the body is so familiar, that we meet everywhere with pleasant
stories of it. Zachary Gray, in one of his notes on Butler's
Hudibras, alluding to the story of the countryman, who, receiving a
prescription from the doctor, and being told by him to take that,
swallowed the paper, asks, "And why might not this operate upon a
strong imagination, as well as the ugly parson, the very sight of
whom in a morning (Oldham's Remains) would work beyond Jalap or
Rhubarb; and a Doctor prescribed him to one of his patients as a
remedy against costiveness: Or what is mentioned by Dr. Daniel
Turner (De Morbis Cutaneis), that the bare imagination of a purging
potion has wrought such an alteration in sundry persons, as to bring
on several stools like those they call physical; and he mentions a
young gentleman, his patient, who having occasion to take many
vomits, had such an antipathy to them, that ever after he would
vomit as strongly by the force of imagination, by the bare sight of
the emetic bolus, as most could do by medicine. The application of a
clyster-pipe, without the clyster, has had the same effect upon
others."--(_Author's Note_.)]
The cases which we have just adduced, of yawning, and contagious
convulsions, may be regarded as belonging to an extensive class;
which obtains the general name of Imitation. There is more or less
of a propensity to Imitation in all men, that is, to perform the act
which we see another man performing. In most children the propensity
is very strong; and {342} to it they owe much of the celerity with
which they make certain acquirements; to that of imitating sounds,
for example, the celerity with which they learn to speak. The
propensity to imitate musical sounds so adheres to persons of a
musical ear, even in mature age, that they can scarcely forbear
humming every tune which they hear. Children learn to stutter and to
squint, from imitation of their companions. We know how universally
it happens that young persons acquire the manner and the air of
those with whom they habitually live. These are cases not only of
action, but of habits of action, produced by the agency of Ideas. It
requires only cases of strong association to produce analogous
effects, at all periods of life. "When we see a stroke," says Mr.
Smith, "aimed and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another
person, we naturally shrink and draw back our own leg, or our own
arm. The mob, when they are gazing at a dancer on the slack rope,
naturally writhe and twist, and balance their own bodies as they see
him do. Persons of delicate fibres and a weak constitution of body,
complain, that in looking on the sores and ulcers which are exposed
by beggars in the streets, they are apt to feel an itching or uneasy
sensation in the correspondent part of their own bodies. Men of the
most robust make, observe, that in looking upon sore eyes, they
often feel a very sensible soreness in their own." There are few
persons who do not put on a cheerful countenance, upon the sight of
the cheerful countenances of their friends; still fewer whose
countenance is not made sorrowful by sight of the sorrowful
countenances of their friends. It is well known, that Tears are
contagious; and upon {343} this some well-known rules for the
countenance both of the orator and the actor are prescribed. It is
not necessary further to accumulate instances of this description;
nor further to enter into the analysis of them, than to remark, that
the action, the idea of which is conveyed to us by what we thus hear
or see, calls up, by association, the idea of the feelings which
precede the action. The Idea of the feelings exists, and the action
follows.
There is a case of the action of the muscles which requires
particular attention; that in which we _learn_ to make use of them;
in which we acquire what we call command over them only by degrees.
There is more or less, probably, of this process in all the sorts of
muscular action which are not performed originally by sensation; and
the process seems to be longer or shorter according as the number of
muscles, which must act together in order to the production of the
effect, is greater or less. We know how slowly the child acquires
the power of so balancing his body as to hold it erect. To this
Effect the action of a great number of muscles is required. Yet,
before the age at which reflection begins, the power is so
completely acquired, that the mental process escapes our attention.
To be erect, seems the posture into which our body puts itself of
its own accord. There are circumstances, however, in which we become
distinctly conscious of the powerful effort, which is required for
that purpose, though, from its being habitual, we are in ordinary
circumstances wholly insensible of it. If we allow sleep to come
upon us, while we are in an erect posture, so far, that the ideas
which maintain the muscular action begin to give way, we have {344}
immediately the sensation of falling, and a strong perception of the
effort required to keep the body erect.
We observe how slowly the child learns to perform, with the
requisite precision, the contractions on which the operation of
walking depends. And every man can remember the difficulty with
which he has learned to perform any new combination of contractions.
Whoever has learned to dance, knows how imperfectly, till after a
multitude of repetitions, he performed the simplest steps. Whoever
has been drilled, as they call it; that is, trained to perform with
the firelock the acts required of the soldier, knows with what
difficulty, each of them, however simple, was originally performed.
There is another very familiar instance, that of learning to write.
Most men can remember, when they began this process, how imperfectly
the hand obeyed them; and how awkwardly they made even the simple
strokes. Every man can make the experiment with his left hand. After
the habit of performing with the right hand is completely attained,
he is almost unable to form a letter with the left. The cases of
this incapacity of the left hand to perform the acts which we
perform habitually with the right are innumerable; and afford
decisive illustration of the great fact which is now the subject of
our attention. To perform the contractions of a number of muscles,
the contractions of all of which must be combined in the action, the
idea whereon each of the contractions depends must previously exist,
and in the requisite order. That is to say, a certain association of
Ideas must be performed. But we know, that no new {345} association
of Ideas is easily or steadily performed. This is the effect of
Repetition. As soon as the association of the ideas is completely
established by repetition, the process, both bodily and mental, goes
on with ease; and where the habit is great, with so much ease, as
even to escape attention. The process of learning to play on a
musical instrument is slow and difficult. By habit the associations
become so close, that an expert performer can execute the most
difficult pieces, and carry on another and even an intricate process
of thought at the same time.
How slowly, and with how much difficulty do children acquire command
over the organs of speech? And how totally without effort on our
part in after life does the sound appear immediately to cling to the
Idea of the word? Yet, in learning the new sounds of a foreign
language we become abundantly sensible of the difficulty, sometimes
altogether insurmountable, of performing the precise combination of
contractions which a particular sound requires.
It seems to be established, therefore, by an ample induction, that
muscular actions follow ideas, as invariable antecedent and
consequent, in other words, as cause and effect; that whenever we
have obtained a command over the ideas, we have also obtained a
command over the motions; and that we cannot perform associate
contractions of several muscles, till we have established by
repetition, the ready association of the Ideas.
I believe that nothing more need be said for the establishing of
these truths. I shall adduce a few more instances, chiefly with the
view to familiarize my readers with the mode of applying to this
{346} interesting class of facts, the principles with which they are
now fully acquainted.
There is no part of the body with the use of which we are so
perfectly familiar as the hand. There are no actions, of the sort at
least to which we are attentive, the repetition of which is so
incessant. Of course, the associations of the ideas corresponding to
the associate contractions of the muscles which produce the various
movements or actions of the hand, are formed in the most perfect
manner; and we never have the Ideas, as antecedent, without the
movement as consequent. This inseparable connexion between the
Ideas, and the contractions, which we call the Power of the Will, is
gradually formed. At first the hand of the infant is moved by
sensations. If the inside of the hand is touched, so at least as to
make the sensation considerable, the fingers bend; and perform more
or less of the act of grasping. Here is a train of events. First,
the sensation of touch, from the application of the external object;
next, an influence from the seat of the sensation in the brain,
transmitted along the nerves of certain muscles; then the
contraction of the muscles, with the various sensations which the
action upon those organs, and the action excited in them, imply.
When the sensation has been often repeated, in conjunction with its
effect, the Idea of the sensation becomes familiar and distinct; and
capable of producing many of the effects which the sensation itself
produces. It is also closely associated with the idea of the motion,
and all its accompanying sensations as the effect; and the chain of
antecedents and consequents proceeds in uninterrupted order.
{347} As similar instances of motions, at first produced by
sensations, afterwards by ides, we may adduce the remarkable cases
of the sphincters of the bladder and _anus_. At first, children
perform their evacuations, as they sneeze and cough, when the
sensations excite them. Afterwards, they learn, but by slow degrees,
to bring them under the command of ideas. There is no case, however,
which affords more decisive evidence of the power of ideas over the
actions of particular parts, than those which are called Amatory;
because the effects, which are produced by the Ideas, cannot be
produced by the will.
There is another set of cases, which deserve attention; those in
which the ideas which are followed by the action of certain muscles,
acquire associations with other sensations or Ideas which call them
up, and thence give action to the muscles, upon very inconvenient
occasions. A woman who has accustomed herself to scream out, upon
every sudden idea of the slightest danger, cannot abstain from
screaming. The awkward motions, for which some, even eminent, men
have been remarkable, Dr. Johnson, for instance, are completely
explained by this principle. The ideas, whence the motions proceed,
have become associated, in ways which can seldom be traced, with
sensations, or ideas of frequent recurrence. And hence are the
motions frequently produced.
There are equally remarkable cases, in which the associations,
necessary to produce the idea on which the muscular actions depend,
are prevented by other associations more powerful. Men admitted to
the presence of a great personage have found themselves wholly
unable to articulate a word. The Ideas of {348} Power and Dignity,
with all their associates of terror and of hope, were called up in
such irresistible association by the presence of him who was clothed
with them; that the ideas necessary to the articulation of words
were excluded, and the power of speaking was lost.
We have now established, by an ample Induction, that the action of
muscles follows, as an effect its cause; first, upon sensations;
secondly, upon Ideas. The language which Professor Stewart has
applied to a similar case, is perfectly applicable here. "It may,
indeed, be said, that these observations only prove the possibility,
that our muscular contractions may be all performed by sensations
and Ideas. But, if this be admitted, nothing more can well be
required; for, surely, if these phenomena are clearly explicable,
from the known and acknowledged laws of the human mind, it would be
unphilosophical to devise a new principle, on purpose to account for
them."[12*]
[Mill's footnote 12: Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind.
Chap. ii.]
I believe, indeed, that this conclusion is not at variance with the
common belief upon the subject. It appears to me to be not
inconsistent with the language of the advocates for what is called
the Freedom of the Will, to admit, that the action of the muscle
takes place in consequence of the Idea; and that our power of
willing consists in the power of calling into existence the
appropriate Idea; that the power of the will is not immediate over
the muscle, but over the Idea.
The following observations of Dr. Reid, though not remarkable for
their precision, seem fully to justify this Inference.
{349} "_First_, every act of will must have an object. He that
wills, must will something; and that which he wills is called the
object of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking of
something, nor remember without remembering something, so neither
can he will without willing something. Every act of will, therefore,
must have an object; and the person who wills must have some
conception, more or less distinct of what he wills.
"A _second_ observation is, that the immediate object of will must
be some action of our own."
There are two assertions here which demand our attention; 1, that
what is willed is an action of our own; 2, that to such will a
conception, that is, an Idea, more or less distinct, of this action
of ours, is indispensable.
He adduces some particulars, in illustration, which impart something
more of precision to his meaning.
"A healthy child, some hours after its birth, feels the sensation of
hunger, and, if applied to the breast, sucks and swallows its food
very perfectly. We have no reason to think, that before it ever
sucked, it has any conception of that complex operation, or how it
is performed. It cannot, therefore, with propriety, be said that it
wills to suck." It appears, from this example, that the muscular
actions, which are performed by Sensation, Dr. Reid distinguishes
from those, which he calls voluntary; that he denominates voluntary,
those only which are performed by Ideas. It also appears fully, from
the example, that the Idea of the action willed, which he considers
the foundation of volition, must, in all cases, be subsequent to the
performance of the act by Sensation; in other {350} words, that the
idea cannot exist but in consequence of the sensation.
What has yet been advanced, however, is not a full explanation of
the subject. For, after it is admitted that the motion of the
muscles is, in all cases, the immediate effect of the appropriate
Idea, there is still one class which all men agree to call
involuntary; another which many contend are voluntary. It now
remains that we inquire wherein the difference consists.
There is one point which is established by the mere statement, and
which goes a certain way towards the solution of the question. Since
the action of the muscles follows upon the existence of the Idea,
whatever calls up the Idea produces the action. The Question, then,
may be resolved into these two: In what manner is the Idea called up
in cases called involuntary? In what manner is it called up in those
called voluntary?
In the cases called not voluntary, I doubt not, it will be easily
admitted, that the Idea is raised in the way of ordinary
association, by a preceding Sensation, or Idea. In the yawning which
proceeds from the sight of another person yawning, the idea is
called up by a Sensation. In the laughter which is excited either by
ideas suggested to us from without, or ideas which spring up in our
associated trains, the idea which is proximate to the muscular
action is, of course, called up by an Idea.
There appears no circumstance by which the cases called voluntary
are distinguished from the involuntary, except that in the voluntary
there exists a Desire. Shedding tears at the hearing of a tragic
story, we do not desire to weep: laughing at the recital {351} of a
comic story, we do not desire to laugh.[62] But when we elevate the
arm to ward off a blow, we desire to lift the arm; when we turn the
head to look at some attractive object, we desire to move the head.
I believe that no case of voluntary action can be mentioned, in
which it would not be an appropriate expression, to call the action
desired.
[Bain's footnote 62: These are emotional and not volitional
manifestations. They are the natural signs, expression, or
embodiment of a feeling, as feeling, and apart from the power to
move the will, which is a separate fact.--_B._]
We have already examined the meaning of the word Desire. We have
seen that it is applied to pleasurable sensations; to exemption from
painful sensations; and to the causes of them. We have also seen,
and to the present purpose this is a point of great importance, that
when the word desire is applied, to the cause of a sensation, or of
an exemption from a sensation, it is employed in a figurative, or
metaphorical, not in a direct sense. Few of our actions can be
called pleasurable sensations; or exemption from painful; in
propriety of language perhaps none. Our actions are causes of those
two classes of events; and on that account are called, but only in a
metaphorical sense, objects of desire.
In a voluntary action, then, we recognise two Ideas; first, the idea
of the sensation or exemption, which two, for shortness, we shall
call by one name, Pleasure; secondly, the idea of an action of our
own as the cause of the pleasure. It is also easy to see how the
Idea of a pleasure should excite the Idea of the action which is the
cause of it; and how, when the Idea exists, the action should
follow.
{352} We have seen, that the idea of a pleasure, as effect,
associated with the Idea of an act of our own, as its cause, is one
of the cases of motive. In the preceding paragraph it seems also to
be one of the cases of will. It may then be asked, if the will is,
or is not, anything different from the motive?
The course pursued by the mind in devising and executing a train of
means for the accomplishment of an end, has been often described.
The End; that is, the advantage or pleasure desired; is the first
thing in the contemplation of the mind; the step nearest to the end
in the process of attainment, is the second; the step immediately
preceding that is the third; and so on, to the step at which the
process of execution must begin. Thus, suppose the pleasure of
living in a handsome house is the end; the apartments, and
furniture, and accommodations of such a mansion is the nearest step;
the one immediately preceding that is the building and furnishing
it; the one preceding that, the employing an architect and
upholsterer; the one preceding that, the finding the money. Such is
the order in which the mind proceeds from the primary conception of
the End through the requisite series of means. The order of
execution is directly the reverse. It begins where the other ends,
and ends where the other begins. If the person we have supposed
proceeds to the execution of his plan, his first step is, to find
the money, his next to provide the architect, and so on from step to
step, till he places himself in the pleasurable situation he
originally contemplated.
There is this double operation in what we may call the formation and
execution of motives. The first association starts from the
pleasure. The idea of the {353} pleasure is associated with its
immediate cause, that cause with its cause, and so on, till it
reaches that act of ours which is the opposite end of the train. The
process may stop here, and in that case the motive does not excite
to action. If it excites to action, the process is exactly reversed.
In the first process of association, the pleasure was the first link
in the chain, the action the last; in the second process, the action
is the first, the pleasure the last. When the first process only is
performed, the association is called MOTIVE. When the second is
performed it is called WILL.
A difficulty, however, presents itself. The first process terminates
in an Idea of the action. The second process commences with an idea
of the action. The Idea of the action is thus excited twice. But the
first time it is not followed by the action; the second time it is.
How is this to be reconciled with the supposed constancy of
connexion between the muscular action and the Idea which produces
it? The difficulty is solved by observing, that the phrase, "Idea of
the action," has two meanings. There are two Ideas, very different
from one another, to both of which we give the name, "Idea of the
action." Of these Ideas, one is the outward appearance of the
action, and is always a very obvious Idea. The other is the copy of
those internal sensations which originally called the muscles into
action, to which, from habit of not attending to them, we have lost
the power of attending. This last is by no means an obvious Idea.
And the mind passes from it so quickly, intent upon the action which
is its result, that it is almost always swallowed up in the mass of
association. It constitutes, in fact, one of the most remarkable
{354} instances of that class of links in a chain, which, how
important soever to the existence of the chain, are passed over so
rapidly, that the existence of them is hardly ever recognised.
This last Idea alone, is that upon which the contraction of the
muscle is consequent. In the process of association which we call
the motive, as described above, the first of the two above-mentioned
ideas of the action, that of its outward appearance, is the idea
excited. If the association stops there, the motive is inoperative;
if the association does not stop there, but the idea of the outward
appearance of the action, calls up that other, the idea of the
internal feelings of the action, the motive is then operative, and
we are said TO WILL.
If we are asked, how an Idea, as that of the outward appearance of
an act, should at one time excite an idea, as that of the internal
feelings of the act, at another time not excite it, we can only
refer to the laws of association, as far as they have been
ascertained. We know there are certain cases of association, so
strong, that the one Idea never exists without calling up the other.
We know there are other cases in which an Idea sometimes does, and
sometimes does not, call up such or such an Idea. Sometimes it is
easy to trace the cause of this variety; sometimes difficult.[63]
[Editor's footnote 63: This analysis of the power of the Will over
muscular action is substantially that of Hartley, though more
clearly and forcibly stated, and more amply illustrated. In the
field of mental philosophy this is the point at which Hartley
approached nearest to the most advanced thoughts of his successors,
and left least for them to do beyond the task of commentators and
defenders.
The doctrine of Hartley on the Will may be summed up in the
following propositions. 1. All our voluntary movements were
originally automatic: meaning by automatic, involuntary, and excited
directly by sensations. 2. When a sensation has the power of
exciting a given muscular action, the idea of that sensation, if
sufficiently vivid, will excite it likewise. 3. The idea of the
sensation which excites an automatic action of the muscles, persists
during the action, and becomes associated with it by contiguity, in
such a manner as to be itself, in its turn, excited by any vividly
recalled idea of the muscular act. 4. The following is what takes
place in voluntary motion. The idea of the end we desire, excites by
association the idea of the muscular act which would procure it for
us. The idea of this muscular act excites, by association, the idea
of the sensation which originally excited the same muscular action
automatically. And lastly, the idea of this sensation excites the
action, as the sensation itself would have done. 5. These
associations being formed gradually, and progressively strengthened
by repetition, this gives us the explanation of the gradual and slow
process whereby we gain what is called command of our muscles; i.e.
the process by which the actions, originally produced automatically
by sensations, come to be produced, and at last, to be easily and
rapidly produced, by the ideas of the different pleasurable ends to
which those muscular actions are the means. 6. In this chain of
association, as is so often the case in chains of association, the
links which are no otherwise interesting to us than by introducing
other links, gradually drop out of consciousness, being, after many
repetitions, either forgotten as soon as felt, or altogether thrown
out; the latter being the supposition which Hartley apparently
favours. The link that consists in the idea of the internal
sensations which excited the muscular action when it was still
automatic, being the least interesting part of the whole series, is
probably the first which we cease to be aware of. When the
succession of the ideas has become, by frequent repetition,
extremely prompt, rapid, and certain, another link tends to
disappear, namely, the ideas of the muscular feelings that accompany
the act. A practised player, for example, on a keyed instrument,
becomes less and less conscious of the motions of his fingers, until
there at last remains nothing in his consciousness to shew that the
muscular acts do not arise without any intermediate links, from the
purpose, i.e. the idea in his mind, which made him begin playing. At
this stage the muscular motion, which, from automatic, had become
voluntary, has become, from voluntary, what, in Hartley's
phraseology, is called secondarily automatic; and it seems to be his
opinion that the ideas which have disappeared from consciousness, or
at all events from memory, have not been (as maintained by Stewart)
called up, and immediately afterwards forgotten, but have ceased to
be called up; being, as it were, leapt over by the rapidity with
which the succeeding links rush into consciousness.
This theory, as we have seen, is adopted, and more fully worked out,
by the author of the Analysis. He proves, by many examples, that
sensations excite muscular actions; that ideas excite muscular
actions; and that, when a sensation has power to excite a particular
muscular action, the idea of the sensation tends to do the same. It
is true that many, if not most, of what he presents as instances of
muscular action excited by sensations, are cases in which both the
sensation and the muscular action are probably joint effects of a
physical cause, a stimulus acting on the nerves. This
misapprehension by the author reaches its extreme point when he
declares traumatic tetanus to be produced not by the wound but by
the pain of the wound; and cramps to be produced by sensations,
instead of merely producing them. But the error is quite immaterial
to the theory of the Will; the two suppositions being equivalent, as
a foundation for the power which the idea of the muscular sensation
acquires over the muscular action. Whether the sensation is the
cause of the automatic action, or its effect, or a joint effect of
the cause which produces it--on all these hypotheses the sensation
and the action are conjoined in such a manner, as to form so close
an association by contiguity that the idea of the sensation becomes
capable of exciting the action. This being conceded, it follows, by
the ordinary laws of association, that whatever recals the idea of
the sensation, tends, through the idea, to produce the action.
Now, there is nothing so closely associated with the idea of the
muscular sensation, as the idea of the muscular act itself, such as
it appears to outward observation. Whatever, therefore, calls up
strongly the idea of the act, is likely to call up the idea of the
accompanying muscular sensation, and so produce the act. But the
idea of the act is called up strongly by anything which makes us
desire to perform it; that is, by an association between it as a
means, and any coveted pleasure as an end. The act is thus produced
by our desire of the end; that is (according to the author's theory
of desire) by our idea of the end, when pleasurable; which, if an
end, it must be. The pleasurable association may be carried over
from the ultimate end to the idea of the muscular act, through any
number of intermediate links, consisting of the successive
operations, probably in themselves indifferent, by which the end has
to be compassed; but this transfer is strictly conformable to the
laws of association. When the pleasurable association has reached
the muscular act itself, and has caused it to be desired, the series
of effects terminates in the production of the act. What has now
been described is, in the opinion of the author, the whole of what
takes place in any voluntary action of the muscles. At the close of
the chapter we shall consider whether there is any part of the
facts, for which this theory does not sufficiently account.--_Ed._]
{355} II. But even when it is admitted that all muscular contraction
is the effect of association, in the way we have described, there
are other {356} phenomena to be accounted for. We may still be
reasonably called upon to explain the power which the mind appears
to possess over its associations. There is a {357} distinction in
the trains of the mind which is observed by every body. Some trains,
as those in dreams, in delirium, in frenzy, are supposed to proceed
according {358} to the established laws of association without any
direction from the mind. Other trains; a piece of reasoning, for
example; any process of thought, directed to an end; are considered
as wholly under the guidance of the mind. The guidance of the mind
is but another name for the will. And thus it is inferred that the
will is not association, but something which controuls association.
We now proceed to the solution of this difficulty. It can be
supposed that the will controuls association, in only one of two
ways; either, by calling up an Idea, independently of association;
or, by making an Idea call up, not the Idea which would follow it
spontaneously, but some other Idea.
The first supposition, that an Idea can be called up by the will,
is relinquished by the common consent of philosophers.
We cannot will without willing something; and in willing we must
have an Idea of the thing willed. If we will an Idea, therefore, we
must have the Idea. The Idea does not remain to be called up. It is
called up already. To say that we will to have an Idea, when we
already have it, is a mere absurdity.[64]
[Bain's footnote 64: What we have in mind when we will to remember
anything, is of course not the thing to be remembered, but some
collateral, or something to determine our search for it. We will to
remember an opinion found in a certain book. We have not in our mind
the actual opinion sought; what we have in mind is the book, and
portion of the book, and the subject that the opinion refers to; and
we desiderate the filling up of the blank in our present ideas. We
will to remember the Greek name of the god, called by the Romans,
Bacchus. We have in mind the name Bacchus, and the knowledge that
the Greeks had a different name for the god; we have not in our mind
that name; and we put forth an effort of recollection to arrive at
it.--_B._]
{359} The second supposition is, that will can prevent an Idea from
calling up one idea, make it call up another; prevent its calling up
the Idea which would have followed it spontaneously, make it call up
the Idea which the mind is in quest of.
The first question is, how the will, or the mind willing, can
prevent an Idea from calling up another. We know that this is wholly
impossible in all those cases in which the association is strong. We
cannot think of colour without thinking of extension; we cannot
think of the word bread without thinking of its meaning. It can be
supposed that we have such power in those cases only in which an
Idea has not an inseparable association with the idea in question,
but only such an association with it as it has with many others. But
how is it that we can hinder an idea which has those associations,
from calling up any of the ideas with which it is associated? How
can we foresee which of those ideas it will call up? And, if we do
foresee that it will call up the idea which we desire to avoid, it
follows that the Idea is already in our mind. There seems,
therefore, the same incongruity in the supposition that the will can
directly prevent, as that it can directly produce, an idea.
If the mind, then, possesses any power over its trains, it seems to
be confined to its power of making {360} an idea call up other ideas
than those which it would spontaneously excite. And if it possesses
this power, it possesses that also of excluding ideas which would
otherwise exist; since a new train of associations must take its
origin from the state of consciousness thus produced. It is,
therefore, in this, if in any thing, that the power of willing
consists.
We are, however, immediately encountered by the question. If the
mind cannot will an Idea, what power does it possess of introducing
any idea into a train, but such as comes of its own accord? If it
has the idea, it is in the train already. If it has it not, what can
it do in order to obtain it? There is the existing train; but how
can that be made any thing but what it is; or have any associations
but those which are already established?
In cases where language is too imperfect to ensure the conveyance of
definite ideas, there is an advantage in particular instances. There
are two familiar processes, which are commonly adduced as examples
of the power which the mind exercises over its trains. The one is,
the endeavour to recollect something we do not remember. The other
is, the process of attention.
When anything is remembered, the idea of the thing is always in the
mind along with certain associations. In recollection, therefore,
the object is attained by the excitement of this idea. Sometimes the
effort which we make is successful; sometimes it is not. We are said
to will to recollect; but this is obviously an improper expression.
To recollect is to call up an Idea. But this, as we have seen
already, is not within the province of will. When it is said {361}
that we will to recollect, the meaning only is, that we desire to
recollect.
But it is also to be inquired, what here is the meaning of the word
Desire. We have seen that it is a term applied to Pleasure, or the
Cause of Pleasure. The idea, in this instance, which the mind is in
quest of, is desired. But why desired? As Pleasure; or the Cause of
Pleasure? As Cause, we may reply, in all instances. The idea is
wanted for some purpose or end. In that End the pleasure is
involved.
The End is thus a pleasurable, that is, an interesting, Idea. But it
is in the character of interesting ideas, to dwell in the mind. The
meaning is, that they are easily called up by other ideas; and,
thus, that there is a perpetual recurrence of them. A young man in
love, is said to be engrossed with the idea of his mistress. No
sooner has her idea suggested another idea, that is, given place to
it, than her idea is again suggested by another, and so on,
continually. The man, who is to be executed to-morrow, can think of
nothing but the terrible event which is approaching. It can be
banished, hardly for an instant. Every thing serves to recall it:
and along with it a rush of ideas of the most painful description.
There is no law of association more remarkable than that of the
rapidity with which pleasurable and painful ideas call up trains of
great complexity, and the facility with which they themselves are
excited by almost every idea which enters the mind.
When we endeavour, therefore, to recollect any thing, the
pleasurable idea, the purpose or end, predominates in the mind, and
gives birth to those {362} associations, which are called the effort
of recollection. The idea sought after, is sought as a means to this
end. Till that idea is recalled, the Idea of the end, that is, an
unsatisfied desire, exists, and calls up one circumstance after
another, more or less connected with the Idea which is sought after.
If these circumstances do not recall the idea; the feeling of
unsatisfied desire still continues. The feeling of unsatisfied
desire, accompanying successive cases of association, constitutes
the feeling to which we give the name of effort of recollection. And
the Idea of the End, perpetually calling up the idea of the absence
of what is wanted, as the means to that end, and hence calling up in
close association every circumstance connected with that unknown
something, constitutes the feeling which we call casting about, for
the unknown Idea. I believe that this is a full, though summary
account of the mental process, or succession of ideas, which takes
place when we endeavour to recall a forgotten idea.
The other process, through which the mind is supposed to influence
its trains, is Attention. We seem to have the power of attending, or
not attending to any object; by which is meant, that we can Will to
attend to it, or not to attend. By attending to an object, we give
it the opportunity of exciting all the ideas with which it is
associated. By not attending to it we deprive it of more or less of
that opportunity. And if the will has this power over every idea in
a train, it has thence a power, which may be called unlimited, over
the train.
What remains, therefore, to complete this inquiry, is, to point out
the real process, on which the name {363} ATTENTION is in this
manner bestowed. The exposition has been substantially given by
preceding writers. But it is desirable, if it be in our power, to set
forth the several steps of the process a little more distinctly than
has hitherto been done.
At first sight, the objects of attention seem to be infinite. When
traced to their sources, however, it is found, that they are of two
species only. We attend to Sensations; we attend to Ideas; and there
is no other object of our attention.
For the present purpose, it is peculiarly necessary to bear in mind
the important distinction we have already noticed, between the class
of indifferent sensations, and the class of pleasurable or painful,
which we may call, by one name, interesting, sensations.
Uninteresting sensations are never, for their own sakes, an object
of attention. If ever they become objects of attention, it is when
they are considered as causes, or signs, of interesting sensations.
A painful or a pleasurable sensation is a peculiar state of mind. A
man knows it, only by having it; and it is impossible that by words
he can convey his feeling to others. The effort, however, to convey
the idea of it, has given occasion to various forms of expression,
all of which are greatly imperfect. The state of mind under a
pleasurable or painful sensation is such, that we say, the sensation
engrosses the mind; but this really means no more than that it is a
painful or pleasurable sensation; and that such a sensation is a
state of mind very different from an indifferent sensation. The
phrase, engrossing the mind, is sometimes exchanged for the word
Attention. A pleasurable or painful sensation is said to fix the
{364} Attention of the Mind. But if any man tries to satisfy himself
what it is to have a painful sensation, and what it is to attend to
it, he will find little means of distinguishing them. Having a
pleasurable or painful sensation, and attending to it, seem not to
be two things, but one and the same thing. The feeling a pain is
attending to it; and attending to it is feeling it. The feeling is
not one thing, the attention another; the feeling and the attention
are the same thing.
An objector may appeal to certain cases, in which one sensation of
the pleasurable or painful kind seems to be swallowed up, as it
were, by another. Thus, in the agony of the gout, or toothache, the
uneasiness of some local cutaneous inflammation is hardly perceived.
The case here is that of two uneasy sensations, one slight; the
other intense. According to the supposition, that attention is but a
name given to the having of an interesting sensation, what ought to
happen in this case is that precisely which does happen. The
stronger sensation is, the stronger attention. And that the feebler
sensation merges itself in the stronger, and is lost in it, is
matter of common and obvious experience. Thus we are every instant,
as long as we are awake, shutting and opening our eyelids. We are,
therefore, alternately in light and darkness. But as the light is
the stronger sensation of the two, we have the sensation of light
without interruption. Thus, too, if a stick ignited at one end is
rapidly turned round in a circle, though it is obvious that the
ignited object is at only one part of the circle at a time, and all
the other parts are in darkness, the circle, nevertheless, assumes
the {365} appearance of being wholly ignited. There is not a more
striking exemplification of this law than what is exhibited by the
comparison of our sleeping and waking thoughts. In dreams, when our
trains are composed of Ideas, unmixed with sensations, the Ideas
have so much vividness as to be taken for sensations.[65] In our
waking trains, sensations and ideas are mixed together; but as each
sensation introduces many ideas, however numerous the sensations may
be, the ideas are many times more numerous. Yet such is the effect
of the more vivid to obscure the less vivid feeling, that our day
does not appear a day of ideas, but a day of sensations.
[Bain's footnote 65: The author makes frequent reference to dreams,
but it may be doubted whether he has seized the explanation of that
obscure phenomenon. It is an approximately correct statement of one
circumstance of dreams, that the Ideas are unmixed with sensations;
in a sound slumber, we are inaccessible to the sensations of the
five senses. We are not equally fortified against the organic
sensations, as those of digestion and other functions. The
sensations absent are a very important class, as regards objective
or outward reality; and it is probably their absence, as competitors
on this ground, that allows the ideas to swell out into an unnatural
and illusory prominence, as if they alone were the full reality.
This is a more probable account of the illusion, than the
circumstance given in the text, "the greater vividness" of the
monopolising Ideas, although that too is a fact, and may tend in the
same direction.--_B._]
There are cases in which the effect which is thus produced by a
stronger sensation with respect to a weaker, or by sensations with
respect to ideas, is also produced by one idea with respect to
another. Innumerable cases can be adduced to prove, and, {366}
indeed, it forms one of the great features of what we call the
intellectual nature of man, that Ideas, by their accumulation, are
capable of acquiring a power, superior to that of sensations, both
as pleasure and as pain. The pleasures of Taste, the pleasures of
Intellectual exertion, the pleasures of Virtue, acquire when duly
cultivated, a power of controlling the solicitations of appetite,
and are esteemed a more valuable constituent of happiness than all
that sense can immediately bestow.
On the power of ideas, as the stronger feelings, to swallow up
sensations, in the same manner as stronger sensations swallow up the
weaker, some decisive experiments have been made. The wretches who,
nearly a century ago, were made tools of in France, under the title
of _convulsionnaires_, to carry on the purposes of Fanaticism, were
so placed under the dominion of certain ideas, being persons of weak
intellects and strong imagination, and operated upon by men skilled
in the ways of perverting feeble understandings, that the ideas
became feelings far more potent than the sensations; and when the
bodies of the frenzied creatures were subjected to operations
calculated to produce the most intense sufferings, they denied that
they felt any thing, and by the whole of their demeanour confirmed,
as far as it could confirm, the truth of their asseverations. That
men in the ardour of battle receive wounds of a serious nature,
without being aware of them, till after a considerable lapse of
time, is testified upon unsuspicious evidence.
These instances, therefore, it is manifest, form no objection to our
conclusion, that the attending to an {367} interesting sensation,
and the having the sensation, are but two names for the same thing.
We have now to consider, what it is, to attend to an indifferent
sensation. The force of the word indifferent implies, that an
indifferent sensation is not an object of attention on its own
account. If it were an object of attention on its own account, it
would not be indifferent. If it is regarded, however, as the cause,
or the sign, of an interesting sensation, we are already acquainted
with the process which takes place. The idea of the interesting
sensation is immediately associated with it; the state of
consciousness then is not an indifferent sensation merely; it is a
sensation and an idea, in union. The idea besides is an interesting
idea, that of a pain or pleasure.
The union of an interesting idea, with an indifferent sensation,
makes a compound state of consciousness which, as a whole, is
interesting. As the having an interesting sensation, and the
attending to it, are but two names for the same thing; the having a
sensation rendered interesting by association, and the attending to
it, cannot be regarded as two different things. In the first case,
attention is merely a sensation of a particular kind; in the second,
it is merely an association of a particular kind.
We have now to shew what takes place, when the attention, to use the
common language, is not directed to Sensations but Ideas.
Ideas are, like sensations, of two kinds. They are either
interesting, or not interesting. We need not repeat what has been so
often said respecting the origin and composition of those two
classes of Ideas, and the cause of their difference.
{368} An indifferent idea, like an indifferent sensation, is, in
itself, not an object of attention. If it were an object of
attention, it would not be indifferent; in other words, it would be
interesting. In fact, it is in the very import of the word
attention, that the object of it is interesting. And if an object is
interesting it must be so, either in itself, or by association.
As we found that the having an interesting sensation, and the
attending to that sensation, were not two distinguishable states of
consciousness, but one and the same state of consciousness, let us
now observe, as carefully as we can, whether the having an
interesting idea is a state of consciousness, which can be
distinguished from attending to it, or whether they are not merely
two names for the same thing. When the young man, in love, has the
idea of the woman, who is the object of his affections, is not
attention merely another word for the peculiar nature of the Idea?
In like manner in the mind of the man, who is to be executed
to-morrow, the idea of the terrible event before him, is an idea in
the very essence of which attention is involved. Attention is but
another name for the interesting character of the idea.
If there are any cases to which an objector's appeal can be made,
they will be found, upon examination, to resemble those which we
considered in the case of sensation, and which we found to be
nothing more than instances of the prevalence of a stronger feeling
over a weaker; stronger, either by its nature, or the peculiar
circumstances of the moment. We shall not, therefore, stay to
propound and explain them.
{369} It only remains to expound the case in which an indifferent
Idea becomes interesting by association. It cannot do so in any
other way, than those in which it appeared that an indifferent
sensation becomes interesting. It may be considered as the cause, or
the sign, of some interesting state of consciousness. When that
which is interesting becomes associated with that which is
uninteresting, so as to form one compound state of consciousness,
the whole is interesting. An idea, in itself indifferent, associated
with interesting ideas, becomes part of a new compound which, as a
whole, is interesting: and an interesting idea existing, and an
interesting idea attended to, are only two names for the same thing.
In the case of Ideas, then, as in the case of sensations, attention
to an interesting Idea, is merely having it; attention to an
indifferent idea, is merely associating with it some idea that is
interesting.
As far then, as ATTENTION gives us power over the trains of our
ideas, it is not Will which gives it to us, but the occurrence of
interesting sensations, or ideas.
There is not any of the phenomena, which are usually appealed to as
the great manifestations of the power of the mind over its trains,
which this mode of exposition does not satisfactorily account for.
We may take as a sufficient exemplification of them all, the
composition of a Discourse upon any important topic. The operation
of the mind upon such an occasion seems to consist in a perpetual
selection; that is, in the exercise of an uninterrupted power over
{370} the trains of association. There is no doubt that it consists
of that peculiar class of associations, to which we give the names,
of selection, and power.
In composing a Discourse, a man has some end in view. It is for the
attainment of this end, that the Discourse is undertaken. If every
thing in the discourse tends to the accomplishment of the end, the
Discourse is said to be coherent, appropriate, consistent. If there
are many things in it which have no tendency, or but little
tendency, to the accomplishment of the end, the discourse is said to
be rambling, and incoherent.
This is a case, the exposition of which corresponds very much with
that which we have already explained; the endeavour to recollect a
forgotten Idea. In that case, the existence of an interesting idea
calls up a variety of circumstances, that is, a variety of ideas;
and it very often happens, that the idea which is sought for, is
called up among them.
In this case, what the seeker has occasion for, is a single Idea; a
single idea accomplishes the end he has in view. In the case of the
composer of a discourse a great many ideas are wanted. His end
cannot be attained by one or a few. But his proceeding is precisely
of the same kind in regard to his many Ideas, as that of the man who
desires to recollect in regard to his single Idea. He knows there
are a number of ideas, connected with the end he has in view, which
he can employ for his purpose, provided he can call them up. How
they are called up, after the practice we have had in those
solutions, requires but little explanation. The end in view is an
interesting Idea. It is, at the time, the prevalent Idea. {371} It
is that by which the man is stimulated to action. This idea calls up
by association many ideas and trains of ideas. Of these a large
proportion pass, and are not made use of. Others are detained and
employed. This detaining and employing is all that needs to be
explained. It is the same sort of result as the recognition of the
forgotten Idea, in the case of recollection.
The forgotten Idea is an Idea associated, as cause, with the end to
be obtained by it, as its effect. The same is the case with the
ideas which the composer of a discourse selects out of the
multitudes, which the continual suggestions of the interesting Idea
by which he is actuated, that of his end, bring before him. The
greater number are not associated with the idea of his end as cause
and effect. Some among them are. These immediately suggest the use
to be made of them; and thence, by the regular chains of
association, the operations take place.
It is from these explanations, also, easy to see what constitutes
the difference between the man who composes a coherent, and the man
who composes a rambling discourse. In the man who composes the
coherent discourse, the main Idea, that of the end in view,
predominates, and controls the association, in every part of the
process. It is not only the grand suggesting principle, which sets
trains of the ideas connected with itself in motion; but it is the
grand selecting principle. As ideas rise in the train, this
interesting and predominating idea stands ready to be associated as
effect with every idea in the train which can operate as cause; it
so associates itself with no other; and therefore no wrong selection
is made. {372} If, however, it does not thus predominate in the mind
of the composer of the discourse, as his exclusive end; if it gives
way at every turn to some other end; as the idea of applause from
some lively jest, from some gaudy description, from some florid
thought, the selection is made so far upon other principles, and the
object of the discourse is forgotten.[66]
[Editor's footnote 66: The account here given of Attention, though
full of instructive matter, I cannot consider to be at all adequate.
When it is said that a sensation, by reason of its highly
pleasurable or painful character, engrosses the mind, more is meant
than merely that it is a highly pleasurable or painful sensation.
The expression means, first, that when a sensation is highly
pleasurable or painful, it tends, more or less strongly, to exclude
from consciousness all other sensations less pleasurable or painful
than itself, and to prevent the rising up of any ideas but those
which itself recals by its associations. This portion of the facts
of the case is noticed by the author, though not sufficiently
prominent in his theory. But there is another portion, altogether
untouched by him. Through this power which the sensation has, of
excluding other sensations and ideas, it tends to prolong its own
existence; to make us continue conscious of it, from the absence of
other feelings which if they were present would either prevent us
from feeling it, or would make us feel it less intensely; which is
called diverting our attention from it. This is what we mean when we
say that a pleasurable or painful idea tends to fix the attention.
We mean, that it is not easy to have, simultaneously with it, any
other sensation or idea; except the ideas called up by itself, and
which in turn recal it by association, and so keep it present to the
mind. Becoming thus a nearly exclusive object of consciousness, it
is both felt with greater intensity, and acquires greater power of
calling up, by association, other ideas. There is an increase both
in the multitude, the intensity, and the distinctness of the ideas
it suggests; as is always the case when the suggesting sensation or
idea is increased in intensity. In this manner a sensation which
gets possession of our consciousness because it is already intense,
becomes, by the fact of having taken possession, still more intense,
and obtains still greater control over the subsequent train of our
thoughts. And these also are precisely the effects which take place
when, the sensation not being so pleasurable or painful as to
produce them of itself, or in other words to fix the attention, we
fix it voluntarily. All this is as true of Ideas as of Sensations.
If a thought is highly painful, or pleasurable, it tends to exclude
all thoughts which have no connexion with it, and which if aroused
would tend to expel it--to make us (as we say) forget the pain or
the pleasure. By thus obtaining exclusive possession of the mind,
the pleasurable or painful thought is made more intense, more
painful or pleasurable; and, as is the nature of pains and
pleasures, acquires, in consequence, a greater power of calling up
whatever ideas are associated with it. All this is expressed by
saying that it fixes the attention. And ideas which are not of
themselves so painful or pleasurable as to fix the attention, may
have it fixed on them by a voluntary act. In other words, the will
has power over the attention.
But how is this act of will excited, and in what does it consist? On
this point the author's analysis is conclusive, and admirable. The
act, like other voluntary acts, is excited by a motive; by the
desire of some end, that is, of something pleasurable; (including in
the word pleasurable, as the author does, exemption from pain). What
happens is, that, the idea on which we are said to fix our attention
not being of itself sufficiently pleasurable to fix it
spontaneously, we form an association between it and another
pleasurable idea, and the result then is that the attention is
fixed. This is the true account of all that we do when we fix our
attention voluntarily; there is no other possible means of fixing
it. It thus appears, that the fixing of attention by an act of will
depends on the same law, as the fixing it by the natural
pleasantness or painfulness of the idea. Of itself the idea is not
pleasant or painful, or not sufficiently so to fix the attention;
but if it were considerably more pleasant or painful than it is, it
would do so. It becomes considerably more pleasurable by being
associated with the motive--that is, by a fresh association of
pleasure with it--and the attention is fixed. This explanation seems
complete.
It may be said, however, by an objector, that this accounts only for
the case in which the voluntary attention flows easy and unimpeded,
almost as if it were spontaneous; when the mere perception that the
idea is connected with our purpose--with the pleasurable end which
suggested the train of thought, at once and without difficulty
produces that exclusive occupation of the mind with it, which is
called fixing the attention. But it often happens that the mere
perception of its connexion with our purpose is not sufficient: the
mind still wanders from the thought: and there is then required a
supplementary force of will, in aid of association; an effort, which
expends energy, and is often both painful and exhausting.
Let us examine, then, what takes place in this case. The association
of the thought with the pleasurable end in view, is sufficient to
influence the attention, but not sufficient to command it. The will,
therefore, has to be called in, to heighten the effect. But in this
case, as in every case, the will is called into action by a motive.
The motive, like all other motives, is a desire. The desire must be
either the same desire which was already felt, but made more
effectual than before, or another desire superadded to the first.
The former case presupposes the latter: for the desire which was not
sufficient to fix the attention firmly on that which is the means to
its fulfilment, cannot be sufficient to call forth the voluntary
effort necessary for fixing it: some other desire must come to its
assistance. What, then, is this other desire? The question is not
difficult. The present is one of the complex cases, in which we
desire a different state of our own desires. By supposition, we
do not care enough for the immediate end, that is the idea of it
is not sufficiently pleasurable, or the idea of its frustration
sufficiently painful, to exert the force of association required.
But we are dissatisfied with this infirmity of our desires:
we wish that we cared more for the end; we think that it would be
better for us if either this particular end, or our ends generally,
had greater command over our thoughts and actions than they have.
There is thus called up, by our sense of the insufficiency of our
attention in the particular case, the idea of another desirable
end--greater vigour and certainty in our mental operations. That
idea superadds itself to the idea of the immediate end, and this
reinforcement of the associating power at last suffices to fix the
attention. Or (which is the same thing in effect) the painful idea
is called up, of being unable to fix our attention, and being in
consequence thwarted generally in our designs; and this pain
operates, in the same manner as a pleasure, in fixing our attention
upon the thought which, if duly attended to, will relieve us from
the oppressive consciousness.
It will be asked, whence come the sense of laborious effort, and the
subsequent feeling of fatigue, which are experienced when the
attention does not fix itself spontaneously, but is fixed with more
or less difficulty by a voluntary act? I conceive them to be
consequences of the prolongation of the state designated by the
author, in the text, as a state of unsatisfied desire. That state,
whatever view the psychologist takes of it, is a condition of the
brain and nerves, having physiological consequences of great
importance, and drawing largely on that stock of what we call
nervous energy, any unusual expenditure or deficiency of which
produces the feeling of exhaustion. The waste of energy, and the
subsequent exhaustion, are greatest when the desire seems
continually on the point of obtaining its gratification, but the
gratification constantly eludes it. And this is what actually
happens in the case supposed. The attention continually fastens on
the idea which we desire to attend to, but, from the insufficient
strength of the pleasurable or painful association, again deserts
it; and the incessant alternation of hope and disappointment
produces, as in other cases, the nervous disturbance which we call
the sense of effort, and which is physiologically followed by the
sensations of nervous exhaustion. It is probable that whatever is
not muscular in the feeling which we call a sense of effort, is the
physical effect produced by a more than usual expenditure of nervous
force: which, reduced to its elements, means a more than usually
rapid disintegration and waste of nervous substance.
Let me here remark, that the recognition, by the author of the
Analysis, of a peculiar state of consciousness called a state of
unsatisfied desire, conflicts with his doctrine that desire is
nothing but the idea of the desired pleasure as future. In what
sense is it possible to speak of an unsatisfied idea? If even we
insert the omitted element of Belief, and resolve desire not into
the mere idea, but into the expectation of a pleasure; though we
might rationally speak of an unsatisfied expectation, it would only
mean an expectation not fulfilled, in other words, an expectation of
pleasure not followed by the pleasure; an expectation followed by a
mere negation. How a pleasant idea, followed, not by a pain, but by
nothing at all, is converted into a pain, the pain of unsatisfied
desire, remains to be explained: and the author has not pointed out
any associations which account for it. If it be said that the
expectation is perpetually renewed and perpetually disappointed,
this is true, but does not account for more than a continual
alternation between a pleasant idea and no idea at all. That an
element of pain should enter into unsatisfied desire, is a fact not
explained by the author's theory; and it stands as evidence that
there is in a desire something inherently distinct from either an
idea or an expectation.--_Ed._]
{373} I cannot deem it necessary, after the training which we now
have had, to give these expositions in more {374} minute detail. But
it seems to be proper to notice, in a few words, the explanation
which they afford of {375} the phenomena which are usually named the
power or want of power over the train of the ideas--in a still {376}
more important instance than the composition of a discourse, that of
the conduct of life. Some men are distinguished for a steady
direction of their actions, through the course of their lives, to
some general end, or ends. One man attaches himself to the
cultivation of his mind; another, to the accumulation of wealth;
another, to the acquisition of fame. There are other men whose lives
appear to be a perpetual fluctuation. They either shift from one
great end to another perpetually; or, in their trains, the great
ends appear to have no ascendancy over the little. There are men who
seem to have a different end of their actions, every day they rise
from their beds. The men, in whose minds the great purposes of life
seem to have no greater ascendancy than the minor objects, are
called frivolous men. It sometimes happens, that a {377} man who
chooses a frivolous end is steady in the pursuit of it. The common
case, however, is that no one frivolous end acquires a steady
ascendancy; and the man is in a state of perpetual fluctuation.
The solution of these phenomena is obvious. When the idea of any of
the great purposes of life exists habitually in controlling
strength, it performs the same function in regard to the selection
of actions, which the Idea of the end or purpose of the Discourse
performs in regard to ideas, in the case of the man who is composing
it. Out of the whole number of ideas, which present themselves to
him, the idea of his End associates itself with those which can
operate as causes of its attainment; and this association is
followed by all the other associations which produce the employment
of the Ideas. In like manner, when {378} the great purposes of life
are established into predominating ideas, they associate themselves
strongly with the ideas of those actions which contribute to their
attainment; and those associations are followed by all the other
associations, which produce their adoption.
The interpretation which belongs to the phrases, when we hear of men
who have, and men who have not, their ideas and actions under
command, is, that the one set of men have certain leading ideas,
called purposes, so established, as to maintain a control over both
their Ideas and their actions; the other set have not ideas so
formed as to exercise this ascendancy. That man may be justly said
to have the greatest command over his ideas, whose associations with
the grand sources of felicity are the most numerous and strong. When
the grand sources of felicity are formed into the leading and
governing ideas, each in its due and relative strength. Education
has then performed its most perfect work; and thus the individual
becomes, to the greatest degree, the source of utility to others,
and of happiness to himself.
In regard, then, to that state of mind which precedes action, we
seem to have ascertained the following indisputable facts: That
actions are, in some instances, preceded by mere sensations; that,
in other instances, they are preceded by ideas; that, in all cases
in which the action is said to be Willed, it is desired, as a means
to an end; or, in more accurate language, is associated, as cause,
with pleasure as effect: that the idea of the outward appearance of
the action, thus excited by association, excites, in the same way,
the idea of the internal feelings, which are {379} the immediate
antecedent of the action, and then the action takes place; that
whatever power we may possess over the actions of our muscles, must
be derived from our power over our associations; and that this power
over our associations, when fully analysed, means nothing more than
the power of certain interesting Ideas, originating in interesting
sensations, and formed into strength by association.[67] [68]
[Editor's footnote 67: The analysis contained in this chapter
affords, as it appears to me, a sufficient theory of the manner in
which all that we denominate voluntary, whether it be a bodily
action or a modification of our mental state, comes to be produced
by a motive, i.e. by the association of an idea of pleasure or of
exemption from pain with the act or the mental modification. But
there is still an unexplained residuum which has not yet been
brought to account. There are some bodily movements the consequence
of which is not pleasure, but pain. Painful states of consciousness,
no less than pleasurable ones, tend to form strong associations with
their causes or concomitants. The idea, therefore, of a pain, will,
no less than that of a pleasure, become associated with the muscular
action that would produce it, and with the muscular sensations that
accompany the action; and, as a matter of fact, we know that it does
so. Why, then, is the result not merely different, but contrary? Why
is it that the muscular action excited by association with a
pleasure, is action towards the pleasure, while that excited by
association with a pain is away from the pain? As far as depends on
the law of association, it might seem that the action, in both
cases, would be towards the fact with which the action is
associated. There are some remarkable phenomena in which this really
happens. There are cases in which a vivid imagination of a painful
fact, seems really to produce the action which realizes the fact.
Persons looking over a precipice are said to be sometimes seized
with a strong impulse to throw {380} themselves down. Persons who
have extreme horror of a crime, if circumstances make the idea of
committing it vividly present to their mind, have been known, from
the mere intensity of their horror, to commit the crime without any
assignable motive; and have been unable to give any account of why
they committed it, except that the thought struck them, that the
devil tempted them, and the like. This is the case of what is
sometimes called a fixed idea; which has a sort of fascinating
influence, and makes people seek what they fear or detest, instead
of shunning it. Why is not this extremely exceptional case the
common one? Why does the association of pain with an act, usually
excite not to that act, but to the acts which tend to prevent the
realization of the dreaded evil?
It seems, that as the author has had to admit as an ultimate fact,
the distinction between those of our sensations which we call
pleasures and those which we call pains, considered as states of our
passive sensibility, so also he would be compelled to admit, as a
fact unreached by his explanations, a difference between the two in
their relation to our active faculty; an attraction in the one case,
and a repulsion in the other. That is, he must admit that the
association of a pleasurable or painful idea (at all events when
accompanied by a feeling of expectation) with a muscular act, has a
specific tendency to excite the act when the idea is that of a
pleasure, but, when it is the idea of a pain, has a specific
tendency to prevent that act, and to excite the acts that are
associated with the negation of the pain. This is precisely what we
mean when we say that pleasure is desired, that pain is an object of
aversion, and the absence of pain an object of desire. These facts
are of course admitted by the author: and he admits them even as
ultimate: but, with his characteristic dislike to multiply the
number of ultimate facts, he merges them in the admitted ultimate
fact of the difference between pleasure and pain. It is chiefly in
cases of this sort--in leading him to identify two ultimate facts
with one another, that his love of simplification, in itself a
feeling highly worthy of a philosopher, seems to {381} mislead him.
Even if we consent to admit that the desire of a pleasure is one and
the same thing with the idea of a pleasure, and aversion to a pain
is the same thing with the idea of a pain--it remains true that the
difference which we passively feel, between the consciousness of a
pleasure; and that of a pain, is one fact, and our being stirred to
seek the one and avoid the other is another fact; and it is just
this second fact that distinguishes a mere idea of something as
future, from a desire or aversion. It is this conscious or
unconscious reference to action, which distinguishes the desire of a
pleasure from the idea of it. Desire, in short, is the initiatory
stage of volition. The author might indeed say, that this seeking of
the sensation is involved in the very fact of conceiving it as
pleasant; but this, when looked into, only means that the two things
are inseparable; not that they are, or that they can ever be thought
of, as identical; as one and the same thing.
It appears, then, that there is a law of voluntary action, the most
important one of all, which the author's explanations do not attempt
to reach. Yet there is no necessity for accepting that law as
ultimate. A theory resolving it into laws still more fundamental,
has been propounded by Mr. Bain in his writings, and a masterly
statement of it will be found in the succeeding note. If, as
I expect, this theory makes good its footing, Mr. Bain will be the
first psychologist who has succeeded in effecting a complete and
correct analysis of the Will.
In the same note will be found an analysis of the case of an _idée
fixe_--the most striking case of which, is that of a terrific idea,
exceptionally drawing the active power into the direction which
leads towards the dreaded catastrophe, instead of, as usual, into
the opposite direction. This peculiar case obliges us to acknowledge
the coexistence of two different modes in which action may be
excited. There is the normal agency of the ideas of a pleasure and a
pain, the one determining an action towards the pleasure, the other
an action away from the pain; and there is the general power of an
extremely strong association of any kind, to make the action follow
the idea. {382} The reason why the determination of action towards a
pain by the idea of the pain is only exceptional, is, that in order
to produce it, the general power of a strong association to excite
action towards the fact which it recals, has to overcome the
specific tendency of a painful association to repel action from that
fact. But the intensity of the painful idea may be so great, and the
association of the act with it so strong, as to overpower this
repulsive force by a greater attractive force: and it is then that
we find the painful idea operating on action in a mode contrary to
the specific property which is characteristic of it, and which it
usually obeys.
It has been suggested, that the intensity with which the mind
sometimes fixes upon a frightful idea, may operate by paralysing for
the time being the usual voluntary efforts to avoid pain, and so
allowing the natural impulse to act on a predominant idea to come
into play.--_Ed._]
[Bain's footnote 68: This chapter is a remarkably searching
discussion of the Will, not as a metaphysical puzzle, but as a
leading function of the mind. It is greatly superior to any previous
handling of the subject.
Of the facts brought forward in illustration of voluntary movement,
some are more properly referable to other parts of the mental
system.
First. Such actions as sneezing, coughing, contraction of the pupil
of the eye, hiccup, parturition, lock-jaw, respiration, the
movements of the heart, the peristaltic movements of the
intestines,--all which are stated to be movements prompted by
sensation,--are nearly, if not altogether, involuntary. They are
more usually termed Reflex Actions. In a certain number, sensation
is present, but is not essential; as in coughing, sneezing,
parturition. In others, for example, the movements of the heart and
the intestines, there is no sensation; the assumption made in the
text, that the blood cannot flow into the heart without being
accompanied with sensation, is incorrect.
These actions are interesting to study in connexion with the will,
but rather in the way of contrast than of similarity. {383} There is
probably a deep community in the foundations of the two classes of
movements; but, in their more obvious aspect, and for all
psychological purposes, they are opposed. It is common to apply to
the Reflex class the name "involuntary."
Secondly. The movements in yawning, laughter, sobbing; the altered
action of the heart, the bowels, the kidneys, the skin, in
Fear,--are allied with sensations or feelings; but they are not
correctly classed with the Will; in fact, some of them are performed
through involuntary muscles. A different view must be taken of these
effects. They are the inseparable physical accompaniments of
feeling; the physical side or counterpart of the mental fact; in
their absence the feeling itself would not exist. Fear would not be
fear, if the emotional state were not attended with a series of
physical effects, partly of movement, partly of altered secretions.
These physical accompaniments supply the appearances known to all
men as the expression of feeling; which although to a great degree
made up of movements, is totally distinct from the voluntary
promptings of the feelings. The smile that accompanies a pleasure
tasted is one thing: the activity inspired to prolong the enjoyment
is another thing. The two kinds of movement are frequently mingled;
thus, in acute pains, the cries and contortions of feature are the
embodiment of the feeling; the gestures and movements of the body,
may be partly expression, but are also attempts to obtain relief.
Expression in its purity is well seen in a shock of surprise; a
state which being often entirely neutral as regards pleasure or
pain, has no voluntary prompting whatsoever. Every feeling has a
certain definite physical embodiment with much or with little
outward display; this belongs to the feeling as such; it is a
phenomenon of feeling or emotion, and not of volition.
Thirdly. The operation of Ideas, in such instances as involuntary
imitation, contagious convulsions, the influence of the
imagination,--is a genuine source of actions, but is yet to be
distinguished from the Will. When the idea of a certain medicine
produces the very same effect as the medicine actually applied, when
a person yawning makes the beholder yawn, {384} or when, standing on
the brink of a precipice, one is tempted to jump down,--there is no
intervention of the will properly so called; on the contrary, there
may be a conflict between the influence of the idea and the true
volitional promptings. The characteristic feature of the voluntary
activity is to follow pleasure and to retreat from pain; some of the
tendencies growing out of an idea are in the direction of pain.
This, in many respects remarkable, phenomenon is better assigned to
the Intellectual part of our nature, although it has consequences on
our actions. When a sensation passes into an idea, it still retains,
in a diminished form, many of its characteristic properties. The
sensation of a savoury morsel in the mouth is accompanied with a
gush of saliva; the corresponding idea in any way aroused, as when
just commencing to eat, induces the very same flow, expressed by the
phrase "the mouth watering." The mode of interpreting the phenomenon
is the announcement of a pregnant law of the mind (two-sided like
the mind itself), that the idea is embodied in the same tracks as
the sensation, although commonly in a weaker form. There is a
standing mental determination, whereby all ideas tend to work
themselves out into full actuality; a power that the will and other
influences are constantly employed in checking. The sight of a
person yawning gives the idea of the act; and the idea, unless
counteracted, brings forth the reality. The sight of a precipice
gives very forcibly the idea of something falling headlong down, and
that idea possesses the mind of the spectator so strongly that but
for a restraining volition, he would act it out in his own person.
By far the most interesting application of the law is to explain the
workings of Sympathy, in the form of purely beneficent disinterested
impulses. Allusion has already been made to the law, in this
peculiar aspect, in a former note (Chap. XXIII. p. 302).
These three great classes of phenomena being withdrawn from the
region of the Will, the remaining facts mentioned in the text can be
viewed in a clearer light.
1. It is justly stated that the Will is an extensive and {385}
laborious _acquisition_, pursued, especially at the commencement, in
the midst of considerable difficulties.
2. In the mature will, the immediate antecedent of a voluntary act
is an _idea_ of the thing to be done. This is true, but not the
precise, nor the whole truth.
3. The author's mode of viewing the influence of Attention points to
the really fundamental and typical fact of the Will. He says,
Attention is merely another name for the engrossing effect of a
pleasurable or a painful sensation. "Having a pleasurable or painful
sensation, and attending to it, seem not to be two things, but one
and the same thing." That is to say, there is a power in pleasure as
such, and in pain as such, to stimulate action or movement with
reference to the pleasure or the pain. This is the nearest approach
that is made in the text to a statement of the law of voluntary
action.
The law has been differently expressed. Locke said, the will moves
to the greatest uneasiness, which is no doubt the fact. Still, by a
wider induction, we obtain a more comprehensive, as well as more
accurate, generalization.
If we observe one of the most familiar instances of voluntary
action--the process of eating, for example, we find that what
happens is as follows:--The contact of the food with the tongue and
palate stimulates, by an immediate impulse, all the movements of
mastication and swallowing (in its first stage), and the further
movements for placing more food in the mouth. We find that the
intensity of the stimulation is in proportion to the degree of the
pleasurable excitement, being highest at the commencement, and
sinking gradually in the approach to satiety. There is no fact that
can be produced more exactly typifying the primary action of the
will. A tasted pleasure, everywhere, at all times, from the
beginning to the close of life, is an immediate inducement to
activity. Coming out of a chilling atmosphere into a place of genial
warmth, our energy is at once aroused to follow the cue. The
striking up of a band attracts and detains all listeners susceptible
to the charm. There is, in such instances, no intermediate process
of reflection, deliberation, or resolution; a {386} simple, an
indivisible, link unites a burst of pleasure and a burst of activity
following up the pleasure.
Reverting to the first example, the act of eating, we may detect
another phase of the voluntary sequences. Suppose a morsel, admitted
in good faith, to disclose a very bad taste, say the taste of soot;
what is the immediate, unreflecting, response? The _first_ effect is
a collapse and suspension of all the masticating movements. From the
earliest infancy, this consequence would be shown. There commonly
succeeds, and often with great rapidity, a _second_ effect, which we
shall consider under another head--the energetic discharge of the
morsel from the mouth; but long before children are capable of the
second act, they fall into the first--the suspension of the activity
at the time.
On extending our survey to the analogous cases, we are enabled to
announce this also, as a typical situation of the Will,
namely:--That, as pleasure furthers activity in its own direction,
pain arrests activity in its own direction. Turning a street corner,
we encounter suddenly a bitter wintry blast; we feel at once an
arrest upon our movements. An ill odour, a painful contact, a
grating noise, a disagreeable spectacle, have all the same immediate
efficacy. The proper, the direct consequent of an incursion of pain,
is suspended activity. Not only is this second law conformable to
observation, it is the implication, the obverse, of the previous law
connecting pleasure with increased activity.
The apparent exceptions to the second law need to be adverted to.
The most obvious is the exciting effect of a smarting sensation, as
the stroke of a whip. A light, smarting, pungent, stimulus,
amounting to pain, quickens the general activity of the system for
the time; while a more severe blow operates according to the general
principle, and suspends activity. To quicken an animal's pace, the
light smart is often the best application; to arrest an access of
action, there must be greater severity. The excitement of an acute
smart is due not to the pain of it, but to the mere shock imparted
to the nerves; if a similar intensity of nervous shock were also a
{387} cause of pleasure, the stimulating effect would be far
greater, and more prolonged; for the element of pain, in the case of
the painful smart, destroys the activity in the second stage, when
the nervous excitement has subsided. Any one walking at a certain
pace, and suddenly jolted, is momentarily awakened to a higher pitch
of nervous excitement; but goes on, after the shock, at a slackened
pace. An acute smart has thus a twofold efficacy; it is both a
temporary stimulant of activity, and a cause of reduced energy on
the whole, according to the second law of the Will.
Another apparent exception is the vehemence manifested in escaping
from pain; a mode of activity almost indistinguishably mixed up with
the writhings and contortions of a creature under suffering, in
other words, with the physical embodiments of the state of pain. The
sudden excitement just adverted to also enters into the complex
effect; being brought out at the first moment of the infliction, and
at every new twinge in fitful modes of suffering. This energetic
activity for escape is a distinct aspect of voluntary power. It is
Locke's typical form of the Will, but is here regarded as secondary
or circuitous, and not as the primitive situation.
Thirdly. We must now then consider expressly the influence of pain
in stimulating action for alleviation or escape, as when we draw
back from anything that pains or offends us. To call the pain the
direct stimulant in this situation, would be to connect pain and
pleasure equally with the exaltation of our energies; which would be
a contradiction, or else would tend to show that there is no casual
connexion between pleasure or pain and our active exertions. The
real motive force of pain, however, is not the state of suffering,
but the _relief_; and relief from pain is another form of pleasure.
That pleasure stimulates, that pain depresses, that alleviation of
pain stimulates, are all one and the same phenomenon--statements of
the same law.
There are two stages in the operation of pain. The first is, when
under a present pain, something happens to give us relief; in which
case, we experience on the instant, a burst of {388} physical elation,
exactly as from a sudden access of pleasure. In exposure to a cold
wind, we have the depression accompanying a massive pain; in coming
gradually under shelter, we feel buoyed and elated, our movements
are quickened, and we follow the lead with growing energy. Every one
has experienced the stimulus of success, and the damping effect of
failure; although, practically viewed, the success should dispense
with the newborn energy, and the failure should bring about an
increase of exertion. It takes a mind of unusual strength, to resist
these natural tendencies.
In the second stage, pain is found acting as a stimulant, without
present alleviation, and therefore without the benefit of the law of
pleasure. How is this? The answer is, that the idea of the relief is
the operative circumstance. The pedestrian exposed to a freezing
wind is urged to an accelerated pace, by the secondary or derived
impulse, growing out of the idea or anticipation of relief through a
certain amount of exertion. That this idea is the real source of the
new strength, is attested by the known facts and circumstances of
the situation. A sufferer, having no idea, prospect, or hope of
alleviation, flags and succumbs, in accordance with the proper
tendency of pain; the stimulation of the active powers does not
follow the degree of the misery, but the openings of a better lot.
What was noted above as the strength of mind that induces a
successful man to refrain from pushing on still farther, and an
unsuccessful man to struggle the more, means the firm possession of
an _idea_, to oppose the power of the present,--under success, an
idea of moderation, and, under misery, an idea of relief to supply
the active spur that the situation restrains. We call a man
strong-minded, if he resists the pressure of the actual in favour of
an ideal. This is the highest manifestation of energy of will. It
owes its merit, and even its meaning, to the fact that a present
pleasure inflames and a present pain quenches the activities; and
that, to counterwork these tendencies, there must be a strong
conception of ideal pain in the one case, and of ideal pleasure in
the other; which is the same law of the mind in another form. We
{389} cannot remain quiescent under a vivid and growing pleasure,
unless by the prospect of pain in the distance; nor do we rouse up
under pain without some idea of relief, that is, pleasure in the
distance.
No general law of the mind is more thoroughly confirmed by the
experience of human actions than the principle now stated in its
three several aspects. There is, as has been seen, something to be
accounted for, in the lively stimulus under acute smarts; there is,
also, an obverse of this fact, in certain forms of pleasure (as
gentle warmth) which are lulling and soporific; but these are the
consequence of another law of the mind, in some degree complicating
the phenomena, without disproving the main law of the Will.
Possibly, this principle, wide as it is, may be subsumed under a
still wider:--namely, a principle connecting pleasure with
nutrition, or the supply of vital power and stimulus, and, by
implication, pain with the abatement or loss of vital energy; from
which the law of the will would be a consequence. The attempt to
resolve it so is highly interesting; but, in the psychological
explanation of the will, we may be satisfied, for the present, to
start from the less imposing, but well-grounded generality now
given. At the same time, it will be found that, having once caught a
glimpse of the higher law, we cannot avoid occasionally falling into
the language suggested by it; so suitable does it often appear to
the expression of the facts.
With regard to one great aspect of voluntary action,--our being
moved _to_ pleasure and _from_ pain, the law is the full and precise
summary. The element of the will remaining unexplained, is the
_selection_ of the proper movements in each case; as when we start
up and walk in the direction of a pleasing sound. The rendering an
account of this selective adaptation is the theory of the growth or
development of the will.
In the delicate and difficult enquiry as to the manner of first
attaining the voluntary command of the movements, the law of the
will, just expounded, must still be referred to. But taken by
itself, that law does not explain the beginnings of the will. It
accounts for the keeping up of a movement {390} bringing pleasure,
and the dropping of a movement bringing pain, but it does not
account for the ability to single out, and set a-going, movements
calculated to enhance pleasure and subdue pain, actual or distant.
There is not, within its compass, any specifying or selective
faculty.
The complete explanation of the Will demands a reference to two
other laws of the mind. The first is the Spontaneous beginning of
Movements; the second, the Retentive or Associative process
constituting the basis of all our acquisitions.
By the Spontaneity of Movement is meant the tendency of human
beings, and of animals generally, to begin acting without the
express stimulus of sensation from without, and by virtue of the
fund of power residing in the active organs themselves. By means of
nourishment, the animal is disposed to pass into movement, from the
mere abundance of the motor energy in the nerve centres and in the
muscles. A large proportion of the activity of the more active
creatures,--as the human species (especially the young), quadrupeds,
birds, fishes, and insects,--is due to the presence of an active
machinery provided with superabundance of motive power. Apart from
the stimulus of sensation, from the wants and the pleasures of the
animal, there is a necessity for the active organs to put forth
their activity. The energy is greatly heightened,--often doubled or
tripled, by the stimulation of the senses, and, after a certain
education, by the influence of ideas; but it is far from remaining
in abeyance till operated upon by stimulants from without or from
within.
Besides summing up a large amount of the activity familiar to us in
the life of human beings, and of animals, this Spontaneity has a
special importance as a starting-point for the will. We have seen
that the difficulty unprovided for by the law of pleasure and pain,
is the singling out, or commencing, of the suitable movements. The
utmost that the law can ensure is to retain or continue them, when
once commenced. Now, the tendency to spontaneous action applies to
all the voluntary members--locomotive organs, trunk, head, jaw,
{391} tongue, mouth, eyes, voice, &c. There is, at the outset, no
rule or order for the spontaneous outburst, except the physical
condition of each organ, including the nervous connexions. The
animal, in its exuberant phase, after nourishment and rest, may
become active at any point; it may run, gesticulate, chew, gaze, cry
out; or having expended itself in any one direction, it may fall
into other regions of activity where the force is still abundant.
One or two instances must here suffice to indicate the process of
attaining the selective faculty of the will, through Spontaneity,
joined with the law of pleasure and pain. In the maturity of the
will, we have the power of following with the eyes a moving object,
partly by revolving the eye-balls, and partly by turning the head.
An infant has no such power. The manner of arriving at it is open to
observation, and is typical of the less obvious cases. Suppose the
child to have its gaze fixed upon a light, or some other appearance
of a stimulating kind. The physical effect of the stimulus, always
conjoined with the mental effect, is an increase of energy (by the
primary law of the will), which would manifest itself in quickening
and retaining the child's gaze; there is displayed a more energetic
strain of the attention than had existed when the eyes found nothing
to impart a special charm. Suppose next that the light is withdrawn,
by being moved to one side. The loss of the stimulus instantly works
as a depression; the heightened strain of attention collapses.
Still, the child is not reduced to absolute quiescence; it has an
internal fund of energy, independent of casual stimulations; the
flowing out of this energy consists in a series of movements for the
most part at random. It may happen, that one of these chance
movements is a rotation of the eyes, or of the head, in the exact
direction of the pleasing object, and therefore tending to recover
the illumination. Instantly, there is a burst of heightened energy,
according to the law of pleasure; and the movement accidentally
commenced is persistently stimulated so long as the pleasure of the
spectacle grows or continues. The concurrence is fortuitous; the
prolongation of it is not fortuitous, {392} but follows the law of
the will--the abiding by whatever movement is giving pleasure.
The completing step is due to the Retentive or plastic power of the
mind. An association is begun between the optical effect of a light
retreating from the full gaze to the right or to the left, and the
muscular movements that enable the eye to follow it. After a certain
number of similar chance coincidences, this bond of association is
rendered firm enough to ensure the movement at once when the
sensation is present; and one of the many thousand links
constituting the mature will is thereby forged. The very same course
of proceeding is followed in a host of other instances.
The beginnings of Imitation are also highly illustrative of the
process. There is no trace of imitative power during the first
months of infancy. The rise and progress of the power may be visibly
discerned by any observer; and perhaps the best example for the
purpose is Speech. In the beginnings of this extensive acquirement,
the basis is most obviously the infant's spontaneous articulations;
these must be waited for by the instructor, who can only foster and
maintain them when they come. The law of the will provides for the
fostering part of the process. The child is, in all probability,
gratified by the sound of its voice, when it gives forth any new
sound, and so is stimulated to keep up the vocal exertion. Next in
efficacy is the catching up and repeating of the sound by others,
which is an addition to the pleasing stimulus. Under the two-fold
agency, there is opportunity for an association to grow up between
the vocal impulse and the sensation of the sound heard; which
association is ultimately the medium of bringing on the articulation
whenever it is desired.
The other cases of Imitation describe the same routine. The
movements are initiated by random spontaneity; and when they arise,
they are accompanied by a sensible impression on the eye, or on the
ear; the concurrences, being regular and uniform, are at length
contiguously associated; the muscular exertion of lifting the hand
is connected with the visible picture of a lifted hand. At a certain
stage, the association {393} may be brought to operate in the
inverted order,--the sensations first, the movement next,--which is
the whole fact of Imitation.
A numerous class of voluntary links consists in obeying the word of
command, or in following verbal directions. This, as will be
admitted, can be nothing but association. It is an association that
would not be attainable without the spontaneous commencement. A
child, or an animal, must perform a certain action, _proprio motu_,
in the first instance; the name is then uttered in company with it;
this being done repeatedly, a connexion is made whereby the word can
induce or single out the movement.
In the training of animals, a hastening process is resorted to,
which well exemplifies the difficulties in the early education of
the will. In breaking a horse, the whip and the curb form the
earliest instrumentality. The animal must still commence moving of
its own accord. The business is to guide the spontaneity into
definite channels, in consistency with the law of the will, and to
connect all the various desired movements with language and signs,
by whose means they can always be brought into play. When the colt
under discipline is moving in the desired pace, it is allowed to go
on without molestation or hindrance; when it deviates in any way, it
is made to feel the pain of the whip or other check; this, by the
law of pain, abates the existing movements; and if the abatement is
the thing sought, the end is gained. The application may, however,
be such as to quicken the movements by the smarting stimulus; an
effect both exceptional and uncertain, and of use as causing a
diversion of pace, out of which may come the movement desired. The
surest agency of control, however, in the early and crude stage of
the will, is the abatement of an excessive or a wrong movement by a
decidedly painful check, such as the operation of the curb, which by
pressing severely on a sensitive surface, is a certain means of
depression; whereas, the light, irritating smart of the whip
operates by a spasmodic uncertain stimulation. It is by the tendency
of pain to put an arrest upon the wrong movement. {394} and of the
relief from pain to indicate the right movement, that the trainer
secures the obedience of the animal; he, at the same time,
familiarizing its ear with the sounds that are to signify the
various paces and movements. The spontaneous commencement is
essential under all circumstances; according as this spontaneity is,
from the first, ready, vigorous, and various, is the facility in
attaining and cementing the initial links of voluntary command.
It will now be apparent that the immediate antecedent of a voluntary
act is not solely the idea of the action to be performed. The
successive upbuilding of the voluntary associations developes a
series of phases, under which the direct antecedent is transformed
into various shapes. The sensation of hunger may be the sole
antecedent in prompting an animal to the search for food; the
painful sensation is coupled at a very early stage with the sight
and the idea of food. When a child first attains the power of
lifting a sweet morsel to its mouth, the antecedent of the voluntary
act is the sight of the morsel coupled with the remembrance of the
sweetness. A farther advance takes place by associating the ultimate
object with intermediate actions, as when the child learns to
entreat what it wants from other persons. The stage that first
brings in an idea of the moving members themselves is Imitation; in
imitating by sight, the antecedent is the view of the parts moved.
Through this medium, we pass to what is popularly considered the
type of voluntary control, the moving from a wish to move. I will to
raise the arm, and the act follows; the antecedent is the idea of
the raised arm (together with some feeling to be gratified by the
act). In the highest developments of voluntary acquisition, there is
another case, also of frequent occurrence; namely, where the
intellectual antecedent is the idea of the work to be done; as, for
example, in the act of washing the hands, where we do not think of
the movements to be gone through, but of a certain appearance to be
produced.
In Chapter X., on Memory, it is remarked:--'When we {395} are said
to will, there must be in the mind what is willed.' But the idea of
what is immediately willed, with reference to the same ultimate end,
may assume all the variations above described. To gain a pleasure or
free ourselves from a pain, we may employ different
instrumentalities; and the explanation of the will should comprehend
them all.--_B._]
{396} CHAPTER XXV.
INTENTION.
THE word "intend," the concrete, seems to be employed on two
occasions. 1. We are said to intend, or not to intend, certain
actions of our own. 2. And we are said to intend, or not to intend,
certain consequences of our own actions.
We have to examine what is the state of mind which the word
designates on each of those occasions.
1. We are said to intend only a _future_ action. When the action is
immediate, we are not said to INTEND, but to WILL it; an action
intended, is an action of ours contemplated as _future_, or
certainly to be.
We have minutely analysed, on a former occasion, the state of mind
which exists, when events, other than actions of our own, are
contemplated as future. An association, from prior habit, exists,
between antecedent and consequent, in a series of events; an
association, such, that we cannot think of one of the events as
existing, without thinking of the others as existing; that is,
without anticipating their existence.
{397} That this process is involved in anticipating that peculiar
event, called an action of our own, cannot be doubted. The only
question is, what are the circumstances from which it derives its
peculiar character.
Something peculiar is imparted to it, from the very circumstance of
its being an action of our own. In anticipating an action of our
own, we necessarily anticipate the mental processes, which are its
antecedents. Among these we necessarily anticipate what is called
the act of willing. In such anticipations, the association is of
that intimate character, which constitutes belief. In anticipating
an action of our own, therefore, we contemplate the act as certainly
future: that is, we believe that we shall will it. But to look
forward through a certain train of antecedents and consequents, the
concluding part of which is a certain act, which we shall then will,
and then do, is a process which apparently involves in it all that
is meant by what, in this class of cases, we call Intention.
It may still, however, be objected, that the explanation thus
presented, recognises, in the state of mind in question, only the
ideas involved in the process called willing, with the idea of the
action, and the belief that the action will take place; but that
there seems to be something more than the present existence of ideas
and belief, in that state of mind which we call intending, which
seems to partake of the nature of willing at the moment of its
existence.
There is something here of the customary illusions of language. The
word "intend" is an active verb. And, wherever we use an active
verb, we have {398} the association of activity and of willing,
involved in it.
That there can be nothing of willing in the case, is abundantly
certain; since the will relates only to immediate acts.
It may, however, be objected, that though there is nothing of
willing in the case, there is nevertheless a determination or
purpose to will. A man may say, I not only believe that I shall act
so and so, but I am determined that I shall act so and so.
In this objection, the words "determine," and "determination," are
still but substitutes for "intend," and "intention." At most, they
only mark a degree of strength in the intention. There is another
expression, however, which deserves notice. A man may not only
resolve to do a thing, but he may promise to do it. And the promises
of men form a very important class of their actions.
After all, a Promise is in its very essence merely the _Declaration_
of an _Intention_. If it be asserted that it is not only the
declaration of an intention, but the declaration that nothing shall
occur to hinder that intention of its effect; what is this but the
declaration of another intention; the intention not to frustrate an
existing intention? But this second intention is included in the
first. The very existence of an intention implies the absence of any
counter intention.
Why is it that a man intends? For the same reason, of course, that
he wills. In willing, a certain act is contemplated as a cause of
pleasure; an immediate act, and an immediate pleasure. In intending,
a certain future act is contemplated as cause of a future {399}
pleasure. The idea of the pleasure and its cause, united by
association, constitute the motive. In this act of anticipation, the
sequence, consisting of motive as cause, action as effect, is
indissoluble. In our supposed state of intention, the motive is
presented to the mind as about to exist at the time in
contemplation; the idea of the act as existing irresistibly follows.
An act of our own anticipated by irresistible association, when the
motive is immediate, is willed; when the motive is future, is
intended. Intention is the strong anticipation of a future will. But
every thing which strengthens the motive, that is, associates the
idea of the act with that of a greater amount of good arising from
it, increases the certainty of the act. A promise to perform the act
strengthens the motive; in some cases exceedingly. As it is of great
consequence to men in general, that promises should be performed,
they take care to reward the performing of promises, to punish the
non-performing of them, with their favour in the one case, their
disfavour in the other. When the favour and disfavour of mankind are
general, and strong, to a certain degree, they amount to the highest
of all punishments, and all rewards. A promise, then, which is the
_declaration_ of an intention, greatly strengthens the certainty of
the act, by greatly adding to the force of the motive.
2. The next case of the meaning of Intention is of easy explanation.
When we will, or when we intend, an action, we either foresee, or do
not foresee, certain of its consequences. In what associations the
act of foreseeing or anticipating consists, we need not again
explain. The question, whether a man did {400} or did not foresee
certain consequents of his acts, is of great importance in certain
cases of judicature, because upon this circumstance depends the
propriety of a less or greater degree of punishment, perhaps the
propriety or impropriety of punishing at all.
A person administers to another person a medicine. It turns out to
be poison. The person whose act the administration was, believing
the drug to be salubrious, not hurtful, anticipated good
consequences; in other words, intended the benefit of the patient;
intending, and anticipating, here, being only two names for the same
thing. He did not foresee the evil consequences; and this we
commonly express by saying he did not intend them. If the person who
administered the drug, instead of believing it to be a proper
medicine, and anticipating from it salutary effects, knew it to be
poison, anticipating from it destructive effects, he would be said
to intend those effects.
It thus appears, that when a man, having certain consequences of an
act in view, proceeds to the performance of the act, the having in
view, or anticipating, receives, in these circumstances, the name of
intention. It is a case of anticipation, anticipation in peculiar
circumstances, and is marked by a peculiar name.
The consequence of an act may be such, that the person had no reason
to anticipate them, or could not possibly anticipate them; or they
may be such, that, though actually not foreseen, they might, with
more or less of care, have been foreseen. These are questions
respecting the nature of one solitary act. {401} They are what in
law are called questions of fact. The exact determination of them is
essential to the right decision of the judge in the particular case;
but any further consideration of them is not within the province of
this inquiry.[69]
[Editor's footnote 69: This chapter is devoted to clearing up the
confusion and disentangling the ambiguity connected with the word
Intention. And it fully attains the purpose, save where the refusal
to admit any difference between expectation and a strong
association, throws a certain haze over an operation into which they
both enter.
Intention, when the word is used in reference to our future conduct,
is well characterized by the author as "the strong anticipation of a
future will." It is an unfaltering present belief that we shall
hereafter will a particular act, or a particular course of action.
There may be, over and above this belief, an intention "that nothing
shall occur to hinder that intention of its effect;" "the intention
not to frustrate an existing intention." The author thinks that
"this second intention is included in the first:" but it is not
necessarily so. It is the first intention, fortified by some
additional motive which creates a special desire that this
particular desire and intention should continue. It is another case
of what the author never recognizes, the desire of a desire.
Intention, when we are said to intend the consequences of our
actions, means the foresight, or expectation of those consequences;
which is a totally different thing from desiring them. The
particular consequences in question, though foreseen may be
disagreeable to us: the act may be done for the sake of other
consequences. Intention, and motive, are two very different things.
But it is the intention, that is, the foresight of consequences,
which constitutes the moral rightness or wrongness of the act. Which
among the many consequences of a crime, are those, foresight of
which constitutes guilt, and non-foresight entitles to acquittal,
depends on the particular nature of the case. We may say generally,
that it is the hurtful consequences. When the question arises
judicially, we must say it is the consequences which the law
intended to prevent. Reverting to the author's illustration; a
person who gives a drug to a patient, who dies in consequence, is
not guilty (at least of intentional crime) if he expected good
consequences, or no consequences at all, from its administration. He
is guilty, if he expected that the consequence would be death;
because that was the consequence which the legislator intended to
prevent. He is guilty, even if he thought that the death of the
patient would be a good to the world: because, though the law did
not intend to prevent good to the world, it did intend to prevent
persons from killing one another. Judged by a moral instead of a
legal standard, the man may be innocent; or guilty of a different
offence, that of not using his thinking faculty with sufficient
calmness and impartiality, to perceive that in such a case as that
of taking life, the general presumption of pernicious consequences
ought to outweigh a particular person's opinion that preponderant
good consequences would be produced in the particular
instance.--_Ed._]
{402} Thus, then, the Exposition of the Human Mind, as far as the
imperfection of the execution may allow the accomplishment to be
predicated of the attempt, may be regarded as brought to its close.
The phenomena which characterize man as a thinking Being, have been
brought forward, have been carefully resolved into their component
elements, and traced to certain general and undisputed laws.
I should call this the THEORY of the Human Mind, if I could hope that
the word would be understood in its original and literal meaning,
that is, VIEWING or OBSERVING, AND CORRECTLY RECORDING THE MATTERS
OBSERVED. This is the task, the execution of which {403} has been
endeavoured throughout the preceding pages. But, unhappily, the word
Theory has been perverted to denote an operation very different from
this, an operation by which VIEWING--OBSERVING--is superseded; an
operation which essentially consists in SUPPOSING, AND SETTING DOWN
MATTERS SUPPOSED AS MATTERS OBSERVED. Theory, in fact, has been
confounded with Hypothesis; and it is probably vain to think of
restoring it to its proper signification.
If, however, the _Theoretical_, or Expository part of the Doctrine
of the Human Mind were perfected; another great branch, the
_Practical_ (which, to be rationally founded, must be founded on the
Theoretical) would still remain. This subject, it appears, might be
conveniently treated in three Books:
I. The Book of Logic; containing the Practical Rules for conducting
the mind in its search after Truth:
II. The Book of Ethics; or the Book of Rules for regulating the
actions of human beings, so as to deduce from them the greatest
amount of good, both to the actor himself, and to his
fellow-creatures at large:
III. The Book of Education; or the Book of Rules, for training the
Individual to the greatest excellence of his nature; that is, to the
highest possible state of efficiency (ability and will included), as
cause of good to himself, and to his species.
THE END.
LONDON:
SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note
All editions of this text were published in two volumes. This file
has combined them. The only consequential change to the original
material is that the Contents pages for Volume 2 are repeated
immediately after the Contents of Volume 1.
Footnotes
James Mill's text had a few footnotes, indicated by single asterisks.
His later commentators' work was printed as footnotes, numbered
consecutively through each volume (though there is no note 36 in
volume 1), and attributed by an initial (or "Editor's note") at the
end. In this text each note is attributed to its author (James Mill
being called Mill; John Stuart Mill, Editor). John Stuart Mill made
one note in James' style, 7* in volume 1 (where the attribution has
been marked by an asterisk). There are footnotes in Grote's main
footnote, and in a couple of other footnotes, marked as in the
original. All footnotes are now placed after the paragraph in
which they occur.
Corrections
Corrected text is indicated by a preceding *. The following
corrections have been made (usually confirmed by reference to the
earlier editions):
Location Original Correction
Volume 1
p. 11 denonominate denominate
p. 95 and of
footnote 47 infinities infinitives
footnote 54 existtence existence
p. 195 their there
footnote 59 gutteral guttural
p. 204 {blank} 2
p. 217 predicacations predications
p. 256 rationes _rationes_
footnote g b 6
footnote j accute acute
footnote 82 6 5
footnote 87 phrase phase
p. 363 it its
p. 447 unconciousness unconsciousness
Volume 2
Contents 369 396
p. 45 : ;
p. 72 former formed
p. 89 succeeds succeed
p. 122 measure measured
p. 129 end quote mark missing at footnote 8*
p. 136 Read Reid
footnote 30 not nor
p. 312 comprehend comprehended
footnote 59 physicial physical
Two uncorrections might be noticed:
in volume 1, pp. 61-62 the Mills read 'Brobdignagian,'
following, it seems, an edition with that spelling instead of the
usual 'Brobdingnag';
in volume 2, page 387 'casual' is given in both editions but
'causal' seems better sense.
Other matters
Page numbers are preserved in-text within {}.
Italic or gesperrt text is enclosed by _ _.
Greek text is transliterated thus: breathings marked ( for hard,
) for soft, accents / for acute, \ for grave, = for circumflex,
all after their vowel; iota subscript is marked |. In footnote 53
of Volume 1, [)i] is used to stand for i with a breve above it, in
a rendering of Wotiak.