps, as an object of what can

be termed fear. Its very greatness, however, makes it, when thus

conceived, dwell longer in the mind; and it cannot dwell long, even

as a mere conception, without exciting, by the common influence of

suggestion, the different states of mind, associated with the

conception of any great evil; of which associate or resulting

states, in such circumstances, fear is one of the most constant and

prominent. The fear is thus readily excited as an associate feeling;

and when the fear has once been excited, as a mere associate

feeling, it continues to be still more readily suggested again, at

every moment, by the objects that suggested it, and with the

perception or conception of which it has recently co-existed. There

is a remarkable analogy to this process, in the phenomena of

giddiness, to which I have before more than once alluded. Whether

the height on which we stand, be elevated only a few feet, or have

beneath it a precipitous abyss of a thousand fathoms, our footing,

if all other circumstances be the same, is in itself equally sure.

Yet though we look down, without any fear, on the gentle slope, in

the one case, we shrink back in the other case with painful dismay.

The lively conception of the evil which we should suffer in a fall

down the dreadful descent, which is very naturally suggested by the

mere sight of the precipice, suggests and keeps before us the images

of horror in such a fall, and thus indirectly the emotions of fear,

that are the natural accompaniments of such images, and that but for

those images never would have arisen. We know well, on reflection,

that it is a footing of the firmest rock, perhaps, on which we

stand, but in spite of reflection, we feel, at least, at every other

moment, as if this very rock itself were crumbling or sinking

beneath us. In this case, as in the case of the traveller, the

liveliness of the mere conception of evil that may be suffered,

gives a sort of temporary probability to that which would seem to

have little likelihood in itself, and which derives thus from mere

imagination all the terror that is falsely embodied by the mind in

things that exist around.

"It is not, then, any simple ratio of probabilities which regulates

the rise of our hopes and fears, but of these combined with the

magnitude or insignificance of the objects."--_Lectures on the

Philosophy of the Human Mind_. Lecture LXV., vol. iii., p. 345--347.

2d ed.

Notwithstanding this, the ideas of Dr. Brown were so far from being

clear and settled on the subject, that in the same work, Lecture

VI., v. i., p. 115, he seems to affirm, that belief cannot be

accounted for by association, but must be referred to instinct;

though it is necessary to use the word _seems_, for it is not

absolutely certain that he does not by _instinct_ mean

association.--(_Author's Note_.)]

{375} From these illustrations, then, it does not appear that the

anticipation of the future from the past, contains in it any thing

peculiar. So far from standing by itself, a phenomenon _sui generis_

it is included in one of the most general of the laws of the human

mind. When Professor Stewart, therefore, and other writers, erect it

into an object of wonder, a prodigy, a thing falling within no

general rule; and tell us they can refer it to nothing but instinct;

which is as much {376} as to say, to nothing at all; the term

instinct, in all cases, being a name for nothing but our own

ignorance; they only confess their failure in tracing the phenomena

of the mind to the grand comprehensive law of association; to the

admission of which, in its full extent, they seem to have had a most

unaccountable, and a most unphilosophical aversion;--as if that

simplicity, according to which one law is found {377} included in a

higher, and that in a yet higher, till we arrive at a few which seem

to include the whole, were not as much to be expected in the world

of mind, as in the world of matter.[12*]

[Mill's footnote 12: Locke, at a period subsequent to the

publication of his Essay, seems to have become more sensible of the

importance of association. These are his words:--"I think I shall

make some other additions to be put into your Latin translation, and

particularly concerning the connexion of ideas, which has not, that

I know, been hitherto considered, and has, I guess, a greater

influence upon our minds, than is usually taken notice

of."--_Locke_, _Lett. to Molineux_, _April_ 26_th_,

1695.--(_Author's Note_.)

[When Locke wrote the letter here quoted, he had not yet written the

chapter of his Essay which treats of the Association of Ideas. That

chapter did not appear in the original edition, but was first

inserted in the fourth, published in 1690. The intention, therefore,

which he expressed to Molineux, has received its fulfilment; and the

passage quoted further on in the text, is part of the "addition"

which he contemplated.--_Ed._]]

We have now then explored those states of Consciousness which we

call Belief in existences;--Belief in present existences; Belief in

past existences; and Belief in future existences. We have seen that,

in the most simple cases, Belief consists in sensation alone, or

ideas alone; in the more complicated cases, in sensation, ideas, and

association, combined; and in no case of belief has any other

ingredient been found.

In accounting for belief in present objects not acting on the

senses,--it appeared, that a certain anticipation of the future

entered, for so much, into this compound phenomenon; the explanation

of which part we were obliged to leave, till the {378} anticipation

of the future had undergone investigation. We have now seen that

this part, as well as the rest, consists of association. The whole,

therefore, of this case of belief, is now resolved into association.

Mr. Locke, whose expositions of any of our mental phenomena are

almost always instructive, even when they stop short of being

complete, has given the above account of belief precisely, in one

remarkable and very extensive class of cases; those in which the

belief is unfounded; which he denominates prejudices.

"There is," he says,[13*] "scarce any one that does not observe

something that seems odd to him, and is in itself really extravagant

in the opinions, reasonings, and actions, of other men.

[Mill's footnote 13: Essay on the Human Understanding, B. II., Ch.

33.]

"This sort of unreasonableness is usually imputed to education and

prejudice; and for the most part truly enough; though that reaches

not the bottom of the disease, nor shews distinctly enough whence it

rises, or wherein it lies.

"Education is often rightly assigned for the cause; and prejudice is

a good general name for the thing itself; but yet, I think, he ought

to look a little farther, who would trace this sort of madness to

the root it springs from, and so explain it, as to shew whence this

flaw has its original in very sober and rational minds, and wherein

it consists."

Mr. Locke affords the explanation, which he thought necessary to be

given, and proceeds as follows.

"Some of our ideas have a natural correspondence and connexion one

with another. It is the office, and {379} excellence, of our reason,

to trace these; and hold them together in that union and

correspondence, which is founded in their peculiar beings.

"Besides this, there is another connexion of ideas, wholly owing to

chance or custom. Ideas, that in themselves are not at all of kin,

come to be so united in some men's minds, that it is very hard to

separate them. They always keep in company; and the one no sooner at

any time comes into the understanding, but its associate appears

with it. And if they are more than two which are thus united, the

whole gang, always inseparable, shew themselves together.

"This wrong connexion, in our minds, of ideas in themselves loose

and independent of one another, has such an influence, and is of so

great force, to set us awry in our actions, as well moral as

natural, passions, reasonings, and notions themselves; that perhaps

there is not any one thing that deserves more to be looked after.

"The ideas of goblins and sprights have really no more to do with

darkness than light. Yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these

often in the mind of a child, and raise them there together,

possibly he shall never be able to separate them again so long as he

lives; but darkness shall ever afterwards bring with it those

frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no more

bear the one than the other.

"A man receives a sensible injury from another; thinks on the man

and that action over and over; and by ruminating on them strongly,

or much in his mind, so cements those two ideas together, that he

makes them almost one."

"When this combination is settled, and while it {380} lasts, it is

not in the power of reason to help us and relieve us from the

effects of it. Ideas in our minds, when they are there, will operate

according to their nature and circumstances. And, here, we see the

cause why Time cures certain affections, which reason, though in the

right, has not power over, nor is able, against them, to prevail

with those who are apt to hearken to it in other cases."

After adducing various examples, to illustrate the effect of these

associations, in producing both vicious affections, and absurd

opinions, he thus concludes:

"That which thus captivates our reasons, and leads men blindfold

from common sense, will, when examined, be found to be what we are

speaking of. Some independent ideas of no alliance to one another,

are, by education, custom, and the constant din of their party, so

coupled in their minds, that they always appear there together; and

they can no more separate them in their thoughts, than if there were

but one idea; and they operate as if they were so. This gives sense

to jargon, demonstration to absurdity, and consistency to nonsense;

and is the foundation of the greatest, I had almost said, of all,

the errors in the world."

Such is Mr. Locke's account of wrong belief, or error. But wrong

belief is belief, no less than right belief. Wrong belief, according

to Locke, arises from a bad association of ideas. Right belief,

then, arises from a right association of ideas; and this also was

evidently Locke's opinion. It is, thus, association, in both cases;

only, in the case of wrong belief, the association is between ideas

which ought not to {381} be associated; in the case of right belief,

it is between ideas which ought to be associated. In the case of

right belief, the association is between ideas which, in the

language of Locke, "have a natural correspondence and connexion one

with another:" in the case of wrong belief, it is between ideas,

which "in themselves are not at all of kin, and are joined only by

chance or custom." The ideas of the colour, shape, and smell of the

rose; the ideas of the spark falling on the gunpowder, and the

explosion,--are the sorts of ideas which are understood, by Mr.

Locke, as having "a natural correspondence and connexion." Ideas,

such as those of darkness, with those of ghosts; of the miseries

suffered at school, with the reading of books,--are the kind which

he describes as "not of kin, and united in the mind only by chance

or custom." This, put into accurate language, means, that when the

ideas are connected in conformity with the connexions of things, the

belief is right belief; when the ideas are connected not in

conformity with the connexions of things, the belief is wrong

belief. The ideas, however, which are connected in conformity with

the connexions among things, are connected by custom, as much as

those which are connected not in conformity with those connexions.

And the custom which unites them in conformity, is by far the most

common of the two. It is, in fact, the regular, the ordinary, the

standard custom, the other only constitutes the exceptions.

II. We have divided Belief into, 1, Belief in events, real

existences; 2, Belief in testimony; 3, Belief in the truth of

propositions.

Though this division, suggested by the ordinary {382} forms of

language, appeared to me didactically convenient, it is not

logically correct. The expression, "Belief in testimony," is

elliptical. When completed, it becomes "Belief in events upon the

evidence of testimony." There are then, in reality, only two kinds

of Belief; 1. Belief in events or real existences; and 2. Belief in

the truth of Propositions. But Belief in events or real existences

has two foundations; 1. our own experience; 2. the testimony of

others. The first of these we have examined, the consideration of

the second remains.

When we begin, however, to look at the second of these foundations

more closely, it soon appears, that it is not in reality distinct

from the first. For what is testimony? It is itself an event. When

we believe any thing, therefore, in consequence of testimony, we

only believe one event in consequence of another. But this is the

general account of our belief in events. It is the union of the

ideas, of an antecedent, and a consequent, by a strong association.

I believe it is one o'clock. Why? I have just heard the clock

strike. _Striking of the clock_, antecedent; _one o'clock_,

consequent; the _second_ closely associated with the _first_. The

striking of the clock is in fact a species of testimony. What does

it testify? Not one event, but an infinite number of events, of

which the term "one o'clock" is the name. At every instant in the

course of the day, a number of events are taking place, some known

to us, some unknown. The term one o'clock, is the name of those

which take place at a particular point of the diurnal revolution. I

believe in them all upon the testimony of the clock. Why? From

experience;--every one would directly and {383} truly reply. I have

found the events constantly, or at least very regularly, conjoined.

From junction of the events, junction of the ideas; in other words,

belief.

If proof, only, were wanted, this would suffice. For the purpose,

however, of instruction, tuition, training, a more minute

developement of this important case of belief seems too useful to be

dispensed with, notwithstanding the tediousness which so many

repetitions of the same process are too likely to produce.

The watchman calling the hour, is a case of human testimony. That

the account of our belief, in this case, is precisely the same as

that in the case of the striking of the clock, it is wholly

unnecessary to prove. But if our reliance on testimony in one case

is pure experience, it may reasonably be inferred that it is so in

all.

The forms of expression, which we apply to this case of belief, are

very misleading. We say, "we believe a man," or, "we believe his

testimony." "We attach belief to the man," or, "to his testimony."

In these expressions, the name belief is applied to the wrong event;

to the antecedent, instead of the consequent. What we mean to say

is, that we believe the consequent, the thing testified, not the

antecedent, the speaking of the words. The words the man uses, are,

to us, sensations: belief that he uses the words, is not what is

meant by belief in his testimony. The same form of expression is

perfectly absurd, when applied to other cases. We never say that we

believe the flame of the candle, or we attach belief to the flame of

the candle, when we mean to state the belief, that a finger will be

burnt if it is put into the flame; {384} we never say we believe the

spark, when we mean to express our belief of an explosion when the

spark falls upon the gunpowder.

The only question, then, is, in what manner the words of the

testifier, the antecedent, come to be so united with the idea of the

thing testified, as to constitute belief. And surely there is no

difficulty here, either in conceiving, or admitting the process.

Words call up ideas by association, solely. There is no natural

connexion between them. The manner in which words are applied to

events, I know most intimately by my own experience. I am

constantly, and, from the first moment I could use them, have

constantly been, employing words in exact conformity with events.

Cases occur in which I do not, but they are few in comparison with

those in which I do. It has been justly remarked, that the greatest

of liars speak truth a thousand times for once that they utter

falsehood. The connexion between the use of words, and the idea of

conformable existence, is, of course, established into one of the

strongest associations of the human mind. In other words, belief, in

consequence of testimony, is, strictly, a case of association. That

we interpret other men's actions by our own, no one doubts; and that

we do so entirely by association has already been proved.

In accounting for belief in past existences where it is not memory,

we have found that it is resolvable into belief in testimony, and in

the uniformity of the laws of nature; and the explanation of this we

postponed till the cases of belief in testimony, and in the

uniformity of the laws of nature, should be expounded. A few words

will now suffice to connect the {385} explanations formerly given

with those which have now been presented.

The two cases, as we have seen, resolve themselves into one; as

belief in testimony is but a case of the anticipation of the future

from the past; and belief in the uniformity of the laws of nature is

but another name for the same thing.

I believe the event called the fire of London, upon testimony.

I believe that the stranger who now passes before my window, had a

father and mother, was once an infant, then a boy, next a youth,

then a man, and that he has been nourished by food from his birth;

all this, from my belief in the uniformity of the laws of nature.

After the preceding developments, it is surely unnecessary to be

minute in the analysis of these instances. I have had experience, of

a constant series of antecedents and consequents, in the life of

man; generation, birth, childhood, and so on; as I have had of pain

from putting my finger in the flame. A corresponding association is

formed. If the sight of a stranger calls up the idea of his origin

and progress to manhood, the ordinary train of antecedents and

consequents is called up; nor is it possible for me to prevent it.

The association is indissoluble, and is one of the cases classed

under the name of Belief.

The explanation is still more simple of my belief in the fire of

London. The testimony in this case is of that sort which I have

always experienced to be conformable to the event. Between such

testimony, and the idea of the event testified, I have, therefore,

an indissoluble association. The testimony uniformly calls up the

idea of the reality of the event, so closely, {386} that I cannot

disjoin them. But the idea, irresistibly forced upon me, of a real

event, is Belief.[106]

[Bain's footnote 106: The belief in Testimony is derived from the

primary credulity of the mind, in certain instances left intact

under the wear and tear of adverse experience. Hardly any fact of

the human mind is better attested than the primitive disposition to

receive all testimony with unflinching credence. It never occurs to

the child to question any statement made to it, until some positive

force on the side of scepticism has been developed. Gradually we

find that certain testimonies are inconsistent with fact; we have,

therefore, to go through a long education in discriminating the good

testimonies from the bad. To the one class, we adhere with the

primitive force of conviction that in the other class has been

shaken and worn away by the shocks of repeated

contradictions.--_B._]

It is in this way that belief in History is to be explained. It is

because I cannot resist the evidence; in other words, because the

testimony calls up irresistibly the idea, that I believe in the

battle of Marathon, in the existence of the Thirty Tyrants of

Athens, in that of Socrates, Plato, and so on.

III. We come now to what we set out with stating as the third case

of Belief; but which, as there are in reality but two kinds of

belief, is, strictly speaking, the second,--I mean Belief in the

Truth of Propositions; in other words, verbal truths.

The process by which this Belief is generated, or rather the

combination wherein it consists, has, by the writers on Logic, at

least those in the Latin and modern languages, been called JUDGMENT.

This, however, is a restricted sense. In general, the word Judgment

is used with more latitude. Sometimes it is nearly co-extensive with

Belief, excluding hardly {387} any but the sudden and momentary

cases. We should hardly say, A man _judges_ there are ghosts, who is

afraid of them in the dark, but firmly believes his fear is

unfounded; or _judges_ the surgeon to be noxious, whom he shudders

at the sight of, from recollection of the terrible operation which

he underwent at his hands. In all cases, however, either of

deliberate or well-founded belief, we seem to apply the word

judgment without impropriety. I judge that I see the light, that

I hear the drum, that my friend speaks the truth, that water is

flowing in the Ganges.

All Belief of events, except that of our present sensations, and

ideas, consists, as we have seen, in the combination of the ideas of

an antecedent and a consequent. The antecedent is sometimes simple,

sometimes compound, being not one event, but various events taken

together. These varieties in the antecedent constitute two

distinguishable cases of belief. The last of them, that in which the

antecedent is complex, is that in which the term judgment is most

commonly applied. Again, there are two cases of complex antecedent,

one, in which all the events are concordant; another, in which they

are not all concordant. It is to this last case that the term

judgment is most peculiarly applied. Thus, it is not usual to say,

that we judge we shall feel pain if we put a finger in the flame of

the candle. But if we saw two armies ready to engage, one of which

had considerable superiority, both in numbers and discipline, we

should say we judge that it would gain the victory. This case,

however, of belief, where the antecedent is complex, will receive

additional illustration farther on. {388} We have now to consider

the case of Belief in the truth of propositions.

PROPOSITION is a name for that form of words which makes a

predication. What Predication is, of what parts it consists, what

end it serves, and into how many kinds it is divided, we have

already explained. It remains to inquire what is meant by the TRUTH

of a Predication, and what state of consciousness it is which is

called the recognition or BELIEF of that truth.

Predication consists essentially in the application of two marks to

the same thing. Of this there are two remarkable cases; one, That in

which two names of equal extent are applied to the same thing;

another, That in which two names, one of less, another of greater

extent, are applied to the same thing. The questions we have to

resolve are, What is meant by truth in these cases; and, What is the

process, or complex state of consciousness, which is called assent

to the proposition, or belief of it.

And, first, as to the case of two names of equal extent, as when we

say, "Man is a rational animal;" here the two names are, "Man," and

"Rational animal," exactly equivalent; so that "man" is the name of

whatever "rational animal" is the name of; and "rational animal" is

the name of whatever "man" is the name of. This coincidence of the

names is all that is meant by the truth of the proposition; and my

recognition of that coincidence is another name for my belief in its

truth.

Now, how is it that I recognise two names as equivalent? About this,

there will not be any dispute. I recognise the meaning of names

solely by {389} association. I recognise that such a name is of such

a meaning, by association. I recognise that another name is of the

same signification, by the same means. That I recognise the meaning

of the last, whatever it is, by association, cannot be doubted,

because it is by this that the meaning of every word is established.

There is, however, another fact; that I recognise the meaning in the

second case, as the same with the meaning in the first case. What is

the process of this recognition? The word "Man" is the mark or name

of a certain cluster of ideas. A certain cluster of ideas I know to

be what it is, by having it. Having it, and knowing it, are two

names for the same thing. Having it, and having it again, is knowing

it, and knowing it again; and that is the recognition of its

sameness. It is a single name for the two states of consciousness.

This, then, is all that is meant by our belief in the truth of a

proposition, the terms of which are convertible, or of equal extent.

When of two names, applied to the same thing, one is of less,

another of greater extent, the association is more complex; but in

that is all the difference. Thus, when I believe the truth of the

proposition, "Man is an animal," the meaning of the name "man" is

called up by association, and the meaning of the name "animal" is

called up by association. Thus far is certain. But there is

something further. I recognise, that "animal" is a name of whatever

"man" is a name of, and also of more. In having the meaning of the

name "man" called up by association, that is, in having the ideas,

I recognise that "man" is a name of James, and John, and Homer, and

Socrates, and all the individuals of the class. {390} This is pure

association. In having the meaning of the name "animal" called up by

association, I recognise that it is a name of James, and John, and

all the individuals of the same class, as well as of all the

individuals of other classes; and this is all that is meant by my

Belief in the truth of the proposition. Man is the name of one

cluster of ideas; animal is the name of a cluster, including both

this and other clusters. The latter cluster is partly the same with,

and partly different from, the former. But having two clusters, and

knowing them to be two, is not two things, but one and the same

thing; knowing them in the case in which I call them same, and

knowing them in the case in which I call them different, is still

having them, having them such as they are, and nothing besides. In

this second case also, of the belief of a proposition, there is,

therefore, nothing but ideas, and association.

We have already shewn, under the head NAMING, when explaining the

purpose to which Predication is subservient, that all Predication

may be strictly considered as of one kind, the application to the

same thing of another name of greater extent; in other words, that

Predication by what Logicians call the Difference, Property, or

Accident of a thing, may be reduced to Predication by the Genus or

Species; but as there is a seeming difference in these latter cases,

a short illustration of them will probably be useful.

Thus, suppose I say, "Man is rational," and that I choose to expound

it, without the aid of the word animal, understood; what is there in

the case? The word "man," marks a certain cluster of ideas.

"Rational" marks a portion of that cluster. In the {391} cluster

marked "man," the cluster marked "rational" is included. To

recognise this, is also called believing the proposition. But to

have one cluster of ideas, and know what it is; then another, and

know what it is, is merely to have the two clusters. To have a

second cluster, part of a first, and to know that it is a part of

the first, is the same thing.

The peculiar property of that class of words to which "Rational"

belongs, must here be recollected. They are the _connotative_ class.

Beside marking some thing peculiarly, they mark something else in

conjunction; and this last, they are said to _connote_. Thus the

word "rational," beside the part of the cluster, man, which it

peculiarly marks, connotes, or marks in conjunction with it, the

part included under the word animal

It will be easy to apply the same explanation to all other cases.

I say, the rose is red. Red is a connotative term, distinctively

marking the idea of red. The idea of red is part of the cluster

I mark by the word rose.

Take a more obscure expression; Fire burns. It is very obvious, that

in the cluster of ideas I mark by the word fire, the idea of burning

is included. To have the idea, "fire," therefore, and the idea

"burning," called up by the names standing in predication, is to

believe the proposition.

The Predications, "Virtue is lovely," "Vice is hateful," and the

like, all admit of a similar exposition. In the cluster "virtue,"

the idea of loveliness is included; in the cluster "vice," that of

hatefulness is included. Such propositions, therefore, merely say,

that what is a part of a thing, is a part of it. The {392} two words

call up the two ideas; and to have two ideas, one a part of another,

and know that one is part of another, is not two things, but one and

the same thing. To have the idea of rose, and the idea of red, and

to know that red makes part of rose, is not two things, but one and

the same thing.

Little more is necessary to explain this case of Belief in the truth

of Propositions. Propositions are formed, either of general names,

or particular names, that is, names of individuals. Propositions

consisting of general names are by far the most numerous class, and

by far the most important. The preceding exposition embraces them

all. They are all merely verbal; and the Belief is nothing more than

recognition of the coincidence, entire or partial, of two general

names.

The case of Propositions formed of particular names, is different,

and yet remains to be explained. "Mr. Brougham made a speech in the

House of Commons on such a day." The Predicate, "making a speech in

the House of Commons," is neither general, so as to include the

subject, "Mr. Brougham," as in a species; nor is the cluster of

ideas, marked by the predicate, included in the cluster marked by

the subject, as a part in its whole. The proposition marks a case

either of experience, or of testimony. If I heard the speech, the

proposition is an expression of the Memory of an event; Mr.

Brougham, antecedent, and making a speech, consequent; and the

Belief of the Proposition, is another name for the Memory of the

Event. If I did not hear it, Belief of the proposition, is belief in

the testimony of those who say they heard it.

{393} As all propositions relating to individual objects are, after

this manner, marks either of other men's testimony, or of our own

experience, what belief, in these cases, is, has already been

explained.

Propositions relating to individuals may be expressions either of

past, or of future events. Belief in past events, upon our own

experience, is memory; upon other men's experience, is Belief in

testimony; both of them resolved into association. Belief in future

events, is the inseparable association of like consequents with like

antecedents.

It is not deemed necessary to unfold these associations. It has been

already done. It seems enough, if they are indicated here.[107]

[108]

[Bain's footnote 107: The author has treated in different places

several questions intimately allied. These are:--

1. The essential nature of the state of mind called Belief, the

mental region whence it springs, or the phenomena that it is to be

classed with--whether Intellect, Feeling, or Will.

2. The belief in the Past, and the belief in the Future; in what

respect they differ from belief in the present. Inseparably

implicated with this, if not prior to it and preparatory to it, is

the difference between ideas of Memory and ideas of Imagination.

3. The nature of our continuous Mental Life, or Identity; or what is

meant by the Permanent Existence of Mind.

The chapters on Memory, and on Belief, and the section on Identity

(Chap. XIV.), all treat of these questions, and contain profound

original views on them all.

As regards the nature of Belief, he errs (in common with

philosophers generally) in calling it a purely intellectual state.

The consequence is to mar the explanations of the other points.

He displays a remarkably just and penetrating insight into the

differences between Memory and Imagination, and between {394} our

own self or Personality, and the personality of others; whereby he

fully accounts for what is involved in Personal Identity.

To resolve the difficult phenomenon of Belief in Memory, of which

the belief in the Permanent Existence of Mind is merely another

expression, we must clear up the foundations of the state of Belief

in general.

The prevailing error on this subject consists in regarding Belief as

mainly a fact of the Intellect, with a certain participation of the

feelings. The usual assumption is, that if a thing is conceived in a

sufficiently vivid manner, or if two things are strongly associated

in the mind, the state of belief is thereby induced.

A better clue to the real character of belief is found in the

connexion between faith and works. The practical test applied to a

man's belief in a certain matter, is his acting upon it. A

capitalist's trust in the soundness of a project, is shown by his

investing his money.

In its essential character, Belief is a phase of our active

nature,--otherwise called the Will. Our tendency to action, under

special circumstances, assumes the aspect called belief; as in other

circumstances, it takes the form of Desire, and in a third

situation, appears as Intention; none of all which are essential to

voluntary action in its typical form.

The state of belief or of disbelief is manifested when we are

pursuing an Intermediate End. In masticating something sweet, the

fruition of the sweetness sustains the energy of the will; there is

no case for the believing function properly so called, any more than

there is for Desire, Deliberation, or Resolution. In going to a shop

to purchase sweets, there is wanting this immediate support of the

voluntary energies; the support grows out of an ideal state, the

anticipation of the pleasure of sweetness; this state is called

Belief. We are said to believe that what we are going to purchase

will impart an agreeable sensation. The state is one of degree; we

may have a strong belief or a weak belief; the strength having no

other measure than the energy of pursuit inspired by it. If we {395}

follow the intermediate end with all the avidity shown when we are

realizing the full actuality, we have the perfect belief that what

we aim at will bring the actuality. If, as often happens, we are

less strongly moved than this, our belief is said to be so much

weaker. Or, the comparison may be expressed in a different form. If

two things are connected together as means and end; and, if on

attaining the means, we feel as much elated (the end being something

good) as if we had attained the end, then our belief is at the

maximum; if less so, our belief is less. The promise made to us by

one man gives all the satisfaction of the performance; the promise

of another man gives a very inferior satisfaction; the comparison

measures our comparative trust in the two men.

So far the matter seems plain. The real difficulty lies in assigning

the mental origin or seat of the believing attitude. The view to be

maintained in this note is, that the state of belief is identical

with the activity or active disposition of the system, at the

moment, and with reference to the thing believed. Now as there are

various sources of activity, so there are various sources of belief.

These are:--First, Spontaneous Activity, or the mere overflow of

energy growing out of the nourishment of the system. Secondly,

Voluntary Action, in the strictest signification, or the pursuit of

pleasure and the avoidance of pain, under the stimulus of one or

other of those states. Thirdly, the tendency of an Idea to become an

Actuality, the degree of which tendency accords with the mental

excitement attending the idea. Fourthly, the addition of Habit to

all the others. Under every one of these four influences, we are

prompted to act, and in the same degree disposed to believe. Not one

of the tendencies is any guarantee for the truth of the thing

believed; which is a somewhat grave consequence of the theory

contended for.

It will now be asked, in what acceptation, or under what

circumstances, does mere activity, no matter how arising,

constitute, or amount to, the state of belief. There are certain

situations where the two states are on the surface the same; the

fact of going along a certain road implicates the belief that {396}

a certain destination will be reached. Nay, farther, a great amount

of natural energy would sustain a vigorous pace, irrespective of the

certainty of the goal; while physical feebleness would make one

languid, however strong the evidence of the distant good. All this

shows that the mental state called believing is of little use

without the active power, and that the active power readily

simulates the believing state, and makes it seem greater or less

than it really is.

Let us now look at the question in another light. Having a natural

fund of activity, with or without the addition of proper volitional

impulses, we commence moving in a certain direction, no matter what.

We are not necessarily urged to move by any prospect of what we are

to find. We act somehow, because action comes upon us; and we take

the consequences. Suppose, however, that we encounter a check, in

the form of obstruction or pain: this stops our activity in that

direction, but does not prevent it from taking another direction.

Now, not only does the actual pain arrest our steps, but also the

memory of it (if the circumstances are such as to give it a certain

degree of strength) is deterring. We avoid that track in the future.

With reference to it there is generated a voluntary activity and

determination, containing the whole essence of belief; namely, the

avoidance of a certain course, before the point of actual pain. This

is, to all intents, belief on the side of prospective harm. Equally

important is it to remark, that wherever we have not experienced any

positive harm, check, or obstruction, we go on as readily and as

energetically as ever. Our natural state of mind, our primitive

start is tantamount to full confidence or belief; which is broken in

upon, only after hostile experiences; by these, the original

condition of implicit confidence is impaired; and in certain

directions, a positive anticipation or determining volition and

belief of evil is substituted. An animal born on a summer morning,

and able to move about from the first, would not anticipate

darkness; it would behave exactly as if light were never

intermitted. A few days experience makes an {397} in-road on this

primitive confidence, and modifies it to suit the facts.

Let us add another circumstance to the foregoing example. Instead of

the individual moving blindly on, by mere exuberance or spontaneity,

let the movement be favoured by bringing pleasure at every step. In

this situation, the whole force of the spontaneity at the time, and

the whole force of the will (proportioned to the stimulating

pleasure), sustain the movements at a more energetic pace; and there

is nothing to counter-work them. The mental disposition is now

equivalent to the highest confidence; there is no hesitation, no

distrust, nothing but exuberant unrestrained activity. Neither

scepticism as to the unknown future, nor a demand for assurance that

the present condition is to last, is entertained by the mind. The

individual does not inquire whether a precipice, or the lair of a

devouring beast be on the track. The ignorance is at once bliss and

belief.

Here, then, we may discern the original tendency of the mind as

regards belief. To have gone a certain way with safety and with

fruition, is an ample inducement to continue in that particular

path. The situation contains all that is meant by full and unbounded

confidence that the future and the distant will be exactly what the

present is. The primary impulse of every creature is at the farthest

remove from a procedure according to Logic. In the beginning,

confidence is at its maximum; the course of education is towards

abating, and narrowing it, so as to adapt it to the fact of things.

Every check is a lesson, destroying to a certain extent the

over-vaulting assurance of the natural mind, and planting a belief

in evil, at points where originally flourished only the illimitable

belief in good.

There is thus wrapped up, in the active impulses of our nature, a

power of credulity leading us habitually to overstep the experience

of the present. We believe in the uniformity of nature with a

vengeance. We have to be schooled by adverse encounters, before we

are brought within the limits of the real uniformity. Our natural

credulity is equally excessive {398} on the side of evil and on the

side of good; where we have once suffered we expect always to

suffer. In short, whereas to the logician, there is a great gulf

between the present and future, the known and the unknown, to the

natural man there is not even a break. The early mind laughs the

logician's gulf to scorn. All that science or logic has been able to

do is to show that at certain points the assumed uniformity is

broken in upon; tractable and docile minds learn to respect these

exceptions; but wherever an outlet exists, with no barrier, or

express prohibition, not only is that outlet followed, it is

followed with all the pristine impetuosity of our active nature. The

ordinary logician, over-awed by this force of determination, seldom

asserts the principle that the present can by no logical implication

contain the future, that a present reality holds in itself no

warrant for the unknown past, the distant or the future. The barrier

that this principle would interpose to our inferences has been

carried by assault; the gordian knot is always cut with the sword.

From the point of view of the logician, a serious difficulty

attaches to our belief in the Memory of the Past; the psychologist

can refer it to the incontinence of the mind, in moving freely away

from the present in any direction, in accounting the step next to be

entered upon in the absence of impediment, as secure as the one

actually taken.

Let us consider the process first by reverting to the anticipation

of the Future. That a state of things now begun will continue

indefinitely is what the mind not only assumes but proceeds upon

with a vehemence proportioned to its active endowments and

dispositions, until admonished to the contrary by the experience of

being checked. All instruction, or corroborating information, is

dispensed with at the outset: the burden is always laid upon the

denier. Of this tendency of the mind the examples are innumerable,

and need only to be indicated. In the default of evidence, on one

side, and against what ought to be considered evidence on the other

side, we believe that, as we feel now, so we shall feel always. And

our belief is not simply giving the benefit of any doubt there may

{399} be to the opinion we incline to; it is a powerful impulse,

counteracted only by a severe and protracted discipline. Also, we

believe that our own feelings exactly measure and correspond to the

feelings of every one else. Very few are ever brought within the

limits of the actual truth on this point; the primitive tendency is

not met by a sufficient force of the requisite education.

It is the belief in the future that offers the simplest and clearest

example of the mind's tendency to overleap the actual, to see no

hard line between the present and the remote. The belief in nature's

continuance and uniformity has always been in excess. From the very

same tendency springs whatever belief we have of our own continued

existence and identity. We make light of the difference between the

conceived future and the real present.

Much more subtlety attends the Belief in Memory: the meaning of

which is, that, whereas certain ideas recalled by memory are, _de

facto_, ideas, or mental elements of a kind that imagination might

furnish, they yet carry with them the belief that they represent

what was once actuality, like any sensation of the present moment.