from recalling, whenever it occurs, all the ideas with which it is
associated. It never recalls more than a portion of them, and a
portion different at different times. The author has not, in any
part of the Analysis, laid down any law that determines which among
the many ideas associated with an idea or sensation, shall be
actually called up by it in a given case. The selection which it
makes among them depends on the truth already stated, that we seldom
or never have only one idea at a time. When we have several
together, they all exercise their suggesting power, and each of them
aids, impedes, or modifies the suggesting power of the others. This
important case of Association has been treated in a masterly manner
by Mr. Bain, both in his larger treatise and in his Compendium,
under the name of Compound Association, and he lays down the
following as its most general law. "Past actions, sensations,
thoughts, or emotions, are recalled more easily when associated
either through contiguity or similarity, with more than one present
object or impression." (Compendium of Psychology and Ethics, p.
151.) It follows that when we have several ideas in our mind, none
of which is able to call up all the ideas associated with it, those
ideas will usually have the preference which are associated with
more than one of the ideas already present. An idea A, coexisting in
the mind with an idea B, will not select the same idea from among
those associated with it, that it would it it occurred alone or with
a different accompaniment. If there be any one of the ideas
associated with A which is also associated with B, this will
probably be one of those called up by their joint action. If there
be any idea associated with A which not only is not associated with
B, but whose negation is associated with B, this idea will probably
be prevented from arising. If there are any sensations which have
usually been presented in conjunction, not with A alone or with B
alone, but with the combination A B, still more likely is it that
the ideas of these will be recalled when A and B are thought of
together, even though A or B by themselves might in preference have
recalled some other.
These considerations will be found of primary importance in
explaining and accounting for the course of human thought. They
enable us, for example, to understand what it is that keeps a train
of thought coherent, _i.e._ that maintains it of a given quality, or
directs it to a given purpose. The ideas which succeed one another
in the mind of a person who is writing a treatise on some subject,
or striving to persuade or conciliate a tribunal or a deliberative
assembly, are suggested one by another according to the general laws
of association. Yet the ideas recalled are not those which would be
called up on any common occasion by the same antecedents, but are
those only which connect themselves in the writer's or speaker's
mind with the end which he is aiming at. The reason is, that the
various ideas of the train are not solitary in his mind, but there
coexists with all of them (in a greater or less degree of constancy
according to the quality of the mind) the highly interesting idea of
the end in view: and the presence of this idea causes each of the
ideas which pass through his mind while so engaged, to suggest such
of the ideas associated with them as are also associated with the
idea of the end, and not to suggest those which have no association
with it. The ideas all follow one another in an associated train,
each calling up by association the one which immediately follows it;
but the perpetual presence or continual recurrence of the idea of
the end, determines, within certain limits, which of the ideas
associated with each link of the chain shall be aroused and form the
next link. When we come to the author's analysis of the power of the
Will over our ideas, we shall find him taking exactly this view of
it.
Concerning the simultaneous existence of many ideas in the mind, and
the manner in which they modify each other's exercise of the
suggesting power, there is an able and instructive passage in
Cardaillac's Etudes Elémentaires de Philosophie, which has been
translated and quoted by Sir William Hamilton in his Lectures, and
which, being highly illustrative of the preceding remarks, I think
it useful to subjoin.
"Among psychologists, those who have written on Memory and
Reproduction with the greatest detail and precision, have still
failed in giving more than a meagre outline of these operations.
They have taken account only of the notions which suggest each other
with a distinct and palpable notoriety. They have viewed the
associations only in the order in which language is competent to
express them; and as language, which renders them still more
palpable and distinct, can only express them in a consecutive order,
can only express them one after another, they have been led to
suppose that thoughts only awaken in succession. Thus, a series of
ideas mutually associated, resembles, on the doctrine of
philosophers, a chain in which every link draws up that which
follows; and it is by means of these links that intelligence labours
through, in the act of reminiscence, to the end which it proposes to
attain.
"There are some, indeed, among them, who are ready to acknowledge,
that every actual circumstance is associated to several fundamental
notions, and consequently to several chains, between which the mind
may choose; they admit even that every link is attached to several
others, so that the whole forms a kind of trellis,--a kind of
network, which the mind may traverse in every direction, but still
always in a single direction at once,--always in a succession
similar to that of speech. This manner of explaining reminiscence is
founded solely on this,--that, content to have observed all that is
distinctly manifest in the phenomenon, they have paid no attention
to the under-play of the latescent activities,--paid no attention to
all that custom conceals, and conceals the more effectually in
proportion as it is more completely blended with the natural
agencies of mind.
"Thus their theory, true in itself, and setting out from a
well-established principle, the Association of Ideas, explains in a
satisfactory manner a portion of the phenomena of Reminiscence; but
it is incomplete, for it is unable to account for the prompt, easy,
and varied operations of this faculty, or for all the marvels it
performs. On the doctrine of the philosophers, we can explain how a
scholar repeats, without hesitation, a lesson he has learned, for
all the words are associated in his mind according to the order in
which he has studied them; how he demonstrates a geometrical
theorem, the parts of which are connected together in the same
manner: these and similar reminiscences of simple successions
present no difficulties which the common doctrine cannot resolve.
But it is impossible, on this doctrine, to explain the rapid and
certain movement of thought, which, with a marvellous facility,
passes from one order of subjects to another, only to return again
to the first; which advances, retrogrades, deviates, and reverts,
sometimes marking all the points on its route, again clearing, as if
in play, immense intervals; which runs over, now in a manifest
order, now in a seeming irregularity, all the notions relative to an
object, often relative to several, between which no connection could
be suspected; and this without hesitation, without uncertainty,
without error, as the hand of a skilful musician expatiates over the
keys of the most complex organ. All this is inexplicable on the
meagre and contracted theory on which the phenomena of reproduction
have been thought explained. . . . . . .
"To form a correct notion of the phenomena of Reminiscence, it is
requisite that we consider under what conditions it is determined to
exertion. In the first place it is to be noted that, at every crisis
of our existence, momentary circumstances are the causes which
awaken our activity, and set our recollection at work to supply the
necessaries of thought. In the second place, it is as constituting a
want, (and by want I mean the result either of an act of desire or
of volition) that the determining circumstance tends principally to
awaken the thoughts with which it is associated. This being the
case, we should expect, that each circumstance which constitutes a
want, should suggest, likewise, the notion of the object, or
objects, proper to satisfy it; and this is what actually happens. It
is, however, further to be observed, that it is not enough that the
want suggests the idea of the object; for if that idea were alone,
it would remain without effect, since it could not guide me in the
procedure I should follow. It is necessary, at the same time, that
to the idea of this object there should be associated the notion of
the relation of this object to the want, of the place where I may
find it, of the means by which I may procure it, and turn it to
account, &c. For instance, I wish to make a quotation:--This want
awakens in me the idea of the author in whom the passage is to be
found which I am desirous of citing; but this idea would be
fruitless, unless there were conjoined, at the same time, the
representation of the volume, of the place where I may obtain it, of
the means I must employ, &c.
"Hence I infer, in the first place, that a want does not awaken an
idea of its object alone, but that it awakens it accompanied with a
number, more or less considerable, of accessory notions, which form,
as it were, its train or attendance. This train may vary according
to the nature of the want which suggests the notion of an object;
but the train can never fall wholly off, and it becomes more
indissolubly attached to the object, in proportion as it has been
more frequently called up in attendance.
"I infer, in the second place, that this accompaniment of accessory
notions, simultaneously suggested with the principal idea, is far
from being as vividly and distinctly represented in consciousness as
that idea itself; and when these accessories have once been
completely blended with the habits of the mind, and its reproductive
agency, they at length finally disappear, becoming fused, as it
were, in the consciousness of the idea to which they are attached.
Experience proves this double effect of the habits of reminiscence.
If we observe our operations relative to the gratification of a
want, we shall perceive that we are far from having a clear
consciousness of the accessory notions; the consciousness of them
is, as it were, obscured, and yet we cannot doubt that they are
present to the mind, for it is they that direct our procedure in all
its details.
"We must, therefore, I think, admit that the thought of an object
immediately suggested by a desire, is always accompanied by an
escort more or less numerous of accessory thoughts, equally present
to the mind, though, in general, unknown in themselves to
consciousness; that these accessories are not without their
influence in guiding the operations elicited by the principal
notion; and it may even be added that they are so much the more
calculated to exert an effect in the conduct of our procedure, in
proportion as, having become more part and parcel of our habits of
reproduction, the influences they exert are further withdrawn, in
ordinary, from the ken of consciousness. . . . The same thing may be
illustrated by what happens to us in the case of reading. Originally
each word, each letter, was a separate object of consciousness. At
length, the knowledge of letters and words and lines being, as it
were, fused into our habits, we no longer have any distinct
consciousness of them, as severally concurring to the result, of
which alone we are conscious. But that each word and letter has its
effect,--an effect which can at any moment become an object of
consciousness,--is shewn by the following experiment. If we look
over a book for the occurrence of a particular name or word, we
glance our eye over a page from top to bottom, and ascertain, almost
in a moment, that it is or is not to be found therein. Here the mind
is hardly conscious of a single word, but that of which it is in
quest; but yet it is evident, that each other word and letter must
have produced an obscure effect, which effect the mind was ready to
discriminate and strengthen, so as to call it into clear
consciousness, whenever the effect was found to be that which the
letters of the word sought for could determine. But if the mind be
not unaffected by the multitude of letters and words which it
surveys, if it be able to ascertain whether the combination of
letters constituting the word it seeks, be or be not actually among
them, and all this without any distinct consciousness of all it
tries and finds defective; why may we not suppose,--why are we not
bound to suppose, that the mind may, in like manner, overlook its
book of memory, and search among its magazines of latescent
cognitions for the notions of which it is in want, awakening these
into consciousness, and allowing the others to remain in their
obscurity?
"A more attentive consideration of the subject will show, that we
have not yet divined the faculty of Reminiscence in its whole
extent. Let us make a single reflection. Continually struck by
relations of every kind, continually assailed by a crowd of
perceptions and sensations of every variety, and, at the same time,
occupied by a complement of thoughts; we experience at once, and we
are more or less distinctly conscious of, a considerable number of
wants,--wants, sometimes real, sometimes factitious or
imaginary,--phenomena, however, all stamped with the same
characters, and all stimulating us to act with more or less energy.
And as we choose among the different wants which we would satisfy,
as well as among the different means of satisfying that want which
we determine to prefer; and as the motives of this preference are
taken either from among the principal ideas relative to each of
these several wants, or from among the accessory ideas which habit
has established into their necessary escorts;--in all these cases it
is requisite, that all the circumstances should at once, and from
the moment they have taken the character of wants, produce an
effect, correspondent to that which, we have seen, is caused by each
in particular. Hence we are compelled to conclude, that the
complement of the circumstances by which we are thus affected, has
the effect of rendering always present to us, and consequently of
placing at our disposal, an immense number of thoughts; some of
which certainly are distinctly recognised, being accompanied by a
vivid consciousness, but the greater number of which, although
remaining latent, are not the less effective in continually
exercising their peculiar influence on our modes of judging and
acting.
"We might say, that each of these momentary circumstances is a kind
of electric shock which is communicated to a certain portion, to a
certain limited sphere, of intelligence; and the sum of all these
circumstances is equal to so many shocks which, given at once at so
many different points, produce a general agitation. We may form some
rude conception of this phenomenon by an analogy. We may compare it,
in the former case, to those concentric circles which are presented
to our observation on a smooth sheet of water, when its surface is
agitated by throwing in a pebble; and, in the latter case, to the
same surface when agitated by a number of pebbles thrown
simultaneously at different points.
"To obtain a clearer notion of this phenomenon, I may add some
observations on the relation of our thoughts among themselves, and
with the determining circumstances of the moment.
"1°. Among the thoughts, notions, or ideas which belong to the
different groups attached to the principal representations
simultaneously awakened, there are some reciprocally connected by
relations proper to themselves; so that, in this whole complement of
coexistent activities, these tend to excite each other to higher
vigour, and consequently to obtain for themselves a kind of
pre-eminence in the group or particular circle of activity to which
they belong.
"2°. There are thoughts associated, whether as principals or
accessories, to a greater number of determining circumstances, or to
circumstances which recur more frequently. Hence they present
themselves oftener than the others, they enter more completely into
our habits, and take, in a more absolute manner, the character of
customary or habitual notions. It hence results, that they are less
obtrusive, though more energetic, in their influence, enacting, as
they do, a principal part in almost all our deliberations; and
exercising a stronger influence on our determinations.
"3°. Among this great crowd of thoughts, simultaneously excited,
those which are connected with circumstances which more vividly
affect us, assume not only the ascendant over others of the same
description with themselves, but likewise predominate over all those
which are dependent on circumstances of a feebler determining
influence.
"From these three considerations we ought, therefore, to infer, that
the thoughts connected with circumstances on which our attention is
more specially concentrated, are those which prevail over the
others; for the effect of attention is to render dominant and
exclusive the object on which it is directed, and during the moment
of attention it is the circumstance to which we attend that
necessarily obtains the ascendant.
"Thus, if we appreciate correctly the phenomena of Reproduction or
Reminiscence, we shall recognise, as an incontestable fact, that our
thoughts suggest each other not one by one successively, as the
order to which language is astricted might lead us to infer; but
that the complement of circumstances under which we at every moment
exist, awakens simultaneously a great number of thoughts; these it
calls into the presence of the mind, either to place them at our
disposal, if we find it requisite to employ them, or to make them
co-operate in our deliberations by giving them, according to their
nature and our habits, an influence, more or less active, on our
judgments and consequent acts.
"It is also to be observed, that in this great crowd of thoughts
always present to the mind, there is only a small number of which we
are distinctly conscious: and that in this small number we ought to
distinguish those which, being clothed in language, oral or mental,
become the objects of a more fixed attention; those which hold a
closer relation to circumstances more impressive than others; or
which receive a predominant character by the more vigorous attention
we bestow on them. As to the others, although not the objects of
clear consciousness, they are nevertheless present to the mind,
there to perform a very important part as motive principles of
determination; and the influence which they exert in this capacity
is even the more powerful in proportion as it is less apparent,
being more disguised by habit." (Sir William Hamilton's Lectures on
Metaphysics, vol. ii. Lecture xxxii.)--_Ed._]
{70} This, then, is all which seems necessary to be said respecting
the occasions on which we apply Relative {71} Terms, and to show
what it is which they distinctively mark, in the trains of our
sensations and ideas.
{72} ABSTRACT RELATIVE TERMS.
From the _Concrete relative_ terms, _Abstract_ terms are formed, in
the same manner as Abstract terms are {73} *formed from other
Concrete terms. Thus from equal, we have equally; from unequal,
unequally; from {74} like, likeness; from unlike, unlikeness; from
friend, friendship; and so on.
{75} After what has been said about abstract terms in general, it
will not be very difficult to mark what is {76} peculiar in the
nature of this species of them. We have seen that concrete, are
connotative, terms; and {77} that their corresponding abstracts have
the same meaning with the concretes, that which is connoted {78}
being left out. White, for example, has a notation, and a
connotation. It notes a quality, and it connotes {79} something
else, that which is white. The abstract whiteness marks what is
_noted_ by the concrete, but not what is _connoted_.
We are now to see, in what manner this applies to relative terms.
I call two things like: two sensations, for example; let us say,
sensations of red. I call sensation A, like sensation B; and, of
course, sensation B, like sensation A. It is here more easy to
observe distinctly what is connoted, than what is noted. What is
connoted are the two sensations. They are clear and simple. What is
noted is what we call their likeness. What is that? We have
remarked, that, in having two sensations, the _distinguishing_ them
one {80} from another is included; it is part of the compound
process: And that in having two sensations--red, red, and two
sensations red, green, the distinguishing the succession red, red,
from the succession red, green, is included; it being part of the
process, which, though in this case compound, and on that account
obscure, is not the less wholly sensation. In the process of
sensation, then, that part which consists in distinguishing one as
one, another as another, and in distinguishing one succession from
another; red, red, for example, from red, green,--is the part which
is noted by the words like and unlike. The thing noted is not a
distinct sensation, it is part of a process of sensation, and a part
which, being never experienced separate by itself, it is very
difficult to make a distinct subject of attention. Even that part of
the process which consists in distinguishing, is to be distinguished
into two parts. There is that part which consists in distinguishing
the sensations from one another, as one, and one; and there is that
part which consists in distinguishing the two, red, and red, from
the two, red, and green. It is this _latter part_ which is _noted_
by the terms like and unlike. What is _connoted_ is all _the rest of
the process_. When, therefore, we make abstracts, from the terms
like and unlike; that is, cut off the connotative part of their
meaning, retaining the notative only; it is the part of the process
which consists in distinguishing, not one and one, but two and two,
which the terms distinctively mark.
We have also seen, and remarked, that having two sensations, one
after another, and knowing them to be first one and then another, is
a process of sensation and association. The pair of relatives, prior
and {81} posterior, or antecedent and consequent, taken together,
names the whole of the process; each pair is in reality a compound
name of a complex idea, that of a certain process, the process of
having two ideas in succession, in which process the being sensible
of the successiveness is part. By all concrete relatives, something
is noted, something connoted. In the process which is marked by the
relatives prior and posterior, part is noted, part connoted; and the
part which is noted, is the part which it is difficult to make a
separate object of attention,--the part which consists in being
sensible of the successiveness, for which we have not a name. By its
notation and connotation, taken together, each of the terms, prior,
and posterior, is a name of something, and that something is very
distinct; prior is a name of the first sensation and something else;
posterior is a name of the second sensation, and something else. It
is by connotation, however, that each is the name of its respective
sensation. Their notative power relates to the something else, and
not to the whole of that; because prior and posterior, beside
connoting, each its own sensation, connote one another. The notation
and connotation, therefore, are divided between them, in a manner
which renders it difficult to shew what belongs to each. We have not
names adapted to the purpose.
The word prior notes something, and connotes something. When we make
from it the abstract term priority; what was connoted by the
concrete, prior, is dropped; what was noted by it is retained. In
the succession of ideas A, and B, priority is not the name of A, it
is the name of that part of the compound process, which consists in
knowing A, as the {82} first of the two; posteriority is not the
name of B, but of that part of the compound process, which consists
in knowing B, as the last of the two.
There is a peculiarity, however, in the abstract terms formed from
the relative concrete terms. These abstract terms are not, as
whiteness, hardness, wholly void of connotation. They have a
connotation of their own. The abstract of one relative of a pair,
always connotes the abstract of the other; thus, priority always
connotes posteriority, and posteriority priority.
This constitutes a distinction, worth observing, between the force
of the abstracts formed from the pairs of relatives which consist of
different names, as prior, posterior; cause, effect; father, son;
husband, wife;--and those which consist of the same name, as equal,
equal; like, like; brother, brother; friend, friend; and so on.
Priority and Posteriority make together a compound name of
something, of which, taken separately, each is not a name;
Causingness and Causedness, the abstracts of cause and effect, make
up between them the name of something, of which each by itself is
not a name, and so of the rest. The case is different with such
abstracts as likeness, equality, friendship, formed from pairs which
consist of the same name. When we call A like, and B like; the
abstract, likeness, formed from the one, connotes merely the
abstract, likeness, formed from the other. Thus, as priority and
posteriority make a compound name, so, likeness and likeness, make a
compound name. But as likeness and likeness are merely a
reduplication of the same word, likeness taken once very often
signifies the same as likeness taken twice. Priority never signifies
as much as priority and {83} posteriority taken together; but
likeness taken alone very often signifies as much as likeness,
likeness, taken both together. Likeness has thus a sort of a double
meaning. Sometimes it signifies only what is marked by the abstract
of one of the pair, "like, like;" sometimes it signifies what is
marked by the abstracts of both taken together. The same observation
applies to the abstracts equality, inequality; sameness, difference;
brotherhood, sisterhood; friendship, hostility; and so on.[19]
[Editor's footnote 19: The exposition here given of the meaning of
abstract relative names is in substance unexceptionable; but in
language it remains open to the criticism I have, several times,
made. Instead of saying, with the author, that the abstract name
drops the connotation of the corresponding concrete, it would, in
the language I prefer, be said to drop the denotation, and to be a
name directly denoting what the concrete name connotes, namely, the
common property or properties that it predicates: the likeness, the
unlikeness, the fact of preceding, the fact of following, &c.
When the author says that abstract relative names differ from other
abstract names in not being wholly void of connotation, inasmuch as
they connote their correlatives, priority connoting posteriority,
and posteriority priority, he deserts the specific meaning which he
has sought to attach to the word connote, and falls back upon the
loose and general sense in which everything implied by a term is
said to be connoted by it. But in this large sense of the word (as
I have more than once remarked) it is not true that non-relative
abstract names have no connotation. Every abstract name--every name
of the character which is given by the terminations _ness_,
_tion_, and the like--carries with it a uniform implication that
what it is predicated of is an attribute of something else; not a
sensation or a thought in and by itself, but a sensation or thought
regarded as one of, or as accompanying or following, some permanent
cluster of sensations or thoughts.--_Ed._]
{84} Among the abstract terms corresponding to relative concretes,
those corresponding to cause and effect, are the only ones which, on
account of their importance, require to be somewhat more
particularly expounded.
Cause and Effect have not abstract terms formed immediately from
themselves. One of the grand causes of their obscurity is, that they
are not constant in their meaning, but are sometimes used as
concretes, sometimes as their own abstracts.
Cause means "something _causing_;" effect, "something _caused_."
Causingness, therefore, is the proper abstract of cause; and
causedness, the proper abstract of effect. Of two objects, A, and B,
we call the one causing, the other caused, when they are not only
prior and posterior, but parts of the same series; and, if we speak
strictly, proximate parts. Of proximate parts of the same series, we
call the antecedent, causing; the consequent, caused. Causingness,
and causedness, therefore, mean antecedence and consequence, and
something more. The ideas are more complex. Causingness and
causedness, mean, not only antecedence and consequence, but also
sameness of series, and proximity of parts.
As we have seen, that priority and posteriority, taken together,
form a compound name of a certain complex idea, so causingness and
causedness, taken together, form the compound name of a still more
complex idea. Having frequent occasion to express that idea, a
separate name for it was found necessary. Accordingly, we have the
term Power, which means precisely what is meant by causingness and
causedness taken together. Causation has the same {85} meaning with
Power, except that it connotes present time; Power connotes
indefinite time.[20]
[Editor's footnote 20: The term Causation, as the author observes,
signifies causingness and causedness taken together, but I do not
see on what ground he asserts that it connotes present time. To my
thinking, it is as completely aoristic as Power. Power, again, seems
to me to express, not causingness and causedness taken together, but
causingness only. Some of the older philosophers certainly talked of
passive power, but neither in the precise language of modern
philosophy nor in common speech is an effect said to have the power
of being produced, but only the capacity or capability. The power is
always conceived as belonging to the cause only. When any
co-operating power is supposed to reside in the thing said to be
acted upon, it is because some active property in that thing is
counted as a con-cause--as a part of the total cause.--_Ed._]
The connotation of _Time_, by abstract terms, is a circumstance
almost always overlooked, but of which the observation is of the
utmost importance to accuracy of thought.
When we have invented a number of marks to be taken in pairs, as
like, like; equal, equal; antecedent, consequent; master, servant;
husband, wife; father, son; owner, property; author, book; cause,
effect; and so on; we have occasion for a name by which to speak of
that class of names. We have invented such a name. We call those
terms "Relative Terms."
The word "Relative," thus belongs to that class of names, which have
been called "Names of Names." As man, tree, stone, are names of
things, of those clusters which we call objects; as red, green,
hard, soft, are names of sensations; as courage, wisdom, {86} anger,
love, are names of complex ideas arbitrarily composed; so adjective
is the name of one class of names, verb the name of another class of
names; syllable, is the name of one part of a word, letter of
another; and so, also, relative is the name of the class of words
which have this peculiarity, that they are taken in pairs. Thus,
father and son, are relative terms; prior and posterior, are
relative terms; like and like, are relative terms; so equal, equal;
unequal, unequal; brother, brother; friend, friend; and so on.
Relative itself corresponds with the names which it marks, in its
being one of a pair; of that species of pairs, which are formed by a
double use of the same word, as like, like. When we say of father
and son, that they are relative terms, we mean that father is
relative to son, and son relative to father.
As _relative_ is the name of all concrete names, taken in pairs,
such as like, like; friend, friend; causing, caused; so the abstract
relation, formed from relative, is the name given to all the
abstract terms formed from the concrete relatives: thus, equality,
inequality, friendship, power, are abstract terms, which we call by
a general name, relation. As Noun is the name of a certain class of
words, so "Relation," is the name of a certain class of words.
It is not, however, meant to be affirmed, that relative and
relation, are not names which are also applied to things. In a
certain vague, and indistinct way, they are very frequently so
applied. This, however, is strictly speaking, an abuse of the terms,
and an abuse which has been a great cause of confusion of ideas. In
this way, it is said, of two brothers, that {87} they are relative;
of father and son, that they are relative; of two objects, that they
are relative in position, relative in time; we speak of the relation
between two men, when they are father and son, master and servant;
between two objects, when they are greater, less, like, unlike,
near, distant, and so on.
What, however, we really mean, when we call two objects relative
(and that is a thing which it is of great importance to mark) is,
that these objects have, or may have, relative names. On what
accounts we give them relative names, has just been explained, and
the explanation need not be repeated. When we say that Socrates and
the Emperor Napoleon are unlike, the men are, each, a man, distinct,
separate, absolute. We only give them a pair of related names, for
the convenience of discourse. In like manner, Charles I. and George
IV. are separate, distinct, absolute individuals. We only give them
the relative names Predecessor, Successor, for the convenience of
discourse, to mark the place which they occupied in a certain series
of events. From this appears also what is meant, when we say of two
objects, that they have a relation to one another. The meaning is,
that the objects may have relative names, and that these names may
have abstracts which we call relation. Thus we say that two brothers
have a relation to one another. That relation is brotherhood. But
brotherhood is merely the abstract of the relative names. We say
that father and son have a relation. That relation is fathership and
sonship. These are merely the abstracts of the two relative names.
We say of two events, a stab with a sword, and death of the person
stabbed, that they have a relation to one another. That relation is
{88} causingness and causedness, the abstract of cause and effect,
or, in one word, power.[21]
[Editor's footnote 21: The application of the word Relative to
Things is not only an offence against philosophy, but against
propriety of language. The correct designation for Things which are
called by relative names, is not Relative, but Related. A Thing may,
with perfect propriety both of thought and of language, be said to
be related to another thing, or to have a relation with it--indeed
to be related to all things, and to have a prodigious variety of
relations with all; because every fact that takes place, either in
nature or in human thought, which includes or involves a plurality
of Things, is the _fundamentum_ of a special relation of those
Things with one another: not to mention the relations of likeness or
unlikeness, of priority or posteriority, which exist between each
Thing and all other Things whatever. It is in this sense that it is
said, with truth, that Relations exhaust all phenomena, and that all
we know, or can know, of anything, is some of its relations to other
things or to us.--_Ed._]
{89} SECTION III.
NUMBERS.
We have already observed, that objects exist, with respect to us, in
two orders; in the synchronous order, and the successive order; and
that we have great occasion for marks to represent them to us as
they exist in both orders. We have also to observe, that the
synchronous order, the order in which things exist together; that
is, as we otherwise name it, the order of position, or the order in
place; is interesting to us chiefly on account of the successive
order. The order in which objects *succeed one another, that is, the
order of the changes which take place, the order of events, depends
almost entirely upon the synchronous order. In other words, the
synchronous order is part of every successive order; it is the
antecedent of every consequent; or as we otherwise express it, the
cause of every effect. Thus the synchronous order, or the order in
place, of the spark and the gunpowder, is the antecedent of the
explosion; the synchronous order of my finger and the candle, is the
antecedent or the cause of the pain which I feel.
In regard to the explosion, also, it is less or greater, according
as the quantity of the gunpowder is less or greater. Of the
synchronous order, therefore, one part which I am particularly
interested in knowing correctly is, the amount of the things. A
certain amount of gunpowder produces one set of effects, another
{90} another: a certain amount of men produce one set of effects,
another another; and so of all other things.
It is of the last importance to me not only to be able to ascertain,
and know, these amounts, with accuracy, but to be able to mark them.
For ascertaining and knowing amounts, some contrivance is requisite.
It is necessary to conceive some small amount, by the addition or
subtraction of which, another becomes larger or smaller. This forms
the instrument of ascertainment. Where one thing, taken separately,
is of sufficient importance to form this instrument, it is taken.
Thus, for ascertaining and knowing different amounts of men, one
individual is of sufficient importance. Amounts of men are
considered as increased or diminished by the addition or subtraction
of individuals. A grain of gunpowder might also be taken; but it is
not of sufficient importance; the quantity, taken as the instrument
of measurement, must have an ascertainable influence upon the
effect, for the sake of which, the ascertaining of the amount is of
importance. In their simple state, men use principally the hand for
their elementary ascertainments. A pinch, or as much as could be
held between the finger and the thumb, was a small amount distinctly
conceived, and formed the principle of measurement where small
additions were important; a handful was not less distinctively
conceived, and was the instrument, where only larger additions were
of importance.
When one addition was made, or needed to be made, after another, and
another after that, and so on, the next point of importance was to
conceive exactly how often the addition was made. A few {91}
additions are distinct to sense. Place one billiard-ball by another,
the sight of the two is distinct. Place three or four, it is still
distinct. Soon, however, it ceases to be so. Place a dozen, and you
will not probably be able to distinguish them from eleven. You must
count them, or divide them. If you divide them by the eye, into two
parcels, you may see that one is six and another six; but to benefit
by this, you must know the art of putting six and six together.
The next step, therefore, necessary in the process of ascertaining
amounts, was, to mark these additions, one after another, in such a
manner, as to make known to what extent they had gone. When men were
familiar with the operation of assigning names as marks of their
ideas, the course which would suggest itself to them is obvious;
they would employ a name as the mark of each addition. They would
say, one, for the first, two, for the second, three, for the third,
and so on. These marks it was very useful to make connotative, that
the other important ingredient of the process, the thing added,
might be made known at the same time. Thus we say, one man, two men;
one horse, two horses; and so of all other things, the enumeration
of which we are performing.
Numbers, therefore, are not names of objects. They are names of a
certain process; the process of addition; of putting one
billiard-ball to another; not more mysterious than any other
process, as walking, writing, reading, to which names are assigned.
One, is the name of this once performed, or of the aggregation
begun; two, the name of it once more performed; three, of it once
more performed; and so on. The words, however, in these concrete
forms, beside {92} their power in noting this process, connote
something else, namely, the things, whatever they are, the
enumeration of which is required.
In the case of these connotative, as of other connotative marks, it
was of great use to have the means of dropping the connotation; and
in this case, it would have been conducive to clearness of ideas, if
the non-connotative terms had received a mark to distinguish them
from the connotative. This advantage, however, the framers of
numbers were not sufficiently philosophical to provide. The same
names are used both as connotative, and non-connotative; that is,
both as abstract, and concrete; and it is far from being obvious, on
all occasions, in which of the two senses they are used. They are
used in the connotative sense, when joined as adjectives with a
substantive; as when we say two men, three women; but it is not so
obvious that they are used in the abstract sense, when we say three
and two make five; or when we say fifty is a great number, five is a
small number. Yet it must, upon consideration, appear, that in these
cases they are abstract terms merely; in place of which, the words
oneness, twoness, threeness, might be substituted. Thus we might
say, twoness and threeness are fiveness.[22] [23]
[Editor's footnote 22: The vague manner in which the author uses the
phrase "to be a name of" (a vagueness common to almost all thinkers
who have not precise terms expressing the two modes of signification
which I call denotation and connotation, and employed for nothing
else) has led him, in the present case, into a serious misuse of
terms. Numbers _are_, in the strictest propriety, names of objects.
_Two_ is surely a name of the things which are two, the two balls,
the two fingers, &c. The process of adding one to one which forms
two is connoted, not denoted, by the name two. Numerals, in short,
are concrete, not abstract names: they denote the actual collections
of things, and connote the mental process of counting them. It is
not twoness and threeness that are fiveness: the twoness of my two
hands and the threeness of the feet of the table cannot be added
together to form another abstraction. It is two balls added to three
balls that make, in the concrete, five balls. Numerals are a class
of concrete general names predicable of all things whatever, but
connoting, in each case, the quantitative relation of the thing to
some fixed standard, as previously explained by the author.--_Ed._]
[Grote's footnote 23: Here the process of numeration generally,
together with the function of numbers carrying their separate names,
are clearly set forth; after which we find the remark, that no
distinction is made in the name of the number, when used as an
abstract and when used as a concrete. Mr. James Mill thinks that it
would have been conducive to clearness if such distinction had been
marked by an inflexion of the name. "The names of numbers are used
in the connotative (concrete) sense, when joined as adjectives with
a substantive, as when we say, two men, three men: but it is not so
obvious that they are used in the abstract sense, when we say three
and two make five: or when we say fifty is a great number, five is a
small number. Yet it must upon consideration appear, that in these
cases they are abstract terms merely: in place of which, the words
oneness, twoness, threeness, might be substituted. Thus we might
say, twoness and threeness are fiveness."
The last part of what is here affirmed cannot, in my judgment, be
sustained. Connecting itself with one among the many arguments
between Aristotle and Plato, it lays down a position from which both
of them would have dissented. In the last book but one (Book M) of
Aristotle's "Metaphysica," this argument will be found set forth at
length; though with much obscurity, which is cleared up by the lucid
commentary of Bonitz. Plato distinguished two classes of
numbers--the mathematical, and the ideal. The first class were the
Quanta of equal and homogeneous units (One, Two, Three, &c.), any or
all of which might be added so as to coalesce into one total sum.
The second class were, the ideal or abstract numbers, Two _quatenus_
Two, &c., represented by Dyad, Triad, Tetrad, Pentad, Dekad, &c.,
the characteristic property of which was, that they could not be
added together nor coalesce into one sum. These were uncombinable
numbers, "[Greek a)rithmoi\ a)su/mblêtoi]--numeri inconsociabiles."--
See Aristot. Metaph. M. 6. 1080. b. 12. Bonitz Comment. p. 540,
541, seq.
Plato regarded these uncombinable numbers as the highest
representative specimens or coryphæi of the Platonic Ideas. In this
character Aristotle reasoned against them, contending that they did
nothing to remove the many objections against Plato's ideal theory.
With the question thus opened, I have no present concern: all that
I wish to point out is the view which Plato originated and upon which
Aristotle reasoned, viz.: That these ideal or abstract numbers could
not be added together, or fused into one sum total. The abstract
term Twoness means Two _so far forth as two_: so also Threeness and
Fiveness. You cannot truly predicate anything of Twoness which would
be inconsistent with this fundamental characteristic: you cannot add
it to Threeness so as to make Fiveness, nor can you subdivide
Fiveness into Twoness and Threeness, without suppressing the
fundamental characteristic of each. Neither of them admit of
increase or diminution. In like manner, a Triangle, or every
particular Triangle, may have one of its sides taken away, or two
more sides added to it: on each of which suppositions it ceases to
be a triangle. But if we speak of a Triangle _so far forth as
Triangle_, neither of these suppositions is admissible. We may say
that its three angles are equal to two right angles, but we cannot
subtract from it one of its sides, nor add to it one or two other
sides. The subject of predication is so limited and specialised,
that no predicate can be allowed which would efface its
characteristic feature--Triangularity.
Bonitz remarks truly that the class of numbers set forth by
Plato--the ideal or uncombinable numbers which could not be either
added or subtracted--were divested of all the useful aptitudes and
functions of numbers, and passed out of the category of Quantity
into that of Quality. The Triad was one quality; the Pentad was
another: there was no common measure into which both could be
resolved (Bonitz, Comment. p. 540--553). _Two_, _three_, _five_, are
quantifying names, designating each so many numerable units: and the
units counted in each list may be added to, or subtracted from, the
units counted in the others. But when we say, Twoness or the
Dyad--Threeness or the Triad--Fiveness or the Pentad--we then
recognise a peculiar quality, founded upon each separate variety of
aggregation or quantification: so that these separate varieties are
no longer resolvable into any common measure of constituent units.
Each quality stands apart from the others, and has its own
predicates. In the view of Plato and the Pythagoreans, the Dekad
especially was invested with magnificent predicates.
I cannot therefore agree with Mr. James Mill in his opinion that,
"when we say three and two make five, we use these numbers in the
abstract sense." We clearly do not mean that three, _so far forth as
three_, and two, _so far forth as two_, make five. But this would be
what we should mean, if we used these names of numbers in the
abstract sense. What we do mean is, that the units constituting
three may be added to those constituting two, so as to make five:
and that this is equally true, whether the units are men, horses,
stones, or any other objects. Two, three, five, &c., are general or
universal terms, capable of being joined with units of indefinite
variety: but they do not become abstract terms, until we limit them
by _quâtenus_, [Greek: katho/son, ê(=|], _so far forth as_, &c., or
by a suffix such as _ness_. Such abstracts would have been of little
use as to the ordinary functions of numbers; and accordingly they
have never got footing in familiar speech, though they are
occasionally employed in metaphysical discussions.--_G._]
{93} It is necessary to observe, that the process, marked by the
names called numbers, though used for the {94} purpose of
ascertaining synchronous order, is in the mind successive; one
addition follows another. {95} Numbers, therefore, in reality, name
successions; and are easily applied to mark certain particulars of
the {96} successive order, when the marking of those particulars is
of importance.
It is of importance, when successions take place all of one kind;
and when consequences of importance depend upon the less or greater
length of the train. It is then of importance, to mark the degrees
of that length, which is correctly done by the enumeration of the
links.
To take a simple and familiar instance, that of the human steps.
They are successions all of one kind. Consequences of importance
may, and often do result from a knowledge of the length of any
particular series of steps. The ascertainment of an aggregate, in
this order, is made in the same way, as that which we have traced in
the synchronous order. An element of aggregation is taken; by its
successive aggregations, the amount of the aggregate is correctly
conceived; and, by a proper mark for each successive aggregation, it
is also correctly denoted. The continued successions of day and
night are all of one kind; and it is of the greatest importance for
us to know accurately the length of a series of those successions;
of the series between such and such events; between the sowing of
the seed in the ground, for example, and the maturity of the crop.
This is done, accurately, by putting a several mark upon each {97}
several succession, one for the first, two for the one after that,
three for the one after that, and so on.
If there be no mystery in one sensation after another, or one idea
after another; and, if having them in that order and associating the
idea of the antecedent with the sensation of the consequent be to
know that they are in that order; then there is no mystery in
Numbers, for they are only marks to shew that one is after another.
That there is no mystery in the ideas of priority and posteriority,
which are relative terms, has been shewn under the preceding head of
discourse.
The word Number itself, which is only a name of the names, one, two,
&c., nothing being a number but some one of those names, has also
been explained, when the class of words which are distinguished as
Names of Names was under consideration.
In using the terms, one, two, three, four, and so on, the object is
to ascertain with precision, the amount of the aggregate in
question. In some cases, however, it is of importance to ascertain
the order of aggregation, as well as the amount; and that, whether a
synchronous, or a successive, aggregate be the object in view. This
purpose is answered by a set of names, called the ordinal numbers,
which, applied to the units of aggregation in the order in which
they are taken, mark precisely the order of each. Thus, when we say,
first, second, third, fourth, and so on; each of these concrete, or
connotative names, notes a certain position, if in the synchronous
order; a certain link, if {98} in the successive; and connotes the
precise object which holds that position, or forms that link.
As there is no difficulty whatsoever in tracing the ideas, which, on
each occasion, receive those marks, there is no need of multiplying
words in their illustration.
{99} SECTION IV.
PRIVATIVE TERMS.
Privative terms are distinguished from other terms, by this; that
other terms are marks for objects, as present or existent; privative
terms are marks for objects, as not present or not existent.[24]
[Editor's footnote 24: The author gives the name of Privative terms
to all those which are more commonly known by the designation of
Negative; to all which signify non-existence or absence. It is usual
to reserve the term Privative for names which signify not simple
absence, but the absence of something usually present, or of which
the presence might have been expected. Thus blind is classed as a
privative term, when applied to human beings. When applied to stocks
and stones, which are not expected to see, it is an admitted
metaphor.
This, however, being understood, there is no difficulty in following
the author's exposition by means of his own language.--_Ed._]
Thus the word Light, is the mark of a certain well-known object, as
existent or present.
The word Darkness, on the contrary, is the mark of the same object,
as not existent or not present. Ask any man, what he means by
darkness; he says the absence of light. But the absence of light, is
only another name for light absent; and light absent, is only
another name for light not present. Darkness, therefore, is another
name for light not present.
It thus appears, that the idea called up by the {100} word light, is
that of a certain object associated with its presence; the idea
called up by the word darkness, is that of the same object
associated with its absence.
After the explanations which have been so often given, what I mean,
when I speak of the idea of an object, as one thing; the idea of its
presence, as another thing; ought not to be obscure. Its presence,
is its existence; its absence, is its non-existence; at least, at a
particular time and place. What ideas and sensations I mark by the
word existent, has already been explained. The word non-existent is
the mere negation of the same sensations and ideas.
We have repeatedly seen, that what we call existence, is an
inference from our sensations. We have clusters of sensations; these
call up the ideas of antecedents, which we call qualities; these the
idea of an antecedent common to all the qualities, which we call
_Substratum_; and the _Substratum_, with its qualities, we call the
Object.
When we speak, then, of this _Substratum_ and its qualities, as
present, at a particular time and place: which is what we mean by
its existence; what we affirm is this; that if there be sentient
organs at such a time and place, there will be such and such
sensations. When we speak of it as absent, we affirm, that though
there be sentient organs at such a time and place, there will not be
those sensations. These ideas, then, forming in combination a very
complex idea, are what, in the respective cases, we call the
presence, and the absence of an object. Any further analysis would
be superfluous in this place.
{101} A law of some importance, which has been already explained,
is, that in complex ideas there is very often some one part, so
prominent, as to throw the rest into the shade, and confine the
attention almost wholly to itself. There is a curious
exemplification of this law, in the pair of cases before us. Thus,
in the complex idea of "the object and its presence," marked by the
word Light, the object is the prominent part, and the presence is so
habitually neglected, that it is with some trouble it is recognised.
The case is reversed in the complex idea of "the object and its
absence," marked by the word Darkness. In this, the absence is the
prominent part, and it so completely engrosses the attention, that
it requires reflection, to discover, that the idea of the object is
necessarily combined.
There is something more in these two cases, which it is of great
importance to remember. We have two sets of indissoluble
associations, both exceedingly numerous, the one with the idea of
the object as present, the other with the idea of it as absent; that
is, the one set with light, the other set with darkness. Whenever we
have the perception of light, we habitually have, along with it, the
perception of objects; that is, of all sorts of colours, all sorts
of shapes, all sorts of magnitudes, all sorts of distances, and so
on. With the idea of light, then, are indissolubly associated the
ideas of all sorts of objects; of extension in all its
modifications, colour in all its modifications, motion in all its
modifications; the word light, therefore, serves as a name, not
merely of the fluid which acts upon the eye, but of that along with
its innumerable associations. Such are the perceptions and {102}
ideas, which, when we have the perception of light, we have along
with it. What are the perceptions and ideas, which, when we have not
the perception of light, we have along with that state of privation?
There is, first, the want of all the perceptions, which we have
along with that of light. There is, next, the disagreeable
sensations we experience from not knowing what objects are
approaching us, either by our motions, or by theirs; hence the idea
of dangerous objects approaching; hence, also, the inability to
perform many of the acts which are conducive either to our being, or
well-being. With the idea of darkness, then, are indissolubly
associated a multitude of ideas, of pain, of privation, of weakness;
all disagreeable; with little or no mixture of any of an opposite
kind. And the word darkness, therefore, stands as a name not merely
of light absent, but of that along with all the accompanying
sensations and ideas.
The reader will observe, and it is necessary he should well observe,
that all terms might have corresponding privative terms. We have
already stated, that the ordinary names of objects are names both of
the object, and of its presence or existence, combined in one
complex idea. Thus, rose, horse, are names of the objects as
present or existent. We might have had names of them as absent or
not existent. It is only, however, in a few cases, that the absence
of an object is a matter of first-rate importance. It is only in
those cases that it has been found requisite to have for it a
particular name. The absence of light is obviously a case of the
greatest importance. Consequences of the very first order, and
infinite in number, {103} depend upon it. An appropriate name,
therefore, was of the highest utility.
This explanation will enable us to see, without a minute analysis,
the composition of the clusters marked by other Privative Terms.
Let us take Silence, as the next example. Silence is the absence of
sound, either all sound, which is sometimes its meaning; or of some
particular sound, which at other times is its meaning. Sound is the
name of a well-known something, as present. Silence is the name of
the same well-known something, as absent. The first word, is the
name of the thing, and its presence. The second, is the name of the
thing, and its absence. In the case of the combination marked by the
first, namely, the thing and its presence, the thing is the
prominent part, and the presence generally escapes attention. In the
case of the second, the thing and its absence, the absence is the
important part, and the thing is feebly, if at all, attended to.
Ignorance is easily explained, in the same manner. Knowledge is the
name of a certain well-known something, as present or existent.
Ignorance is the name of the same well-known something, as absent or
nonexistent.
Having a sensation, or an idea, is one state of consciousness; not
having it is another state of consciousness.[2*] The state of
consciousness called "not having" {104} it is no doubt very various;
for it is any sensation or idea different from the one in question.
The "Having" one sensation and another sensation, or one idea and
another idea; and the "Knowing" that the one is not the other; we
have often observed to be the same thing. The great majority of
names are invented, to mark sensations and ideas as "had;" there
are, however, cases, in which it is necessary to mark them as "not
had." In what manner, in the more remarkable cases, this marking is
performed by privative names, has now been shewn. But, beside the
marks for particular cases, it was necessary to have a comprehensive
or _general_ mark; which should include all cases, as well those
provided with particular names, as those not so provided. "Absent"
was such a word. "Absent," standing by itself, and unrestricted by
connection with any other word, is a name of any thing, joined with
the idea of its not being _then_ and _there_. What is included in
that Idea has already been shewn in explaining Belief in Existence.
The mark "Absent," joined with any particular name, becomes a
particular Privative Term. We have observed, that the word rose, is
a mark not merely of the thing, but the thing with the idea of its
presence; we have also observed, that such Presence-affirming Terms,
except {105} in remarkable cases, have not corresponding Privative,
or Absence-affirming Terms. But if we say "absent" rose, we have a
Privative Term, double worded, indeed, instead of single worded,
exactly corresponding to the Presence-affirming Term, rose. And, by
the use of the same word, we can form Privative Terms of this
description, in all cases in which they can be wanted; thus we can
say, absent man, absent horse, absence of food, &c.
[Mill's footnote 2: Mr. Locke recognised the fact, but gave an
erroneous account of it: "I should offer this as a reason why a
privative cause might produce a positive idea; _viz._, that, all
sensation being produced in us, only by different degrees and modes
of motion in our animal spirits, variously agitated by external
objects, the abatement of any former motion, must as necessarily
produce a new sensation, [for "abatement of any former motion,"
read, ceasing of a particular sensation; and for "new sensation,"
read, new feeling, or, new state of consciousness,] as the variation
or increase of it: and so introduce a new idea. B. II. ch. viii. s.
4.--(_Author's Note_.)]
The word Nothing, _Nihil_, is another _generical_ Privative Term.
That this word has a very important marking power, every man is
sensible in the use which he makes of it. But if it marks, it names;
that is, names something. Yet it seems to remove every thing; that
is, not to leave anything to be named.
The preceding explanations, however, have already cleared up this
mystery. The word Nothing is the Privative Term which corresponds to
Every Thing. Every Thing is a name of all possible objects,
including their existence. Nothing is a name of all possible
objects, including their non-existence.[25]
[Editor's footnote 25: The analysis of the facts, in all these
cases, is admirable, but I still demur to the language. I object to
saying, for instance, that silence is "the name of sound and its
absence." It is not the name of sound, since we cannot say Sound is
silence. It is the name of our state of sensation when there is no
sound. The author is quite right in saying that this state of
sensation recalls the idea of sound; to be conscious of silence as
silence, implies that we are thinking of sound, and have the idea of
it without the belief in its presence. In another of its uses,
Silence is the abstract of Silent; which is a name of all things
that make no sound, and of everything so long as it makes no sound;
and which connotes the attribute of not sounding. So of all the
other terms mentioned. "Nothing" is not a name of all possible
objects, including their non-existence. If Nothing were a name of
objects, we should be able to predicate of those objects that they
are Nothing. Nothing is a name of the state of our consciousness
when we are not aware of any object, or of any sensation.--_Ed._]
{106} "Absent," in its unrestricted sense, above explained, comes
near to this marking power of the word Nothing, but differs from it
in one respect. Absent is the Privative name of all possible
objects, taken one by one. Nothing is the privative name of them,
taken altogether. This distinction, I presume, is sufficiently
obvious, and intelligible, thus expressed; and stands in no need of
a more wordy explanation.[3*]
[Mill's footnote 3: The account of Privative Terms which is given by
Locke, is the same with that which is presented in the text. The
difference is, that Locke, who has stated the case correctly, has
not attempted its analysis. He says (B. II. ch. viii.), "We have
negative names, such as insipid, silence, _nihil_, &c., which words
denote positive ideas; _v.g._, taste, sound, being; with a
signification of their absence."--(_Author's Note_.)]
We shall now take notice of the Privative Term EMPTY, which is a
word of great importance.
Empty is a name applicable to all the things to which the name,
full, is applicable; in other words, to all the things which are
calculated to contain other things in position, or in the
synchronous order, that is, in the order of particle adjoining
particle. It is necessary to mark this limitation of the word
contain; because, in another sense, a complex idea is said to
contain the simple ideas of which it consists; and a chemical
compound is said to contain the simple {107} substances into which
it can be decomposed. Empty, and Full, are names of those things
only which contain, or are adapted to contain, things in position,
or in the order of particle adjoining particle.
Things adapted to contain other things in position, are, themselves,
a peculiar combination of positions, to which we must very
attentively advert. To understand this combination, it will be
necessary to remember exactly the analysis of position; of lines,
surfaces, and bulks; as it has been already given in our explanation
of Relative Terms.
The word "containing," applied to anything, as when we speak of a
box containing books, a cask containing liquor, a room containing
furniture, generally includes the idea of limitation. That which
contains, has certain boundaries within which the things contained
are placed, or have their position. This idea of things having their
position within another thing, is a very complex idea, the
composition of which we must be at some pains to understand.
It consists, first, of the thing containing; secondly, of the things
contained.
The thing containing, again, consists of two parts; first, its
boundaries; and, secondly, its containing capacity within its
boundaries.
Its boundaries are surfaces. How we become acquainted with surfaces;
in other words, what are the sensations, the copies of which form
our complex idea of surface, has been already explained. They are
certain sensations of touch, and certain sensations of muscular
action. This complex idea is easily distinguished into two parts;
first, a certain idea of resistance; secondly, the idea of
extension. The sides {108} of a box I call resisting, and I call
them extended; and I call them by both names on account of certain
sensations. Let us conceive the box without a lid; each of the sides
is extended and resisting. What is the top without a lid? Extended,
and non-resisting. The idea of the top is that of extension without
resistance; extension, in a particular direction, that of a plane
surface. What is the idea of the inside of the box without its
contents? That of extension in all directions without resistance.
This is emptiness.
So far is plain, and not doubtful. There are still, however, some
things which require explanation. What are we distinctly to
understand by extension without resistance? Whenever we use the
concrete extended, we mean something extended; and by that something
we always mean something that resists. What do we mean when we use
the abstract extension? It will be easily recollected that all this
is a case of association, which has been already fully explained.
Concrete Terms are Connotative Terms; Abstract Terms are
Non-connotative Terms. Concrete terms, along with a certain quality
or qualities, which is their principal meaning, or notation, connote
the object to which the quality belongs. Thus the concrete red,
always means, that is, connotes, something red, as a rose. We have
already, by sufficient examples, seen, that the Abstract, formed
from the Concrete, notes precisely that which is noted by the
Concrete, leaving out the connotation. Thus, take away the
connotation from red, and you have redness; from hot, take away the
connotation, and you have heat.
{109} The very same is the distinction between the concrete
extended, and the abstract extension. What extended is with its
connotation, extension is without that connotation. We have then to
explain, wherein the connotation consists.
When we say extended, meaning something extended, we mean one or
other of three things, a line, a surface, or bulk. We have already
explained sufficiently in what manner we come by the ideas of line,
surface, and bulk. We have certain sensations of touch, and of
muscular action, conjoined, and the ideas of those sensations, in
conjunction, form our ideas of line, surface, and bulk. The
sensation, or sensations, which we mark by the word resisting, seem
to be those alone which are connoted by the word extending; for it
is most important to observe, that what we call extending in the
parts of our own body, by the operation of its own muscles, is that
which we call extended in all other things; and thus the essential
connotation of the concrete, extended, is, resisting, and nothing
else. In other concrete terms the connotation is greater. Thus red,
connotes a surface, that is, something extended; and extended
connotes resisting. And thus red connotes both extended and
resisting, while extended connotes resisting alone. It is true, that
persons enjoying the faculty of seeing cannot conceive any thing
extended, without conceiving it coloured; because in them the idea
of something extended includes, by association, the visual, as well
as the tactual, and muscular, ideas; and the visual being accustomed
to predominate, the tactual, and muscular, are faintly observed.
This, however, cannot be the case in persons born blind, {110} who
have the tactual, and muscular, feelings, and not the visual at all.
Now, then, we can easily understand what extension is in all its
cases. Linear extension is the idea of a line, the connotation
dropped, that is, the idea of resisting, dropped; superficial
extension is the idea of a surface, the same connotation dropped;
and solid extension, or bulk, is merely the idea of bulk, the
connotation, or resisting, dropped. But bulk, the connotation
(_i.e._ resistance) dropped, is what? The place for bulk: Position.
But place is, what? A portion of SPACE; or, more correctly speaking.
SPACE itself, with limitation.
We thus seem to have arrived, without any difficulty, at an exact
knowledge of what is noted or marked by the word SPACE; a phenomenon
of the human mind hitherto regarded as singularly mysterious. The
difficulty which has been found in explaining the term, even, by
those philosophers who have approached the nearest to its meaning,
seems to have arisen, from their not perceiving the mode of
signification of Abstract Terms; and from the obscurity of that
class of sensations, a portion of which we employ the word
"extended" to mark. The word "space" is an abstract, differing from
its concrete, like other abstracts, by dropping the connotation.
Much of the mystery, in which the idea has seemed to be involved, is
owing to this single circumstance, that the abstract term, space,
has not had an appropriate concrete. We have observed, that, in all
cases, abstract terms can be explained only through their concretes;
because they note or name a part of what the concrete names, leaving
out the rest. If we were {111} to make a concrete term,
corresponding to the abstract term space, it must be a word
equivalent to the terms "infinitely extended." From the ideas
included under the name "infinitely extended," leave out resisting,
and you have all that is marked by the abstract Space.[26]
[Editor's footnote 26: There is great originality as well as
perspicacity in the explanation here given of Space, as a privative
term, expressing when analysed, the absence of the feeling of
resistance in the circumstances in which resistance is frequently
felt, namely, after the sensations of muscular action and motion.
The only part of the exposition to which I demur is the classing of
Space among abstract terms. I have already objected to calling the
word line, when used in the geometrical sense, an abstract term.
I hold it to be the concrete name of an ideal object possessing
length but not breadth. In like manner a Space may be said to be the
concrete name of an ideal object, extended but not resisting. The
sensations connoted by this concrete name, are those which accompany
the motion of our limbs or of our body in all directions: and along
with these sensations is connoted the absence of certain others,
viz. of the muscular sensations which accompany the arrest of that
motion by a resisting substance. This being the meaning of a Space,
Space in general must be a name equally concrete. It denotes the
aggregate of all Space.--_Ed._]
In the idea of SPACE, the idea of Infinity is included. What the
idea of Infinity is, needs therefore to be explained. When the word
Infinite is not used metaphorically, as it is when we speak of the
infinite perfections of God, in which case it is not a name for
ideas, but for the want of them, it is applied only to Number,
Extension, and Duration.
We increase numbers by adding one to one, one to two, and so on,
without limit, giving a name to {112} each aggregate. The
association of ideas which constitutes the process has been already
explained. With each number, one, two, three, four, as we go on, the
idea of one more is so strongly associated, that we cannot help its
existing in immediate conjunction. However high, therefore, we go in
numbering, the idea of one more always forces itself upon us; and
hence we say that number is infinite. That this, literally, is not
true; that, indeed, it is a verbal contradiction, is obvious.
Number, is something numbered; but if numbered, limited; that is,
not infinite. Number is the negation of infinite; as black is the
negation of white. The name infinite, in this case, is, in reality,
nothing but a mark for that state of consciousness, in which the
idea of one more is closely associated with every succeeding number.
And Infinity, the abstract term, is the peculiar idea, without the
connotation.
When we apply "infinite" to extension, we do so equally to all its
three modifications, to lines, surfaces, and bulk. How we do so is
obvious. We know no infinite line, but we know a longer, and a
longer. A line is lengthened, as number is increased, by continual
additions; a line of any length, say of an inch, is increased by the
continual addition of other lengths, say of an inch. In the process,
then, by which we conceive the increase of a line, the idea of one
portion more, is continually associated with the preceding length;
and to what extent soever it is carried, the association of one
portion more, is equally close and irresistible. This is what we
call the idea of infinite extension; and what some people call the
_necessary_ idea; which only means, that the idea of a {113} portion
more, rises necessarily, that is, by indissoluble association, so
that we cannot help its rising. Infinite is the concrete term, here
connoting Line; drop the connotation, you have Infinity, the
abstract.
If such be the whole of what is involved in the idea of Infinity, in
the case of a line; call it necessary idea, if you will; the idea of
it, in the case of surface, and of bulk, is also explained; for
surface, and bulk, are only lines, in such and such, or in all
directions. The idea of a portion more, adhering, by indissoluble
association, to the idea of every increase, in any or in all
directions, is the idea of "infinitely extended," and the idea of
"infinitely extended," the connotation dropped, is the idea of
Infinite Space. It has been called a simple idea (so little has the
real nature of it been understood); while it is thus distinctly
seen, to be one of the most complex ideas, which the whole train of
our conscious being presents. Extreme complexity, with great
closeness of association, has this effect--that every particular
part in the composition is overpowered by the multitude of all the
other parts, and no one in particular stands marked from the rest;
but all, together, assume the appearance of ONE. Something perfectly
analogous occurs, even in sensation. If two or three ingredients are
mixed, as wine and honey, we can distinguish the taste of each, and
say it is compound. But if a great many are mixed, we can
distinguish no one in particular, and the taste of the whole appears
a simple peculiar taste.[27]
[Editor's footnote 27: This explanation of the feeling of Infinity
which attaches itself to Space, is one of the most important
thoughts in the whole treatise; and, obvious as its truth is to a
mind prepared by the previous exposition, it has great difficulty in
finding entrance into other minds.
Every object is associated with some position: not always with the
same position, but we have never perceived any object, and therefore
never think of one, but in some position or other, relative to some
other objects. As, from every position. Space extends in every
direction (i.e. the unimpeded arm or body can move in any
direction), and since we never were in any place which did not admit
of motion in every direction from it, when such motion was not
arrested by a resistance; every idea of position is irresistibly
associated with extension, beyond the position: and we can conceive
no end to extension, because the place which we try to conceive as
its end, raises irresistibly the idea of other places beyond it.
This is one of the many so-called Necessities of Thought which are
necessities only in consequence of the inseparableness of an
association: but which, from unwillingness to admit this
explanation, men mistake for original laws of the human mind, and
even regard them as the effect and proof of a corresponding
necessary connexion between facts existing in Nature.--_Ed._]
{114} This, indeed, is one great cause of the mistakes, which have
been committed, in the examination of abstract ideas. We have shewn
that they are all complex, and in the highest degree. Yet the
greater number of them have always been treated as simple. Mr. Locke
shewed that some of them, which he calls mixed modes, were
undoubtedly compounded, as obligation, crime, &c. But they are no
otherwise complex, than as power, quality, chance, fate, position,
and space, are complex.
It is truly remarkable, how many of the cases of indissoluble
association are all united in the idea of SPACE. First of all, with
the idea of every object, the idea of _position_ or _place_, is
indissolubly united. {115} Secondly, with the idea of position or
place, the idea of _extension_ is indissolubly united. Thirdly, with
the idea of extension the idea of _infinity_ is indissolubly united.
Fourthly, by the unfortunate ambiguity of the _Copula_, the idea of
_existence_ is indissolubly united with SPACE, as with other
abstract terms. What these several ingredients, the ideas of
Position, Extension, Infinity, Existence, are composed of, we have
already seen. All these, forced into combination, by irresistible
association, constitute the idea of SPACE.
{116} SECTION V.
TIME.
As SPACE is a comprehensive word, including all Positions, or the
whole of synchronous order; so TIME is a comprehensive word,
including all Successions, or the whole of successive order.
The difficulty of the exposition, in this case, consists not in the
ideas; for they are clear and certain enough; but in finding
expressions which will have even a chance of conveying to readers,
who are not familiar with the analysis of mental phenomena, the
ideas which it is my object to impart.
As all objects, considered as existing together, are said to exist
in SPACE, so all objects considered as existing one after another,
are said to exist in TIME.
Objects, however, are said to exist in Time, in two distinguishable
cases; either when they are in constant flow; or, when they have,
what we call, stability or duration. The constant passage of men,
horses, vehicles, &c., in a busy and crowded street, is in Time; the
permanence of St. Paul's, in its well-known position, is also in
Time. If Time mean the succession of the objects in the one case, it
must mean something else in the other. It cannot mean the succession
of St. Paul's. But it may mean the idea of St. Paul's, associated
with the idea of other successions.
Of TIME itself we conceive, that it is never still. It is a
perpetual flow of instants, of which only one can ever be present.
The very idea of Time, therefore, is {117} an idea of successions.
It consists of this, and of nothing else.
But there are no real successions, save successions of objects, that
is of feelings in our minds.[28] What, then, are the successions of
TIME, which are the successions of nothing? To those who have
thoroughly familiarized themselves with the account which we have
given of abstract terms, and who can promptly and steadily conceive
the mode of their signification, we can render an answer, which will
be understood at once, and will be felt to be complete and
satisfactory.
[Editor's footnote 28: There is an unusual employment of language
here, which if attention is not formally drawn to it, may embarrass
the reader. By objects are commonly meant, those groups or clusters
of sensations and possibilities of sensation, that compose what we
call the external world. A single sensation, even external, and
still less if internal, is not called an object. In a somewhat
larger sense, whatever we think of, as distinguished from the
thought itself and from ourselves as thinking it, is called an
object; this is the common antithesis of Object and Subject. But in
this place, the author designates as objects, all things which have
real existence, as distinguished from the instants of mere Time,
which, as he is pointing out, have not; and a puzzling effect is
produced by his applying the name Object, in even an especial
manner, to sensations: to the tickings of a watch, or the beatings
of a patient's pulse.--_Ed._]
We have shewn, how we form the abstracts, redness, from red;
sweetness, from sweet; hardness, from hard; by simply dropping the
connotation of the concrete term. Thus red, always means something
red; redness, is the red without the something; so of sweetness,
hardness, and so forth. When the ideas are more {118} complicated,
the case is still the same. When we use the concrete, living, it
always connotes something living; a living man, a living quadruped,
a living bird, fish, insect, and so forth. When we use the abstract,
life, we convey all that we convey by the term living, except the
connotation. We say that John is healthy, James is healthy, on
account of circumstances the idea of which forms a very complex
idea. The concrete healthy always connotes an individual. Use the
abstract, health, you have the idea without the connotation.
In applying this doctrine to the case of successions, we are ill
supplied with appropriate names; and hence the difficulty of the
case, both to the teacher, and the learner.
We have said that there are no real successions, but successions of
objects. The tickings of my watch are successive sounds, that is,
sensations. The beatings which are felt by the physician, in the
artery of his patient, are successive feelings or sensations of
touch.
When the different particulars of a scene in which a man has been
engaged, of a battle, for example, in which he has commanded, pass
through his mind, there is a succession of ideas. In all these cases
of the successions of sensations, or ideas, there is always one
present, others past, and others to come, that is, future. Drop the
connotation of "something past," "something present," "something
future." You have pastness, presentness, and futureness. But
pastness, presentness, and futureness, are TIME. TIME can neither be
shewn, nor conceived, to be any thing else. It is a single-worded
abstract, involving the meaning {119} of these three several
abstracts. The true meaning of these abstracts is clearly made out
from their concretes. The precise idea, therefore, marked by the
word TIME; if the meaning of these abstracts is sufficiently
apprehended; is at last apparent. Nor is there any mysteriousness in
it whatsoever, but that which has arisen from misapprehension of
that grand department of Naming, which belongs to abstract terms;
and from inattention to that class of words, which are invented to
supply the place, each of them singly, of several other words.
To our conclusion, that TIME is the equivalent of Pastness,
Presentness, and Futureness, combined, it may be objected, that the
word Time is applicable to all the three cases; as we can say, past
time, present time, and future time, all with equal propriety. This,
however, is so far from being any presumption against the
conclusion, that it is a clear confirmation of it; since Time,
standing by itself, marks no particular case, and, in order to do
so, must have another mark applied to it to limit its signification.
It is only because Time marks all the cases of pastness,
presentness, and futureness, that it needs the marks past, present,
or future, to confine its meaning; present time being merely another
name for presentness, future time, for futureness, and past time,
for pastness. The same thing is seen in the case of all other
abstracts. Redness is the name of a certain colour, in all its
modifications, and to whatever object belonging. But by the addition
of an appropriate mark, we confine its meaning to any particular
case; as when we say, the redness of a rose, the redness of scarlet,
and so on.
{120} The accounts, which have been rendered of Time by different
philosophers, so far as they have in them any acknowledged accuracy,
are, all of them, parts, and but parts, of the analysis which we
have thus been presenting. Dr. Reid says, Memory gives us the
conception and belief of finite intervals of duration; and these we
enlarge by our mental processes to infinity.[4*] We have already
seen what Memory is. It is not a faculty, as Dr. Reid supposes,
which "gives" any thing; it is an idea, formed by association of the
particulars of a certain train; a train of antecedents and
consequents, of which the present feeling is one extremity. Pastness
is included under the term Memory. Memory is the name of a certain
whole, and Pastness is the name of a part of that whole. Memory is a
connotative term; what it notes, is the antecedence and consequence
of the several parts of that which forms the chain of the
remembrance; what it connotes, are the feelings themselves, the
objects remembered. When what it connotes is left out, and what it
notes is retained, we have the idea which is expressed by pastness.
[Mill's footnote 4: Intellect. Powers. Essay III. ch. v. p. 583.]
In the chain of memory, consisting of antecedent, antecedent,
antecedent, traced back to any length from the present feeling, we
call that which immediately precedes the present, the nearest; the
next, we call more distant; the next, more distant still; and that,
between which and the present feeling the greatest number of
successions intervenes, we call the most distant, also the farthest
back; but the farthest back of a series of successions, is the
oldest, that between {121} which and the present time the greatest
length of time has intervened. Greatest length of time, therefore,
in this case, is only another name for greatest number of
successions.
It has been already seen, that there is nothing in which we are so
deeply interested, as an accurate knowledge of the antecedents and
consequents, in the midst of which we exist. Of the different
innumerable trains of antecedents and consequents which it is
important for us carefully to mark, it is observed, that some
succeed more quickly, some less. While the long pendulum of an
eight-day clock is performing one oscillation, the short pendulum of
a table-clock performs two or three.
What that is, to which we give the name of quickness, or slowness,
in those successions; in other words, what is the state of
consciousness which we have thus occasion to mark; has already been
seen. Every succession, observed by us, is a case of sensation and
memory; sensation of the consequent, memory of the antecedent. If we
have observed simultaneously the oscillations of the two pendulums,
mentioned above, we remember two or three antecedent oscillations of
the short pendulum, before we get back to one of the long. It is a
mere case, therefore, of the greater or less number of antecedents
in a chain of memory, expounded in a preceding chapter.
In the knowledge, so important to us, of antecedents and
consequents, it is not enough that we know what antecedents are
followed by what consequents; much depends upon the quickness or
slowness of the successions. It is, therefore, of the highest
importance that we should have the means of marking them.
{122} What we do is, to take some well-known case of successions,
and to make that a standard, by which to ascertain the rest. We
take, for example, the oscillations of a pendulum. So many of these
we call a minute. So many minutes we call an hour. These minutes and
hours, then, are so many oscillations, that is successions. We call
them measures of time. But things are measurable only by parts of
themselves; extension by extension, weight by weight, and so on.
What is *measured by succession, therefore, is itself nothing but
succession.
Having assumed a certain case of successions as a standard, and
marked it into quantities, by distinctive names, we mark or name all
other successions, by the names applied to the standard case. Thus,
that grand succession, on which so much of what we are interested in
depends, a revolution of the earth upon its own axis, we
distinguish, by the term, twenty-four hours; which we also call by
the name, day; and afterwards make use of, as a standard, to mark
still slower successions, such as a revolution of the moon about the
earth, a revolution of the earth about the sun. In all these
measurements, and expressions, of time, it is still seen, that there
is nothing in reality conceived but successions.
Beside the standards, more distinctly conceived and expressed, there
is always, in these estimates of time, a tacit reference to another
standard, which is regarded as the unit, or minimum of time. The
case here is precisely analogous to that of the unit, or minimum, of
extension, which we have already observed. Our tactual, and
muscular, senses are not sufficiently fine to discern objects of
less than a certain magnitude. {123} The least which they can
discern is tacitly assumed as the unit of extension. Nor are any of
our senses fine enough to discern successions which have more than a
certain degree of rapidity. Thus, if the seven primitive colours are
made to pass with a certain velocity before the eye, they do not
appear separate, but blended into one continuous white. In like
manner, if sounds are made to succeed one another, at first, slowly,
afterwards, with greater and greater rapidity, they cannot, at last,
be distinguished as different sounds, but appear as one continuous
sound. In fact, this is probably the account of all sounds, which
are merely effects of the vibrations in the air, and therefore
pulses; but often so quick, in succession, that no interval is
distinguishable, and the perception is that of a continuous sound.
The close resemblance, in this respect, between sensations and
ideas, is remarkable. When sensations are brought into close
conjunction they become blended, and appear, not several, but one.
We have seen, in a most important case of association, that when
ideas are called up together in close conjunction, they, too, cease
to be distinguishable, and, being blended together, assume, even
where there is the greatest complexity, the appearance, not of many
ideas, but of one. Of this we have very remarkable examples, in the
two cases of SPACE, and TIME.
There is a certain succession, then, of sensations and ideas, in
which the antecedent and consequent can be distinguished: another,
in which the antecedent and consequent, on account of quickness,
cannot be distinguished. The quickest that can be distinguished, is
that to which, as the unit or minimum, a tacit {124} reference is
made, in our several estimates of time.
Having thus shewn how far the account of TIME, presented by one of
the most recent Philosophers of high name, goes in expounding the
phenomenon, and how far it leaves it unexpounded; it will be
instructive next to observe, how far the genius of the ancient Greek
Philosophers carried them, in this important inquiry. It is
satisfactory, that we can refer the unlearned reader to a very clear
and accurate exposition of their doctrines, in a well known work in
our own language, the "Hermes" of Mr. Harris; from which, for the
sake of this convenience, the present account of those ancient
doctrines shall be drawn.
"Time and Space," says that author,[5*] "have this in common, that
they are both of them by nature _continuous_. But in this they
differ, that all the parts of Space exist _at once_ and _together_,
while those of Time only exist in _Transition_ or Succession." This
is only transcribing the common language. What remained was, to shew
what are the real facts couched under this language.[6*]
[Mill's footnote 5: Hermes, B. I. ch. vii.]
[Mill's footnote 6: The expression of Ammonius, here quoted by
Harris, comes nearer the fact than his own--[Greek: o( chro/nos
u(phi/sta/tai kata/ mo/non to\ NUN, e)n ga/r tô=| gi/nesthai kai/
phthei/resthai to/ ei=nai e)/chei]. Time subsists only in a single
NOW or INSTANT, for it hath its being in beginning and ceasing to
be. In other words, Time never is; all you can say of it is only
this, it has been, or it is about to be.--(_Author's Note_.)]
"In every given time we may assume anywhere a _Now_ or _Instant_,
and therefore, in every given _Time_, there may be assumed infinite
_Nows_ or _Instants_.
{125} "A NOW or INSTANT is the _Bound_ of every finite _Time_. But
although a _Bound_, it is not a _Part of Time_. If this appear
strange, we may remember, that if a _Now_ or _Instant_ were a _Part
of Time_ it being essential to the character of Parts, that they
should measure the _Whole_, it would contain within itself infinite
other nows; and this, it is evident, would be absurd and
impossible."
"_The same Now_ or _Instant_, may be the end of one _Time_, and the
_Beginning_ of another; the first, necessarily Past Time, as being
previous to _the Now_ or _Instant_, which both Times include; the
other necessarily FUTURE, as being _subsequent_. As, therefore,
every NOW or INSTANT always exists in Time, and without being Time,
is _Time's Bound_; the Bound of _Completion_ to the _Past_, and the
Bound of _Commencement_ to the Future: from hence we may conceive
its nature or end, which is _to be the Medium of Continuity between
the Past and the Future, so as to render Time, through all its
parts, one Intire and Perfect Whole_."
It must be obvious to every one, who has correctly followed me
through the preceding deductions, that this mysterious language, if
applied to actual successions, has a distinct meaning; if not so
applied, it is jargon merely, without one idea annexed. This NOW,
which is not _Time_, and, not being _Time_, is of course nothing
else; this NOTHING, then, which, though nothing is the medium of
continuity between Somethings, namely, time past, and time future,
seems to be only a mysterious name for that link which is supposed
to be between every antecedent and its consequent; which supposition
of a link, or medium of continuity, we have already shewn to be a
mere case {126} of association, involving a prejudice; the
antecedent and consequent, and nothing else, being really included
in a case of succession. Thus understood, however, it is a medium of
continuity, forming the "_Bound of Completion_" to the previous
train of successions, the "_Bound of Commencement_" to the
following.
Mr. Harris proceeds to shew some of the conclusions, resulting from
the account which he had thus rendered of Time. "_In the first
place_," he says, "_there cannot_ (strictly speaking) _be any such
thing as time present_." We will draw from this a conclusion, which
Mr. Harris appears not to have seen, or does not choose to
acknowledge; That, if there be no such thing as Time present,
neither can there be any such thing as Time past. For what is the
past, but that which has been present? But if there be no such thing
as time present, or time past, there can be no such thing as time
future. Time, therefore, is an impossibility.
Mr. Harris himself, indeed, goes a certain way toward this
conclusion. "If _no Portion_ of time," he says, "be the object of
_any Sensation_; further, if the Present _never_ exist; if the past
be _no more_; if the Future be not as yet; and if these are all the
parts, out of which _Time_ is compounded: how strange and shadowy a
Being do we find it? How nearly approaching to a perfect
non-entity?"[7*]
[Mill's footnote 7: It is but justice to Aristotle, to say, that he
expressed the right conclusion much more distinctly than Harris
thought proper to do. His mode of inferring, as translated by
Harris, is as follows: That, therefore, _Time_ exists not at all, or
at least, has but a faint and obscure existence, one may suspect
from hence. A part of it has been, and is no more; a part of it is
coming, and is not as yet; and out of these is made that Time, which
is without end, and ever to be assumed farther and farther. Now,
that which is made up of nothing but non-entities, it should seem
was incapable ever to participate of Entity.--(_Author's Note_.)]
{127} Mr. Harris then says, "Let us try, however, since the senses
fail us, if we have not faculties of higher power, to seize this
fleeting Being." What then is it he does in the search of those
"faculties of higher power?" It will be seen, from the following
quotation, that he merely describes a few cases of actual
succession; and says, that from them, by the help of memory, and
imagination, we come by the idea of Time. But the Memory and
Imagination of successions present to us nothing but the successions
themselves. If then the Memory and Imagination of successions, give
us the idea of Time, the idea of Time can only be some part or the
whole of the idea of the successions.
"The World has been likened to a variety of Things, but it appears
to resemble no one more than some moving spectacle (such as a
procession or a triumph) that abounds in every part with splendid
objects, some of which are still departing, as fast as others make
their appearance. The Senses look on, while the sight passes,
perceiving as much as is immediately present, which they report with
tolerable accuracy to the Soul's superior powers. Having done this,
they have done their duty, being concerned with nothing, save what
is present and instantaneous. But to the _Memory_, to the
_Imagination_, and above all, to {128} the _Intellect_, the several
_Nows_ or _Instants_, are not lost, as to the _Senses_, but are
presented and made objects of _steady_ comprehension, however, in
their own nature, they may be _transitory_ and _passing_.
"Now it is from contemplating two or more of these Instants under
one view, together with that Interval of Continuity, which subsists
between them, that we acquire insensibly the Idea of TIME. For
example: _The Sun rises_: this I remember: _it rises again_: this
too, I remember. These Events are not together; there is an
_Extension_ between them--not however of _Space_, for we may suppose
the place of rising the same, or at least, to exhibit no sensible
difference. Yet still we recognise some Extension between them. Now
what is this Extension, _but a natural day_? And what is that, but
pure _Time_? It is after the same manner, by recognising two new
Moons, and the Extension between these; two several Equinoxes, and
the extension between these; that we gain Ideas of other Times, such
as _Months_ and _Years_, which are all so many Intervals, described
as above; that is to say, _passing Intervals of Continuity between
two Instants viewed together_.
"And thus it is THE MIND acquires the Idea of TIME. But this Time it
must be remembered is PAST TIME ONLY, which is always the _first
Species_, that occurs to the human Intellect. How then do we acquire
the Idea of TIME FUTURE? The answer is, we acquire it by
_Anticipation_. Should it be demanded still further, _And what is
Anticipation_? We answer, that, in this case, it is a kind of
reasoning by analogy from similar to similar; from successions of
events, that are past already, to similar successions, {129} that
are presumed hereafter. For example: I observe, as far back as my
memory can carry me, how every day has been succeeded by a night;
that night, by another day; that day, by another night; and so
downwards in order to the Day that is now. Hence, then, I
_anticipate a similar succession_ from the present Day, and thus
gain the Idea of days and nights in _futurity_. After the same
manner, by attending to the periodical returns of New and Full
Moons; of Springs, Summers, Autumns, and Winters, all of which, in
Time past, I find never to have failed, I anticipate a like orderly
and diversified succession, which makes Months, and Seasons, and
Years, _in Time future_."
It is to be observed, that, in the above passage, Harris, beside
Memory and Imagination, introduces the name of _Intellect_, as
concerned in generating the idea of Time. But it will be seen that
he makes no use of it, whatsoever, in giving his explanation, nor
mentions any other operations than those of, memory for the past,
and anticipation for the future. Indeed, it appears from a passage
of his work, immediately following, that when Mr. Harris, in this
inquiry, uses the word Intellect, he means nothing but Anticipation
and Memory. "There is nothing," he says, "appears so clearly an
object of the MIND or INTELLECT only, as _the Future_ does, since we
can find no place for its existence any where else. Not but the
same, if we consider, is equally true of _the Past_.*"[8*] Here we
see, that {130} both _the Future_, and _the Past_, are said to be
objects of the INTELLECT only. But the future is the object of
anticipation, the past of memory; and both memory, and anticipation,
as we have seen, are cases of association.
[Mill's footnote 8: _Ibid_. He goes on to say, that, from this same
doctrine, that Time exists only in the mind, some philosophers
inferred, that if mind did not exist, neither could Time. [Greek:
Po/teron de\ mê\ ou)/sês psuchê=s ei)/ê| a)\n o( chro/nos,
a)porê/seien a)/n tis]. (_Aristot. Nat. Auscult._ 1. iv. c. 20.)
Themistius, who comments the above passage, expresses himself more
positively. [Greek: Ei) toi/nun dichô=s le/getai, to/ te
a)rithmêto\n, kai\ to\ a)rithmou/menon, to\ me\n, to\ a)rithmêto\n
dêladê\, duna/mei, to\ de\ e)nergei/a|, tau=ta de\ ou)k a)\n
u(postai/ê|, mê\ o)/ntos tou= a)rithmê/sontos, mê/te duna/mei mê/t'
e)nergei/a|,--phanero\n ô(s ou)k a)\n o( chro/nos ei)/ê|, mê\
ou)/sês psuchê=s]. (_Them._ p. 48. Edit. Aldi.)--(_Author's
Note_.)]
In the cases of succession which he adduces, as examples, to shew,
in what manner we acquire, he says, "insensibly," the idea of time,
he tells us, there is sensation of the consequent, memory of the
antecedent, and beside these, "contemplation of two or more instants
under one view, together with that Interval of continuity, which
subsists between them." But the contemplation of two instants, one
prior, another posterior, in one view, with the interval between
them, is a circumlocution for memory. It denotes obscurely, and
imperfectly, that union, in one idea, of all the parts of a train,
to which the name memory is affixed. From this contemplation, he
says it is, "that we acquire the idea of Time." The real meaning is
thus shewn to be, that we acquire it from memory. Mr. Harris,
therefore, at the bottom, agrees with Dr. Reid; and the same
observations by which we shewed {131} the imperfection of Dr. Reid's
account, are equally applicable to that, of Mr. Harris. The case, in
truth, is, that neither of them does any thing more than merely
state the fact, without an attempt to explain it. That we cannot
have the idea of time, without the observation of successions; and
that memory is joined with sense in the observation of
successions,--is the matter of fact. What TIME is, distinct from the
memory and the sensations, they ought to have told us, but have not.
They would not have found it difficult, had they been familiar with
the distinction (of such infinite importance, in all accurate
inquiries into the human mind) between the mode of signification of
concrete words, and the mode of signification of abstract ones; the
latter, in its more complicated cases, of not very easy
comprehension. Unfortunately, we have no concrete term,
corresponding with Time. Hence a great part of the difficulty of
conceiving distinctly the meaning of the abstract. Time, also, is
not the abstract name of any one train, but of all trains; as
redness is not the name of one red, but of all reds. And there is
this further complication, that the word "time" is never applied to
any train, in particular; as time of a race, time of a battle, and
so on; without the predominating association of that particular
train, whatever it be, minutes, hours, or days, which we are
accustomed to employ, as the measure of other successions. Without
much and accurate practice, therefore, in conceiving the meaning of
abstract terms, especially in the more complex and intricate cases;
it is extremely difficult steadily to contemplate either TIME, as
the {132} abstract name of all successive, or SPACE, as the abstract
name of all simultaneous order.[9*]
[Mill's footnote 9: "Multos autem in errorem ducit, quod voces
generales et abstractas in disserendo utiles esse videant, nec tamen
earum vim satis capiant. Partim vero à consuetudine vulgari inventæ
sunt illæ ad sermonem abbreviandum, partim à philosophis ad
docendum excogitatæ, non quod ad naturas rerum accommodatæ sint, quæ
quidem singulares et concretæ existunt, sed quod idoneæ ad tradendas
disciplinas, propterea quod faciant notiones, vel saltem
propositiones, universales."--_Berkeley de Motu_, s. 7. No
predecessor of Berkeley was so fully aware, as he was, of the
deceptions practised on the human mind by abstract
terms.--(_Author's Note_.)]
It will be instructive, to recapitulate the indissoluble
associations which are contained in the idea of Time. With every
present event, is indissolubly associated the idea of an antecedent;
with that antecedent, the idea of another antecedent; and so on
without end. These are the ideas of Succession, and of Infinity;
forced upon us by indissoluble association. The events of the
present moment, are innumerable. With every one of these we
associate the ideas of antecedents without end. This is the Past; an
Infinity of simultaneous successions, each having antecedents,
running back without end. These are successions in the concrete;
successions of objects. Drop the connotation, to form the abstract,
as is done in other cases; you have then successions without the
objects; which is precisely the meaning of the word TIME.
As with every present event, and those infinite in number, is
indissolubly associated the idea of a series of antecedents, without
end, which, in the abstract, is {133} TIME PAST, so with every such
event, is indissolubly associated the idea of a consequent, with
that the idea of another consequent, and so on, without end; which,
in the abstract, is TIME FUTURE.
The synchronous Line, or Line of _Extension_, and the successive
Line, or Line of _Time_, bear a pretty close analogy. As, in the
Line of _Extension_, we have the concrete line, and the abstract
line; the concrete line being the positions with the objects; the
abstract or mathematical line, the positions without the objects;
so, in the line of _Time_, we have the concrete line, and the
abstract line; the concrete line being the successions with the
objects; the abstract line, the successions without the objects; to
which abstract line, we give the name TIME.
We have before remarked, as an important case of indissoluble
association, that the idea of Position, that is, of a modification
of Space, is indissolubly associated with the idea of every sensible
object. It is now to be remarked, as a not less important case, that
the idea of succession or of antecedent and consequent, that is, a
modification of Time, is indissolubly associated with the idea of
every object. The idea of a modification of Space, and the idea of a
modification of Time, form parts of our complex idea of every
object. It is no wonder that they appear to be necessary, seeing
that they force themselves upon us, by irresistible association,
with the idea of every object.[29] [30]
[Editor's footnote 29: As is shewn in the text. Time is a name for
the aggregate of the successions of our feelings, apart from the
feelings themselves. I object, however, in the case of time, as
I did in the {134} case of Space, to considering it as an abstract
term. Time does not seem to me to be a name (as the author says) for
the pastness, the presentness, and the futureness of our successive
feelings. It is rather, I think, a collective name for our feeling
of their succession--for what the author called, in a previous
section, the part of the process "which consists in being sensible
of their successiveness," for which part, he then said, "we have not
a name." This taking notice of the successiveness of our feelings,
whether we prefer to call it a part of the feelings themselves, or
another feeling superadded to them, is yet something which, in the
entire mass of feeling which the successive impressions give us, we
are able to discriminate, and to name apart from the rest.
A perception of succession between two feelings is a state of
consciousness _per se_, which though we cannot think of it
separately from the feelings, we can yet think of as a completed
thing in itself, and not as an attribute of either or both of the
two feelings. Its name, if it had one, would be a concrete name. But
the entire series of these perceptions of succession has a name,
Time; which I therefore hold to be a concrete name.
However inextricably these feelings of succession are mixed up with
the feelings perceived as successive, we are so perfectly able to
attend to them, and make them a distinct object of thought, that we
can compare them with one another, without comparing the successive
feelings in any other respect. We can judge two or more successions
to be of equal, or of unequal, rapidity. And if we find any series
of feelings of which the successive links follow each other with
uniform rapidity, such as the tickings of a clock, we can make this
a standard of comparison for all other successions, and measure them
as equal to one, two, three, or some other number of links of this
series: whereby the aggregate Time is said to be divided into equal
portions, and every event is located in some one of those portions.
The succession of our sensations, therefore, however closely
implicated with the sensations themselves, may be abstracted from
them in thought, as completely {135} as any quality of a thing can
be abstracted from the thing.
The apparent infinity of Time the author, very rightly, explains in
the same manner as that of Space.--_Ed._]
[Grote's footnote 30: In this section Mr. James Mill explains Time.
He tells us that "it is a comprehensive word including all
successions, or the whole of successive order" (p. 116)--"a
perpetual flow of instants, of which only one can ever be present.
The very idea of Time is an idea of successions. It consists of this
and of nothing else" (pp. 116--117)--"it is the single worded
abstract, involving the meaning of the three several abstracts,
pastness, presentness, futureness" (p. 118). In the line of "Time,
we have the concrete line, and the abstract line: the concrete line
being the successions with the objects: the abstract line, the
successions without the objects: to which abstract line, we give the
name Time" (p. 133).
In p. 120 he gives us in a few words Dr. Reid's explanation of
Time:--and in pp. 124--130 he cites at greater length Aristotle's
explanation, as reproduced by Harris in the Hermes.
Both Aristotle and Reid include in their meaning of Time, not merely
succession, but duration or continuity. Mr. James Mill includes only
succession--antecedents and consequents. He thinks that continuity
is nothing else than an illusion or prejudice, arising from extreme
rapidity of succession (pp. 123--125).
"Time and Space (says Harris, cited p. 124) have this in common,
that they are both of them by nature continuous. But in this they
differ--that all the parts of space exist at once and together;
while those of Time only exist in Transition or Succession." Mr.
James Mill proceeds to say--"This is only transcribing the common
language. What remained was, to show what are the real facts couched
under this language."
Undoubtedly these facts ought to be shewn, and shewn fully. But I
cannot think that they are shewn fully in the {136} present Chapter
of the Analysis. On the contrary, a most important part of the case
is omitted--Duration or Continuity--which Aristotle has put in the
front of his exposition, and after him *Reid as well as Harris.
If it were true that the word Time is the abstract, having for its
concrete succeeding objects and nothing more, we should not need the
term at all. The abstract term "Succession" already answers this
purpose, much more perspicuously and obviously. But Time includes
something more than succession. It comprehends not merely
potentiality for succeeding objects or events, but also potentiality
for continuous motions or sensations: it embraces duration as well
as succession.
The exposition of Aristotle is adapted to readers and debates so
different from those of the present day, that it often appears
strange, and even mystical, when ever so well translated. In the
present case, however, we derive satisfaction from knowing, that his
doctrine is, with a very small reserve, adopted by Hobbes, the most
anti-mystical of all philosophers. (Hobbes' First Grounds of
Philosophy--Part II., Sect. 7. 3). Aristotle has given a theory of
Time at great length, perfectly clear as to its main features,
though in several of its details, obscure and difficult to follow.
I will add that throughout nearly the whole exposition, he keeps the
abstract in close implication with the concrete: the neglect of
which precaution, by many philosophers, is so justly censured by the
Author of the Analysis.
Aristotle, according to a practice frequent with him, begins by
enumerating various puzzles and difficulties which stand in the way
of any theory ([Greek: diaporê=sai] Physic. IV. 10. p. 217. 6. 30).
In doing this, here as elsewhere, he states the difficulties in a
manner somewhat paradoxical. The citation of page 126, (together
with note, page 127,) are all taken from this preliminary excursion,
the beginning and end of which Aristotle distinctly marks (Physica
IV. c. 10. p. 217 b. 30. p. 218 a. 30). He then proceeds to
exposition; and after remarking that Time is one and alike every
where, amidst the greatest {137} diversity of events succeeding each
other--he says that it is not indeed identical with Motion, (as some
theorists considered it), but that it is nevertheless inseparable
from Motion being one of the aspects or appurtenances of Motion.
Magnitude or Body moved--Motion--Time--all go together in
Aristotle's conception. Magnitude is continuous: Motion is
continuous: Time is continuous (Physica IV. 11. p. 219. a. 12. 223.
a. 10): Line is continuous. On the other hand, the Point is separate
and indivisible; no two Points have any common term: a Line is not
made up of Points, but of smaller Lines; and every Line has Points
for its bounds or limits. What the Point is to a Line, the Now or
Instant is to Time: the Instant is not a portion of Time, but the
boundary of each portion, and the conjoining boundary between Time
past and Time future. (Physica IV. 11. p. 220. a. 5-25--VI. 3. 234.
a. 1-24).
Aristotle defines Time as the Number of Motion according to Former
and Later: _i.e._, Continuous Motion, considered as numerable and
successive. To take the words of Harris, from Aristotle (cited p.
128 of the Analysis)--"It is from contemplating two or more Instants
under one view, together with that Interval of Continuity which
subsists between them, that we acquire insensibly the Idea of
Time."--"Months and Years are all so many Intervals described as
above; that is to say, passing Intervals of Continuity between two
Instants viewed together."
Mr. James Mill hardly does justice to this exposition, when he
observes (p. 131)--"Neither Harris *nor Reid does anything more than
merely state the fact, without an attempt to explain it. That we
cannot have the idea of time, without the observation of succession;
and that memory is joined with sense in the observation of
successions,--is the matter of fact. What Time is, distinct from the
memory and the sensations, they ought to have told us, but have
not."--In this passage, the word "sensations" is evidently used by
Mr. James Mill as equivalent to "successions" or successive {138}
sensations: and the observation appears to me not well founded.
I think that Aristotle has told us, and Harris after him, what Time
is, distinct from the successive sensations. It includes Motion and
the Continuity of Motion. These are elements of which Mr. James Mill
takes no notice: and they supply the deficiency of which he
complains.