has paid more attention to movements and muscular sensibility, as
elements of our consciousness, than philosophers had done before
him. But in this chapter unfortunately, he has left them out, and
has confined himself to successions. The explanation of Time, given
in the main by Aristotle, is completed and elucidated by Professor
Bain in his work on the Senses and the Intellect (chapter on the
Muscular Feelings, sect. 20--23, pp. 95, 96; compare also p. 183, in
ed. 3rd). The feeling of continuance in our muscular exertions, of
longer or shorter duration in the sweep of our limbs, is one of the
primordial varieties of sensibility. A longer expenditure of our
energy affects the consciousness differently from a shorter.
In a full sweep of the arm, we are conscious of the instant of
commencement as antecedent,--the interval of continued effort,--and
the instant of termination as following. This is the clearest
illustration of that which Aristotle and Harris describe as Time:
two instants former and later, with continuous interval between
them. Motion is the most striking and obvious example of Continuity,
and is therefore employed by Aristotle as the basis for his
exposition of Time. The eternal and uniform motions of the celestial
bodies were to him the most impressive of all phenomena; the great
standard by which all other motions were to be measured. Hobbes also
takes the Line as the proper exponent of time. But though motion
affords the best and amplest illustrations of Continuity, it is not
motion only that is felt as continuous. The sense of continuance is
felt in regard to other impressions also. Professor Bain
observes--"All impressions made on the mind, whether those of
muscular energy, or those of the ordinary senses, are felt
differently according as they endure {139} for a longer or a shorter
time. This is true of the higher emotions also. The continuance of a
mental state must be discriminated by us from the very dawn of
consciousness; and hence our estimate of time is one of our earliest
mental aptitudes. It attaches to every feeling that we possess"--(p.
93).
We thus perceive that the sense of continuance is just as much an
original presentation to our consciousness, as the sense of
succession. This is an important fact, which has not been
sufficiently adverted to in the exposition of complex ideas such as
Time and Space. The _fundamentum_ of Continual Quantity is an
immediate manifestation of our sensitive discriminations not less
than that of Discrete Quantity. The complex Idea of Time embodies
both.[a] Mr. James Mill insists everywhere, with laudable emphasis,
upon the necessity of seeking the meaning of every abstract term in
the concrete particulars out of which it grows. But in explaining
Time, he has not set before himself all the concrete particulars in
their full variety and amplitude. Confining himself to Succession,
and scarcely touching Continuance, he has not been led to follow out
the facts of motion in all their diversified aspects, nor the many
abstractions and generalisations which {140} spring from comparison
of motions with each other, under some one of these aspects.
[Footnote a: Aristotle's definition of Time was much discussed by
his contemporaries and successors. Both his pupils, Theophrastus and
Eudemus, accepted it: but there were many objectors, and the
earliest of them notified to us is, Straton of Lampsakus, pupil and
successor of Theophrastus. Straton objected on the ground that the
definition combined Number and Motion--Discrete Quantity and
Continual Quantity--which combination he held to be inadmissible.
But this seems no valid objection. Aristotle very properly
recognises the two as distinct varieties of Quanta--(see Categor.
p. 4, b. 20): but that is no reason why both of them may not be
combined in the same complex idea--especially when we see that each
of them has its distinct root in different original presentations of
our discriminative consciousness.
See Simplikius ad Aristot. Physic. IV. Scholia, p. 394, b. 27--47.
Brandis.]
In a note to this chapter of the Analysis (p. 129) attention is
called by Mr. James Mill to another important doctrine cited by
Harris out of Aristotle--to the relative nature of Time. Can there
be any time, apart from the percipient mind? asks Aristotle--since
time is the numerable element in motion, and there can be no
numeration without a rational mind to number.[b] He does not affirm
positively, but he speaks as conceiving number and the numbering
mind to be Relatum and Correlatum, so that the former cannot exist
without the latter.[c] Both Alexander of Aphrodisias and Themistius
thought so likewise after him: though Boëthius and other
commentators dissented from the opinion.[d] Upon this general
question of relativity, Aristotle is not always consistent with
himself. Though he declares explicitly, that Relata reciprocate in
predication, and are implicated each with the other--and though he
says that "the Soul is in a certain sense all things" (_i.e._ is the
implied correlate of all our beliefs and disbeliefs, affirmations
and negations)--yet in other places, he limits this {141} universal
principal by exceptions, which some of his commentators deprecate as
inadmissible.[e]--_G._
[Footnote b: Aristot. Physica. IV. 14, p. 223, a. 26.]
[Footnote c: So also Hobbes' First Philosophy, Part II. 7, 3,
5:--"Seeing all men confess a year to be time, and yet do not think
a year to be the accident or affection of any body, they must needs
confess it to be, not in the things without us, but only in the
thought of the mind." (Here Hobbes goes too far, divesting time of
all objective character; instead of considering it as relative to
the mind, which implies a subjective and an objective aspect
combined. The next passage exhibits this.) "Time is the phantasm of
before and after in motion: which agrees with the definition of
Aristotle. Time is the number of motion according to former and
latter--for that numbering is an act of the mind. To divide Space or
Time, is nothing else but to consider one and another within the
same--division is not made by the operation of the hands, but of the
mind."]
[Footnote d: Themistius ad Aristot. Physic. IV. p. 337, in Spengel's
edition of Themistius--partly extracted by Brandis in Scholia to
Aristotle, p. 393, b. 27.]
[Footnote e: Aristot. Categor., c. 7, p. 6, a. 37, b. 28; p. 7,
b. 23. Scholia ad Categor., p. 65, b. 10--20. Brandis.
Aristot. de Animâ, III., 8, 431, b. 21, [Greek: ê( psuchê\ ta\
o)/nta pô/s e)sti pa/nta; ê)\ ga\r ai)sthêta\ ta\ o)/nta ê)\ noêta\,
e)/sti d' ê( e)pistê/mê me\n ta\ e)pistêta/ pôs, ê( d' ai)/sthêsis
ta\ ai)sthêta/].]]
{142} SECTION VI.
MOTION.
It is necessary to take notice of this term, because the idea which
is named by it is apt to present the appearance of something
mysterious, though, after the expositions with which we are now
familiar, the materials of which it is compounded, will not be
difficult to find.
The word Motion, is the abstract of Moving. What we have to
investigate, therefore, are the sensations, on account of which, we
call a body "moving;" motion being merely moving, the connotation
dropped.
All motion is in a Line, either a straight line, or some other line.
The idea of "moving," therefore, contains, for one ingredient, the
idea of a line.
A body "moving," is a body which is successively at every point of a
line. Every point of a line, as we have seen, is a particular
position. A body "moving," therefore, is a body first in one
position, then in another, then in another, through a certain
series.
In the idea of a Body moving, then, we can enumerate the following
particulars: the idea of a body, the idea of a position, the idea of
a line, the idea of succession. These are all complex ideas; some of
them highly complex; united into one idea, motion, they compose one
of the most complex of all our {143} ideas. The ingredients,
however, being already explained, there can be no great difficulty
in understanding the compound.
It is commonly said, that motion includes the idea both of Space,
and of Time. As it includes the idea of Succession, it includes the
idea of Time, successions in the abstract (otherwise called
instants), without end, receiving the name of Time. As it includes
the idea of a Line, it includes the idea of extension in one
direction. As it includes the idea of Position, which is that of
lines, in every direction, it includes the idea of extension in
every direction; but extension in every direction, taken abstractly,
is Space.
It is important to observe, that, though we receive, and that the
most frequently, information of motions by the eye, it is not from
the sensations of sight, that the idea of motion is derived. It is
by association of ideas alone, that we fancy we see motion, as it is
thence we fancy that we see figure, and distance. The classes of
sensations, from which we derive the idea of motion, and the idea of
extension, are the same; they are the muscular and tactual
sensations. The man born blind, is not without the idea of motion,
as he is without that of colour; on the contrary, he has the idea
probably much more precise, than we who have entangled it
inextricably with the perceptions of sight.
To recur to the exposition which we have already given; we may
remember, that the sensations (taking the simplest case), on account
of which we apply the name Line, are partly sensations of Touch,
partly sensations of Muscular Action. If we touch a line at one
point with any part of our bodies, say the finger; so long as the
finger is still, we have merely the {144} sensations, on account of
which we call the line tangible. As soon as we move the finger along
the line, we have the sensations and ideas, on account of which we
call it extended. But these new feelings, on account of which we
call the line extended, are also the feelings, on account of which
we call the finger moved. The sensations, therefore, whence we
derive our ideas of extension, and of motion, exist simultaneously.
We have a certain compound of feelings, partly sensations, and
partly ideas; for we have already seen, that the perception of
succession consists in a present sensation, associated with the idea
of a past one; and we assign to this compound, not one name, as on
other occasions, but two names, after a very peculiar and remarkable
manner. These two names are, Line Extended, Finger Moved. The
complication of the feelings here, and of course the obscurity of
them, is very remarkable; though the naming, as in certain other
cases of obscure ideas, is very distinct. We are never misled in the
application of the terms, Line Extended, Finger moved; though we may
be very much puzzled to shew, of the compound of feelings which are
thus named, and which, in the compound, are easily, and infallibly
traced, how much is included under the one term, and how much under
the other. A certain portion of the sensations in the compound is
peculiar to what is called the Line, another portion is peculiar to
what is called the Finger. The rest is common to both. The common
part, united to what is peculiar to line, is called line extended;
the same common part, united with what is peculiar to finger, is
called Finger moved.
Our ideas of extension and motion, are, no doubt, {145} originally
derived from the action of our own bodies. I touch something, and
have the sensation of resistance. The idea of resistance is the
fundamental part in every combination to which I give the name of
object. In this case, there is the object touched, and there is the
finger touching. A certain action is given to my finger, still
touching the object. That action involves certain feelings; these
I combine both with the object, and with the finger, and to these
two combinations I give the two names, Object Extended, Finger Moved.
If any one shut his eyes, excluding as much as possible, the ideas
of sight, and conceiving, without admixture, the feelings in the
finger and the arm, while the finger passes along a line, he will
get some notion of the series of antecedents and consequents, whence
the idea of Motion is derived. They are feelings, which language
does not enable us to communicate by words; but it does not seem
very difficult for any man to raise the ideas of them in himself.
Let any one suppose, that the line commences opposite to the centre
of his body. He begins by touching it at that point with the finger
of his right hand; and in this there is one state of feeling. He
gives the finger the smallest perceptible motion towards the right:
this is another state of feeling. He gives it a further motion, the
smallest perceptible, in the same direction: this is another state
of feeling; and so on, as far as the arm can reach. The antecedent
states are in each instance united with the present by memory, and
by the amount of the states, thus united, the amount of the motion
is computed.
Conceiving the case of a man born blind, the more {146} easily to
exclude the illusions of association; it is obvious, that such a man
can obtain the idea of another body in motion, only by accompanying
it with his hand; or by associating the ideas, on account of which
he calls the hand, moved, with the body in question. By frequent
operations of the hand, such as that described above, he becomes
familiar with the idea of the hand moved. The ideas of the
sensations, on account of which, he calls it moved, are easily
raised, easily form themselves into combination, and easily
associate themselves with the object, Hand. The idea of Hand, and
the idea of Hand moved, having become very familiar, it is an easy
case of association to transfer the term _moved_ to other things, as
the foot moved, the body moved, the stone moved. When he has become
familiar with the application of Moved, as a connotative term, to
various objects, it is easy, in this, as in other cases, to drop the
connotation; and then he has the abstract, MOTION.[31] [32]
[Bain's footnote 31: The author correctly, in my opinion, refers to
our muscular sensibility (aided by Touch), the fundamental notions
of Resistance, Motion, Extension, Space. He also remarks properly,
that the idea of motion and the idea of extension are the same; they
are merely different modes of viewing one experience. In a mutually
involved series of properties such as these, the Analysis may
proceed in several different arrangements, no one being apparently
very decisive. The following mode is suggested as on the whole, the
most consecutive.
The feeling of Resistance expresses what is probably the most
fundamental state of all, the consciousness of muscular energy or
expended force. Taking the case of a dead strain, or a pressure
without movement, we have mere muscular energy and nothing else. We
have an indivisible, unanalysable, mode {147} of consciousness,
distinct from all modes of passive sensation, and from all forms of
emotion. It is a kind of consciousness remarkably constant in its
character; it varies in degree, but with this peculiarity that
because a man is physically weaker than usual, he does not on that
account exaggerate or misrepresent the degree of his muscular
expenditure; the feeling of lifting two pounds is not made the same
as the feeling of lifting four pounds, although in some of the
incidents of exertion, as in the organic state of exhaustion, the
smaller expenditure in one state is held to be equal to the greater
expenditure in another state. The consciousness of putting forth
power is the most uniform, the least variable, of all our
sensibilities; the same amount of actual force expended is estimated
as nearly the same under all circumstances.
In being conscious of expended energy, we discriminate its degrees,
within certain limits; we know when we increase or diminish the
amount; and our sensibility is measured by the smallness of the
difference that makes a change in our consciousness. This
discrimination is the basis of our estimate of the property termed
Force, Resistance, Momentum, in moving bodies. Our idea of force is
a muscular idea, an idea of muscular force of a certain amount.
Force may be viewed in other ways, or from other aspects, but its
direct and simple estimate is muscular energy in the dead strain.
2. We are farther conscious of muscular energy as more or less
enduring or continuing. Our consciousness varies according as a
strain is protracted; a weight supported half a minute gives a
feeling different from a weight supported a quarter of a minute.
Farther, it is important to remark that increase of continuance is
not confounded with increase of force in the same time. Mechanically
speaking, it is the same to us, whether we support two pounds one
minute, or one pound two minutes; the energy gone out of us, the
oxidation, or consumption of material, must be the same for both.
But the consciousness is not the same for both; each has a character
of its own, and we recognise the distinction in clear consciousness.
If we {148} confounded all modes of expended energy that are
dynamically equal, we should be disqualified from attaining the
ideas of motion and extension.
When energy is accompanied by _movement_, there is a new and
characteristic mode of consciousness, of vital importance. Energy in
the dead strain and energy with motion may be equal as regard
expended force, but they are not the same to our feelings.
Continuance in the one is a different fact from continuance in the
other. The feeling of continuance in moving energy is the fact that
we call motion; and also the fundamental property, the starting
point, with reference to Extension; although much more is wanted to
complete that cognition. Mere dead strain would not amount to
extension; and the discriminating of dead strain from moving strain
is thus of essential moment. From the sense of this distinction, and
the estimate of degree of continuance in movement, we begin at once
the experience of motion and the ground-work of extension.
The consciousness of continuance whether of dead strain or of
movement is also a consciousness of duration, but not the only mode
of becoming versed in this property. All our mental states,--whether
muscular feelings, sensations, emotions, thoughts, volitions,--are
different as they are more or less continued, and this consciousness
of difference is a consciousness of Duration or Time. Hence the
usual saying that Time is a property common to the Object and to the
subject. The object experiences of motion and extension are the most
convenient modes of measuring time, they are the most accurate and
discriminative, but they are not the only nor the chief concrete
embodiments of it. We often measure time by the duration and
succession of our feelings and thoughts.
3. Another mode of discrimination inhering in our muscular
consciousness is the degree of movement, as slow or quick. We are
differently affected according to the rapidity of our movements; an
accelerated pace in the arm, or in the whole body, sensibly alters
our feelings. Farther, we do not compound this alteration with its
dynamical equivalents in the {149} other modes--with increase in the
amount of the dead strain, in the continuance of the dead strain, or
in the continuance of movement. A characteristic mode of feeling
attends this special form of augmenting or reducing our expenditure
of force. The consequence is, a feeling of velocity or speed of
movement. But this feeling of speed is not all. We gain another
equivalent of degrees of extension; more speed in the same time
being equal to more time with the same speed. It is proper to
remark, however, that we are premature in speaking of extension, or
in regarding it as arrived at, at once by our primary experiences of
movement; much has to be gone through before this is fully formed or
developed. Motion is the fundamental fact, but motion is a fact of
succession, and can do nothing to suggest a group of contemporaneous
phenomena, an outspread universe of the co-existing in time. Our
primary sensibility is a mere thread of succession, duration, or
continuance; we have to acquire by a process of aggregation and
association, the highly artificial experience of things permanently
situated in a relationship of co-existence in space or extension.
It is at this point that Sensation comes to our aid. Passive
sensation by itself is incompetent to give us the foundations of
extension; through it, we have neither resistance nor movement, nor
any fact partaking in what is essential to the extended or object
universe. Mere warmth, odour, relish, touch, sound, colour, contain
no elements of extension. The co-operation with moving energy is
what introduces us to the object world.
How then does Sensation aid muscularity in evolving Extension? In
various ways, but chiefly thus. Our movements are not performed in
vacuo, but in conjunction with sensation. The movements of the hand
and arm, are usually conjoined with sensations of touch. We draw the
hand across a table; there is an arm sensibility, purely motor or
energetic, which is distinct from every mode of passive sensation.
There accompanies it, however, a series of tactile sensations,
making a united experience, active and passive. If this conjunction
{150} were to happen but once, nothing would be thought of it
farther than as a mere experience of succession. Again, in another
situation the sweep of the movement ends in a contact or sensation
of touch, or begins in the loss of such a contact. So far, these are
mere casual conjunctions, unions of moving energy and passive
sensibility. But in the course of many trials, there arise uniform
conjunctions of movement with passive sensibility: the same movement
being associated with the same tactile series, or with the same
beginning or ending of tactile sensation. Take the case of the
movement of the hand over the surface of our own body. A certain
definite start, and definite amount of exertion brings with it a
uniform tactile sensation, as in drawing the hand over the face.
This uniformity generates an expectation that the same sensation
will follow on the same definite energy. Many such conjunctions are
formed in this manner. There is an interesting variety of the
experience of such concurrences; namely, when we reverse a movement,
and find a series of sensations identified as the same in an
inverted order. The hand passed along the side of a knife,
experiences movement coupled with sensations, as often as the
movement is made; the inverted movement inverts the sensations.
The supposition, hitherto, has been confined to Touch. When we take
in sight, the scope for the operation is greatly enlarged. Almost
all our movements are conjoined with optical changes--sensations of
colour and of visible form in a certain sequence. We speedily detect
a number of uniform occurrences of movement and visible sensation.
The same movement gives the same series of appearances at all times;
and an inverted movement corresponds with an inverted order. Here
too we attain to a number of uniformities of coincidence, with the
expectation of future occurrence. A certain movement of the eyes is
accompanied with an optical series, as scanning the starry heavens;
as often as the movement is repeated from the same stand-point, the
optical series is repeated; the inverted movement gives the inverted
series. We {151} contract an expectation, that such a coincidence
will occur in the future, and this expectation is our idea of the
starry space.
Our idea of extended things is thus completed by sensation. It is a
series of conjunctions, or associations, of movements and
sensations, in a fixed order. We do not in our idea of space,
command an entire view at one glance; the successive perception of
points or limited portions is what we begin with, and is the
character of the mind's working even after we are educated to the
utmost. The co-existing in space, is the mind's potentiality of
finding definite sensations by means of definite movements; and it
seems impossible to assign any other meaning or import to the
phenomena. The genesis of the idea of space determines our mode of
settling the great question of the Perception of a material
world.--_B._]
[Editor's footnote 32: It will be both useful and interesting to the
inquiring reader, if I add to the analysis of these very complex
ideas by the author of the present treatise, and to that by Mr.
Bain, the analysis given of them by the other great living master of
the Association psychology, Mr. Herbert Spencer. The following
passages are from his "Principles of Psychology." First, of
Resistance:
"On raising the arm to a horizontal position and keeping it so, and
still more on dealing similarly with the leg, a sensation is felt,
which, tolerably strong as it is at the outset, presently becomes
unbearable. If the limb be uncovered, and be not brought against
anything, this sensation is associated with no other, either of
touch or pressure." This is the sensation of Muscular Tension.
"Allied to the sensation accompanying tension of the muscles, is
that accompanying the act of contracting them--the sensation of
muscular motion. . . . While, from the muscles of a limb at rest, no
sensation rises; while, from the muscles of a limb in a state of
continuous strain, there arises a continuous sensation which remains
uniform for a considerable time; from the muscle of a limb in
motion, there arises a sensation which is {152} ever undergoing
increase or decrease, or change of composition.
"When we express our immediate experiences of a body by saying that
it is _hard_, what are the experiences implied? First, a sensation
of pressure, of considerable intensity, is implied; and if, as in
most cases, this sensation of pressure is given to a finger
voluntarily thrust against the object, then there is simultaneously
felt a correspondingly strong sensation of muscular tension. But
this is not all: for feelings of pressure and muscular tension may
be given by bodies which we call soft, provided the compressing
finger follows the surface as fast as it gives way. In what then
consists the difference between the perceptions? In this; that
whereas when a soft body is pressed with increasing force, the
synchronous sensations of increasing pressure and increasing
muscular tension are accompanied by sensations of muscular movement;
when a hard body is pressed with increasing force these sensations
of increasing pressure and tension are not accompanied by sensations
of muscular movement. Considered by itself, then, the perception of
softness may be defined as the establishment in consciousness of a
relation of simultaneity between three series of sensations--a
series of increasing sensations of pressure; a series of increasing
sensations of tension; and a series of sensations of motion. And the
perception of hardness is the same, with omission of the last
series." (pp. 212, 218.)
Of Extension; and first, of Form or Figure:
"It is an anciently established doctrine that Form or Figure, which
we may call the most complex mode of extension, is resolvable into
relative magnitude of parts. An equilateral triangle is one of which
the three sides are alike in magnitude. An ellipse is a symmetrical
closed curve, of which the transverse and conjugate diameters are
one greater than the other. A cube is a solid, having all its
surfaces of the same magnitude, and all its angles of the same
magnitude. A cone is a solid, successive sections of which, made at
right angles to the axis, are circles regularly decreasing in {153}
magnitude as we progress from base to apex. Any object described as
narrow is one whoso breadth is of small magnitude when compared with
its length. A symmetrical figure is a figure in which the homologous
parts on opposite sides are equal in magnitude. Figures which we
class as similar to each other, are such that the relation of
magnitude between any two parts of the one, is equal to the relation
of magnitude between the corresponding parts of the other. Add to
which, that an alteration in the form of anything, is an alteration
in the comparative sizes of some of its parts--a change in the
relations of magnitude subsisting between them and the other parts,
and that by continuously altering the relative magnitudes of its
parts, any figure may be changed indefinitely. Hence, figure being
wholly resolvable into relations of magnitude we may go on to
analyze that out of which these relations are formed--magnitude
itself." (pp. 224, 225.)
Next therefore, of Magnitude:
"What is a magnitude, considered analytically? The reply is, It
consists of one or more relations of position. When we conceive
anything as having a certain bulk, we conceive its opposite limiting
surfaces as more or less removed from each other; that is, as
related in position. When we imagine a line of definite length, we
imagine its termini as occupying points in space having some
positive distance from each other; that is, as related in position.
As a solid is decomposable into planes; a plane into lines; lines
into points; and as adjacent points can neither be known nor
conceived as distinct from each other, except as occupying different
places in space--that is, as occupying not the same position, but
relative positions--it follows that every cognition of magnitude, is
a cognition of one or more relations of position, which are
presented to consciousness as like or unlike one or more other
relations of position." (p. 226.)
And finally, of Position:
"This analysis of itself brings us to the remaining space-attribute
of body--Position. Like magnitude, Position cannot be known
absolutely; but can be known only relatively. {154} The notion of
position is, in itself, the notion of relative position. The
position of a thing is inconceivable, save by thinking of that thing
as at some distance from one or more other things. The essential
element of the idea will be best seen, on observing under what
conditions only, it can come into existence. Imagine a solitary
point A, in infinite space; and suppose it possible for that point
to be known by a being having no locality, what now can be
predicated respecting its place? Absolutely nothing. Imagine another
point B to be added. What can now be predicated respecting the two?
Still nothing. The points having no attributes save position, are
not comparable in themselves; and nothing can be said of their
relative position, from lack of anything with which to compare it.
The distance between them may be either infinite or infinitesimal,
according to the measure used; and as, by the hypothesis, there
exists no measure--as space contains nothing save these two points;
the distance between them is unthinkable. But now imagine that a
third point C is added. Immediately it becomes possible to frame a
proposition respecting their positions. The two distances, A to B,
and A to C, serve as measures to each other. The space between A and
B may be compared with the space between A and C; and the relation
of position in which A stands to B becomes thinkable, as like or
unlike the relation in which A stands to C. Thus, then, it is
manifest that position is not an attribute of body in itself, but
only in its connection with the other contents of the universe.
"It remains to add, that relations of position are of two kinds:
those which subsist between subject and object; and those which
subsist between either different objects, or different parts of the
same object. Of these the last are resolvable into the first. It
needs but to remember, on the one hand, that in the dark a man can
discover the relative positions of two objects only by touching
first one and then the other, and so inferring their relative
positions from his own position towards each; and on the other hand,
that by vision no knowledge of their relative positions can be {155}
reached save through a perception of the distance of each from the
eye; to see that ultimately all relative positions may be decomposed
into relative positions of subject and object.
"These conclusions--that Figure is resolvable into relative
magnitudes; that magnitude is resolvable into relative positions;
and that all relative positions may finally be reduced to positions
of subject and object--will be fully confirmed on considering the
process by which the space-attributes of body become known to a
blind man. He puts out his hand and touching something, thereby
becomes cognizant of its position with respect to himself. He puts
out his other hand, and meeting no resistance above or on one side
of the position already found, gains some negative knowledge of the
thing's magnitude--a knowledge which three or four touches on
different sides of it serve to render positive. And then, by
continuing to move his hands over its surface, he acquires a notion
of its figure. What, then, are the elements out of which, by
synthesis, his perceptions of magnitude and figure are framed? He
has received nothing but simultaneous and successive touches. Each
touch established a relation of position between his centre of
consciousness and the point touched. And all he can know respecting
magnitude and figure--that is, respecting the relative position of
these points to each other--is necessarily known through the
relative positions in which they severally stand to himself.
"Our perceptions of all the space-attributes of body being thus
decomposable into perceptions of position like that gained by a
single act of touch; we have next to inquire what is contained in a
perception of this kind. A little thought will make it clear that to
perceive the position of anything touched, is really to perceive the
position of that part of the body in which the sensation of touch is
located. Whence it follows that our knowledge of the positions of
objects, is built upon our knowledge of the positions of our members
towards each other--knowledge both of their fixed relations, and of
those temporary relations they are placed in by every change of
muscular adjustment. That {156} this knowledge is gained by a mutual
exploration of the parts--by a bringing of each in contact with the
others--by a moving over each other in all possible ways; and that
the motions involved in these explorations, are known by their
reactions upon consciousness; are propositions that scarcely need
stating. But it is manifestly impossible to carry the analysis
further without analysing our perception of motion. Relative
position and motion are two ideas of the same experience. We can
neither conceive motion without conceiving relative position, nor
discover relative position without motion. In the present,
therefore, we must be content with the conclusion that, whether
visual or tactual, the perception of every statical attribute of
body is resolvable into perceptions of relative position which are
gained through motion." (pp. 226--229.)
In further prosecution of the analysis:
"How do we become cognizant of the relative positions of two points
on the surface of the body? Such two points, considered as
coexistent, involve the germinal idea of Space. Such two points
disclosed to consciousness by two successive tactual sensations
proceeding from them, involve the germinal idea of Time. And the
series of muscular sensations by which, when self-produced, these
two tactual sensations are separated, involve the germinal idea of
Motion. The questions to be considered then are--In what order do
these germinal ideas arise? and--How are they developed?
"... Taking for our subject a newly-born infant, let us call the two
points on its body between which a relation is to be established, A
and Z. Let us assume these points to be anywhere within reach of the
hands--say upon the cheek. By the hypothesis, nothing is at present
known of these points; either as coexisting in Space, as giving
successive sensations in Time, or as being brought into relation by
Motion. If, now, the infant moves its arm in such a way as to touch
nothing, there is a certain vague reaction upon its consciousness--a
sensation of muscular tension. This {157} sensation has the
peculiarity of being indefinite in all its commencement; indefinite
in its termination; and indefinite in all its intermediate changes.
Its strength is proportionate to the degree of muscular contraction.
Whence it follows that as the limb starts from a state of rest, in
which there is no contraction; and as it can reach a position
requiring extreme contraction only by passing through positions
requiring intermediate degrees of contraction; and as the degrees of
contraction must therefore form a series ascending by infinitesimal
increments from zero; the sensations of tension must also form such
a series. And the like must be the case with all subsequent
movements and their accompanying sensations; seeing that, be it at
rest or in action, a muscle cannot pass from any one state to any
other without going through all the intermediate states. Thus, then,
the infant, on moving its arm backwards and forwards without
touching anything, is brought to what we may distinguish as a
nascent consciousness--a consciousness not definitely divisible into
states; but a consciousness the variations of which pass insensibly
into each other, like undulations of greater or less magnitude. And
while the states of consciousness are thus incipient--thus
indistinctly separated, there can be no clear comparison of them; no
thought, properly so called; and consequently no ideas of Motion,
Time, or Space, as we understand them. Suppose, now, that the hand
touches something. A sudden change in consciousness is produced--a
change that is incisive in its commencement, and, when the hand is
removed, equally incisive in its termination. In the midst of the
continuous feeling of muscular tension, vaguely rising and falling
in intensity, there all at once occurs a distinct feeling of another
kind. This feeling, beginning and ending abruptly, constitutes a
definite state of consciousness; becomes, as it were, a mark in
consciousness. By similar experiences other such marks are produced;
and in proportion as they are multiplied, there arises a possibility
of comparing them, both in respect to their degrees and their
relative positions; while at the same {158} time, the feelings of
muscular tension being, as it were, divided out into lengths by
these superposed marks, become similarly comparable; and so there
are acquired materials for a simple order of thought. Observe, also,
that while these tactual sensations may, when several things are
touched in succession, produce successive marks in consciousness,
separated by intervening muscular sensations, they may also become
continually coexistent with these muscular sensations; as when the
finger is drawn along a surface. And observe further, that when the
surface over which the finger is drawn is not a foreign body, but
some part of the subject's body, these muscular sensations, and the
continuous tactual sensation joined with them, are accompanied by a
series of tactual sensations proceeding from that part of the skin
over which the finger is drawn. Thus, then, when the infant moves
its finger along the surface of its body from A to Z, there are
simultaneously impressed upon consciousness three sets of
sensations--the varying series of sensations proceeding from the
muscles in action; the series of tactual sensations proceeding from
the points of the skin successively touched between A and Z; and the
continuous sensation of touch from the finger-end.... As subsequent
motions of the finger over the surface from A to Z always result in
the like simultaneous sets of sensations, these, in course of time,
become indissolubly associated. Though the series of tactual
sensations, A to Z, being producible by a foreign body moving over
the same surface, can be dissociated from the others; and though, if
the cheek be withdrawn by a movement of the head, the same motion of
the hand, with its accompanying muscular sensations, may occur
without any sensation of touch; yet, when these two series are
linked by the tactual sensation proceeding from the finger-end, they
necessarily proceed together; and become inseparably connected in
thought. Whence it obviously results that the series of tactual
sensations A to Z, and the series of muscular sensations which
invariably accompanies it when self-produced, serve as mutual
equivalents; and being {159} two sides of the same experience,
suggest each other in consciousness.
"Due attention having been paid to this fact, let us go on to
consider what must happen when something touches, at the same
moment, the entire surface between A and Z. This surface is supplied
by a series of independent nerve-fibres, each of which at its
peripheral termination becomes fused into, or continuous with, the
surrounding tissue; each of which is affected by impressions falling
within a specific area of the skin; and each of which produces a
separate state of consciousness. When the finger is drawn along this
surface these nerve-fibres A, B, C, D . . . Z, are excited in
succession; that is--produce successive states of consciousness. And
when something covers, at the same moment, the whole surface between
A and Z, they are excited simultaneously; and produce what tends to
become a single state of consciousness. Already I have endeavoured
to shew in a parallel case, how, when impressions first known as
having sequent positions in consciousness are afterwards
simultaneously presented to consciousness, the sequent positions are
transformed into coexistent positions, which, when consolidated by
frequent presentations, are used in thought as equivalent to the
sequent positions.[f] ... As the series of tactual {160} impressions
A to Z, known as having sequent positions in consciousness, are, on
the one hand, found to be equivalent to the accompanying series of
muscular impressions; and on the other hand, to the simultaneous
tactual impressions A to Z, which, as presented together, are
necessarily presented in coexistent positions; it follows that these
two last are found to be the equivalents of each other. A series of
muscular sensations becomes known as equivalent to a series of
coexistent positions; and being habitually joined with it, becomes
at last unthinkable without it. Thus, the relation of coexistent
positions between the points A and Z (and by implication all
intermediate points) is necessarily disclosed by a comparison of
experiences: the ideas of Space, Time, and Motion, are evolved
together. When the successive states of consciousness A to Z, are
thought of as having relative positions, the notion of Time becomes
nascent. When these states of consciousness, instead of occurring
serially, occur simultaneously, their relative positions, which were
before sequent, necessarily become coexistent; and there arises a
nascent consciousness of space. And when these two relations of
coexistent and sequent positions are both presented to consciousness
along with a series of sensations of muscular tension, a nascent
idea of Motion results.
[Footnote f: "Objects laid upon the surface will come to be
distinguished from each other by the relative lengths of the series
they cover; or, when broad as well as long, by the groups of series
which they cover. . . . By habit these simultaneous excitations,
from being at first known indirectly by translation into the serial
ones, will come to be known directly, and the serial ones will be
forgotten: just as in childhood the words of a new language, at
first understood by means of their equivalents in the mother tongue,
are presently understood by themselves; and if used to the exclusion
of the mother tongue, lead to the ultimate loss of it." We see that
"a set of [nervous] elements may be excited simultaneously as well
as serially; that so, a _quasi_ single state of consciousness
becomes the equivalent of a series of states; that a relation
between what we call coexistent positions thus represents a relation
of successive positions, and that this symbolic relation being far
briefer, is habitually thought of in place of that it symbolizes;
and that, by the continued use of such symbols, and the union of
them with more complex ones, are generated our ideas of . . .
extension--ideas which, like those of the algebraist working out an
equation, are wholly unlike the ideas symbolized, and which yet,
like his, occupy the mind to the entire exclusion of the ideas
symbolized."--(pp. 222--224.)]
"The development of these nascent ideas, arising as it does from a
still further accumulation and comparison of experiences, will be
readily understood. What has been above described as taking place
with respect to one relation of coexistent positions upon the
surface of the skin--or rather, one {161} linear series of such
coexisting positions, is, during the same period, taking place, with
respect to endless other such linear series, in all directions over
the body. The like equivalence between a series of coexistent
impressions of touch, a series of successive impressions of touch,
and series of successive muscular impressions, is being established
between every pair of points that can readily be brought into
relation by movement of the hands. Let us glance at the chief
consequences that must ultimately arise from this organization of
experiences.
"Not only must there gradually be established a connection in
thought between each particular muscular series, and the particular
tactual series, both successive and simultaneous, with which it is
associated; and not only must there, by implication, arise a
knowledge of the special muscular adjustments required to touch each
special part, but, by the same experiences, there must be
established an indissoluble connection between muscular series in
general and series of sequent and coexistent positions in general,
seeing that this connection is repeated in every one of the
particular experiences. And when we consider the infinite repetition
of these experiences, we shall have no difficulty in understanding
how their components become so consolidated, that even when the hand
is moved through empty space, it is impossible to become conscious
of the muscular sensations, without becoming conscious of the
sequent and coexistent positions--the Time and Space, in which it
has moved.
"Observe again, that as, by this continuous exploration of the
surface of the body, each point is put in relation not only with
points in some directions around it, but with points in all
directions--becomes, as it were, a centre from which radiate lines
of points known first in their serial positions before
consciousness, and afterwards in their coexistent positions--it
follows, that when an object of some size, as the hand, is placed
upon the skin, the impressions from all parts of the area covered
being simultaneously presented to consciousness, are placed in
coexistent positions before {162} consciousness: whence results an
idea of the superficial extension of that part of the body. The idea
of this extension is really nothing more than a simultaneous
presentation of all the impressions proceeding from the various
points it includes, which have previously had their several relative
positions measured by means of the series of impressions separating
them. Any one who hesitates respecting this conclusion, will,
I think, adopt it, on critically considering the perception he has
when placing his open hand against his cheek--on observing that the
perception is by no means single, but is made up of many elements
which he cannot think of altogether--on observing that there is
always one particular part of the whole surface touched, of which he
is more distinctly conscious than of any other--and on observing
that to become distinctly conscious of any other part, he has to
traverse in thought the intervening parts; that is, he has to think
of the relative positions of these parts by vaguely recalling the
series of states of consciousness which a motion over the skin from
one to the other would involve." (pp. 257--263).
These three different expositions of the origin of our ideas of
Motion and Extension, by three eminent thinkers, agreeing in
essentials, and differing chiefly in the comparative degrees of
development which they give to different portions of the detail,
will enable any competent reader of such a work as the present to
fill up any gaps by his own thoughts. Many pages of additional
commentary might easily be written; but they would not add any
important thought to those of which the reader is now in possession;
and belonging rather to the polemics of the subject than to its
strictly scientific exposition, they would jar somewhat with the
purely expository character of the present treatise.
I will only further recommend to particular attention, the opinion
of Mr. Spencer, also adopted by Mr. Bain, that our ascribing
simultaneous existence to things which excite successive sensations,
is greatly owing to our being able to vary or reverse the order of
the succession. When we pass our hands {163} over an object, we can
have the tactual and muscular sensations in many different orders,
and after having them in one order, can have them in another exactly
the reverse. They do not, therefore, become associated with each
other in a fixed order of succession, but are called up in any order
with such extreme rapidity, that the impression they leave is that
of simultaneousness, and we therefore hold the parts of tangible
objects to be simultaneous.--_Ed._]
{164} SECTION VII.
IDENTITY.
There is one other term, which still requires explanation; and that
is, IDENTITY, about which there would not have appeared any
difficulty, had it not been for Personal Identity; which is, indeed,
a complicated case, and, of course, involves the obscurity which
great complexity implies.
We have already seen, on what account we use the marks, same, and
different, when we apply them to two simple sensations, or when we
apply them to two ideas, simple, or complex. In these cases, the
terms are relative terms, and name the objects in pairs.
There is another case, that which now it is our business to explain,
in which the name is not applied to two objects, but to the same
object, at two different times. Thus it is, that I say, The bridge
at Westminster, by which I crossed the Thames thirty years ago, is
the same by which I crossed it yesterday. The crown which was placed
on the head of George IV. at his coronation, is the same by which
the kings of England have been crowned for many centuries. The words
which we read in the Gospel of Matthew, are the same which were
written by that evangelist. The words which we read in the poem
called the Æneid are the same which were written by the poet Virgil.
The church which is now at Loretto, is the same with that which
belonged to the Virgin Mary at Nazareth, which in the month of May,
in the year 1291, was {165} carried through the air by Angels, from
Galilee to Tersato, in Dalmatia; and again on the 10th of December,
1294, about midnight, by what conveyance is not known, was set down
in a wood in Italy, in the district of Ricanati, about a thousand
paces from the sea.
It is evident, from the contemplation of these instances, which
might be multiplied to any extent, that the word SAME, in this mode
of applying it, is merely the name of a certain case of Belief: a
belief which, in some of the instances, is, memory; in some, is
grounded upon testimony; in some, upon circumstantial evidence; and,
in some, upon both testimony and circumstances. Thus, the case of
belief respecting Westminster-bridge, which I mark by the word,
same, is Memory. The cases of belief respecting the crown of
England, respecting the words of the gospel, respecting the church
of Loretto, marked respectively by the word same, are founded on
testimony, joined with circumstances.
As we have already shewn wherein Belief, in all its cases, consists,
we have implicitly afforded the exposition of Identity. From same,
the concrete, comes, in the usual way, sameness, the abstract,
dropping only the connotation of the concrete. And Identity and
Sameness are equivalent terms.
From the importance, however, which has been attached to these
words, it seems necessary to shew to the learner, somewhat more
particularly, the mode of tracing the simple ideas composing the
clusters which they are employed to mark.
The Lily, when it produces its brilliant flower in summer, I call
the same, with the plant which began {166} to shew itself above the
surface of the ground, in spring, from a bulb, which I had planted
in a particular spot of my garden. I also called it the same, from
one day to another, though changing every day in its size, and other
appearances, from its germination to the present time. For what
reason have I done so? On account of certain circumstances, which
every body can enumerate; its rising from a certain root; the
uninterrupted continuity, by means of the stalk, between the root
and the other parts of the plant; its being always found in the same
place, that is, in the same synchronous order with certain other
things; its corresponding with other plants, the growth of which
I have observed, and so on. If it had grown in a flower pot, and
been transferred from one to another, the enumeration of the
circumstances would have been different; the evidence of its having
grown from the same root would have been drawn from other
circumstances. When I say, then, that the Lily I see, with its
flowers in July, is the same with the Lily just emerging from the
ground in April, I only express my belief of its having sprung from
a certain root, and of its having vegetated, in connexion with that
root, in the way of the plants grouped in the class called Lily.
I have a male Calf, of singular beauty, produced from my cow.
I observe him from day to day. From day to day I call him the Same;
and I do so when he has grown a bull of the greatest size. When I do
so, I merely express my belief in a certain train of antecedents and
consequents, with which experience has rendered me familiar. There
is a certain train of antecedents and consequents, known to me by
{167} observation, which I call the birth, growth, maturity; and, in
one word, the Life, of the animal. The birth, growth, and maturity
of one animal, is one series of successions; the birth, growth, and
maturity of another animal, is another series of successions. When
I apply the name Same, then, to any animal, I merely express my
belief, that my present sight of the animal is part of a particular
series, of which that perception is the last link.
The case, it will not be doubted, is perfectly analogous, when
I transfer the term from one of the lower animals to one of my fellow
men. The birth, infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, of a human
being, are names for different parts of a certain series of
antecedents and consequents. This series is known to me by
experience; that is, by sensation, by memory, and other cases of
association. The life of one man is one series. The life of another
man is another series. When I say, then, that a man is the same,
I merely express my belief in one of those series; belief that the
particular man, of the present instant, is the last link of such and
such a chain, and not of any other.
It is, however, to be observed, that the chain, thus believed, and
the evidence upon which it is believed, are different things; and
that this evidence is different in different cases. In the case of a
person whom I have lived with from his birth, and seen every day,
the evidence, to a great degree, is sense and memory. Sometimes the
sameness of an individual is proved in a court of justice, by
evidence, such as is applicable to any other matters of fact; by
written documents, marks on the body, articles of property found
{168} with the child, and the testimony of those whose knowledge has
been uninterrupted from one time to another.
It is not to be doubted, that when I transfer the word Same, from
another man to myself, all that I do is to express my belief in one
of those series; and the only difference in the case is, that it is
a series of which I have evidence of a very particular kind, and of
which many parts are known to me, which can be known to nobody else.
As far as memory reaches, the evidence, in regard to myself, is
memory and sensation. In the case of Evidence by memory and
sensation, we have observed a peculiarity, necessary to be
remembered, that the Evidence, and the Belief, are not different
things, but the same thing. The memory which I have of my own
existence, that is, the memory of a certain train of antecedents and
consequents, is the Belief of them; on account of which belief,
I apply to myself the term same, in the same way as I apply it to any
other of my fellow men.
But I apply the term same to myself beyond the point to which memory
reaches; as far back, in short, as to other men. This is true:
I believe, that a train of antecedents and consequents, corresponding
to that which forms the existence of other men, has also formed my
existence. Part of this train I believe, by consciousness, memory.
Part, namely, that which precedes memory, I believe on other
evidence. What that evidence is, it is not difficult to see. We
have, in the first place, the evidence of testimony; namely, that of
all the persons who knew us from our birth, to the time to which
memory extends. We have next {169} the evidence of what happens in
the existence of all other men; or that case of association which
unites inseparably the idea of like antecedents with like
consequents.
It may be said, however, that my belief in the Identity of other
men, is a very different thing from belief in my own Identity; and
that the foregoing exposition does not sufficiently account for the
difference which every one remarks between them.
The foregoing exposition, when duly attended to, will be found to
account completely for the difference. We have remarked, that the
evidence which I have for a great part of the series, in the case of
other men, and of myself, is remarkably different. In the case of
other men, it consists of observation and memory; in the case of
myself, it consists of consciousness and memory. In these several
and respective circumstances, Observation, and Consciousness, the
distinction wholly consists. The memory of a chain of facts
observed, is the evidence in the one case. The memory of a chain of
states of Consciousness, is the evidence in the other.
I doubt not that this, without further analysis, will be seen by
many of my readers to be a complete solution of the question. It
may, however, be still objected, that we resolve observation itself
into states of consciousness; and, if so, that the memory of a chain
of states of Consciousness, is the evidence in both cases.
This brings us to the very bottom of the matter. Every body
recognises, at once, that the memory of a state of consciousness,
and the memory of something {170} observed, are two distinct things;
that the memory, for example, of one of my own sensations, and the
memory of an outward fact, as of the death of my father, are
specifically different: or, to take two cases still easier perhaps
to distinguish; no one will say, that the memory of one's own pain
is any thing like the same state of consciousness with the memory of
seeing another man in pain. In the one case, the state of
consciousness remembered is the pain itself; in the other it is the
sensations of sight or hearing, which indicated to me the pain of
the other man, or called up the idea of his pain by association. In
the one case, the memory is memory of my own sensations purely; in
the other case, it is the memory of my sensations, as the evidence
only of outward things.
Each of the terms, therefore, I, Thou, He, marks a particular chain
of antecedents and consequents, terminating with the I, the Thou,
the He, of the present moment. The I, the Thou, the He, of the
present moment, is marked, by these terms, _primarily_; the
preceding links are marked, _secondarily_, that is, connoted. When
I say, "I, Thou, or He, did any thing," it is the I, the Thou, the
He, of the moment spoken of, that is specially noted. The rest of
the chain is not particularly adverted to, except when there is
particular occasion for it.
Since the I, the Thou, the He, stand for the names of three men, and
equally denote the antecedents and consequents, forming what is
familiarly called the thread of life, of each of those individuals;
how does it happen, that the idea, which is called up by the term I,
appears to be so different, from that which is {171} called up by
the term Thou, or any term denoting the vital chain of any other
man?
In what has been already stated, is found the answer. In that chain
of antecedents and consequents which I mark by the term "same man,"
two species of things are included; 1. The antecedents and
consequents which form the successive states of his body;
2. The successive states of his consciousness.
In knowing the antecedents and consequents, which form the
successive states of my own body and of that of another man, the
mode, though in some respects different, is, in so many respects,
the same, that it does not here require explanation. But the mode of
knowing the successive states of my own consciousness, and of those
of other men, is totally different; and in this consists the
peculiarity which appears to belong to the idea which I annex to the
term I, or myself. The knowledge of my own states of consciousness
is consciousness itself, for the present moment, and memory of that
consciousness for all the past. Of the states of consciousness of
other men, I have no direct knowledge. I draw my belief of them only
from signs. These signs, too, are significant only by reference to
my own states of consciousness. Certain things cognizable by my
senses, are accompanied in myself by certain states of
consciousness, single, or in trains. These objects of sense (sights,
sounds, &c.) are closely associated with the ideas of those states
of consciousness. When presented to me, therefore, as objects of
sense to other men, they excite the ideas of those states of
consciousness; and hence what I call my knowledge and belief of the
mental trains of other men. It is not necessary to go further in the
{172} analysis. It is very obvious, that two complex ideas must be
different, which are formed in these different ways; nor is any
thing more necessary to account for the difference between the idea
annexed to the pronoun I, and that annexed to the pronoun Thou.[33]
[Editor's footnote 33: The author has avoided an error in the mode
and order of the enquiry, which has greatly contributed to make the
explanations given by psychologists of Personal Identity, so
eminently unsatisfactory as they are. Psychologists have almost
always begun with the most intricate part of the question. They have
set out by enquiring, what makes me the same person to myself? when
they should first have enquired what makes me the same person to
other people? or, what makes another person the same person to me?
The author of the Analysis has done this, and he easily perceived,
that what makes me the same person to others, is precisely what
makes a house, or a mountain, the same house or mountain to them
to-day which they saw yesterday. It is the belief of an
uninterrupted continuity in the series of sensations derivable from
the house, or mountain, or man. There is not this continuity in the
actual sensations of a single observer: he has not been watching the
mountain unintermittedly since yesterday, or from a still more
distant time. But he believes, on such evidence as the case affords,
that if he had been watching, he should have seen the mountain
continuously and unchanged during the whole intervening time
(provided the other requisites of vision were present--light to see
it by, and no cloud or mist intervening): and he further believes
that any being, with organs like his own, who had looked in that
direction at any moment of the interval during which he himself was
not looking, would have seen it in the same manner as he sees it.
All this applies equally to a human object. I call the man I see
to-day the same man whom I saw yesterday, for the very reason which
makes me call the house or the mountain the same, viz., my
conviction that if my organs had been in the {173} same position
towards him all the time as they are now, and the other conditions
necessary for seeing had been present, my perception of the man
would have continued all the time without interruption.
If we now change the point of view, and ask, what makes me always
the same person to myself, we introduce, in addition to what there
was in the other case, the entire series of my own past states of
consciousness. As the author truly says, the evidence on which
I accept my own identity is that of memory. But memory reaches only a
certain way back, and for all before that period, as well as for all
subsequent to it of which I have lost the remembrance, the belief
rests on other evidence. As an example of the errors and
difficulties in which psychologists have involved themselves by
beginning with the more complex question without having considered
the simpler one, it is worth remembering that Locke makes personal
identity consist in Consciousness, which in this case means Memory;
and has been justly criticised by later thinkers for this doctrine,
as leading to the corollary, that whatever of my past actions I have
forgotten, I never performed--that my forgotten feelings were not my
feelings, but were (it must therefore be supposed) the feelings of
somebody else. Locke, however, had seen one part of the true state
of the case; which is, that to _myself_ I am only, properly
speaking, the same person, in respect of those facts of my past life
which I remember; but that I nevertheless consider myself as having
been, at the times of which I retain no remembrance, the same person
I now am, because I have satisfactory evidence that I was the same
to other people; that an uninterrupted continuity in the sensations
of sight and touch caused or which could have been caused to other
people, existed between my present self and the infant who I am told
I was, and between my present self and the person who is proved to
me to have done the acts I have myself forgotten.
These considerations remove the outer veil, or husk, as it were,
which wraps up the idea of the Ego. But after this is removed, there
remains an inner covering, which, as far as I can perceive, is
impenetrable. My personal identity consists {174} in my being the
same Ego who did, or who felt, some specific fact recalled to me by
memory. So be it: but what is Memory? It is not merely having the
idea of that fact recalled: that is but thought, or conception, or
imagination. It is, having the idea recalled along with the Belief
that the fact which it is the idea of, really happened, and moreover
happened to myself. Memory, therefore, by the very fact of its being
different from Imagination, implies an Ego who formerly experienced
the facts remembered, and who was the same Ego then as now. The
phenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the
same fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact We may,
as psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other
to it. We may, in treating of Memory, say (as the author says) that
it is the idea of a past sensation associated with the idea of
myself as having it. Or we may say, in treating of Identity, (as the
author also says), that the meaning of Self is the memory of certain
past sensations. But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it
must be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that
the two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having
ascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the
same person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of
stating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to
resolve into anything more elementary.
In analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to
something ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which
have a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, the
common element in all cases of Belief, namely, the difference
between a fact, and the thought of that fact: a distinction which we
are able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory,
and in the future, when it constitutes Expectation; but in neither
case can we give any account of it except that it exists; an
inability which is admitted in the most elementary case of the
distinction, viz. the difference between a present sensation and an
idea. Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief
{175} in the reality of a past event, or in other words, the belief
that the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation, or
combination of sensations, corresponding to it, there is the further
conviction that this sensation or combination of sensations was my
own; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a
long and uninterrupted succession of past feelings going as far back
as memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the
present moment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie,
that distinguishes them not only from any succession or combination
in mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings
which I believe, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each
of the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me.
This succession of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is
that by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had
that series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct
knowledge, except that I had them. But there is a bond of some sort
among all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were
feelings of a person who was the same person throughout, and a
different person from those who had any of the parallel successions
of feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here,
I think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds
better than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the
analysis can be carried further.--_Ed._]
{176} CHAPTER XV.
REFLECTION.
SO much use has been made of the word REFLECTION, and results of so
much importance have been referred to it, that it is necessary to
shew what state of Consciousness it denotes, in all the possible
acceptations of it.
Mr. Locke defines it, "That notice which the mind takes of its own
operations."
When we have a sensation, we have already seen, on various
occasions, that the having the state of consciousness, and taking
notice of it, are not two things, but one and the same thing. When
we say that one sensation is more attended to than another, this, as
we shall see hereafter, is really tantamount to saying, that the one
is more a sensation than the other.
In like manner, when we have an idea; the having the idea, the being
conscious of the idea, knowing the idea, observing the idea, are
only different names for the same thing. They mean the being
conscious in a particular way. But the being conscious is to take
notice of the consciousness. To be conscious, and not to take
notice, is the same thing as to be {177} conscious, and not
conscious. The notice is the consciousness, and the consciousness is
the notice.
Thus far, therefore, it appears, with abundant evidence that
Reflection is nothing but Consciousness; and Consciousness is the
having the sensations and ideas. But what will be objected is, that
we not only have Ideas; but we are capable of forming the idea of
that particular state of mind which exists when we have an idea. It
requires a close examination, to discover what is really meant by
the language in which this objection is conveyed. The thing,
however, to which it imperfectly points, can be made out; though,
from the imperfection of the language which we must employ, it is
not easy to explain it, with a certainty of being understood.
When it is said, that we can not only have a particular idea, but
can form an idea of that state of mind, generally, which is called
having an idea; this can mean nothing but the distinction between
the particular and the general idea. It is affirmed, that we can not
only have this idea, and that idea, but we can have the general idea
of all ideas. This is true. But we know, by previous elucidations,
what all this means. We can have the idea not only of this man, or
that man, but we can have the idea of men in general. That is to
say, we can group all individuals of a certain description into one
class, to which class we give a name, equally applicable to every
individual; which name, accordingly, being associated equally with
individuals indefinite in number, calls up the ideas of individuals,
indefinite in number, on every application of it.
This points out a double meaning of the word Idea; from which all
the confusion of the language {178} about REFLECTION seems to have
been derived. The same word, Idea, is both the _particular_, and the
_general_ name. It cannot be disputed, that so far as regards
individual Ideas, the having an idea, and knowing it, the being in
the state of consciousness, and knowing the state of consciousness,
are one and the same thing. And, if the being in a state of
consciousness, and knowing it, does not express all that is meant by
reflecting upon it (where reflecting is not used in another sense,
as equivalent with remembering), it will remain for those who
believe there is anything more, to shew what it is.
That the general is derived from the particular, there will be no
hesitation in allowing. The fact, therefore, so imperfectly stated,
is, that, from individual states of consciousness, we rise, by
generalization, as in other cases, to the general idea which
embraces a class. General Ideas, on account of their complexity, are
all apt to appear, to persons little accustomed to examine them
closely, more or less mysterious. But general ideas, not of the
steady objects of sense, but the fleeting states of consciousness,
which we have so little under command, and for the naming of which
we are so ill provided with terms, cannot fail to appear mysterious
in a much greater degree. What we are now, therefore, contemplating
is a case of generalization, which, how certainly soever, from the
common laws of the human mind, we know that it is made, it is far
from easy distinctly to conceive. And those of my readers, who have
followed me easily in this deduction, may be satisfied they have
made no slight progress in metaphysical science.
{179} It is evident, when all this is clearly understood, that what
has been mysteriously set forth, under the name of an Idea of
REFLECTION, is simply the generalization of particular states of
consciousness; which particular states of consciousness are our
sensations and ideas.
There are various cases of this generalization, some more, some
less, extensive.
In the same manner as we generalize the having of a single idea; and
conceive, not the having of this idea, or that idea, but the having
of any idea, and all ideas; we also generalize the having two
associated ideas, and, from particulars, mount up to the general
idea of the association, or train, of ideas.
It is needless to be particular in referring to the specific cases.
We have seen what combination of ideas constitutes the case of
memory. Individual instances of memory are generalized; these
peculiar combinations are viewed as a class; hence the general idea,
and general name of the class.
The explanation is obviously the same, in other cases, as Judgment,
Reasoning, Belief, Willing. We know what is the particular case of
association on which each of these names is bestowed. We know what
is the state of consciousness, on each individual occasion of
Judging, Reasoning, and so forth. Generalization is performed. The
particular instances are viewed as composing a class. The Idea of
the class is the Idea of Reflection.[34]
[Editor's footnote 34: To reflect on any of our feelings or mental
acts is more properly identified with _attending_ to the feeling,
than, (as stated in the text) with merely having it. The author
scarcely {180} recognises this as a difference. He sometimes indeed
seems to consider attention as mental repetition; but in his chapter
on the Will, we shall find that he there identifies attending to a
feeling with merely having the feeling. I conceive, on the contrary,
(with the great majority of psychologists) that there is an
important distinction between the two things; the ignoring of which
has led the author into errors. What the distinction is, I have
endeavoured to shew in my note to the chapter on Consciousness; and
the subject will return upon us hereafter.--_Ed._]
{181} CHAPTER XVI.
THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE INTELLECTUAL AND ACTIVE POWERS OF THE
HUMAN MIND.
"It is the greatest triumph of philosophy to refer many, and
seemingly very various, phenomena, to one, or a very few, simple
principles: and the more simple and evident such a principle is,
provided it be truly applicable to all the cases in question, the
greater is its value and scientific beauty."--_Elements of Logic_,
_by Dr. Whately_, p. 32.
THE Phenomena of Thought have long appeared to be divisible into two
great classes; which were distinguished by the names, the one of the
Intellectual, the other of the Active, Powers of the Human Mind. In
the phenomena which compose the first of those classes, and which we
have now pretty completely surveyed, the sensations and ideas are
considered merely as existing. In the phenomena which compose the
second of the two classes, the sensations and ideas are to be
considered as not merely existing, but also as exciting to
action.[35]
[Bain's footnote 35: Instead of "The phenomena of _Thought_,"
substitute the phenomena of Mind, the Subject, or the Subject
Consciousness. The use of the word "Thought" seems to justify an
opinion held by Hamilton and by the German philosophers, that
thought, or the cognitive function is the basis of mind, instead of
being co-ordinate with the other leading functions (Feeling and
Will.) There is no evidence elsewhere that the author shares this
opinion.
The defectiveness of the two-fold classification of the mind, which
seems to have descended from Aristotle, and is only in the present
generation supplanted by an explicitly worked-out triple division,
is especially apparent in the handling of all the succeeding
chapters of the present work. The Will, or the activity of the
system, is spoken of as set on indiscriminately by "sensations and
ideas;" which, as will be seen, is to mix together a number of
entirely distinct processes.
There is no adequate separation of the emotional part of a
Sensation, from its intellectual or knowledge-giving part. The same
confusion extends to the word "idea," which, without premonition, is
employed for the memory of pleasures and pains, and for the memory
of sensations of the intellectual or knowledge-giving kind. There
is, as might be expected, an insufficient treatment of the special
forms of Emotion; there being no basis laid for their exhaustive or
natural classification.--_B._]
{182} With respect to the sensations and ideas which compose the
phenomena of the first class, we have observed, that they are apt to
be formed into clusters of more or less complexity; and that they
follow one another, in trains, according to certain laws.
The sensations and ideas, which compose the phenomena of the second
class, are equally formed into clusters, with those composing the
phenomena of the former class; and follow one another, in trains,
according to the same laws.
So far, the two classes of phenomena agree; and so far, the
analysis, which we have endeavoured to effect of the former class,
is to be taken as the analysis also of the latter. Our object, now,
is, to trace to their {183} source the differences which constitute
this a separate class; to mark the subdivisions into which it can be
most conveniently distributed; and to demonstrate the simple laws,
into which the whole phenomena of human life, so numerous, and
apparently so diversified, may all be easily resolved.
{184} CHAPTER XVII.
PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS.
THERE is a remarkable difference of sensations, which has been
mentioned before, but which must now be more particularly attended
to.
Some sensations, probably the greater number, are what we call
indifferent. They are not considered as either painful, or
pleasurable. There are sensations, however, and of frequent
recurrence, some of which are painful, some pleasurable. The
difference is, that which is felt. A man knows it, by feeling it;
and this is the whole account of the phenomenon. I have one
sensation, and then another, and then another. The first is of such
a kind, that I care not whether it is long or short; the second is
of such a kind that I would put an end to it instantly if I could;
the third is of such a kind, that I like it prolonged. To
distinguish those feelings, I give them names. I call the first
Indifferent; the second, Painful; the third. Pleasurable; very
often, for shortness, I call the second, Pain, the third, Pleasure.
We formerly shewed, that having a sensation and {185} knowing it,
are not two things, but one and the same thing; that having two
sensations and knowing them, are not two things, but one and the
same thing. It is obvious, therefore, that having three sensations,
an Indifferent, a Pleasurable, and a Painful, and knowing them for
what they are, are not different things, but one and the same thing.
The pleasurable and painful sensations are common to all the senses.
We have pleasures and pains of the eye, of the ear, of the touch,
the taste, the smell, and also of many internal parts of the body,
for which, though, as we shall presently see, they hold a great
share in composing the springs of human action, we have not names,
nor any means of accurate estimation.[36]
[Editor's footnote 36: In the case of many pleasurable or painful
sensations, it is open to question whether the pleasure or pain,
especially the pleasure, is not something added to the sensation,
and capable of being detached from it, rather than merely a
particular aspect or quality of the sensation. It is often
observable that a sensation is much less pleasurable at one time
than at another, though to our consciousness it appears exactly the
same sensation in all except the pleasure. This is emphatically the
fact in cases of satiety, or of loss of taste for a sensation by
loss of novelty. It is probable that in such cases the pleasure may
depend on different nerves, or on a different action of the same
nerves, from the remaining part of the sensation. However this may
be, the pleasure or pain attending a sensation is (like the feelings
of Likeness, Succession, &c.) capable of being mentally abstracted
from the sensation, or, in other words, capable of being attended to
by itself. And in any case Mr. Bain's distinction holds good,
between the emotional part or property of a sensation (in which he
includes the {186} pleasure or pain belonging to it) and its
intellectual or knowledge-giving part. It must be remembered,
however, that these are not exclusive of one another; the
knowledge-giving part is not necessarily emotional, but the
emotional part is and must be knowledge-giving. The pleasure or pain
of the feeling are subjects of intellectual apprehension; they give
the knowledge of themselves and of their varieties.--_Ed._]
{187} CHAPTER XVIII.
CAUSES OF THE PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS.
NEXT in order to the Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, it is
necessary to take notice of the causes of them. We can generally
trace them to certain constant antecedents; and it is evidently of
the greatest importance to us to be able to do so; as it is by those
means only, we can lessen the number of the painful sensations,
increase the number of the pleasurable.
Of the causes of our Pleasurable and Painful Sensations, it is
necessary to distinguish two classes; first, the immediate causes;
secondly, the remote causes; a remote, being not, strictly speaking,
the cause of the sensation, but the cause of that cause. Thus, the
lash of the executioner is the immediate cause of the pain of the
criminal. The sentence of the Judge, is the cause of that cause. The
sound of the violin is the immediate cause of the pleasure of my
ear; the performance of the musician, the cause of that sound; the
money with which I have hired the musician, the cause of that
performance. The money is, in this case, the cause of the cause of
the cause of the sensation; or the cause, at two removes.
{188} It is necessary to be remarked, respecting the causes of our
pleasurable and painful sensations, that, they are apt to become
greater objects of concern to us, to rank higher in importance, than
the sensations themselves. It is a vulgar observation, with respect
to money, for example, that, though useful only for obtaining
pleasure, or saving from pain, it is often employed for neither
purpose, but hugged as a good in itself.
The importance attached to the cause of the sensation, is a case of
association easy to be traced. The pleasurable and painful
sensations themselves are, specifically, not numerous. The causes of
them, on the other hand, are exceedingly numerous, and diversified.
Again; the mind is not much interested in attending to the
sensation. The sensation provides for itself. The mind, however, is
deeply interested in attending to the cause; that we may prevent, or
remove it, if the sensation is painful; provide, or detain it, if
the sensation is pleasurable. This creates a habit of passing
rapidly from the sensation, to fix our attention upon its cause.
{189} CHAPTER XIX.
IDEAS OF THE PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS, AND OF THE CAUSES
OF THEM.
WE have already seen, that all sensations are capable of being
revived, without that action on the organs of sense which originally
produced them; and that, when so revived, we call them ideas or
copies of the sensations.
The sensations which are pleasurable and painful, are revived in the
same manner as those which are indifferent; but, as the sensations
which are pleasurable and painful form a class of sensations
remarkably distinguished from sensations of the indifferent class,
the ideas of the pleasurable and painful sensations form a class of
ideas, no less remarkably distinguished from the ideas of the
indifferent sensations.
It is necessary to endeavour by a particular effort to distinguish
accurately from all other feelings that peculiar state of
consciousness, which we call the idea of a pleasurable or painful
sensation; in other words, that sensation revived, after the
operation upon the senses has ceased.
This state of consciousness, like other states, is known only by
having it. What it is felt to be, it is. {190} We can afford,
therefore, no aid to the reader in distinguishing it, otherwise than
by using such expressions as seem calculated to fix his attention
upon it. It is his own inward, invisible state, which only he can
mark for himself.
The idea of a pain or pleasure, is not a pain or pleasure. We do not
say that the idea of the hand scalded is a pain, or the idea of a
sweet smell is a pleasure. But this is not very satisfactory
language; for it, in reality, means little more, than that the idea
of a pleasurable or painful sensation, is not a sensation. That
there are some trains of ideas, however, which it is agreeable to
have, others which it is disagreeable, is one among the most
familiar facts of our nature. There is, therefore, a distinction
among ideas, analogous to that of pleasurable and painful among
sensations.
It is difficult to think of any one sensation by itself; because
each is so combined with others, that the idea of one can never
present itself, but in company with more. This is peculiarly the
case with sensations of the pleasurable and painful kinds: and hence
the cause of the indistinctness, which seems to accompany the idea
of any of those sensations, when we endeavour to take it apart, and
consider what it is in itself.
An idea is the revival of a former state of feeling. The first thing
which I have to consider is, what is my precise state of
consciousness, when I receive a pleasurable or painful sensation.
When the sensation was present, suppose a painful one, it was a
state of consciousness, so interesting to me, that it was important
to find a mark for it. I {191} called it Pain. It is a state of
consciousness known to every man by his having had it, and it can be
known by no other means. We call it by various names; an odious
state, a disagreeable state, and so on; but these are only several
modes of marking what is felt, and tell to no man anything more than
his feeling has told. Except for his own knowledge of his own
feeling, the words would be utterly without a meaning.
Such is the state of consciousness under the sensation. I revive the
sensation.
My state of consciousness under the sensation I called a pain. My
state of consciousness under the idea of the pain, I call, not a
pain, but an aversion. An aversion is the idea of a pain. Whatever
is included under the term idea of pain, is included precisely under
the term aversion. They are not two things, but two names for the
same thing.
The same explanation applies to the case of a pleasurable sensation.
The state of consciousness under the sensation, that is, the
sensation itself, differed from other sensations, in that it was
agreeable. A name was wanted to denote this peculiarity; to mark, as
a class, the sensations which possess it. The term, Pleasure, was
adopted. I revive the sensation; in other words, have the idea; and
as I had occasion for a name to class the sensations, I have
occasion for a name to class the ideas. My state of consciousness
under the sensation, I call a Pleasure: my state of consciousness
under the idea, that is, the idea itself, I call a Desire. The term
"Idea of a pleasure," expresses precisely the same thing as the
term, Desire. It does so by the very import of the words. The {192}
idea of a pleasure, is the idea of something as good to have. But
what is a desire, other than the idea of something as good to have;
good to have, being really nothing but desirable to have? The terms,
therefore, "idea of pleasure," and "desire," are but two names; the
thing named, the state of consciousness, is one and the same.
There is an ambiguity, however, in the terms Aversion, and Desire,
which contributes not a little to cast darkness upon this part of
our inquiry.
They are applied to the ideas of the Causes of our Pleasurable and
Painful Sensations, as well as to the ideas of those Sensations;
and, of course, in a different sense. We say we have an aversion to
certain kinds of food, or certain drugs; we have a desire for water
to drink, for fire to warm us, and so on.
When we examine these phrases narrowly, we find that it is not
literally, but by a sort of figure of speech, that the terms
"Aversion," and "Desire," are applied to the Causes of Pains and
Pleasures. Properly speaking, it is not to the food, or the drug,
that we have the aversion, but to the disagreeable taste. The food
is a substance of a certain colour, and consistence; so is the drug.
There is nothing in these qualities which is offensive to us; only
the taste. In like manner, it is not the water we desire, but the
pleasure of drinking; not the fire we desire, but the pleasure of
warmth.
The illusion is merely that of a very close association. There is no
case, indeed, of association, in which the union is more intimate,
than that between the idea of a pungent sensation, and its customary
cause; and hence, there is no wonder that the name {193} which
properly belongs to the one, should be bestowed upon the other, or
rather, that the name which belongs properly to one, should be given
to the two, formed into a complex idea, in conjunction.
There is another source of perplexity, which arises from the
connotative power of the terms Desire, and Aversion. They are Nouns,
in the future tense; that is, they connote futurity; just as Verbs,
in the future tense, connote futurity. Though the feeling, called
the idea of a pleasurable sensation, is precisely the feeling called
desirableness; desirableness, and the idea of something pleasurable,
being convertible terms, the word Desire, whenever it is applied to
a particular case, carries with it a tacit reference to future time.
When the idea of a sensation is present, the sensation itself is not
present. The sensation has been, or is to be. It is difficult,
therefore, to have the idea of a pleasurable sensation, without the
association of the past, or the future. The idea of a pleasurable
sensation with the association of the Past, is never called Desire.
The word Desire, is commonly used to mark the idea of a pleasurable
sensation, when the Future is associated with it. The idea of a
pleasurable sensation, to come, is what is commonly meant by Desire.
We have, however, no other name to mark the idea, when it is
considered by itself, and without reference to the past, or the
future. In these cases, Desire, and the idea of a pleasurable
sensation; Aversion, and the idea of a painful sensation, are
convertible terms.
From this exposition, it follows, that the number of our desires is
the same with that of our pleasurable sensations; the number of our
aversions, the same {194} with that of our painful sensations; just
as the number of our simple ideas of sight, is the same with that of
our sensations of sight; the number of our simple ideas of sound,
taste, or smell, the same with that of our sensations of sound,
taste, or smell.[37]
[Editor's footnote 37: The principal doctrine of this chapter is,
that Desire, and Aversion, are nothing but the idea of a pleasurable
sensation, and the Idea of a painful sensation: which doctrine is
then qualified by saying, that a desire is the idea of a pleasure
associated with the future, an aversion the idea of a pain
associated with the future.
But according to the whole spirit of the author's speculations, and
to his express affirmation in the beginning of the next chapter, the
idea of any sensation associated with the future, constitutes the
Expectation of it: and if so, it rested with him to prove that the
expectation of a pleasure, or of a pain, is the same thing with the
desire, or aversion. This is certainly not conformable to common
observation. For, on the one hand, it is commonly understood that
there may be desire or aversion without expectation; and on the
other, expectation of a pleasure without any actual feeling of
desire: one may expect, and even look forward with satisfaction to,
the pleasure of a meal, although one is not, but only expects to be,
hungry. So perfectly is it assumed that expectation, and desire or
aversion, are not necessarily combined, that the case in which they
are combined is signified by a special pair of names. Desire
combined with expectation, is called by the name of Hope; Aversion
combined with expectation, is known by the name of Fear.
I believe the fact to be that desire is not Expectation, but is more
than the idea of the pleasure desired, being, in truth, the
initiatory stage of Will. In what we call Desire there is, I think,
always included a positive stimulation to action; either to the
definite course of action which would lead to our {195} obtaining
the pleasure, or to a general restlessness and vague seeking after
it. The stimulation may fall short of actually producing action:
even when it prompts to a definite act, it may be repressed by a
stronger motive, or by knowledge that the pleasure is not within
present reach, nor can be brought nearer to us by any present action
of our own. Still, there is, I think, always, the sense of a
tendency to action, in the direction of pursuit of the pleasure,
though the tendency may be overpowered by an external or an internal
restraint. So also, in aversion, there is always a tendency to
action of the kind which repels or avoids the painful sensation. But
of these things more fully under the head of Will.--_Ed._]
{196} CHAPTER XX.
THE PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS, CONTEMPLATED AS PASSED OR AS
FUTURE.
WE have considered, what the pleasurable and painful sensations are
when present; what the ideas of them, considered as present, are;
and what the ideas of their causes.
Those sensations, however, together with their causes, we may
contemplate, either as passed, or as future: and so contemplated,
they give rise to some of the most interesting states of the human
mind.
To contemplate any feeling as Passed, is to remember it; and the
explanation of Memory we need not repeat. To contemplate any feeling
as Future, is merely a case of that Anticipation of the future from
the passed, of which, also, we have already given the explanation.
When my finger was in the flame of the candle and burned, the
painful sensation was present. The state of consciousness, however,
was complex, and consisted of several ingredients; the sight of the
burning candle, the sight of my finger, the sense of a certain
position or locality, namely, that of my {197} finger and the
candle, the painful sensation, and the belief that it was my
sensation; in other words, the association of that thread of
consciousness in which, to me, my being consists, with the present
sensation. The painful feeling was thus a feeling deeply imbedded
among others.
When I remember this state of consciousness, the idea of it, which
makes part of the memory, is by no means a simple idea. It is
composed of the ideas of all the above-mentioned sensations,
together with that of the train of consciousness, which I call
myself. This last is necessary to constitute it _my_ idea. This
idea, thus existing as my idea, and my present idea, is associated
with that part of my train or thread of consciousness which has
intervened, between the present state and the remembered state; and
by this last association the idea becomes memory.
The anticipation of the Future is the same series of association;
with this difference, that, in memory, the association of the train
of consciousness, which converts the idea into memory, is from
consequent to antecedent, that is, backwards; the association in the
case of anticipation is from antecedent to consequent, forwards.
In anticipation, as in memory, there is, first, the complex idea, as
above; next, the passage of the mind forwards from the present state
of consciousness, the antecedent, to one consequent after another,
till it comes to the anticipated sensation. Suppose, that, as a
punishment, a man is condemned to put his finger after two days in
the flame of a candle; wherein consists his anticipation? The
complex idea, as described above, of the painful sensation, with all
its {198} concomitant sensations and ideas, is the first part of the
process. The remainder is the association with this idea of the
events, one after another, which are to fill up the intermediate
time, and terminate with his finger placed in the flame of the
candle. The whole of this association, taken together, comprises the
idea of the pain as his pain, after a train of antecedents.
The process of anticipation is so precisely the same, when the
sensation is of the pleasurable kind, that I deem it unnecessary to
repeat it.[38]
[Editor's footnote 38: This is the first place in which the author
gives his analysis of Expectation; and his theory of it is, as all
theories of it must be, the exact counterpart of the same person's
theory of Memory. He resolves it into the mere Idea of the expected
event, accompanied by the "idea of the events, one after another,"
which are to begin with the present moment, and end with the
expected event. But in this case, as in that of Memory, the
objection recurs, that all this may exist in the case of mere
Imagination. A man may conceive himself being hanged, or elevated to
a throne, and may construct in his mind a series of possible or
conceivable events, through which he can fancy each of these results
to be brought about. If he is a man of lively imagination, this idea
of the events "which are to fill up the intermediate time" may be at
least as copious, as the idea of the series of coming events for a
year from the present time, which according to the author's theory
I have in my mind when I look forward to commencing a journey twelve
months hence. Yet he neither expects to be hanged, nor to be made a
king, still less both, which, to bear out the theory, it would seem
that he ought.
The difference between Expectation and mere Imagination, as well as
between Memory and Imagination, consists in the presence or absence
of Belief; and though this is no explanation of either phenomenon,
it brings us back to one and the same real problem, which I have so
often referred to, and which neither the author nor any other
thinker has yet solved--the difference between knowing something as
a Reality, and as a mere Thought; a distinction similar and parallel
to that between a Sensation and an Idea.--_Ed._]
{199} In contemplating a painful or pleasurable sensation as past,
that is, remembering it, the mind is in general tranquil. The state
is not, perhaps, a state of indifference; but it is not so far
removed from it, as to call attention to itself, or require a name
to mark it.
The case is different, when the sensation is contemplated as future,
or anticipated. The state of consciousness is then far removed from
a state of indifference. It admits of two cases. One is, when the
sensation is contemplated as certainly future; the other is, when it
is contemplated as not certainly future.
When a pleasurable sensation is contemplated as future, but not
certainly, the state of consciousness is called Hope. When a painful
sensation is contemplated as future, but not certainly, the state of
consciousness is called Fear.[39]
[Editor's footnote 39: The author's definitions of Hope and Fear
differ from those offered in my note (p. 194). He considers these
words to signify that the pleasure or the pain is contemplated as
future, but without certainty. It must be admitted that the words
are often applied to very faint degrees of anticipation, far short
of those which in popular language would be spoken of as
Expectation: but I think the terms are not inconsistent with the
fullest assurance. A man is about to undergo a painful surgical
operation. He has no doubt whatever about the event; he fully
intends it; there are no other means, perhaps, of saving his life.
Yet the feeling with which he looks forward to it, and with which he
contemplates the preparations for it, are such as would, I think, by
the custom of language, be designated as fear. Death, again, is the
most certain of all future events, yet we speak of the fear of
death. It is perhaps more doubtful whether the fully assured
anticipation of a desired enjoyment would receive, in ordinary
parlance, the name of Hope; yet some common phrases seem to imply
that it would. We read even on tombstones "the sure hope of a joyful
immortality."
A still more restricted application of the word Fear, also justified
by usage, is to the case in which the feeling amounts to a
disturbing passion; and to this meaning Mr Bain, as will be seen in
a future note, thinks it desirable to confine it.--_Ed._]
{200} Again: When a pleasurable sensation is anticipated with
certainty, we call the state of consciousness Joy. When a painful
sensation is thus anticipated, we call it Sorrow. Neither of the two
terms is good; because not confined to this signification. Both are
applied to name other things, also, which we shall presently have
occasion to notice. They are, therefore, a source of confusion.
{201} CHAPTER XXI.
THE CAUSES OF PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS, CONTEMPLATED AS
PASSED, OR AS FUTURE.
SECTION I.
THE IMMEDIATE CAUSES OF PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS,
CONTEMPLATED AS PASSED, OR AS FUTURE.
BESIDE the Sensations, the Causes of them are capable of being
contemplated, both as passed, and as future.
It may be regarded as remarkable, that though the idea or thought of
a disagreeable sensation, as passed, is nearly indifferent, the
thought of the cause of a painful passed sensation is often a very
interesting state of consciousness. This state of consciousness we
sometimes call Antipathy, sometimes Hatred; though hatred, as we
shall afterwards see, is more frequently the name of the Motive to
which it gives birth. We have, however, but one concrete term for
both of these abstracts, the verb "to hate," which, of course,
performs its business ill. From this, however, it no doubt comes,
that the word Hatred is often used as synonymous with Antipathy.
{202} This is a case of association, which deserves a little
attention. The idea of the cause of a painful sensation is so
closely associated with that of the sensation, that the one never
exists without the other. But this is not all. The anticipation of
the future from the passed, is so strong an association, that, in
interesting cases, it is indissoluble. The thought of the Cause of a
passed painful sensation, is the idea of an antecedent and a
consequent. The idea of the passed antecedent and consequent is
instantly followed by that of a future antecedent and consequent;
and thus the feeling partakes of the nature of the anticipation of a
future painful sensation. The association may be but momentary, as
it may instantly be checked by other associations. But, being
momentary, it existed, and its existence is sufficient to account
for the difference, which is often observable, between the state of
consciousness when the sensation is remembered, and the state of
consciousness when the cause of the sensation is remembered. When
the sensation is remembered singly, there is not that association of
a passed antecedent and consequent, which is instantly followed by
that of a future antecedent and consequent of the same kind. That
association takes place in the case of the remembered cause; and
hence the difference, with which every man is acquainted.[40]
[Editor's footnote 40: The difference here brought to notice between
the very slight emotion excited in most cases by the idea of a past
pain, and the strong feeling excited by the idea of the cause of a
past pain, will be confirmed by every one's experience; and is
rightly explained by the author, as arising from the fact that what
has caused a past pain has an interest affecting the future, since
it may cause future pains. It is noticeable that the author nowhere
explains why the thought of a pain as future is so much more
painful, than the thought of a past pain when detached from all
apprehension for the future; why the expectation of an evil is
generally so much worse than the remembrance of one. This fact might
have made him doubt the sufficiency of his theory of Memory and
Expectation; since, according to his analysis, neither of them is
anything but the idea of the pain itself, associated in each case
with a series of events which may be intrinsically indifferent; and
if there were no elements in the case but those which he has pointed
out, no sufficient reason is apparent why there should be any
inequality of painfulness between the remembrance and the
expectation.--_Ed._]
{203} The thought of the cause of a passed agreeable sensation or
sensations, is also very often an interesting state of
consciousness. It is called by the names both of Sympathy, and Love.
Neither of the terms is confined to this signification; they are
both, therefore, bad names, and a great cause of confusion of ideas;
as we shall see in other instances hereafter.
The pleasurable sensations not being so pungent as the painful, it
but rarely happens that the immediate cause of a single passed
pleasurable sensation is an object of interest: the cause of the
cessation, however, of a painful sensation is so, not unfrequently.
The traveller, who was ready to perish with thirst in the desert,
can never afterwards think of the well which relieved him, without
emotion.
The states of consciousness which exist when we contemplate the
causes of our painful and pleasurable sensations as _Future_, are
easily analysed, after what has been shewn. It is a case of the
anticipation of the future from the passed; with this peculiarity,
that {204} the final antecedent and consequent are interesting, the
one as a pleasurable or painful Feeling, the other as the cause of
it.
If the anticipated sensation is painful, and contemplated as
certain, the associated ideas of the cause and effect constitute a
state of consciousness, which we mark by various forms of
expression, but for which we have no appropriate name. We call it
Hatred, we call it Aversion, we call it Horror. We call the object
hateful, or disgusting, or loathsome, according to the nature of the
anticipated sensation. When the sensation is contemplated as not
certainly future, the state of mind is what we call Dread, in some
one or other of its numerous modifications.
When the cause of a pleasure is contemplated as certainly future,
such object is associated with the feeling called Joy; when it is
contemplated as not certainly future, it is associated with the
feeling called Hope. What the feelings, Joy, and Hope, are, we have
so recently seen, that it cannot be forgotten. In the association of
the cause of a pleasure with both, the state of consciousness has no
more appropriate name than that of Love. An object contemplated as a
future cause of future pleasure, is an object _loved_, whether the
anticipation is certain or uncertain.[41]
[Bain's footnote 41: A distinction should be drawn between Aversion
and Fear. We may be very much averse to a thing, and yet not fear
it. A courageous person is not necessarily wanting in aversions or
dislikes, or in labours for warding off what is disagreeable.
Anything that gives us pain, when approaching or imminent, is viewed
with aversion, and stimulates efforts of counteraction, or escape;
and yet it may not inspire the state properly named Fear. The
distinguishing characteristic of fear is an unhinging {205}
excitement, a disturbance of the serenity and balance of the mind,
inducing exaggerated, disproportioned or misplaced exertions. One of
the causes of fear is approaching evil, but the effect does not
always happen. The evil may work its proper effect upon the will,
namely to prevent or evade it, without any of the perturbing
accessories called being terrified or afraid.--_B._]
{206} SECTION II.
THE REMOTE CAUSES OF PLEASURABLE AND PAINFUL SENSATIONS,
CONTEMPLATED AS PAST, OR FUTURE.
Before entering into the detail of this part of the subject, one
important observation is to be made; that the remote causes of our
Pains and Pleasures are apt to be objects, far more deeply
interesting, than those which are immediate. This at first sight
appears paradoxical. It is the necessary result, however, of the
general Law of our nature.
The immediate causes of our pleasurable and painful sensations have
never any very extensive operation. The idea of any one is rarely
associated with more than a limited number of pains or pleasures.
Food, for example, the cause of the pleasures of eating; pleasures,
perhaps, from the frequency with which they are repeated, and the
portion of life over which they are spread, more valuable, as a
class, than any other which we enjoy; has never appeared an object
of sufficient interest, to make the affection with which it is
regarded be thought worthy of a name. The idea of Food, though
associated with pleasures which constitute so important a class, is
associated with the pleasures but of one class: some of the remote
causes are associated with the pleasures of almost every class.
Money, for example, instrumental in procuring the causes of almost
all our pleasures, and removing the {207} causes of a large
proportion of our pains, is associated with the ideas of most of the
pleasurable states of our nature. The idea of an object associated
with a hundred times as many pleasures as another, is of course a
hundred times more interesting.
* * * * *
SUB-SECTION I.
_Wealth_, _Power_, _and Dignity_, _and their Contraries_,
_Contemplated as Causes of our Pleasures and Pains_.
As among the remote causes of our pleasures and pains may be
reckoned everything which in any way contributes to them, it follows
that the number of such causes is exceedingly great. Of course it is
only the principal cases which have been attended to, and classed
under Titles. They are mostly comprehended under the
following:--Wealth, Power, Dignity, as regards the pleasurable
sensations;--Poverty, Impotence, Contemptibility, as regards the
painful sensations. What our states of consciousness are, when we
are said to contemplate these causes of pains and pleasures, with
reference to ourselves, or as causes of our own pleasures and pains,
we now proceed to inquire.
One remarkable thing is first of all to be noticed: the three, above
named, grand causes of our pleasures agree in this, that they all
are the means of procuring for us the Services of our
fellow-creatures, and themselves contribute to our pleasures in
hardly any other way. It is obvious from this remark, that the grand
{208} cause of all our pleasures are the services of our
fellow-creatures; since Wealth, Power, and Dignity, which appear to
most people to sum up the means of human happiness, are nothing more
than means of procuring those services. This is a fact of the
highest possible importance, both in Morals, and in Philosophy.
That Wealth, Power, and Dignity do procure for us pleasurable
sensations only by procuring for us the services of our
fellow-creatures, a short illustration will suffice to shew.
Wealth enables us either to purchase directly the services of other
men, as of those whom we desire to have in attendance about us; or
to purchase commodities; or, it adds to our Power and Dignity. As
far as it purchases the services of others directly, the truth of
what we have advanced is obvious. It is hardly less obvious, that
when we purchase commodities, which are the fruit of other men's
labour, we, in reality, do nothing but purchase the services of
those men, who, in fact, were working for us, when working at the
goods which we ultimately consume. In as far as Wealth adds to
Power, and Dignity, it is included under those several heads.
A man's Power means the readiness of other men to obey him. Now one
man obeys another, from the prospect, either of good if he obeys, or
of evil if he does not obey. Wealth is the great means of procuring
obedience, through the medium of good. All hire of services, is
through that medium. The power of inflicting evil, in case of
disobedience, and of procuring services by fear, is what in the more
peculiar sense, is meant by the term Power. It is to be {209}
observed, that the range of obedience, obtained by fear, is capable
of much greater enlargement, than that which is obtained by hope.
The means any man has of paying for the services of others, extends
at most to some thousands; the means which some men have had of
imposing their commands on other men, through fear, has extended to
many millions.
Dignity is a word of much more vague signification, than Wealth, or
Power. It is, therefore, much more difficult, to describe clearly
its mode of operation.