the meaning of several names, this chapter presents us with a series
of discussions of some of the deepest and most intricate questions
in all metaphysics. Like Plato, the author introduces his analysis
of the most obscure among the complex general conceptions of the
human mind, in the form of an enquiry into the meaning of their
names. The title of the chapter gives a very inadequate notion of
the difficulty and importance of the speculations contained in it,
and which make it, perhaps, the profoundest chapter of the book. It
is almost as if a treatise on chemistry were described as an
explanation of the names air, water, potass, sulphuric acid,
&c.--_Ed._]
SECTION I.
NAMES OF NAMES.
It is of great importance to distinguish this class of terms; to
understand well the function which they perform, and to mark the
subdivisions into which they are formed. There is not, however, such
difficulty in the subject as to require great minuteness in the
exposition.
As we have occasion to speak of _things_; animals, vegetables,
minerals; so we have occasion to speak of the _marks_, which we are
under the necessity of using, in order to record or to communicate
our thoughts respecting them. We cannot record or communicate our
thoughts respecting names, as man, tree, horse, to walk, to fly, to
eat, to converse, without marks for them. We proceed in the case of
names, as we do in other cases. We form them into classes, some
more, some less, comprehensive, and give a name to each.
We have one name, so general as to include them all; Word. That is
not a name of any _thing_. It is a name of the marks which we employ
for discourse; and a name of them all. _John_ is a word, _mountain_
is a word, _to run_ is a word, _above_ is a word, and so on.
They are divided into classes, differently for different purposes.
The grammarian, who regards chiefly the concatenation of words in
sentences, divides them into _noun_, _adjective_, _pronoun_, _verb_,
_adverb_, _preposition_, {4} _conjunction_; these words are none of
them names of things. _Noun_ is not a name of a "thing;" it is a
name of a "class of words," as John, James, man, ox, tree, water,
love, hatred; the same is the case with adjective, verb, and so of
the rest.
The philosopher makes another division of them, adapted to his
purposes, which has a more particular reference to their mode of
signification. Thus, he divides them into universal, and particular;
concrete, and abstract; positive, and negative; equivocal, and
univocal; relative, and absolute; and so on.
It is very easy to see that the word "universal," for example, is
not a name of a _thing_. Things are all individual, not general. The
_name_, "man," is a "universal," because it applies to every
individual of a class; for the same reason the _name_ "ox," the
_name_ "horse," the _name_ "dog," and so on, are universals. The
words, "genus" and "species" are synonymous with "universal;" of
course they also are names of names. Such is the word "number."
"One," "two," "one hundred," "one thousand," are "numbers;" in other
words, "number" is a general name for each and all of those other
names.
Beside our names for names singly, we have occasion to name
combinations of names. Thus we have the name "predication." This is
a name for the combination of three words, "subject," "predicate,"
and "copula." We have the name "sentence," which never can be less,
implicitly or explicitly, than a predication, but is often more. The
same is the account of the word "definition." We have the names
"speech," "oration," "sermon," "conversation," all of them names for
a series of sentences. We have {5} also names of written discourse,
such as a "volume," a "book," a "chapter," a "section," a
"paragraph."[2]
[Editor's footnote 2: A right understanding of the words which are
names of names, is of great importance in philosophy. The tendency
was always strong to believe that whatever receives a name must be
an entity or being, having an independent existence of its own; and
if no real entity answering to the name could be found, men did not
for that reason suppose that none existed, but imagined that it was
something peculiarly abstruse and mysterious, too high to be an
object of sense. The meaning of all general, and especially of all
abstract terms, became in this way enveloped in a mystical haze; and
none of these have been more generally misunderstood, or have been a
more copious source of futile and bewildering speculation, than some
of the words which are names of names. Genus, Species, Universal,
were long supposed to be designations of sublime hyperphysical
realities; number, instead of a general name of all numerals, was
supposed to be the name, if not of a concrete thing, at least of a
single property or attribute.
This class of names was well understood and correctly characterized
by Hobbes, of whose philosophy the distinction between names of
names and of things was a cardinal point.--_Ed._]
{6} SECTION II.
RELATIVE TERMS.
The explanation of Relative Terms will run to a considerable length.
The mode in which they are employed as marks is peculiar; and has
suggested the belief of something very mysterious in that which is
marked by them. It is therefore necessary to be minute in exhibiting
the combinations of ideas of which they are the names.
One peculiarity of Relative Terms, which it is necessary for us to
begin with noticing, is, that they always exist in pairs. There is
no relative without its correlate, either actual or implied. Thus,
we have _Father_ and _Son_; _Husband_ and _Wife_; _Master_ and_
Servant_; _Subject_ and _King_; also _High_ and _Low_; _Right_ and
_Left_; _Antecedent_ and _Consequent_.
In these cases of relative pairs, the two names are two different
words; in other cases, one word serves for both names. Of this sort
are the words _Brother_, _Sister_, _Cousin_, _Friend_, _Like_,
_Equal_, and so on. When we say that John is brother, we always mean
of some one else, as James, whom we also call brother. We call Jane
the sister of Ann, as we call Ann the sister of Jane. When we say
that A is equal to B, we signify, by the same expression, that B is
equal to A; and so on.
It is always to be remembered, that, in speaking, we are only
indicating our own trains; and that of {7} course every word in a
mark of some part of a train. The parts of our trains to which we
give relative names, are either simple, or complex. The simple, are
either the simple sensations, or the ideas of those sensations. The
complex, are either those clusters of simple ideas which we call the
ideas of objects, because they correspond with clustered sensations;
or they are the clusters which the mind puts together arbitrarily
for its own purposes.
If it is asked, why we give names in pairs? The general answer
immediately suggests itself; it is because the things named present
themselves in pairs; that is, are joined by association. But as many
things are joined in pairs by association, which do not receive
relative names, the cause may still be inquired of the
classification. What is the reason that some pairs do, while many
more do not, receive relative names? The cause is the same by which
we are guided in imposing other names. As the various combinations
of ideas are far too numerous for naming, and we are obliged to make
a selection, we name those which we find it of most importance to
have named, omitting the rest. It is a question of convenience,
solved by experience. It will be seen more distinctly hereafter that
relative names are one of the contrivances for epitomising; and that
they enable us to express ourselves with fewer words than we should
be able to do without them.[3]
[Editor's footnote 3: No part of the Analysis is more valuable than
the simple explanation here given of a subject which has seemed so
mysterious to some of the most enlightened and penetrating
philosophers, down even to the present time. The only difference
between relative names and any others consist in their being given
in pairs; and the reason of their being given in pairs is not the
existence between two things, of a mystical bond called a Relation,
and supposed to have a kind of shadowy and abstract reality, but a
very simple peculiarity in the concrete fact which the two names are
intended to mark.
In order to make quite clear the nature of this peculiarity, it will
be desirable to advert once more to the double mode of signification
of concrete general names, viz. that while they denote (or are names
of) objects, they connote some fact relating to those objects. The
fact connoted by any name, relative or not, is always of the same
nature; it is some bodily or mental feeling, or some set of bodily
or mental feelings, accompanying or produced by the object. But in
the case of the ordinary names of objects, this fact concerns one
object only, or rather only that one object and the sentient mind.
The peculiarity in the case of relative names is, that the fact
connoted concerns two objects, and cannot be understood without
thinking of them both. It is a phenomenon in which two objects play
a part. There is no greater mystery in a phenomenon which concerns
two objects, than in a phenomenon which concerns only one. For
example; the fact connoted by the word cause, is a fact in which the
thing which is the cause, is implicated along with another thing
which is the effect. The facts connoted by the word parent, and also
by the word son or daughter, are a long series of phenomena of which
both the parent and the child are parts; and the series of phenomena
would not be that which the name parent expresses, unless the child
formed a part of it, nor would it be that which the name son or
daughter expresses, unless the parent formed a part of it. Now, when
in a series of phenomena of any interest to us two objects are
implicated, we naturally give names expressive of it to both the
objects, and these are relative names. The two correlative names
denote two different objects, the cause and the effect, or the
parent and son; but though what they denote is different, what they
connote is in a certain sense the same: both names connote the same
set of facts, considered as giving one name to the one object,
another name to the other. This set of facts, which is connoted by
both the correlative names, was called by the old logicians the
ground of the relation, _fundamentum relationis_. The _fundamentum_
of any relation is the facts, fully set out, which are the reason of
giving to two objects two correlative names. In some cases both
objects seem to receive the same name; in the relation of likeness,
both objects are said to be like; in the relation of equality, both
are said to be equal. But even here the duality holds, on a stricter
examination: for the first object (A) is not said to be like,
absolutely, but to be like the second object (B); the second is not
said to be like absolutely, but to be like the first. Now though
"like" is only one name, "like A" is not the same name as "like B,"
so that there is really, in this case also, a pair of names.
From these considerations we see that objects are said to be
related, when there is any fact, simple or complex, either
apprehended by the senses or otherwise, in which they both figure.
Any objects, whether physical or mental, are related, or are in a
relation, to one another, in virtue of any complex state of
consciousness into which they both enter; even if it be a no more
complex state of consciousness than that of merely thinking of them
together. And they are related to each other in as many different
ways, or in other words, they stand in as many distinct relations to
one another, as there are specifically distinct states of
consciousness of which they both form parts. As these may be
innumerable, the possible relations not only of any one thing with
others, but of any one thing with the same other, are infinitely
numerous and various. But they may all be reduced to a certain
number of general heads of classification, constituting the
different kinds of Relation: each of which requires examination
apart, to ascertain what, in each case, the state of consciousness,
the cluster or train of sensations or thoughts, really is, in which
the two objects figure, and which is connoted by the correlative
names. This examination the author accordingly undertakes: and thus,
under the guise of explaining names, he analyses all the principal
cases which the world and the human mind present, of what are called
Relations between things.--_Ed._]
{8} I. The only, or at least the principal, occasions, for naming
simple sensations, or simple ideas, in pairs, seem to be these:
1 When we take them into simultaneous view, as such and such;
2. When we take them into simultaneous view, as antecedent and
consequent.
II. The principal occasions on which we name the complex ideas,
called objects, in pairs, are these four:
{9} 1. When we speak of them as having an order in space;
2. When we speak of them as having an order in time;
3. When we speak of them as agreeing or disagreeing in quantity;
4. As agreeing or disagreeing in quality.
III. The occasions on which we name the complex ideas of our own
formation in pairs, are,
{10} 1. When we speak of them as composed of the same or different
simple ideas;
2. When we speak of them as antecedent and consequent.
Whatever it may be necessary to remark, respecting relative terms,
will occur in the consideration of these several cases.
I. 1. We speak of two sensations, as _Same_ or _Different_, _Like_
or _Unlike_.
These words are Relatives of the double signification; each
individual of the pair has the same name. When we say that sensation
A is the "same" with {11} sensation B, we mean that B also is the
"same" with A; "different," "like," and "unlike," have the same
double application.
Another ambiguity needs to be noted in the word "same." When there
are _two_ things, they are not the _same_ thing; for "same," in the
strict sense of the word, means one thing, and that only. Here it
means a great degree of likeness, a sense in which, with respect to
sensations and ideas, it is very frequently used.
Of two sensations, or two ideas, we, in truth, can only say, that
they are like or unlike; or, that the one comes first, the other
after it.
It is now necessary to attend very carefully to what happens, when
we say that two sensations are like, or that they are unlike.
First of all, we have the two sensations. But what is it to have two
sensations? It is merely to be conscious of a change. But to be
conscious of a change in sensation, is sensation. It is an essential
part of the process. Without it we should not be sentient beings. To
have sensation, and not to be conscious of any change, is to have
but one sensation continued. We have already seen that this is a
state which seems incapable of being distinguished from that of
having no sensation. At any rate, what we mean by a sentient being,
is not a being with one unvaried sensation, but a being with
sensations continually varied; the varying being a necessary part of
the having more sensations than one; and the varying, and the being
conscious of the variation, being not two things, but one and the
same thing. Having _two_ sensations, therefore, is not only having
sensation, but the only {12} thing which can, in strictness, be
called having sensation; and the having two, and knowing they are
two, which are not two things, but one and the same thing, is not
only sensation, and nothing else than sensation, but the only thing
which can, in strictness, be called sensation. The having a new
sensation, and knowing that it is new, are not two things, but one
and the same thing.[4]
[Bain's footnote 4: The author is here endeavouring to express the
most fundamental fact of the consciousness--the necessity of change,
or transition from one state to another in order to our being
conscious. He approaches very near to, without exactly touching, the
inference that all consciousness, all sensation, all knowledge must
be of doubles; the state passed from and the state passed to, are
equally recognised by us. Opening the eyes to the light, for the
first time, we know a contrast,--a present light, a past
privation--but for the one we should not have known the other. Any
single thing is unknowable by us; its relative opposite is a part of
its very existence.
In a former page it is stated that relative names are one of the
conveniences of epitomising. This is a narrow view to take of them.
They are an essential part of language; they are demanded by the
intrinsic relativity of all nameable things. If we have a thing
called "light," we have also another thing but for which light could
not be known by us, "dark." It is expedient to have names for both
elements of the mutually dependent couple. And so everywhere.
Language would be insufficient for its purposes if it did not
provide the means of expressing the correlative (called also the
negative) of every thing named.--_B._]
The case between sensation and sensation, resembles that between
sensation and idea. How do I know that an idea is not a sensation?
Who ever thought of asking the question? Is not the having an idea,
{13} and the knowing it as an idea, the same thing? The having
without the knowing is repugnant. The misfortune is, that the word,
know, has associations linked with it, which have nothing to do with
this case, but which intrude themselves along with the word, and
make a complexity, where otherwise there would be none.
This is a matter which deserves the greatest attention. One of the
most unfortunate cases of the illusions, which the close association
of ideas with words has produced, is created by ideas clinging to
words when they ought to be disjoined from them, and mixing
themselves by that means with the ideas under consideration, when
they ought to be considered wholly distinct from them. Nothing was
of more importance, than that the phenomenon, to which we are just
now directing our attention, the very first ingredient in the great
mental composition, should be accurately understood, and nothing
mixed up with it which did not truly belong to it.
There is no doubt that in one of its senses, knowledge is synonymous
with sensation. If I am asked what is my knowledge of pain? I
answer, the feeling of it, the having it. The blind man has not the
knowledge of colours; the meaning is, he has not the sensations: if
deaf also, he is without the knowledge, that is, the sensations, of
sounds: suppose him void of all other sensations, you suppose him
void of knowledge. In many cases, however, we arrive at knowledge,
by certain steps; by something of a process. The word, know, is most
frequently applied to those cases. When we know, by mere sensation,
we say we see, we hear, and so on; when we know by mere ideas, {14}
or rather ideation, if we could use such a word, we say we conceive,
we think. The word know, therefore, being almost constantly joined
with the idea of a process, it is exceedingly difficult, when we
apply it to sensation, not to have the idea of a process at the same
time; and thus exceedingly difficult to conceive that sensation, and
knowing, in this case, are purely synonymous.
As the knowing I have an idea, is merely having the idea; as the
having a sensation, and knowing I have a sensation; the knowing, for
example, that I have the pain of the toothache, and the having that
pain; are not two things, but one and the same thing; so the having
a change of sensation, and knowing I have it, are not two things but
one and the same thing.
Having a change, I have occasion to mark that change. The change has
taken place in a train of feelings. I call the first part by one
name, the last by another, and the marking of the change is
effected. Suppose that, without any organ of sense but the eye, my
first sensation is red, my next green. The whole process is
sensation. Yet the green is not the red. What we call making the
distinction, therefore, has taken place, and it is involved in the
sensation.
My names, green, and red, thus applied, are absolute names. The one
has no reference to the other. Suppose that after green, I have the
sensations, blue, yellow, violet, white, black; and that I mark them
respectively by these names. These are still absolute names. Each
marks a particular sensation, and does nothing more. But, now,
suppose that, after my sensations red, green, blue, &c., I have the
sensation {15} red again; that I recognise it as like the sensation
I had first, and that I have a desire to mark that recognition; it
remains to explain what are the steps of this process.
Having the sensation a second time needs no explanation; it is the
same thing as having it the first. But what happens in recognising
that it is similar to a former sensation?
Beside the _Sensation_, in this case, there is an _Idea_. The idea
of the former sensation is called up by, that is, associated with,
the new sensation. As having a sensation, and a sensation, and
knowing them, that is, distinguishing them, are the same thing; and
having an idea, and an idea, is knowing them; so, having an idea and
a sensation, and distinguishing the one from the other, are the same
thing. But, to know that I have the idea and the sensation, in this
case, is not all; I observe, that the sensation is like the idea.
What is this observation of likeness? Is it any thing but that
distinguishing of one feeling from another, which we have recognised
to be the same thing as having two feelings? As change of sensation
is sensation; as change, from a sensation to an idea, differs from
change to a sensation, in nothing but this, that the second feeling
in the latter change is an idea, not a sensation; and as the passing
from one feeling to another is distinguishing; the whole difficulty
seems to be resolved; for undoubtedly the distinguishing differences
and similarities, is the same thing; a similarity being nothing but
a slight difference.[5] As {16} change from red to green, and
knowing the change, or from a sensation of sight, to one of any
other of the senses, the most different, is all sensation; so change
from one shade of red to another, is assuredly sensation. Its being
a different shade consists in my feeling of it, that is, in my
sensation.
[Bain's footnote 5: More properly Similarity is "agreement in
difference." Difference or discrimination is one thing, one element
of knowledge or cognition; Similarity or agreement in difference is
another thing, the second or completing element of knowledge. The
two work together in closest intimacy, but they should neither be
looked upon as the same fact, nor as merely a various shading of the
same fact. Without difference there would be no similarity; but
similarity is difference and something more. At their roots or first
origins, the two processes lie in almost undistinguishable
closeness; but in their developments they run wide apart. No fact or
attribute is known, or mentally possessed, without the union of many
shocks of difference with many shocks of identity, or agreement in
difference.--_B._]
Passing from red to red, red, red, through a succession of
distinguishable shades, is one train of pure sensation: passing from
red to green, blue, tasting, smelling, hearing, touching, is another
train of pure sensation; that these are not the same trains, but
different trains, consists in their being felt to be so; they would
not be different, but for the feeling: and that a feeling is
different, and known to be so, are not two things, but one and the
same thing. Having two such trains, I want marks to distinguish
them. For this purpose, I invent the words "same," "similar," and
their contraries; by means of which, my object is attained. I call
the parts of a train, such as the first, "same," or "similar;" those
of a train like the last, "different," "dissimilar."
By these relative terms, we name the sensations in pairs. When we
say, same, we mean that sensations {17} A, and B, are the same;
different, that A, and B, are different; like and unlike, the same.
By these words we have four pairs of relative terms.
A. B.
same same
different different
like like
unlike unlike.
The feeling is perfectly analogous in the case of the _ideas_ of
those sensations; and the naming is the same. Thus the idea of red,
green, and so on, and the ideas of the different shades of red are
distinguished from one another by the ideas themselves. To have
ideas different and ideas distinguished, are synonymous expressions;
different and distinguished, meaning exactly the same thing.
The sensations above mentioned, and their ideas, have the same
absolute names: thus, red is at once the name of the sensation, and
the name of the idea; green, at once the name of the sensation and
the idea; sweet, at once the name of the sensation and the idea. The
relative terms, it is obvious, have the same extent of application.
Same, different, like, and unlike, are names of pairs of ideas, as
well as pairs of sensations.
It seems, therefore, to be made clear, that, in applying to the
simple sensations and ideas their absolute names, which are names of
classes, as red, green, sweet, bitter; and also applying to them
names which denote them in pairs, as such and such; there is nothing
whatsoever but having the sensations, having the ideas, and making
marks for them.[6]
[Editor's footnote 6: The author commences his survey of Relations
with the most universal of them all. Likeness and Unlikeness; and he
examines these as subsisting between simple sensations or ideas; for
whatever be the true theory of likeness or unlikeness as between the
simple elements, the same, in essentials, will serve for the
likenesses or unlikenesses of the wholes compounded of them.
Examining, then, what constitutes likeness between two sensations
(meaning two exactly similar sensations experienced at different
times); he says, that to feel the two sensations to be alike, is one
and the same thing with having the two sensations. Their being alike
is nothing but their being felt to be alike; their being unlike is
nothing but their being felt to be unlike. The feeling of unlikeness
is merely that feeling of change, in passing from the one to the
other, which makes them two, and without which we should not be
conscious of them at all. The feeling of likeness, is the being
reminded of the former sensation by the present, that is, having the
idea of the former sensation called up by the present, and
distinguishing them as sensation and idea.
It does not seem to me that this mode of describing the matter
explains anything, or leaves the likenesses and unlikenesses of our
simple feelings less an ultimate fact than they were before. All it
amounts to is, that likeness and unlikeness are themselves only a
matter of feeling: and that when we have two feelings, the feeling
of their likeness or unlikeness is inextricably interwoven with the
fact of having the feelings. One of the conditions, under which we
have feelings, is that they are like and unlike: and in the case of
simple feelings, we cannot separate the likeness or unlikeness from
the feelings themselves. It is by no means certain, however, that
when we have two feelings in immediate succession, the feeling of
their likeness is not a third feeling which follows instead of being
involved in the two. This question is expressly left open by Mr.
Herbert Spencer, in his "Principles of Psychology;" and I am not
aware that any philosopher has conclusively resolved it. We do not
get rid of any difficulty by calling the feeling of likeness the
same thing with the two feelings that are alike: we have equally to
postulate likeness and unlikeness as primitive facts--as an inherent
distinction among our sensations; and whichever form of phraseology
we employ makes no difference in the ulterior developments of
psychology. It is of no practical consequence whether we say that a
phenomenon is resolved into sensations and ideas, or into
sensations, ideas, and their resemblances, since under the one
expression as under the other the resemblance must be recognised as
an indispensable element in the compound.
When we pass from resemblance between simple sensations and ideas,
to resemblance between complex wholes, the process, though not
essentially different, is more complicated, for it involves a
comparison of part with part, element with element, and therefore a
previous discrimination of the elements. When we judge that an
external object, compounded of a number of attributes, is like
another external object; since they are not, usually, alike in all
their attributes, we have to take the two objects into simultaneous
consideration in respect to each of their various attributes one
after another: their colour, to observe whether that is similar;
their size, whether that is similar; their figure, their weight, and
so on. It comes at last to a perception of likeness or unlikeness
between simple sensations: but we reduce it to this by _attending_
separately to one of the simple sensations forming the one cluster,
and to one of those forming the other cluster, and if possible
adjusting our organs of sense so as to have these two sensations in
immediate juxtaposition: as when we put two objects, of which we
wish to compare the colour, side by side, so that our sense of sight
may pass directly from one of the two sensations of colour to the
other. This act of attention directed successively to single
attributes, blunts our feeling of the other attributes of the
objects, and enables us to feel the likeness of the single
sensations almost as vividly as if we had nothing but these in our
mind. Having felt this likeness, we say that the sensations are
like, and that the two objects are like in respect of those
sensations: and continuing the process we pronounce them to be
either like or unlike in each of the other sensations which we
receive from them.--_Ed._]
{18} 2. The only other relative terms applicable to simple
sensations and ideas, are those which denote them as _Antecedent_
and _Consequent_.
{19} I have sensation red, sensation green. Why I mark them red, and
green, or as "different," has already been seen. What happens in
marking them {20} as "antecedent" and "consequent" comes next to be
considered.
A sensation, the moment it ceases, is gone for ever. When I have two
sensations, therefore, A, and B, one first, the other following,
sensation A is gone, before sensation B exists. But though
_sensation_ A is gone, its idea is not gone. Its idea, called up by
association, exists along with sensation B, or the idea of sensation
B. My knowing that the idea of sensation A is the idea of sensation
A, is my having the idea. Having it, and knowing it, are not two
things, but one and the same thing. _Having_ the idea of sensation
A, that is, having the idea of the immediate antecedent of sensation
B, seems, also, to be the same thing with knowing it as the idea of
that antecedent. Having sensation A, and after it sensation B, is
mere sensation; and having the idea of sensation A, the immediate
antecedent, called up by sensation B, the immediate consequent, is
knowing it for that antecedent. The links of the train are three;
1, sensation A; 2, sensation B; 3, the idea of sensation A, in a
certain order with B, called up by sensation B; and after this,
NAMING.
The case appears mysterious, solely, from the want of words to
express it clearly; and our confirmed habit of inattention to the
process. Suppose, that {21} instead of two sensations, A and B, we
have three, A, B, and C, in immediate succession. I recognise A, as
the antecedent of B; B, as the antecedent of C. What is the process?
The idea of sensation A, is associated with sensation B; and the
idea of sensation B, is associated with sensation C. But sensation
C, is not associated with the idea of sensation B solely, it is
associated also with the idea of sensation A. It is associated,
however, differently with the one and the other. It is associated
with B immediately; it is associated with A, only through the medium
of B; it calls up the idea of B, by its own associating power, and
the idea of B, calls up the idea of A. This second state of
consciousness is different from the first. The first is that in
consequence of which B receives the name "Antecedent," and C the
name "Consequent." When two sensations in a train are such, that,
if one exists, it has the idea of the other along with it, by its
immediate exciting power, and not through any intermediate idea; the
sensation, the idea of which is thus excited, is called the
antecedent, the sensation which thus excites that idea, is called
the consequent.
It is evident that the terms, "antecedent," and "consequent," are
not applied in consequence of sensation merely, but in consequence
of sensation joined with ideas. The antecedent sensation, which is
past, must be revived by the consequent sensation, which is present.
It is the peculiarity of this revival which procures it the name.
If revived by any other sensation, it would not have that name.
The Clock strikes three. My feelings are, three sensations of
hearing, in succession. How do I know {22} them to be three
successive sensations? The process in this instance does not seem to
be very difficult to trace. The clock strikes one; this is pure
sensation. It strikes two; this is a sensation, joined with the idea
of the preceding sensation, and the idea of the feeling (also
sensation), called change of sensation, or passage from one
sensation to another. After two, the clock strikes three; there is,
here, sensation, and a double association; the third stroke is
sensation; that is associated immediately with the idea of the
second, and through the idea of the second, with the idea of the
first. It is observable, that these successive associations soon
cease to afford distinct ideas; they hardly do so beyond the second
stage. When the clock strikes, we may have distinct ideas of the
strokes, as far as three, hardly farther; we must then have recourse
to NAMING, and call the strokes, four, five, six, and so on:
otherwise we should be wholly unable to tell how often the clock had
struck.
In the preceding pairs of relative terms, we have found only one
name for each pair. Thus, when we say of A and B, that A is similar
to B, we say also, that B is similar to A. We have now an instance
of a pair of relative terms, consisting not of the same, but of
different names. If we call A antecedent, we call B consequent. The
first class were called by the ancient logicians, synonymous, the
second heteronymous; we may call them more intelligibly,
single-worded, and double-worded, relatives.[7]
[Editor's footnote 7: The next relation which the author examines is
that of succession, or Antecedent and Consequent. And here again we
have one of the universal conditions to which all our feelings or
states of consciousness are subject. Whenever we have more feelings
than one, we must have them either simultaneously or in succession;
and when we are conscious of having them in succession, we cannot in
any way separate or isolate the succession from the feelings
themselves. The author attempts to carry the analysis somewhat
farther. He says that when we have two sensations in the order of
antecedent and consequent, the consequent calls up the idea of the
antecedent; and that this fact, that a sensation calls up the idea
of another sensation directly, and not through an intermediate idea,
_constitutes_ that other sensation the antecedent of the sensation
which reminds us of it--is not a _consequence_ of the one
sensation's having preceded the other, but is literally all we mean
by the one sensation's having preceded the other. There seem to be
grave objections to this doctrine. In the first place, there is no
law of association by which a consequent calls up the idea of its
antecedent. The law of successive association is that the antecedent
calls up the idea of the consequent, but not conversely; as is seen
in the difficulty of repeating backwards even a form of words with
which we are very familiar. We get round from the consequent to the
antecedent by an indirect process, through the medium of other
ideas; or by going back, at each step, to the beginning of the
train, and repeating it downwards until we reach that particular
link. When a consequent directly recalls its antecedent, it is by
synchronous association, when the antecedent happens to have been so
prolonged as to coexist with, instead of merely preceding, the
consequent.
The next difficulty is, that although the direct recalling of the
idea of a past sensation by a present, without any intermediate
link, does not take place from consequent to antecedent, it does
take place from like to like: a sensation recalls the idea of a past
sensation resembling itself, without the intervention of any other
idea. The author, however, says, that "when two sensations in a
train are such that if one exists, it has the idea of the other
along with it by its immediate exciting power, and not through any
intermediate idea; the sensation, the idea of which is thus excited,
is called the antecedent, the sensation which thus excites that idea
is called the consequent." If this therefore were correct, we should
give the names of antecedent and consequent not to the sensations
which really are so, but to those which recall one another by
resemblance.
Thirdly and lastly, to explain antecedence, _i.e._ the succession
between two feelings, by saying that one of the two calls up the
idea of the other, that is to say, is followed by it, is to explain
succession by succession, and antecedence by antecedence. Every
explanation of anything by states of our consciousness, includes as
part of the explanation a succession between those states; and it is
useless attempting to analyse that which comes out as an element in
every analysis we are able to make. Antecedence and consequence, as
well as likeness and unlikeness, must be postulated as universal
conditions of Nature, inherent in all our feelings whether of
external or of internal consciousness.--_Ed._]
{23} II. Having shewn what takes place in naming simple SENSATIONS,
and simple IDEAS, in pairs, both as {24} such and such, and as
antecedent and consequent, we come to the second case of relative
terms, that of naming the clusters, called EXTERNAL OBJECTS, in
pairs. The principal occasions of doing so we have said are four.
1. When we speak of them, as they exist in the synchronous order,
that is, the order in space, we use such relative terms as the
following: high, low; east, west; right, left; hind, fore; and so
on.
It is necessary to carry along with us a correct idea of what is
meant by synchronous order, that is, the order of simultaneous, in
contradistinction to that of successive, existence. The synchronous
order is much more complex than the successive. The successive {25}
order is all, as it were, in one direction. The synchronous is in
every possible direction. The following seems to be the best mode of
conceiving it.
Take a single particle of matter as a centre. Other particles may be
aggregated to it, in the line of every possible radius; and as the
radii diverge, and other lines, tending to the centre, may be
continually interposed, to any number, particles may be aggregated
in those numberless directions. They may also be aggregated in those
directions to a less or a greater extent. And they may be aggregated
to an equal extent in every direction; or to a greater extent in
some of the directions, a less extent in others. In the first case
of aggregation they compose a globe; in the last, any other shape.
Every one of the particles in this aggregate, has a certain order;
first with respect to the centre particle; next with respect to
every other particle. This order is also called, the Position of the
particle. In such an aggregate, therefore, the positions are
innumerable. It is thence observable, that position is an
exceedingly complex idea; for the position of each of those
particles is its order with respect to every one of the other
innumerable particles; it includes, therefore, innumerable
ingredients. Hence it is not wonderful that, while viewed in the
lump, it should seem obscure and mysterious.
Of positions, thus numberless, it is a small portion, only that have
names. Bulk is a name for an aggregate of particles, greater, or
less. Figure is only a modification, or case, of bulk; it is more or
fewer particles in such and such directions.
These things being explained, it now remains to {26} shew, of what
copies of sensations, peculiarly combined, the complex ideas in
question are composed.
The simplest case of position, or synchronous order, is that of two
or more particles in one direction. Let us take the particle,
conceived as the centre particle, in a preceding supposition, and
let us aggregate to it a number of particles, all in the direction
of a single radius, one by one. We have first the centre particle,
and one other, in juxta-position. This is the simplest case of
synchronous order, and this is the simplest of all positions. Let us
next aggregate a second particle; we have now the centre particle,
and two more. The position of the first of the aggregated particles
with respect to the centre particle is contact, or juxta-position;
that of the second is not juxta-position, but position at the
distance of a particle; the next which is aggregated, is at the
distance of two; the next of three particles, and so on, to any
extent.
Particles thus aggregated, all in the direction of a single radius
from the first, constitute a line of less or greater length,
according to the number of aggregated particles.
Line is a word of great importance; because it is by that, chiefly,
we express ourselves concerning synchronous order; or frame names
for positions. Now it happens, that Line has a duplicity of meaning,
most unfortunate, because it has confounded two meanings, which it
is of the highest importance to preserve distinct.
We have already remarked the distinction between concrete, and
abstract, terms; and explained wherein the difference of their
signification consists. We have {27} also observed, that though in
very many cases, the concrete term, and the abstract term, are
different words, as good and goodness, true and truth, there are
many others in which the concrete and abstract terms are the same;
and this is the case, unhappily, with the word Truth itself, which
is used in the concrete sense, as well as the abstract. Thus we call
a proposition, a Truth; in which phrase, the word Truth, means "True
Proposition;" and in this sense we talk of eternal truths, meaning,
Propositions, always true. "Property," is another word, which is
sometimes concrete, sometimes abstract. Thus, a man calls his horse,
his field, his house, his property. In such phrases the word is
concrete. He also says, he has a property in such and such things.
In these phrases, it is abstract.
Of this ambiguity, the word Line is an instance. It is applied as
well to what we call a physical line, as to what we call a
mathematical line. In the first case, it is a concrete, or
connotative term; in the second case, it is an abstract or
non-connotative term. Let us then conceive clearly the two meanings.
The purest idea of a physical line, is that which we have already
formed; the aggregate of particle after particle, in the direction
of a radius. When this aggregate of particles in this order is
called a line, the word, line, is connotative; it marks or notes the
_direction_, but it also marks or connotes the _particles_; it means
the particles and the direction both; it is, in short, the
_concrete_ term. When it is used as the _abstract_ term, the
connotation is left out. It marks the direction without marking the
particles.
It is here necessary to call to mind, that abstract {28} terms
derive their meaning wholly from their concretes; and that by
themselves they have absolutely no meaning at all. I know a green
tree, a sweet apple, a hard stone, but greenness without something
green, hardness without something hard, are just nothing at all.
The same, in its abstract sense, is the case with line, though we
have not words by which we can convey the conception with equal
clearness. If we had an abstract term, separate from the concrete,
the troublesome association in question would have been less
indissoluble, and less deceptive. If we had such a word as Lineness,
or Linth, for example, we should have much more easily seen, that
our idea is the idea of the physical line; and that linth without a
line, as breadth without something broad, length without something
long, are just nothing at all.[8]
[Editor's footnote 8: This conception of a geometrical line, as the
abstract, of which a physical line is the corresponding concrete, is
scarcely satisfactory. An abstract name is the name of an attribute,
or property, of the things of which the concrete name is predicated.
It is, no doubt, the name of some part, some one or more, of the
sensations composing the concrete group, but not of those sensations
simply and in themselves; it is the name of those sensations
regarded as belonging to some group. Whiteness, the abstract name,
is the name of the colour white, considered as the colour of some
physical object. Now I do not see that a geometrical line is
conceived as an attribute of a physical object. The attribute of
objects which comes nearest to the signification of a geometrical
line, is their length: but length does not need any name but its
own; and the author does not seem to mean that a geometrical line is
the same thing as length. He seems to have fallen into the mistake
of confounding an abstract with an ideal. The line which is meant in
all the theorems of geometry I take to be as truly concrete as a
physical line; it denotes an object, but one purely imaginary; a
supposititious object, agreeing in all else with a physical line,
but differing from it in having no breadth. The properties of this
imaginary line of course agree with those of a physical line, except
so far as these depend on, or are affected by, breadth. The lines,
surfaces, and figures contemplated by geometry are abstract, only in
the improper sense of the term, in which it is applied to whatever
results from the mental process called Abstraction. They ought to be
called ideal. They are physical lines, surfaces, and figures,
idealized, that is, supposed hypothetically to be perfectly what
they are only imperfectly, and not to be at all what they are in a
very slight, and for most purposes wholly unimportant,
degree.--_Ed._]
{29} What are, then, the sensations, the ideas of which, in close
association, we mark by the word line?
Though it appears to all men that they see position, length,
breadth, distance, figure; it is nevertheless true, that what
appear, in this manner, to be sensations of the eye, are Ideas,
called up by association. This is an important phenomenon, which
throws much light upon the darker involutions of human thought.
The sensations, whence are generated our ideas of synchronous order,
are from two sources; they are partly the sensations of touch, and
partly those of which we have spoken under the name of muscular
sensations, the feelings involved in muscular action.[9]
[Bain's footnote 9: In attaining the ideas of synchronous order,
which is another name for Space, or the Extended World, sight is a
leading instrumentality. It is by sight more than by any other sense
that we get somewhat beyond the strict limits of the law of the
successiveness of all our perceptions. Although we can _distinctly_
see only a limited spot at one instant, we can couple with this a
vague perception of an adjoining superficies. This is an important
sign of co-existence, as contrasted with succession, and enters with
various other signs into the very complex notion of the author's
synchronous order, otherwise called the Simultaneous or Co-existing
in Space.--_B._]
{30} A line, we have said, is an order of particles, contiguous one
to another, in the direction of a radius from one particle. Let us
begin from this one particle, and trace our sensations. One particle
may be an object of touch; it may be felt, as we call it, and
nothing more; it may, at the same time, give the sensation of
resistance, which we have already described as a feeling seated in
the muscles, just as sound is a feeling in the ear. Resistance, is
force applied to force. What we feel, is the act of the muscle.
Without that, no resistance. This state of consciousness is, in
reality, what we mark by the name. It is, at the same time, a state
of consciousness not a little obscure; because we habitually
overlook many of the sensations of which it is composed; because it
is, in itself, very complex; and because it is entangled with a
number of extraneous associations.
We have already remarked the habit we acquire of not attending to
the sensations which are seated in the muscles, of attending only to
the occasions of them, and the effects of them; that is, their
antecedents, and consequents; overlooking the intermediate
sensations. In marking, therefore, or assigning our names, it seems
to be rather the occasions and effects, the antecedents and
consequents, than the sensations themselves, which are named. The
word resistance is thus the name of a very complex {31} idea.[10] It
is the name; first, of the feelings which we have when we say we
feel resistance; secondly, of the occasions, or antecedents, of
those feelings; and, thirdly, of their consequents. The feelings
intermediate between the antecedents and consequents, are themselves
complex. There are two kinds of sensations included in them; the
sensation of touch, and the muscular sensations; and there is
something more. When we move a muscle, we Will to move it. This
state of consciousness, the Will to move it, is part of the feeling
of the motion. What that state of consciousness, called the Will,
is, we have not yet explained. At present we speak of it merely as
an element in the compound. Of what elements it is itself compounded
we shall see hereafter. In the idea of resistance, then, there is
the will to move the muscles, the sensations in the muscles, the
occasion or antecedent of those feelings, and the effects or
consequents of them. And there is the common complexity attending
all generical terms, that of their including all possible varieties.
[Bain's footnote 10: Still, when we apply an analysis to the complex
facts indicated by the name, we come to a simple as well as ultimate
experience, which is correctly signified by the name Resistance. The
feeling of muscular energy expended is in all likelihood an
absolutely elementary feeling of the mind; and the form of this
feeling that is least complicated or mixed up with other
sensibilities is what the word Resistance most usually expresses,
namely, the dead strain, that is energy without leading to movement,
or causing movement in such a slight degree as not to depart from
the essential peculiarity of expended force.--_B._]
These things being explained, the learner will now be able to trace,
without error, the formation of one of the most important of all our
ideas, that of {32} resistance, or pressure. We touch one thing,
butter, for instance; it yields to the finger, after a slight
pressure; that is, a certain feeling of ours. The will to move the
muscles, and the sensations in the muscles, are both included in
that feeling; but, for shortness, we shall speak of them, through
the present exposition, under one name, as the feelings or
sensations in the muscles. As we call the butter yellow, on account
of a feeling of sight; odorous, on account of a feeling of smell;
sapid, on account of a feeling of taste; so we call it soft, on
account of a feeling in our muscles. We touch a stone, as we touched
the butter, and it yields not, after the strongest pressure we can
apply. As we called the butter soft, on account of one muscular
feeling, we call the stone hard, on account of another. The
varieties of these feelings are innumerable. Only a small portion of
them have received names. The feeling upon pressure of butter, is
one thing; of honey, another; of water, another; of air, another; of
flesh, one thing; of bone, another. We mark them as we can, by the
terms soft, more soft, less soft; hard, more hard, less hard, and so
on. We have great occasion, however, for a word which shall include
all these different words. As we have "coloured" to include all the
names of sensations of sight; "touch" all the names of sensations of
touch, and so on; we invent the word "resisting," which includes all
the words, soft, hard, and so on, by which any of the sensations of
pressure are denoted.
Such, then, are the feelings which we are capable of receiving from
the particle with which we may suppose a line of particles to
commence. These feelings, in passing along the line, we should
receive in {33} succession from each, if the tactual sense were
sufficiently fine to distinguish particles in contact from one
another. It has not, however, this perfection. Even sight cannot
distinguish minute intervals. If a red-hot coal is whirled rapidly
round, though the coal is present at only one part of the circle at
each instant, the whole is one continuous red. If the seven
prismatic colours are made to pass rapidly in order before the eye,
they appear not distinct colours, but one uniform white. In like
manner, in passing from one to another, in a line of particles,
there is no feeling of interval; there is the feeling we call
continuity; that is, absence of interval.
The sensations, then, the ideas of which combined compose the idea
which we mark by the word line, may thus be traced. The tactual
feeling, and the feeling of resistance, derivable from every
particle, attend the finger in every part of its progress along the
line. What is there besides? To produce the progress of the finger,
there is muscular action; that is to say, there are the feelings
combined in muscular action. That we may exclude extraneous ideas as
much as possible, let us suppose, that, when a person first makes
himself acquainted with a line, he has the sense of touch, and the
muscular sensations, without any other sense. He has one state of
feeling, when the finger, which touches the line, is still; another,
when it moves. He has also one state of feeling from one degree of
motion, another from another. If he has one state of feeling from
the finger carried along, as far as it can extend, he has another
feeling when it is only carried half as far, and so on.
It is extremely difficult to speak of these feelings {34} precisely,
or to draw by language those who are not accustomed to the minute
analysis of their thoughts, to conceive them distinctly; because
they are among the feelings, as we have before remarked, which we
have acquired the habit of not attending to, or rather, have lost
the power of attending to.
It is certain, however, that by sensation alone we become acquainted
with lines; that in every different contraction of the muscles there
is a difference of sensation; and that of the tactual feeling, and
the feelings of the contracted muscles, all the feelings which
constitute our knowledge of a line are composed.
As, after certain repetitions of a particular sensation of sight, a
particular sensation of smell, a particular sensation of sight, and
so on, received in a certain order, I give to the combined ideas of
them, the name rose, the name apple, the name fire, and the like; in
the same manner, after certain repetitions of particular tactual
sensations, and particular muscular sensations, received in a
certain order, I give to the combined ideas of them, the name Line.
But when I have got my idea of a line, I have also got my idea of
extension. For what is extension, but lines in every direction?
physical lines, if real, tactual extension; mathematical lines, if
mathematical, that is, abstract, extension.
It would be tedious to pursue the analysis of extension farther. And
I trust it is not necessary; because the application of the same
method to the remaining cases, appears completely obvious. Take
plane surface for example. It is composed of all the lines which can
be drawn in a particular plane; the idea of it, therefore, is
derived from the tactual feeling, and the feeling of resistance,
combined with the {35} muscular feelings involved in the motion of
the finger in every direction which it can receive on a plane.
Let us now take some of the words which, along with the synchronous
order, connote objects in pairs. The names of this sort are not very
numerous. High, and low, right, and left, hind, and fore, are
examples. These, it is obvious, are names of the principal
directions from the human body as a centre. The order of objects,
the most frequently interesting to human beings, is, of course,
their order with respect to their own bodies. What is over the head,
gets the name of high; what is below the feet, gets the name of low;
and so on. Of the pairs which are connoted by those words, the human
body is always one. The words, right, left, hind, fore, when they
denote the object so called, always connote the body in respect to
which they are right, left, hind, fore. We have already noticed the
cases in which the objects, thus named in pairs, have each a
separate name, as father, son; also those in which both have the
same name, as sister, brother. We have here another case, which
deserves also to be particularly marked, that in which only one of
them has a name. The human body, which is always one of the objects
named, when we call things right, left, hind, fore, and so on, has
no corresponding relative name. The reason is sufficiently obvious;
this, being always one of the pair, cannot, the other being named,
be misunderstood.
For the complete understanding of these words, it does not appear
that any thing remains to be explained. If one line, proceeding from
a central particle, be understood, every line, which can proceed
from it, is also understood. If that central point be a part {36} of
the human body, it is plain that as the hand, passing along a line
in a certain direction from that centre, has certain muscular
actions, passing along in another direction, it has muscular actions
somewhat different. When we say muscular actions somewhat different,
we say muscular feelings somewhat different. Difference of feeling,
when important, needs difference of naming.
A particular case of association is here to be remarked; and it is
one which it is important for the learner to fix steadfastly in his
memory.
We never perceive, what we call an object, except in the synchronous
order. Whatever other sensations we receive, the sensations of the
synchronous order, are always received along with them. When we
perceive a chair, a tree, a man, a house, they are always situated
so and so, with respect to other objects. As the sensations of
positions are thus always received with the other sensations of an
object, the idea of Position is so closely associated with the idea
of the object, that it is wholly impossible for us to have the one
idea without the other. It is one of the most remarkable cases of
indissoluble association; and is that feeling which men describe,
when they say that the idea of space forces itself upon their
understandings, and is necessary.[11]
[Editor's footnote 11: Under the head, as before, of Relative Terms,
we find here an analysis of the important and intricate complex
ideas of Extension and Position. It will be convenient to defer any
remarks on this analysis, until it can be considered in conjunction
with the author's exposition of the closely allied subjects of
Motion and Space.--_Ed._]
{37} 2. We come now to the case of naming OBJECTS in pairs, on
account of the Successive Order.
We have had occasion to observe that there is nothing in which human
beings are so deeply interested, as the Successive Order of objects.
It is the successive order upon which all their happiness and misery
depends; and the synchronous order is interesting to them, chiefly
on account of its connection with the successive.
When we speak of objects, it is necessary to remember, that it is
sensations, not ideas, to which we are then directing our attention.
All our sensations, we say, are derived from objects; in other
words, object is the name we give to the antecedents of our
sensations. And, reciprocally, all our knowledge of objects is the
sensations themselves. We have the sensations, and that is all.
A knowledge, therefore, of the successive order of objects, is a
knowledge of the successive order of our sensations; of all the
pleasures, and all the pains, and all the feelings intermediate
between pleasure and pain, of which the body is susceptible.
Of successions, that is, the order of objects as antecedent and
consequent, some are constant, some not constant. Thus, a stone
dropped in the air always falls to the ground. This is a case of
constancy of sequence. Heavy clouds drop rain, but not always. This
is a case of casual sequence.[12] Human life is {38} deeply
interested in ascertaining the constant sequences of all the objects
from which human sensations are derived. The great business of
philosophy is to find them out; and to record them, in the form most
convenient for acquiring the knowledge of them, and for applying it.
[Editor's footnote 12: This is surely an improper use of the word
Casual. Sequences cannot be exhaustively divided into invariable and
casual, or (as by the author a few pages further on) into constant
and fortuitous. Heavy clouds, though they do not always drop rain,
are not connected with it by mere accident, as the passing of a
waggon might be. They are connected with it through causation: they
are one of the conditions on which, when united, rain is invariably
consequent, though it is not invariably consequent on that single
condition. This distinction is essential to any system of Inductive
Logic, in which it recurs at every step.--_Ed._]
In the successions of objects, it very often happens, that what
appear to us to be the immediate antecedent and consequent, are not
immediately successive, but are separated by several intermediate
successions. Thus, the falling of a spark on gunpowder, and the
explosion of the gunpowder, appear antecedent and consequent; but
several successions in reality intervene; various decompositions,
and compositions, in which, indeed, all the sequences cannot as yet
be traced. Most of the successions, which we are called upon to
notice and to name, are in the same situation. We fix upon two
conspicuous points in a chain of successions, and the intermediate
ones are either overlooked, or unknown.
Thus, we name Doctor and Patient, the two extremities of a pretty
long succession of objects. The Doctor is not the immediate
antecedent of any change in the patient. He is the immediate
antecedent of a certain conception, of which the consequent is,
writing a prescription; the consequent of this, is the sending {39}
it to the apothecary; the consequent of that, is the apothecary's
reading it, and so on; the whole composing a multitudinous train.
Doctor and Patient, therefore, are not only two paired names of two
paired objects, but names of all the successions between the one and
the other. Doctor and Patient, therefore, properly speaking, are to
be considered one name, though made up of two parts. Taken together,
they are the name of the complex idea of a considerable train of
sequences, of which a particular man is one extremity, a particular
man another; just as navigation is the single-worded name of the
complex idea of a very long train, of which the extremities are not
particularly marked. If you say, navigation from the Thames to the
Ganges, you have a many-worded name, by which the extremities of
this long train are particularly marked.
The relative terms, Father and Son, are obviously included in this
explanation. They are the two extremities of a train of great length
and intricacy, very imperfectly understood. They also, both
together, compose, as may easily be seen, but one name. Father is a
word which connotes Son, and whether Son is expressed or not, the
meaning of it is implied. In like manner Son connotes Father; and,
stripped of that connotation, is without a meaning. Taken together,
therefore, they are one name, the name of the complex idea of that
train of which father is the one extremity, son the other.[13]
[Editor's footnote 13: It seems hardly a proper expression to say
that Physician and Patient, or that Father and Son, are one name
made up of two parts. When one of the parts is a name of one person
and the other part is the name of another, it is difficult to see
how the two together can be but one name. Father and Son are two
names, denoting different persons: but what the author had it in his
mind to say, was that they connote the same series of facts, which
series, as the two persons are both indispensable parts of it, gives
names to them both, and is made the foundation or _fundamentum_ of
an attribute ascribed to each.
With the exception of this questionable use of language, which the
author had recourse to because he had not left himself the precise
word Connote, to express what there is of real identity in the
signification of the two names; the analysis which follows of the
various complicated cases of relation seems philosophically
unexceptionable. The complexity of a relation consists in the
complex composition of the series of facts or phenomena which the
names connote, and which is the _fundamentum relationis_. The names
signify that the person or thing, of which they are predicated,
forms part of a group or succession of phenomena along with the
other person or thing which is its correlate: and the special nature
of that group or series, which may be of extreme complexity,
constitutes the speciality of the relation predicated.--_Ed._]
{40} Brother and Brother are a pair of relative terms marking a
still more complex idea. Two brothers are two sons of the same
Father; taken together, they are, therefore, marks of all that Son,
taken twice, is capable of marking. Son, as we have just seen,
always implies Father; and, taken together, they are the name of a
train. The relatives, therefore, brother and brother, are the
compound name; two brothers, are the name of the train marked by the
term, Father and Son, taken twice, the prior extremity of the train
being the same in both cases, the latter different.
The above terms. Father and Son, Brother and {41} Brother, are
imposed on account of sequences which are passed. I do not at this
moment recollect any relative terms imposed on account of sequences
purely future. The terms, Buyer and Seller, are sometimes, indeed,
used in a sense wholly future; when they mean persons having
something to buy and something to sell: but they are also used in a
sense wholly passed, when they signify persons who have effected
purchase and sale. We have, however, many relative terms on account
of trains which are partly passed and partly future. Thus, Lender
and Borrower, are imposed partly on account of the passed train
included in the contract of lending and borrowing; partly on account
of the future train implied in the repayment of the money. The words
Debtor and Creditor are names of the same train, partly passed and
partly future.
The relative terms, Husband and Wife, are of the same class; the
name of a train partly passed, to wit, that implied in entering into
the nuptial contract; and partly future, to wit, all the events
expected to flow out of that contract. Master and Servant are
imposed, on account of a train partly passed and partly future; the
train of entering into the compact of master and servant, and the
train of acts which flow out of it. King and Subject are the name of
a train similarly divided; first, the train which led to the will of
obeying on the part of the people, the will of commanding on the
part of the king; secondly, the trains which grow out of these
wills.
Owner and Property are relative terms, or terms which connote one
another. They also are imposed on account of a train partly passed
and partly future. The part which is passed is the train implied in
the {42} circumstances of the acquisition, whether inheritance,
gift, labour, or purchase. The part which is future is the train
implied in the use which the owner may make of the property.
Of the terms which denote objects in successive pairs, several are
very general. Thus we have antecedent and consequent, which are
applicable to any parts of any train. Prior and Posterior, are
nearly of the same import. First and Last, are applicable to the two
extremities of any train. Second, third, fourth, and so on, are
applicable to the contiguous parts of any train.
We have remarked, above, that successions of objects are to be
distinguished into two remarkable kinds; that of the successions
which are fortuitous, and that of the successions which are
constant. Names to mark the antecedent and consequent in all
constant successions, which are things of such importance to us,
were found of course indispensable. Cause and Effect, are the names
we employ. In all constant successions. Cause is the name of the
antecedent. Effect the name of the consequent. And, beside this,
it has been proved by philosophers,[1*] that these names denote
absolutely nothing.
[Mill's footnote 1: Chiefly by Dr. Brown, of Edinburgh, in a work
entitled "Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect;" one of the
most valuable contributions to science for which we are indebted to
the last generation.--(_Author's Note_.)]
It is highly necessary to be apprized, that each of the two names.
Cause and Effect, has a double meaning. They are used, sometimes in
the concrete sense, sometimes in the abstract. By this ambiguity,
{43} ideas are confounded, which it is of the greatest importance to
preserve distinct. When we say, the sun is the Cause of light, cause
is concrete; the meaning is, that the sun always causes light. When
we say that ice is the Effect of cold air, effect is concrete; the
meaning is, that ice is effected by cold air. "Cause," in these
cases, is merely a short name for "causing object," "Effect," a
short name for "caused object." In abstract discourse, on the other
hand, Cause and Effect are often used in the abstract sense, in
which cases Cause means the same thing as would be meant by
causingness; Effect, the same as would be meant by causedness. They
are merely the connotative or concrete terms, with the connotation
dropped.
As the abstract terms have no meaning, except as they refer to the
concrete, it is in the concrete sense I shall always use the words
Cause and Effect, unless when I give notice to the contrary.
Other terms, pairing the parts of a train, take parts more or less
distant; first and last, take the most distant; father and son, take
parts at a considerable distance; cause and effect, on the other
hand, mean always the proximate parts. It does not, indeed, happen,
that we always apply them to the proximate parts; because the
intermediate sequences are often unknown, at other times overlooked.
They are always, however, applied to the parts regarded as
proximate. For we do not, strictly speaking, say, that any thing is
the cause of a thing, when it is only the cause of another thing,
which is the cause of that thing; still less, when there is a series
of causes and effects, before you arrive at that which you have
marked as _the_ effect, because the ultimate one. In {44} all the
inquiries of philosophers into causes, it is the antecedent and
consequent, really proximate, which is the object of their pursuit.
We have observed, in the case of the relative terms, applied to
objects as successive, that the words, properly speaking, form but
one name,--that of the complex idea of a train of less or greater
length: thus, Doctor and Patient is a name; Father and Son is a
name; each denoting a train of which two individuals are the
principal parts. In like manner, the relative terms Cause and
Effect, taken together, are but one name, the name of a short train,
that of one antecedent and one consequent, regarded as proximate,
and constant.
3. We have now shewn, in what manner the principal Relative Terms
are applied, when we have to speak of objects as having order in
Space, and when we have to speak of them as having order in Time. We
proceed to shew in what manner they are applied, when we have to
speak of objects as differing in Quantity, or differing in Quality;
and first, as differing in Quantity.
We apply the word Quantity, in a very general manner; to things,
which have the greatest diversity. Thus, we use the word quantity,
when we speak of extension; we use the word quantity, when we speak
of weight; we use it, when we speak of motion; we use it, when we
speak of heat; we use it, in short, on almost every occasion, on
which we can use the word degree. Of course, it represents not one
idea, but many ideas, some of which have the greatest diversity.
The relative terms, which we co-apply with {45} quantity, are equal,
unequal, or some particular case included under these more general
terms; as, more heavy, less heavy*; more strong, less strong; whole,
part; and so on.
When quantity is applied to extent, it may be extent either in one,
or more, or every direction; it may mean either quantity in line,
quantity in surface, or quantity in bulk. Accordingly, we can say,
equal, or unequal, lines; equal, or unequal, surfaces; equal, or
unequal, bulks.
Line is the simplest case; the explanation of it will, therefore,
facilitate the rest. We have already traced the sensations, which
constitute our knowledge of a line. We have seen that they are
certain sensations of touch, combined with the muscular sensations
involved in extending the arm.
As the sensations, involved in extending the arm so far, are not the
same with those which are involved in extending it farther; and as
the having different sensations, and distinguishing them, are not
two things, but one and the same thing;--as often as I have those
two cases of sensation, I distinguish them from one another; and,
distinguishing them from one another, I require names to mark them.
The first I mark, by the word, short; the other, by the word, long.
As I call a line long, from extending my arm so far; that is, from
the sensations involved in extending it; I call it longer from
extending it farther. After experience of a number of lines, there
are some which I call long, long, long, one after another, to any
amount; others which I call longer, longer, longer; others which
I call short, short, short; and so on.
When we have perceived the sensations, on account {46} of which we
call lines long, longer, short, shorter, we can be at no loss for
the knowledge of those, on account of which we call them equal, and
unequal. It is to be observed, that in applying the words long,
longer, short, shorter, minute differences are not named. They
cannot be named. The names would be too numerous. A general mark,
however, may be invented, to shew when there is even a minute
difference, and when there is not. When there is not, we call the
two lines equal; when there is, we call them unequal.
We shall presently see, when we come to trace the ideas, which the
class of words, called numbers, are employed to mark, what
distinction of sensation it is which is marked by the words, one,
and two. In the mean time, it is easy to see, that the case of
sensation, when we trace one line, with the hand, and then another,
is different from the case of sensation when we trace one line only,
or even the same line twice; and this diversity needs marks to
distinguish it. It is true, that in tracing one line, and then
another, and marking the distinction, there is something more than
sensation, there is also memory. But to this ingredient in the
compound, after the explanation which has already been given of
memory, it is not, at present, necessary particularly to advert.
When it is seen, what are the sensations which are marked by the
terms longer and shorter, applied to a line, it will not be
difficult to see what are the sensations, which are marked by the
terms, part, and whole.
The terms, a part, and whole, imply division. Of course, the thing
precedes the name. Men divided, before they named the act, or the
consequences of the {47} act. In the act of division, or in the
results of it, no mystery has ever been understood to reside. It is
of importance to remark, that the word division, in its ordinary
acceptation, includes, and thence confounds, things which very much
need to be distinguished. It includes the will, which is the
antecedent of the act; the act itself; and the results of the act.
At present we may leave the will aside; it will be explained
hereafter; and, as it is not the act, but the antecedent of the act,
the consideration of it is not required, for the present purpose.
The act of dividing, like all the other acts of our body, consists
in the contraction and relaxation of certain muscles. These are
known to us, like every thing else, by the feelings. The act, as
act, is the feelings; and only when confounded with its results, is
it conceived to be any thing else. If it be said, that the
contraction of the muscles of my arm, is something more in me than
feelings, because I see the motion of my arm; it is to be observed,
that this seeing, this sensation of sight, is not the act, but one
of its results; the feelings of the act are the antecedent; this
sensation of sight one of the consequents.
In the act of dividing a line, as in the act, already analysed, of
tracing a line, there is a feeling of touch, and there is also a
muscular feeling. There may be more or less of cohesion in the parts
of the line; and thence, more or less of what we call muscular
force, required to disunite them. Of course, what we call more or
less of force, are only names for different states of feeling. The
states of feeling which we mark by the term, force, being
antecedent, all the rest {48} are consequents of this antecedent.
The disunion of the parts of one line is attended with a certain
muscular feeling; I call the feeling a small force. That of another
line is attended with a muscular feeling somewhat different; I call
it a greater force; and so on. This muscular feeling, however, has
various accompaniments; which are closely associated with the idea
of the act, and with its name. Thus there is the sight of the line,
there is the sight of the hands in the act of disruption, and there
is the sight of the line after it is divided. The term division, as
we have mentioned before, includes all; the muscular feeling, the
sight of the line before division, and the sight of it after. I need
a pair of names for the line before division, and the line after.
I call the one whole, the other parts. Like other relative terms,
the one of these connotes the other; whole has no meaning, but when
associated with parts; parts have no meaning, but when associated
with whole. Taken together; that is, whole and parts, used as one
name; they mark a complex idea, consisting of three principal parts;
an undivided line, the act of division, and the consequent of that
antecedent, the line after division.
In the preceding exposition, it is actual division, the actual
making of parts, which has been spoken of. It is observable,
however, that the same language, by which we name actual division,
and actual parts, is applied to conceived division, and conceived
parts. Thus we talk of the parts of a line, when it is not divided,
nor meant to be divided. The exposition of this, however, is easy;
and there is obscurity only when the double use of the terms
confounds the two {49} cases, the division which is actual, with
that which is conceived.
The division of the line may consist of one act, or of more acts
than one. By the first act, it is divided into two parts; by the
second into three; by the third into four, and so on. The parts of
a line are so many lines. These may be equal, or unequal. But the
sensations, on account of which we denominate lines equal, or
unequal, have been already shewn; the equality, and inequality,
therefore, of the parts of a line, need no further explanation.
When the learner conceives distinctly the sensations on account of
which we apply the terms whole and parts to a line, he will not find
it difficult to understand, on what account we apply them to all the
modifications of extension; seeing that all these modifications are
lines combined.
Thus, a plane surface is a number of straight lines, in contact,
in the direction called a plane. It is of greater or less extent,
according as these lines are longer or shorter from a central point;
it is of one shape or another shape, according as the lines are of
the same length, or of different lengths. When they are all of one
length, the surface is called a circle. As they may be of different
lengths in endless variety, the surface may have an endless variety
of shapes, of which only a few have received names. The square is
one of these names, the triangle another, the parallelogram another,
and so on.
Bulk, which is the other great modification of extension, is lines
from a central point in every direction. This bulk is greater or
less, according as these lines are longer or shorter. The figure or
shape of this {50} bulk is different, according as the lines are of
the same or different lengths. If they are of the same length, the
bulk is called round, or, in one word, a sphere; sphere meaning
exactly round bulk. As the lines, when they differ in length, may
differ in endless ways; figures, or the shapes of bulk, are also
endless, as our senses abundantly testify. Of these but a small
number have received names. In this number are the cube, the
cylinder, the cone. We name some shapes by referring to known
objects; thus we speak of the shape of an egg, the shape of a pear,
and so on.
It seems that nothing, therefore, is now wanting, to shew in what
manner the relative terms, expressive of Quantity, are applied to
all the modifications of extension.
After what has been said, it will not be difficult to ascertain the
sensations on account of which we apply the same relative terms to
cases of Weight.
Weight is the name of a particular species of pressure; pressure
towards the centre of the earth. Pressure, as we have already fully
seen, is the name we apply, when we have certain sensations in the
muscles, just as green is the name we apply when we have a certain
sensation in the eye. As green is the name of the sensation in the
eye, pressure is the name of the sensation in the muscles. Pressure
upwards, is one thing; pressure downwards, is another; pressure of a
body, when that body is urged by another body, is one thing;
pressure of a body, when it is not urged by another body, is a
different thing: pressure of a body in altering the position of its
parts is one thing; pressure, when there is no alteration of the
position of its parts, is another thing. Of this last sort is
weight, {51} the pressure downwards, or towards the centre of the
earth, of a body not urged by another body, and not altering the
position of its parts.
In supporting in my hand a stone, I resist a certain pressure; in
other words, have certain muscular feelings, on account of which I
call the stone heavy. I support other stones, and in doing so have
muscular feelings, in one case similar, in another dissimilar. In
the case of similarity, I call two stones equal, meaning in weight;
in the case of dissimilarity, unequal; and so I apply all the other
relative terms by which quantity is expressed.
It seems unnecessary to carry this analysis into further detail. The
words equal, unequal: greater, less; applied to Motion, to Heat, and
other modifications of sensation, have a meaning, which in following
the course so fully exemplified it cannot be difficult to ascertain.
It seems still necessary that I should say something of the word
_Quantus_, from which the word Quantity is derived. _Quantus_ is the
correlate of _Tantus_. _Tantus_, _Quantus_, are relative terms,
applicable to all the objects to which we apply the terms, Great, or
Little; they are applicable, therefore, to all the modifications of
extension, of weight, of heat; in short, to all modifications which
we can mark as degrees.
Of two lines, we call the one _tantus_, the other _quantus_. The
occasions on which we do so are, when the one is as long as the
other. _Tantus_, and _Quantus_, then, in this case, mean the same
thing as equal, equal. They will be found to have the same import as
equal, equal, when applied also to surface, and bulk; and so in all
other compatible cases.
{52} What then, it may be asked, is the use of them? If it should
appear that they were of no use, it would not be very surprising;
considering by whom languages have been made; and that redundancy is
frequent in them as well as defect. In the present case, however, a
use is not wanting.
It is necessary to observe the artifice, to which we are obliged to
have recourse, to name, and even to distinguish, the different
modifications, not of kind but of degree, included under the word
quantity. We are obliged to take some one object, with which we are
familiar, and to distinguish other objects, as differing or agreeing
with that object. Thus, we take some well-known line, the length of
the foot, or the length of the arm, and distinguish and name all
other lengths by that length; which can be divided or multiplied so
as to correspond with them. In like manner, we take some well-known
object as a standard weight, which we call, for example, a pound,
and distinguish and name all other weights, as parts or multiples of
that known weight.
Now it will be recognised, that, in applying the relative terms
equal, equal, or in calling two objects equal, no one of them is
marked as the standard. Both are taken on the same footing. The one
is equal to the other; and the other is equal to that. But when we
say that one thing is _tantus_, _quantus_ another; or one so great,
as the other is great; the first is referred to the last, the
_tantus_ to the _quantus_; the first is distinguished and named by
the last. The _quantus_ is the standard.
It is this which gives its peculiar meaning to the word Quantity,
and has recommended it for that very {53} comprehensive and
generical acceptation, in which it is now received.
Our word Quantity, is the Latin word _Quantitas_; and _Quantitas_ is
the abstract of the concrete _Quantus_. We have no English words,
corresponding to _Tantus_, _Quantus_. We form an equivalent, by aid
of the relative conjunctions; we say, So Great, As Great. But these
concrete terms do not furnish abstracts; we do not say,
As-greatness; in the first place, because it is an awkward
expression; and in the next place, because the relative, "as," is
not steady in its application, since we use "as great" not for
_quantus_ only, but frequently also for _tantus_. As greatness,
therefore, does not readily suggest the idea of the abstract of
_Quantus_.
On what account, then, is it we give to any thing the name
_Quantus_? As a standard by which to name another thing _Tantus_.
The thing called _Quantus_, is the previously known thing, the
ascertained amount, by which we can mark and define the other
amount. Leaving out the connotation of _Quantus_, which is some one
individual body, _Quantitas_ merely denotes such and such an amount
of body. _Quantitas_, if it was kept to its original meaning, would
still connote _Tantitas_; just as paternity connotes filiality. But
in the case of Quantity, even this connotation is dropped; it is
used not as a relative abstract term, but an absolute abstract term;
and is employed as a generical name for any portion of extension,
any portion of weight, of heat, or any thing else, which can be
measured by a part of itself.[14]
[Editor's footnote 14: After analysing Position and Extension under
the head of Relative Terms, the author now, under the same head,
gives the analysis of Quantity and Quality. To what he says on the
subject of Quantity it does not appear necessary to add anything. He
seems to have correctly analysed the phenomenon down to a primitive
element, beyond which we have no power to investigate. As Likeness
and Unlikeness appeared to be properties of our simple feelings,
which must be postulated as ultimate, and which are inseparable from
the feelings themselves, so may this also be said of More and Less.
As some of our feelings are like, some unlike, so there is a mode of
likeness or unlikeness which we call Degree: some feelings otherwise
like are unlike in degree, that is one is unlike another in
intensity, or one is unlike another in duration; in either case one
is distinguished as more, or greater, the other as less. And the
fact of being more or less only means that we feel them as more or
less. The author says in this case, as he had said in the other
elementary cases of relation, that the more and the less being
different sensations, to trace them and to distinguish their
difference are not two things but one and the same thing. It matters
not, since there the difference still is, unsusceptible of further
analysis. The author's apparent simplification amounts only to this,
that differences of quantity, like all other differences of which we
take cognizance, are differences merely in our feelings; they exist
only as they are felt. But (as we have already said of resemblance,
and of antecedence and consequence) they must be postulated as
elements. The distinction of more and less is one of the ultimate
conditions under which we have all our states of
consciousness.--_Ed._]
{54} 4. After tracing the sensations and ideas, which are marked
when we apply relative terms to objects, as agreeing or disagreeing
in _quantity_; we have now to trace the sensations and ideas, which
are marked, when we apply relative terms to objects, on account of
their agreeing or disagreeing in _quality_.
First of all, the learner must take note of what he {55} means by
Quality. We ascribe qualities to an object on account of our
sensations. We call an object green, on account of the sensation
green; hard, on account of the sensation hard; sounding, on account
of the sensation sounding. The names of all qualities of objects,
then, are names of sensations. Are they any thing else? Yes; they
are the names of our sensations, with connotation of a supposed
unknown cause of those sensations. As far, however, as our knowledge
goes, they are names of sensations, and nothing else. The supposed
cause is never known; the effects alone are known to us.
We ascribe qualities to objects, in two cases, which require to be
distinguished: on account of the sensations which we have from them
primarily; on account of those which we have from them secondarily.
The first we call their sensible qualities; as green, hot, hard,
sweet, scented, and so on: the second we more frequently call their
powers; as the power of the loadstone to draw iron, the power of
water to melt sugar. In this latter case, the sensations marked are
not those which are derived from the loadstone, or from water; but
those which are derived from the changes in the iron, and the sugar;
of which changes, we call the loadstone, and the water, the cause.
In the latter case, the train of antecedents and consequents is
longer than it is in the former. When I see an object green; there
is the object, the antecedent; and myself sentient of green, the
consequent. When I see a loadstone draw iron, there is the following
train; the loadstone, antecedent; iron drawn, first consequent;
myself seeing it drawn, second consequent. When I see water melt
sugar, there is the {56} antecedent water; sugar melting, first
consequent; myself seeing it, second consequent. What I call the
powers of an object, then, are its order in respect to certain of my
sensations, the order of antecedence, not proximate, but more or
less remote.
When I say that grass is green, I trace my sensation green, no
farther than to the grass. When I say, the sugar is melting, I trace
my sensations (for they are several) called sugar melting, first to
the sugar, and then to the water. My word green, therefore, is the
notation of a sensation, and connotation of an unknown cause; my
name melting, is the notation of a compound of sensations, and
connotation of two causes, an antecedent and a consequent: the
first, an unknown cause in the sugar; the second, the cause of that
unknown cause, namely, the water.
In speaking of the qualities of an object, it is necessary to take
notice of an inaccuracy of language; which, not only, as Dr. Brown
has well observed, lies at the bottom of many philosophical errors,
but induces men to mistake the very business of the philosopher.
The term, "quality" or "qualities of an object," seems to imply,
that the qualities are one thing, the object another. And this, in
some indistinct way, is, no doubt, the opinion of the great majority
of mankind. Yet, the absurdity of it strikes the understanding, the
moment it is mentioned. The qualities of an object are the whole of
the object. What is there beside the qualities? In fact, they are
convertible terms: the qualities are the object; and the object is
the qualities. But, then, what are the qualities? Why, sensations,
with the association of {57} the object as the cause. And what is
the association of the object as the cause? Why, the association of
other sensations as antecedent. What, for example, are the smell,
and colour, and other qualities of the rose? Is not each of the
names of these qualities, that of the smell, for example, a
connotative name, not only noting the sensation, of which it is
properly the name, but connoting all the sensations of colour, of
consistence, of figure, of position; to which, all combined by
association, so as to form one complex idea, we give the specific
name, rose, the more general name, vegetable, and the still more
general name, object? When the smell of a rose is perceived by me,
or the idea suggested to me, immediately all the other ideas
included under the term rose, are suggested along with it, and their
indissoluble union presupposed. But this belief of the previous
indissoluble union of each of those sensations with all the other
sensations, is all which I really mean when I refer each sensation
to the rose as its cause.
If the learner has fully apprehended the ideas here premised, it
will be easy for him to trace to the bottom the relative terms,
which we apply to objects on account of their agreeing or
disagreeing in _Quality_.
We say, that objects agree or disagree, on account of one quality,
or more than one quality, that is, on account of single sensations,
or combined sensations.
Let us first observe the case of one quality. We say, that a blade
of grass is like the leaf of an oak, meaning, that in the quality of
colour both are green; we say that the leaf of the rose tree, is
unlike the petal of the flower, meaning in colour. By these {58}
words, we name the objects in pairs; first, the pair of leaves, to
each of which, we give the name, like; secondly, the leaf and the
petal, to each of which, we give the name, unlike. We name the first
two objects, "like," on account of the two sensations, green, and
green, one of each object; we name the next two objects unlike, on
account of the two sensations, green of the one, red of the other.
What is done, or rather what is felt, when we give the same, or a
different name, to each of two sensations, has been already so fully
explained, that a bare suggestion of what has been premised, is here
all that will be required.
We have two sensations. A, B. Having two sensations, and knowing
them to be two sensations, that is, not one sensation, is having the
sensations, and nothing more.
Why do I call one sequence of sensations, green, green; another
sequence, green, red? Clearly on account of the sensations. No other
explanation can be given of it, nor can be required. For the same
reason for which I called the sensations of the first sequence
individually, green, green, I call them both, like; and for the same
reason for which I called those of the second sequence, not green,
green, but green, red, I call them, unlike.
Let us next put the case of several sensations. We say, that one
rose is like another. We have only to take the sensations combined
under the name rose, one by one, to see that this, and the former,
case, are in reality the same. The two roses are like in colour,
like in smell, like in consistence, like in form, like in position.
The likeness of the two roses, is a likeness {59} not in one
sensation, but in several. But the likeness of two sensations of
smell, is of the same nature as the likeness of the two sensations
of sight. When I call the smell, therefore, of the two roses like,
it is for the same reason as I call the colour of them like, that
is, the sensations. When I call the shape and consistence, and
position, like, it is for the same reason still; the tactual and
muscular sensations, whence the ideas are derived to which these
names are annexed. In this case, however, the reason is by no means
so clearly seen, first, because the sensations are complex, and
secondly, because they are of that class of sensations which we
habitually overlook.
The Latin words, _Talis_, _Qualis_, are applied to objects in the
same way, on one account, as _Tantus_, _Quantus_, on another; and
the explanation we gave of _Tantus_, _Quantus_, may be applied
_mutatis mutandis_, to the pair of relatives we have now named.
_Tantus_, _Quantus_, are names applied to objects on account of
dimension. _Talis_, _Qualis_, are names applied to objects on
account of all other sensations. We apply _Tantus_, _Quantus_, to a
pair of objects when they are equal; we apply _Talis_, _Qualis_, to
a pair of objects, when they are like.
_Talis_, _Qualis_, however, express the likeness of two objects in a
manner somewhat different from the other pair of nearly equivalent
relatives, "Like," and "Like." When we call two objects Like, the
one is placed on the same footing as the other. No one of them is
taken as the standard. When we apply, _Talis_, _Qualis_, the case is
different. One of the objects is then the standard. The object
_Qualis_, is that to which the reference is made.
{60} This being understood, the extensive meaning which came to be
given to the word Quality, may be easily explained. Quality is the
Latin _Qualitas_, and _Qualitas_ is the abstract of _Qualis_. The
meaning of the abstract is the same with that of the concrete, the
connotation being dropped. When the word _Qualis_, is applied to an
object, it notes something about it in particular, but connotes the
whole object. The _Qualitas_ of that object, is the something noted
in particular, the connotation being dropped. As _Qualis_ is applied
to objects, sometimes on account of one thing belonging to them,
sometimes on account of another, _Qualitas_ comes in turn to be
applied to every thing in them, requiring at any time a separate
notation. _Qualitas_, when first formed from _Qualis_, has the force
of a relative, and connotes the abstract of _Talis_; but in its
frequent use, in marking every thing in objects, which requires
separate notation, this connotation, also, comes to be dropped; and
Quality is finally used as an absolute term, the generical name of
every thing in objects, for which a separate notation is
required.[15]
[Editor's footnote 15: As in the case of Quantity, so in that of
Quality, it is needless to add anything to the author's very
sufficient elucidation. I merely make the usual reserves with
respect to the use of the word Connotation. The concrete names which
predicate qualities (for of abstract relative names the author is
not yet speaking) are said by him to be the names of our sensations;
green, for instance, and red. But it is the abstract names alone
which are this: the names greenness, and redness. And even the
abstract names signify something more than only the sensations: they
are names of the sensations considered as derived from an object
which produces them. The concrete name is a name not of the
sensation, but of the object, of which alone it is predicable: we
talk of green objects, but not of green sensations. It however
connotes the quality greenness, that is, it connotes that particular
sensation as produced by, or proceeding from, the object; as forming
one of the group of sensations which constitutes the object. This,
however, is but a difference, though a very important one, in
terminology. It is strictly true, that the real meaning of the word
is the sensations; as, in all cases, the meaning of a connotative
word resides in the connotation (the attributes signified by it),
though it is the name of, or is predicable of, only the objects
which it denotes.--_Ed._]
{61} III. It was remarked at the beginning of this investigation of
relative terms or names applied in pairs, that we name in pairs--
1, single sensations or ideas; 2, the clusters we call objects;
3, the complex ideas we form arbitrarily for our own purposes. Having
finished the consideration of the two former cases, we shall not
find occasion to speak much at length upon the last.
The clusters, formed by arbitrary association, receive names in
pairs, on two occasions; either,
1. When they consist of the same or different simple ideas; or,
2. When they succeed one another in a train.
1. The ideas which we put together arbitrarily are sometimes less,
sometimes more, complex, for the most part, they are exceedingly
complex.
Of the less complicated kinds, are such ideas as that of the
unicorn, which is a horse with one straight horn growing from the
middle of its forehead; the Cyclops, a gigantic man, with a single
eye in the middle of his forehead; a mermaid, of which the upper
part is a woman, the lower a fish; the Brobdignagian {62} and
Lilliputian of Swift, which are men of greatly reduced, or greatly
enlarged dimensions.
Of the more complicated kinds, are such ideas as those which are
marked by the word Science, by the word Trade, by the word Law, by
the word Religion, by the word Faith, by the words God and Devil, by
the word Value, by the words Virtue, Honour, Vice, Beauty,
Deformity, Space, Time, and so on.
Language has not many relative terms, applicable to ideas of this
class. We speak of pairs of them as like or unlike, same or
different, greater or less; and except when their order in time is
to be noted, we hardly apply to them any other marks in pairs.
We say the Cyclops in Homer, and the Brobdignagian of Swift, are
unlike. We do so precisely in the same way, as we say, the rose and
the lily are unlike; and the explanation which we have given of that
which is distinctively marked by those terms, when applied to
objects, is precisely applicable here. In the case of objects, that
which is named, is, clusters of ideas;[16] in the present case, that
which is named, is clusters of ideas. That one cluster has been
formed in one way, another in another, makes no difference in
annexing marks to the clusters when they are formed.
[Editor's footnote 16: Say rather, in the case of objects, what is
named is clusters of sensations, supplemented by possibilities of
sensation. If an object is but a cluster of ideas, what is there to
distinguish it from a mere thought?--_Ed._]
There is as little difficulty in tracing what is marked by the
relatives, different, and same, when applied to ideas of this class.
We say, the unicorn is different {63} from the horse; because, to
the idea of the horse it adds that of a horn growing in the middle
of the forehead. In the case of very complex ideas, it is much more
difficult to say, with precision, what are the added and subtracted
ideas, on account of which, we apply the term, different; as when we
say, the courage of Ajax was different from that of Achilles; but it
is not the less certain, that it is wholly on account of ideas added
and subtracted, that we so denominate the courage of the two men.
Rather more explanation is needed, to shew what is peculiarly marked
by the relatives equal, unequal, greater, less, when applied to the
class of arbitrarily formed complex ideas.
We have already seen, that those terms are primarily applied to what
we call objects, on account of their extension; objects are equal or
unequal, greater or less, in extension.
We have also seen, that in marking the extension of different
objects, we are under the necessity of taking some known object as a
standard, and by that object naming others. Thus, we take the foot,
and say that other objects are two feet, three feet, or the half or
quarter of a foot, and so on.
Having become familiar with what we call degrees of extension, we
are led to employ the same mode of notation, when we come to mark
analogous differences in other cases of sensation. Thus, when we
perceive the weight of different heavy bodies; as the terms equal,
unequal, greater, less, are applied with convenience to certain
cases of extension, it appears they may be applied with equal
convenience, and even precision, to cases of weight. All other
sensations, {64} having distinguishable differences, may be marked
in the same way: thus sounds are more or less loud, and we speak of
equal, or unequal, less or greater loudness of sound; less or
greater sweetness in objects of the palate; less or greater
resistance; less or greater pain; less or greater pleasure.
When the terms equal, unequal, less, greater, had been applied to
simple sensations of the pleasurable kind, and their ideas; the
transference of them to complex ideas, of the pleasurable or painful
kind, was easy. If the less or greater sweetness of the rose and the
woodbine, was a convenient notation, so was the less or greater
beauty of those two flowers, the less or greater beauty of two
women, the less or greater wisdom or folly, vice or virtue, of two
men.
It thus appears, that, as we apply the term unlike to our complex
ideas, on account of the addition and subtraction of ideas of
_different_ kinds, so we apply to them the term unequal, on account
of the addition and subtraction of ideas of the _same_ kind. Like
and equal we apply, when we neither add, nor subtract.[17]
[Editor's footnote 17: In this passage the author has got as near as
it is perhaps possible to get, to an analysis of the ideas of More
and Less. We say there is more of something, when, to what there
already was, there has been superadded other matter of the same
kind. And when there is no actual superadding, but merely two
independent masses of the same substance, we call that one the
greater which produces the same impression on our senses which the
other would produce if an addition were made to it. So with
differences of intensity. One sweet taste is called sweeter than
another because it resembles the taste which would be produced by
adding more sugar: and so forth. In all these cases there is
presupposed an original difference in the sensations produced in us
by the greater mass and by the smaller: but according to the
explanation now offered, the idea which guides the application of
the terms is that of physical juxtaposition.--_Ed._]
{65} 2. We apply the same relative terms to successive ideas of this
class, which we apply to simple ideas, or the clusters called
objects, when successive. We call them antecedent and consequent, or
names equivalent; as prior, posterior; first, second; or even
successive, which is a name including both antecedent and
consequent.
In speaking of the relative terms applied to objects as successive,
we had occasion to explain the two important terms, Cause and
Effect. We found that Cause and Effect, were only other names for
antecedent and consequent, in a certain set of cases. We do not use
the terms, Cause and Effect, as synonymous with antecedent and
consequent, in those cases in which, though the objects may be
antecedent and consequent to our perception, we know not whether
they are parts of the same series, or parts of two different series.
Within the sphere of our observation, innumerable series of events
are going on; and we are observing, first a part of one series, and
then a part of another, continually. It is thus constantly
happening, that those things, which are immediately antecedent and
consequent to our observation, are not parts of the same series, but
parts of different series; and, of course, in those antecedents and
consequents, there is no constancy; they are accidental, as the
course of each man's attention. This may be illustrated by many
familiar instances. There may be {66} immediately before me, a man
playing on the violin, one series; another man filing a saw, a
second series. My attention may pass immediately from the sight of
the man playing on the violin, to the sound produced by the filing
of the saw. Playing on the violin, and the disagreeable sound of the
file on the saw, are thus antecedent and consequent to my attention.
But, as we recognise such antecedents and consequents, as parts of
different series of events, we do not call them cause and effect.
There are two cases of antecedents and consequents, even when they
are parts of the same series. They may be proximate; or they may be
remote; that is, parts of the series, more or fewer, may come
between them. It is only to the case of the proximate parts of the
same series, that the relatives, cause and effect, are properly and
strictly applied. When the series, however, is the same, the
intermediate links between any two remote parts are constant.
Suppose a series, A, B, C, D; as B is the immediate consequent of A,
C the immediate consequent of B, and D the immediate consequent of
C; when I know A and D as antecedent and consequent, without knowing
the intermediate parts B, and C, there is little inaccuracy in
naming A and D cause and effect; because B and C are surely
intermediate, and the succession of A and D, though not immediate,
is constant. We accordingly do name cause and effect parts of a
series thus removed from one another, in all those cases in which
the intermediate parts are either unknown to us, or habitually
overlooked.
The terms Cause and Effect, thus applied to Objects as antecedent
and consequent, are applied also to {67} Thoughts as antecedent and
consequent. Thus we say, that Evidence is the cause of Belief;
Villany is the cause of Indignation, and so on.
Of objects, antecedent and consequent, we have observed, that
innumerable series are existing at the same time; a separate series,
of vegetation, for example, in every plant, of animalization in
every animal, of composition and decomposition in objects without
number. In the mind, however, there is but one train, not various
trains at the same time; and therefore, according to the sense above
applied to the terms Cause and Effect, each thought in a train is
the cause of that which follows it, and each succeeding thought is
the effect of that which precedes it.
But if thoughts are reciprocally Cause and Effect; that is to say,
if, in trains of thought, the same antecedent is regularly followed
by the same consequent, how happens it that all trains of thought
are not the same? For if the ideas A, B, C, D, &c., constantly
follow one another, every mind into which A may enter, goes on with
B, C, D, &c., and hence all such minds should consist of the same
trains, that is, should be the same.
Supposing the succession of two thoughts to have that constancy to
which we apply the terms cause and effect, trains would still have
that variety which we experience. Our trains consist of two
distinguishable ingredients; sensations and ideas. Sensations depend
upon the innumerable series of objects. They are, therefore, liable
to all that variety which attends the perception of those objects. A
perpetual variety in sensations produces a perpetual variety in the
thoughts which are consequent upon them. The {68} variety of
sensation, is even much greater than is commonly supposed. The most
active of all our sensations is the sight. But in most objects of
sight there are numerous parts. Some of these are more seen, some
are less seen; some not seen at all. Of these, the parts that are
more seen by one man, are less seen by another; whence it is
probable, that from an object of any complexity no two men ever
receive precisely the same sensations. There is a striking
exemplification of this, in the fact, so constantly observed, of the
different manner in which different men are affected by the
comparison of two countenances. To one man there appears a strong
likeness, where another man cannot discover any. Of the minute
particulars, on which the likeness depends, none, or an insufficient
number, is embraced by the vision of the one, while the contrary is
the case with that of the other.
The variety in the sensations, which mix in the trains of men, is
one grand cause of the variety in the ideas, which make up or
complete those trains. The variety in the order of those sensations
is another cause. We have seen that ideas follow one another, in the
order in which the sensations have followed. Thus, a man may be a
kind father to his child. The sight of him to the child is
habitually accompanied with agreeable sensations. The same man may
be a severe master to his slaves. The sight of him to the slaves is
habitually accompanied with painful sensations. A corresponding
difference exists in the case of the ideas. When his image presents
itself to the mind of the child, it is followed by a train of
pleasurable ideas, corresponding to the {69} pleasurable sensations
which the child has habitually enjoyed in his presence. When his
image rises to the mind of the slave, it is followed, from the
contrary cause, by ideas of the contrary description.[18]
[Editor's footnote 18: The author may seem to be anticipating a
difficulty which few will feel, when he asks how it happens that all
trains of thought are not the same. But what he is enquiring into is
not why this happens, but how its happening is consistent with the
doctrine he has just laid down. He is guarding against a possible
objection to his proposition, that "the succession of two thoughts"
has "that constancy to which we apply the terms Cause and Effect."
If (he says) it is by direct causation that an idea raises up
another idea with which it is associated; and if it be the nature
and the very meaning of a cause, to be invariably followed by its
effect; how is it, he asks, that any two minds, which have once had
the same idea, do not coincide in their whole subsequent history?
And how is it that the same mind, when it gets back to an idea it
has had before, does not go on revolving in an eternal round?
Of this difficulty he gives a solution, good as far as it goes--that
it is because the train of ideas is interrupted by sensations, which
are not the same in different minds, nor in the same mind at every
repetition, and which even when they are the same, are connected in
different minds with different associations. This is true, but is
not the whole truth, and a still more complete explanation of the
difficulty might have been given. The author has overlooked a part
of the laws of association, of which he was perfectly aware, but to
which he does not seem to have been always sufficiently alive. The
first point overlooked is, that one idea seldom, perhaps never,
entirely fills and engrosses the mind. We have almost always a
considerable number of ideas in the mind at once; and it must be a
very rare occurrence for any two persons, or for the same person
twice over, to have exactly the same collection of ideas present,
each in the same relative intensity. For this reason, were there no
other, the ideas which the mental state excites by association are
almost always more or less different.